#vulnerability begets vulnerability it seems

[halamshirals]

elluin finally had her one (1) allotted breakdown where she cut all her hair off and astarion immediately confessed his feelings to her

[summer-oil]

like this, you feel a little like a lamb laid at an altar.

wrapped up in shimmering silk, a heavy sash tied around your waist, not loose enough to slip, not tight enough to beget discomfort — layers upon layers, a pure-white, nearly translucent shawl draped around your shoulders, jeweled pins gleaming between your locks like shells under water. a pile of molten rubies. the fabric weighs heavy on your bones; were you not sitting with your knees against the floor, you might have found it difficult to keep them from buckling.

but you are. seated on the elevated flooring in one of his temple’s chambers, wearing robes that suguru dolled you up with himself; reverent, in doing so, the very point of this occasion. or so he says.

biting at the inside of your cheek, you withhold a sigh. when he said he had a surprise for you, wearing such a blinding smile, looking so pleased with himself — well, you weren’t really expecting this.

(then again, that glint in his eye has never been a particularly good sign.)

and now you’re… exposed, for lack of better words. 

the centre of attention.

suguru’s voice echoes throughout the room, laced with intention, heavy charisma. low and commanding.

”worship your god,” he almost seethes, but you can tell he’s putting effort into keeping his vocal chords smooth, in maintaining his composure. ”worship them properly.”

before him, on the flooring just below you both, are rows of people in dogeza, tucked in on themselves, bowing deeply. his congregation, gathered just for you. murmuring, under their breaths, their foreheads nearly smushed against wooden flooring, a quiet whirlwind of whispers seeping in through the gaps. praiseful lulls, recited scriptures, pure worship.

… it’s an odd sight, if anything. you can’t help but squirm, discomfort gnawing at your bones. 

suguru seems to notice, because he speaks up.

”… are they not to your liking, my love?” he asks, curious, coaxing, syrupy sweetness on the tip of his tongue. his voice is so soft, when he speaks to you, it almost makes you feel at ease with the audience before you. he crouches down in front of you, bangs swaying idly. ”should they bow deeper…?”

an inhale of air. the room smells of incense, weighing on your veins, making you sleepy. ”n-no, it’s just —” you stammer, gnawing at your bottom lip, senses finding solace in the scent of lilies and magnolias on your robes. ”i feel a little… out of place?”

a hum, buzzing at the base of his throat. then, a raspy chuckle. ”… you’ll get used to it soon enough.”

suddenly, he’s bowing too — leaning forward, until his forehead nearly meets the floorboards, hands planted firmly against them. so handsome, from this angle, the bridge of his nose catching a glint of light from the lamp above him. glancing up at you, with a smile that only makes your heartbeat sputter further. 

he curls a hand around your leg; slipping his fingers under the fabric, until your ankle is exposed. slowly, tenderly, he noses at the spot, angles his face to press a kiss there. a whispered lull of his tongue.

”this is the treatment you deserve.”

your breath hitches, in the back of your throat. feeling his warm lips on your bare skin, against such a vulnerable spot, just below your sensitive achilles tendon. despite his calm demeanor, his soothing voice, your nerves are roused — eyes darting to the rows of men and women on the floor, still kneeling dutifully. they aren’t looking at you, diligent in their murmuring, their silent prayers, but you still feel so thoroughly exposed, like they’re seeing something that should be for the two of you alone — suddenly suguru’s lips are moving, as if he’s intent on worshipping every inch of you, and —

”s-sugu—” you squeak, scooting away, gaze shying from his own — a hushed whisper spilling from your parted lips. ”i don’t want them here.”

… that gets his attention.

honeyed, amber eyes suddenly harden. a crack down a frost-slicked lake, a sudden drop in temperature. it’s as if a switch is flicked; his face settling into firm lines, left eyebrow giving way to a twitch.

and he stands up. sharp, low-lit eyes gazing down at his congregation with a tight-knit expression.

”out,” he orders, a razor’s cut of his tongue. ”at once.”

a voice as clear as the toll of a bell, hiding no intention. it rings out from the depths of his throat, echoes behind his teeth and above the gathering of people at his feet. cold and jarring. even you aren’t entirely unaffected by the dominance he exudes, like this; you count yourself lucky to never be at the other end of it, to always be met with the sun’s glow and not the sting. the room goes eerily silent.

before you can blink, his followers are dispersing, like a flock of ravens — or a group of cornered mice — rising to their feet, and leaving the room. scattering away, though not before bowing once more.

you exhale, in relief. 

it’s easier to breathe, when it’s just the two of you. even though the incense makes your eyelids heavy.

”forgive me, my darling,” comes his voice, as he crouches down to meet you at eye level again, cradling your face with both hands; gaze warm and slick with sweetness, lips meeting yours for a kiss. 

a cube of ice against a furnace. you melt into his touch. 

”i don’t know what i was thinking,” he clicks his tongue, voice sinking an octave — you can taste the bitter hints of his displeasure even when he pulls away. ”making you watch those bugs prostrate themselves. no, that just won’t do…”

regret clouds his sunsoaked eyes, smudges them at the corners. coal on soft linen. he looks beautiful, like this — silky, raven locks like a river flowing down his shoulders, eyebrows furrowed and lips dipping out into the slightest frown. a pleasant storm, in his expression, the way he sculptures himself for only you to see — but then the warmth, his hands against your face, thumbs rubbing at your cheekbones. you picture him plucking apples from an orchard and feeding them to you, slice by dutiful slice. 

”i-it’s okay.” another kiss, in between your words. as if he’s still apologizing. ”i appreciate the thought, but… i don’t need to be worshipped, you know?”

a sudden silence.

(a familiar glint, in his golden eyes.)

the corners of his lips heave themselves up, like the branches of a ginkgo tree. his voice is ripe with mirth. 

”… oh, but you do.”

before you can figure out what that look even means — his heavy hands are slipping down, down, and he’s leaning forward to press his lips against the fabric of your robes, a kiss above your breast. your heart.

then he’s pulling away. standing up, leaving you blinking, a fawn in front of a chain-link fence. 

suguru steps down, the soles of his sandals meeting the flooring in front of you, his broad figure taking up the empty spot his followers left behind. with practiced ease, an elegance you cannot help but watch in mesmerized silence, he bows —

deeply, knees hitting the floor. hands clasped together in silent prayer.

and then he smiles, again. 

a shaky breath leaves your lips. his hand reaches forward, slithers around your ankle, fingers curling around your foot and coaxing it forward until it ghosts against his neck. you can only blink, feeling the pumping of your heart just beneath your throat, warmth blooming from the tips of your ears to the fat of your cheeks. he kisses your ankle, as if picking up where he left off — and meets your flustered gaze with nothing but sunlight.

molten lava. heat. 

(reverence, reverence, reverence.)

”well, then,” he breathes, eyes glinting under dim lights. ”allow me to worship you properly.”

[harmonysanreads]

You remember the first time Phainon said your name with a vexing clarity.

Well, ‘announced with all the vigor of a gorilla in its prime’ would be a more accurate description of that moment, not that you can word this out loud in front of ordinary folk — not anymore. What beget that incident and how he came to know of your identity are details even you question currently.

Exhilarating is the simplest (and most positive) word to describe the experience with the Chrysos Heir, being in his presence is no less riveting than witnessing a blood-warming battle straight from Castrum Kremnos. As such, against your judgement and awareness, it seemed that most things became a blur whenever he was nearby.

Not that it stirs an affirmative thrill in your arteries now. It did back then ; when he'd so brazenly dedicated his victory to your name in front of hundreds, nay, thousands of citizens, uncaring of the uncertain state of your acquaintanceship. You recall being more confused than overjoyed at the seemingly once-in-a-lifetime event of a Hero's attention falling upon you. But that, too, was swept by the tide of envious curiosity of the people of Okhema soon.

You don't blame them, you'd question if a nobody became the subject of reverence of a hero so suddenly as well. But that didn't mean you were no less annoyed by it, especially as it seemed that Phainon had no intention of quitting this practice. Every spar, every small victory towards the Flame-Chase and even the most random of achievements — he'd dedicate to you, the declarations becoming bolder each time.

You don't even need to ask what exactly you did to have him so invested, he has scarce control of his mouth when it concerns you. Do you believe the things he says though? That criteria, will not be met regardless of how sincere the Hero appears to be. You're not someone who's had to mingle with people of this volume, the invisible pushes to step into Phainon's world, direct or indirect, do not soothe your nerves in the slightest.

Ballads speak of the distant days when the sun used to kiss the soil of Amphoreus, but you weren't fortunate enough to witness those times. You've been reprimanded in a recent style lately though, your surroundings are quick to point at the dawn-incarnate, dashing specimen of a hero who's illuminated your once dull life and wonder so starry-eyed how grateful you must feel.

You used to roll your eyes at these whispers for a short frame of time. But as whispers ascended to theater and people eagerly awaited to spectate the turns of your ‘love story’, you really started to feel grateful. Not because you were pleased with your situation, but because of the support Phainon had provided throughout. He'd commented lightly once, you aren't built for such a harsh life. You deserve to recline, let others — him do the heavy-lifting and indulge yourself.

You tried your utmost to prove this redundant hypothesis incorrect. But dogs, once sufficiently attached, will always return to the master no matter how far one throws the toy. In moments of vulnerability, if even darkness helps, people will cling to it. And if it is the sun, they'll embrace blindness against the wishes of their conscience.

In Amphoreus, there goes the tale of the valiant hero and the beloved he's claimed as his life. Only in moments of clarity do you recall, it is nothing but the recounting of your immurement.

[necarion]

There's an alternate reality episode in Arcane that has some fascinating arguments around it. Everything is better, for [almost] everyone. Also, a key technology hasn't been invented.

- Arcane Spoilers -

And a lot of the fans seem convinced that this better future, where Zaun and Piltover are at peace is because the Hextech technology hadn't been invented. A simple, mechanistic reason for why everything turned out differently. And I get why that's popular.

But also, that's largely not what the show is about. Oh, it has some major conflicts between "it's fun to see everyone wailing on each other with super powers" and the human elements (which is common to a lot of action properties with a message). But it's ultimately about the cycle of violence, and how deeply hard it is to escape when you're inside it. How attempts to forgive are moments of vulnerability your enemies may seize upon to your detriment, which makes forgiveness harder next time. And it's a show about how technology never really changes the core underlying problems (although the second season also runs into difficulties there, when it has a major problem caused by Hextech. But we see that the problems with Hextech are when it's used for violence and the other side has to escalate with other powers of its own. The chaos future is still in the future as of Episode 7, and so not really the fault of the world-bettering Hextech.)

But the alternate reality episode showed, in only 10 seconds, the point of divergence. In the "real" timeline, the cops escalated powerfully after the explosion, reigniting the violence that led to the death of the show's greatest peacemaker. They showed no mercy, and in return received none, so they showed no mercy and in return...

In this alternate one, they saw a dead girl in her sobbing sister's arms, and chose not to escalate. The tragedy was enough. The tragedy was too much. A choice, that no more tragedy was needed this day. But, I also don't think the message is "tragedy is needed to bring us together," as some other fans have described. The shared tragedy of someone from either side of the class divide dying probably helped the shared bonding.

Oh, I'm sure the good timeline needed a lot more hard work to become the prosperous, happy future for everybody, even after the tragedy.

No, the thing that changed the future wasn't an act of tragedy or the changing of a technological progression. It was the act of mercy. "I have the chance to make things worse for someone, and I choose not to."

The show hammers again and again and again...that if you have the chance to show compassion, to show mercy, to show forgiveness, you should try to take it. If you have a choice to punish an entire people for the crimes of a few, you shouldn't. Because it begets further violence, and because it is wrong.

Even if it makes you vulnerable, compassion, forgiveness, and mercy are worth the risk.

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Though I do think TTPD is a very adult Red album I’m also very into how different it feels because it’s almost like a resolution? Obviously in the bigger history of her albums Red feels very much like a transition album, but also back when it was first released it also felt that way. Sonically with her trying a bunch of things , and the material trying to find the balance between vulnerable but also comfortable (especially in light of how restrained OG 1989 seemed). Like there still felt like there was so much to say and learn. Which is ironic with Red ending with Begin Again which feels like a nice bow placed on it . But TTPD feels like her purging everything, the good, the bad, the ugly. While being confident in how she jumps through sounds and uses them to tell a story. Even the Manuscript and Clara Bowe seem so much more accepting of cycles and just trying your best instead of a clean slate.

It’s just such an interesting parallel but with an adult kind for progress

That’s a really interesting analysis anon!

If I had to guess, I think Taylor liked to tie albums up and make them ~cohesive~ in the past both out of self-preservation, and to check off boxes of what made a good album that would be successful — and she was probably right at the time, too. But yes, it’s incredible how the vault tracks for Speak Now/Red/1989 recontextualize some of the albums, or at least fills in the lines. So, for instance, OG Red ends with a neat little bow with Begin Again, but the vault is like: actually behind this I’m a mess, I’m worried I’m not good enough, I’m worried I’ll be replaced as an artist and as a lover, this person I loved has treated me like a nuisance even though he claims to love me back, I’m ashamed but I don’t know what to do, etc.

But again it comes down to the fact that the success of folklore and subsequent albums has cemented her status for the rest of her career, so she has the freedom to explore whatever she wants. She opened the door to even starker vulnerability with every subsequent album and has been met not only with commercial success but also continued appreciation by fans and the people who matter in the industry. So success begets success, and vulnerability begets more vulnerability. She doesn’t have to worry about “cohesive” anymore because her perceived success is no longer dependent on it, so she has the clout to, for instance, release a 31 track album detailing some of the darkest moments of her life. She can chase themes and stories and sounds to her heart’s desire, and she knows it’s gonna hit with someone.

And I also suspect a lot of it also has to do with how much better she knows herself now, too, and the support she has in doing that.

I think all the time about the bit from LPSS where she and Aaron are talking about hoax, and how when she started writing it she didn’t really know where she was going with it which was unlike her, and Aaron pushed her to keep following that thread wherever it led. Even if it felt weird or uncomfortable, it was worth her time to keep fleshing it out to see where the song went. Hoax is kind of emblematic of her whole music-making process since 2020; she follows the muse (as in the idea, not the person) and doesn’t worry about where it goes. Between that and Matt Berenger telling her to push through the discomfort about writing about personal moments in a relationship because it ends up being a more honest song (or words to that effect), I think she’s taken that to heart to really write unfiltered, whether or not it ever ends up being consumed by the public. It keeps the muscle primed.

[sorrowfulsidekick]

— ☆⋆˙ DOOR SWIFTLY, FULLY CRACKING OPEN, Kit is instantly met with the sight of a mountainous heap of adorable stuffed animals, all housed in quavering armfuls belonging to his brother. Teetering in unsteadily, unable to see the floor beneath him nor the space in front, they're promptly dropped in a cushiony pile all around him, practically swallowing them up in their fluffy cuteness. Snakes, bears, rabbits, and a few inanimate objects given plucky facial features, and all sorts of other plushes fitting into various shapes, colors and varieties (but noticeably, nothing shaped as a fox).

❝I wasn't sure what else to get you, and I was getting short on time… I hope these are okay.❞ Crouching down, arms burrow into the heap, pulling their respective favorite snuggle companion out gently, holding him beneath his arms as to lift and set him atop the pile. ❝I noticed you like making pillow forts on your bed, so maybe this is easier? Just gotta… climb in with these.❞

— ☆⋆˙ TWIDDLING THUMBS BEGET AN APPREHENSIVE glance to the side, but just for a moment. Contemplating, it seems. Trying to figure out  if the words clearly on the tip of his tongue are the ones he wants to say.

After those few seconds, he smiles nervously.

❝…You're a really good brother. Thanks for being here for me, Kit. I love you a lot.❞

▸ // With  a  tummy  full  of  chocolate  Kit  found  himself  comically  sprawled  on  the  playroom  mat  in  delicious  regret.  There  was  peace  in  the  room,  well,  until  there  wasn’t.  The  swinging  door  urged  the  boy  to  sit  upright.  Though  once  settled  a  dozen  new  plush  friends  form  a  soft  bulwark  around  the  boy. 

“Chronos!”  That  soft,  muffled  voice  wavers  with  unbridled  mirth.  Though  surrounded  by  gifts,  outsize  eyes  honed  in  on  his  brother  once  freed  from  downy  depths.  Stuffies  were  gently  knocked  around,  his  petite  tail  a  pendulum  rocking  with  elation. 

“Y-you  were  out  getting  these  all  this  time?”  peeking  down  joyous  features  subtly  ease  into  quiet,  somewhat  somber,  gratitude.  “I  can’t  believe  you  noticed  that…”  ▸ // Though  attempts  had  been  made  to  suppress  his  habit  to  den,  it  only  became  more  prevalent  now  that  the  two  had  their  own  beds.  His  back  was  a  glaring  weakness  with  a  button  any  can  (and  had)  used  against  him.  The  feeling  of  vulnerability  makes  him  sick  to  the  core  and  though  he  was  very  safe  in  this  new  home  the  habit  latched  tightly.  Pillows,  and  for  a  time  his  brother,  left  him  unexposed  (or  at  least  gave  time  to  react  to  anyone  encroaching  his  space.)  Now,  in  his  wild  imagination,  the  eldest  hired  an  army  of  little  creatures  to  keep  watch  of  him  at  night. 

▸ // As  a  teddy  bear  is  held  close  to  his  chest  an  endearment  so  palpable  radiates  from  the  youngest  who  waited  with  unbothered  patience  to  his  brother’s  awkwardness.  Chronos  struggled  with  these  things sometimes but  not  Kit.  Before  the  other  could  verbally  punctuate  his  affection  a  cyan  blur  was  already  throwing  itself  toward  him,  small  arms  hugging  around  that  waist  with  all  his  strength  (which  was  not  much  at  all).

“I  love  you  too… I don't think I'd be around without you...”  There’s  a  small  bout  of  silence,  a  few  sniffles.  A  seemingly  mutual  sentiment  hung  in  the  air,  that  neither  were  as  honest and eloquent as  their  hearts  deserved.  Eventually  Kit  composes  himself  enough  to  look  up  toward  Chronos,  still  holding  him  close.  “You  got  all  of  this  a-and  now  I  feel  silly  just  getting  us  chocolate…”  Looking  to  the  low  table  it  seems  the  boy  had  a  pile  of  his  own,  and  another  one  just  beside  it  of  emptied  wrappers.  He  may  or  may  not  have requested the  sweets very  nicely  to  the  household  earlier.

Gently  breaking  his  hold  on  the  other  the  boy  crawls  back  into  the  mound  of  toys.  Only  his  tail  stuck  out  as  the  next  words  were  muffled, “My  tummy  hurts,  you  can  have  the  rest. I'm... comfy.”  he  snickers  with  a  flick  of  a  tail.  If Chronos wants to hang he has to deal with Kit's new army.

[violetasteracademic]

You’re such a good writer. Have you ever thought of writing a book?

Oh my goodness 🥹 thank you darling anon!!

I've actually written three! Though I have not felt any were ready to undergo the query process. And this year my poetry was published for the first time in a literary magazine, which was absolutely surreal. The few times I've mentioned this info here typically people ask if they can see it or if I could share, and I would soooo love to but this fandom is frankly too scary with doxxing and harassing for me to feel comfortable opening up that part of myself here.

I do think in the fic world especially it can be kind of charming and whimsical to just seem like this incredible writer who doesn't even try, but that is not me 😅 where I am at is the result of a decades long dedication to daily writing practices, multiple novel attempts, and improving my craft through books on structure and taking local workshops without access to higher education for it.

It can be scary to reveal how hard you work in creative spaces- because then what if you don't seem as impressive as you should? But writers have really a bad rap for pretending they don't try at all and everything just *happens* which leads to a lot of insecurity and frustration for new writers who are easily discouraged. So I always want to be really transparent about my journey.

Not that anyone asked but I would like to again take this time to encourage any aspiring writers, fic or otherwise, to just *start* writing anything at all! Putting words together in a meaningful way is a discipline. Even if you are naturally talented, that will fizzle out without practice. So write, write, write, and start today, not when you have an idea for a story. Writing begets writing. Go outside and write about the sky at different intervals throughout the day and you might suddenly walk away with the idea for your first novel!

Anywho, this was very kind. Fic is especially vulnerable because even with a solid amount of practice and discipline, it is essentially just a first draft and lacks a lot of the polish a published book would undergo. So it really means a lot to know you enjoy! When people say a published novel "reads like a fic" I know what they mean 😅 without editors, developers, arc readers, ect, I struggle with a lot of fears and insecurity too. But you guys have been amazing to write for. I felt so supported and encouraged from day one even being brand new to the scene, and it fills my heart with such joy to be a part of this fic community!

Fic writing has been really helping me through a deeply unstable time in my life and I'm so happy to have discovered it. Once I get a little more settled and stable, I'll focus back on original work!

[aro-barrel]

as someone who has struggled to see myself as queer when i was younger, it frustrates me to see the de-legitimizing of aspec people as queer. it's worth discussing because biases and exclusionist tendencies don't come from nowhere and we have to remain critical of those tendencies in ourselves and others.

one of the reasons certain identities are raised as "legitimate" in the first place has a lot to do with visibility. framing LGBTQ+ rights as the "right to love whoever you want" or the right to "be who you are" has done a number on how we view queerness within the community. we aren't immune to mainstream portrayals of us. a lot of aspec people have to grapple with legitimacy because we are poorly represented. the depth of our experiences are unknown, our issues underdiscussed.

to highlight my previous point: we know that a major political "gay issue" is the right to same-sex marriage. but people seem to put an emphasis on "right to love" and not the actual legal benefits of marriage (i.e., transferring assets, hospital visits, making decisions in case of death, etc). aspec people don't get those things unless they get married. i don't think many younger aspec people know that being aspec isn't just about our "lack of attraction." we are systemically deprived of the rights granted only to married couples. (that's the basis for poly and aro solidarity.) there's a reason our identities feel prominent, why they matter at all—it's because society isn't favorable towards us.

another reason we are seen as "less legitimate" is perceived oppression. this one is stated outright by unabashed exclusionists, but the sentiment is not exclusive to them.

people (even well-meaning people) seem to think there are levels of oppression and that oppressions stack to determine how unprivileged you are. which, uh, no. it's not a video game. the way we discuss privilege in general is really fucked up. truth is, we have to live with the fact that it's not a perfectly quantifiable thing (and shouldn't be). privilege exists in dimensions beyond identity labels. to quantify it and make it the basis for inclusion/exclusion is a mistake that leads to tokenization and opens a path for wider society to de-legitimize other queer identities (this is what i mean when i say exclusionists throw others under the bus—bus-throwing begets more bus-throwing).

it only makes instinctive, reactionary sense to claim a sub-identity is less "real," especially as a community concerned with our marginalized status. but it's all the more necessary to root out these tendencies in ourselves and ask why there's any need to exclude, or assume other experiences are lesser. is there really anything to gain from claiming that bi people, ace people, or straight trans people are less legit or not "queer enough," as if it's quantifiable? (trick question: you will gain nothing but meaningless label purity and mark fellow queer people as vulnerable targets for derision.)

[gothamspring]

hiii Batman: Venom pissed me off so much I actually left a review on goodreads ^-^ some highlights (full review below cut):

Genuinely, the start of the arc was promising. A child dies after batman fails to save her in time. Bruce has to struggle with the reality that, though batman wishes to be an invulnerable symbol, he is only a mortal man whose body has limits. This time, his body wasn't strong enough to complete the task.

He's struck with grief over this fact. His wish to save everyone is confronted by the reality that he cannot —this is where Batman is at his best. It's the same conflict that created him, all those years ago when his parents died and he was helpless to stop it. When every day after that, even though he's a trained vigilante, he still cannot save his beloved Gotham. Batman is born, in a way, out of the inevitability of tragedy. Like c'mon, the man is practically an open wound for all the things that couldn't be. It's what makes Death In the Family one of my favorite stories, and what makes Batman #410 (the Kate Babcock issue) a fan favorite despite being so insignificant in the grand scheme of Batman canon.

So what does Bruce do when he cannot save everyone? He destroys himself —through training, through vigilantism— just to try to prove to himself next time he will be able to save them all. Batman: Venom seems to understand this, making strength-enhancing drugs the latest desperate plea for help to add to his list.

And it's a good addition. Addiction lets us see Bruce more vulnerable than ever, dependent for the very first time on the scientist that supplies him, and getting sloppy when mono hits. It's a side of him we haven't seen before, he's usually presented as unshakable, too strong to ever waver. "Maybe the writers intend to show the destructive capabilities of hard drugs", I thought. "How even someone as strong as Batman could become an addict out of inability to cope with his reality, and struggle with all that that entails".

Seems promising, right? Well too bad because they will not pursue that premise any further than the first issue!

It's like the death of that little girl — the trigger for this whole thing, mind you— stops mattering beyond the first pages. After that, it becomes another wacky story where Bruce chases American bad guys to some Latinoamerican country unfortunate enough to get their attention, and ends up fistfighting sharks. For some reason. Yoohoo.

The apparent emotional maturity of the premise is nowhere in sight. And watch this —Bruce beats addiction thanks to his intelligence! Not today, devious drugs!

Batman: Venom seems to be sending the message that anyone who succumbs to addiction was simply not morally strong enough to abstain (and our Batman could NEVER be weak like that, guys!). This is rurther implied when the tables turn and the bad-guy scientist who got Bruce hooked, ends up addicted himself and dies for it. Some good ol' Christian punishing for your sins right there. Right out of a 16th century play where the immoral characters need to die in the end to make sure the audience knows that conduct begets punishment. I would like to think after six centuries our views on "immoral conduct" would be a little bit more complex than that. But whatever I guess.

Truly, how disappointing. Could've been good.

[lya-dustin]

The Moon Lives in the Lining of Your Skin

chapter 2

Gil-galad x Erinti of the Maiar(oc)

“Have you always lived here?” he asks her as they wait for him to be healed enough to leave.

Rodnor sits on the bench while she tends to her garden of medicinal herbs. She cannot heal like Estë and her servants, but she can make the things that will heal people. This was her element; she tells herself as she digs her hands into the recently planted flowerbed and willed life to grow.

Especially the stubborn elf lord who refused to remember his body has limits.

It was not enough for him to be just a day or two away from recovery, just this morning he tried to spar with one of the trees and set himself back a week after being told his right hand was not ready yet.

But he had been so brave, gritting his teeth as his bones healed themselves with her touch. Been so brave that she kissed the pain away.

A mistake, she thinks, a mistake because now Rodnor knows her lips are better healers than her hands and now Erinti wonders how it would feel to kiss his lips.

She’s never kissed anyone before, the Eldar and the Edain have the most curious and strict set of ways that leave little freedom in her opinion.

“No, before here I used to live with my sister, Melian in Menegroth, but then I grew restless and decided it was time to be on my own.” She answers as she willed the seeds to grow as she poured her power into the soft earth. They grow too quickly, they always do whenever she feels infatuated with someone, “Have you always lived wherever it is you live at, Rodnor?”

“I grew up in the Havens of the Falas with my mother, Gilher. After the Nirnaeth Arnoediad we moved in the Isle of Balar, where I still live even after my lady mother faded a decade ago.” He does not mention the specifics, but Erinti cannot ask about those things he won’t say after he mentioned his mother’s passing.

“It must have been very painful for you to lose her.” Erinti paused and added as she cleaned the dirt off her hands with her apron and joined him on the bench, “I am very sorry for your loss, Rodnor.”

If she could kiss his pain away, she would, but wounds of the heart are not like those of the flesh. Erinti had cried herself for ages when Melian returned to Aman and Luthien died of the sickness that comes with old age.

She felt so lonely then, she wonders if Rodnor felt the same when his mother died.

“My thanks, Lothíriel, I am sorry for burdening you with my grief. I already owe you my life and telling you things that make you sad seems like a terrible way to repay your kindness.” The elf feels embarrassed at having been just a little vulnerable with her, Erinti wondered if that stupid notion some have of bottling everything up inside will ever stop.

“When Melian left, I felt as if my sister had abandoned me, I think by the time I finished mourning her and her family, her great granddaughter had married and had her own set of twins. A thing I learned during that time is that sometimes talking about it helps ease the pain.” Erinti had cried on the lap of a human grandmother when she finally let herself speak of the pain in her heart. The old woman had not judged her, perhaps that was what Rodnor needed to let go of some of that pain.

“My mother was in great pain, you see, my elder sister and my father passed when Nargothrond fell.” He began and Erinti did not fight the urge to hold his hand in support.

“How old were you when that happened?” the maia asked. So many kingdoms had fallen. Erinti had trouble keeping track of it all.

“I was a babe at her breast when we were sent away for our safety and that was the last time either of us saw them again.” He answers, leaning closer to her as if seeking comfort, and she leaned on his shoulder to comfort him for his loss.“I was all she had left, even if she had friends and kin to help her raise me, it pained her that her eldest child and her husband were gone.”

“When I had my hundredth begetting day, we quarreled, and I told her she was no longer burdened with raising me and the next morning she was gone.” There is a knot in his throat as he tells her this, and no wonder the death of a loved one is such a terrible thing to recount. The Maia felt awful for having even brought it up.

“The last time I saw Melian I told her she had become my jailer instead of remaining my sister. I wish I had not said such things, but I hope one day we can both apologize to them in Valinor.” She leans against his shoulder, relishing the warmth he gives.

“Perhaps we shall, my lady.” Rodnor then turns to look at her and held the Maia’s gaze. It makes her heart skip a beat and Erinti considers if they should pack provisions for two.

Been too long by your lonesome, no wonder this mystery ellon has you like this, the Maia can almost hear teenage Luthien’s sweet voice in the air.

Perhaps they have been alone too long, she thinks.

Rodnor has many questions, Erinti occasionally finds herself a little annoyed by them, but he ---like all people she was met--- is very adorable when he is being curious.

“How old are you?” he asks after they sit down for dinner one evening. Tomorrow he is supposed to be leaving and she has yet to find the courage to ask him if he would like a travelling companion.

“Older than the Ea, although this body is about as old as the Trees, and I did not grow into the person you see until Luthien ran off with Beren.” She answered as she sat back in her elegant blue silk chiton that still bore Melian’s sigil on the belt.

“So you grew at the same rate as she did, she was like your little sister, or perhaps, big sister?”

He looked handsome in her old clothes; blue was his most definitely his color. They look very well in somewhat matching blue chitons. He must be a of the line of Fingolfin, only he and his family could pull that dark haired blue and gold wearing noldo look. Did Fingon finally marry or did Turgon remarry because remarriage is not prohibited in Middle Earth?

Aredhel had a boy, but the birds say he sold his soul to Mogroth in exchange for his uncle’s city. Unfortunately, no one in the human village is brave enough to talk to her like their past generations and most of them had not been born then.

She was bereft of news of the outside world.

Last Erinti heard, Fingolfin’s youngest died with no issue and Aredhel’s one boy sold his soul to Melkor.

Who could this elf be?

“Sort of older twin sibling, I had the body of a twenty-year-old elfling when she was born and I did not begin to age until she had her twentieth begetting day.”  Erinti then spent roughly two thousand years unable to decide if she was male or female. The ainur are not born with the sex they present and some of them take more time to see what we like. Erinti had not realized she was a woman until Luthien introduced her as her sister and then it all made sense.

Not many understand that, besides she does not know his given name. When he tells her his given name then she may tell him more.

“I wish I did not have to leave; I have grown used to your company, Lothíriel.” He says when they finish readying everything for tomorrow.

Rodnor is to leave at first light after a fortnight here with her.

Is it bad that she does not want him to leave? Or that her gaze keeps going to his lips in curiosity when he mutters to himself as they made sure he had enough food and things for the travel. Erinti has never felt this before, is this how Melian felt when she first met her beloved Thingol?

She’s different now, as if she had aged that fortnight. As if she had stopped being the maia who came here to find their purpose, and now they wish to see if they can find it elsewhere.

“So have I, even if you refuse to tell me the name you gave yourself.” She teased him, looking up and thinking it was a terrible idea.

“Gil-galad. Radiant Star, after my naneth.” He is only a whisper away, looking at her with intent and desire. Desire she can feel brushing against her feä like tender caress.

If she were to step on her tiptoes ever so slightly, she could follow that pleasant feeling all the way to his lips.

“Lover of the stars, mother of starlight.” She cannot help but smile at the thoughtfulness of it. He chose his name after hers and not his father’s.

He reaches out to touch her face and she does not stop him, why would she? Even if it’s just for tonight she wants to be like girls in the tales she used to hear and sing about with Luthien.

This touch, this caress that is light and electrifying against her skin, is different from the ones before. There is something there that there never was before, not with Tilion, not with Nellas nor with Sael of the Edain.

“Leave with me tomorrow, Erinti Lothíriel. I do not wish to be parted from you.” He sounds as if the mere idea of being apart pains him, a sweet pain that she can feel too.

The maia cannot make the words come out, but she knows sometimes an action can speak louder than any word, so she takes a chance, reaches out for him and pressed her lips to his.

[extremely-moderate]

Land of the fear

America’s political landscape today is marked by deep divisions, with fear, anger, and resentment often wielded as tools to influence elections. This pattern has intensified over the last several decades, creating an environment where tribal loyalties and emotional reactions often take precedence over objective facts or shared values. In recent years, religious supporters of the GOP have become emblematic of this trend, their alignment with divisive politics seemingly at odds with the moral teachings they espouse. To understand this alignment—and the diminishing moral authority it has entailed—it’s necessary to explore the psychological appeal of these tactics, the specific dynamics of religious loyalty, and the growing susceptibility to disinformation, particularly Russian campaigns that exploit ideological fault lines.

The Rise of Fear and Anger as Political Tools

Fear and anger are powerful motivators, often more immediate and galvanizing than hope or rational debate. American politics has historically had its share of emotionally charged moments, but in recent years, political leaders and media outlets have increasingly centered campaigns around evoking these negative emotions. This strategy is not accidental; it is rooted in psychology. Fear, for instance, activates the brain’s fight-or-flight response, sharpening a sense of “us versus them” and bypassing the more reflective, reasoned processes of the brain. Anger, similarly, mobilizes people by convincing them that their beliefs, identities, or values are under siege and must be defended at all costs.

In this context, issues like immigration, LGBTQ+ rights, and racial justice are framed in existential terms. They are not positioned as matters of policy where compromise could be reached, but as battles for the soul of the nation, with one side painted as dangerous or morally corrupt. Religious voters, particularly evangelical Christians, have been a central target for these narratives, their traditional values often framed as “under attack” by secular or progressive agendas. This tactic fosters a self-reinforcing cycle where fear begets anger, and anger strengthens tribal loyalty.

Religious Supporters of the GOP: A Crisis of Moral Authority

Religious conservatives, especially evangelical Christians, have long viewed the GOP as a protector of their moral values—opposing abortion, supporting traditional family structures, and advocating for religious freedoms. Yet, in recent years, this alliance has raised questions about the moral integrity of religious support for the party. Many GOP leaders have embraced rhetoric and policies that seem to contradict the principles of compassion, humility, and honesty foundational to Christianity. Whether through inflammatory language about immigrants, callous dismissals of racial justice concerns, or explicit disregard for the well-being of the vulnerable, these actions appear at odds with the values that religious supporters claim to hold.

This misalignment has led to a visible erosion of moral credibility among religious conservatives. Where their faith ostensibly advocates for love and kindness, their political endorsements increasingly support divisive tactics and endorse leaders whose personal and political behaviors defy traditional moral teachings. These choices have bred criticism both within and outside of religious communities, with many questioning how advocates for ethical living can support politicians who openly engage in fear-mongering, dishonesty, and moral compromise.

The Hypocrisy of Embracing Disinformation

A glaring example of this moral inconsistency lies in the willingness of many religious conservatives to believe, and even spread, disinformation—particularly when that disinformation aligns with their preexisting fears or political views. Russian disinformation campaigns, for instance, have specifically targeted conservative voters by amplifying narratives that stoke racial, cultural, and religious divides. These campaigns thrive on misinformation about topics like immigration, Black Lives Matter, and LGBTQ+ rights, framing them as existential threats to traditional values.

Despite their professed values of truth and integrity, many religious GOP supporters have shown a willingness to embrace these misleading narratives. Russian disinformation campaigns have been designed to exploit exactly the kind of fear-based, reactionary responses that have come to dominate conservative media ecosystems. By sharing or believing these narratives, religious conservatives inadvertently align themselves with foreign interests that seek to destabilize American democracy and undermine civil discourse. This alignment starkly contrasts with the patriotism and moral responsibility they often claim to represent.

Religious conservatives’ acceptance of disinformation reveals a willingness to overlook, or even reject, fact-based assessments in favor of emotionally charged propaganda that reinforces their fears. This tendency not only damages their credibility but also underscores a form of hypocrisy: they readily believe and circulate falsehoods that suit their narratives, while condemning those who challenge their views as morally corrupt or unpatriotic. Their faith, which traditionally calls for discernment, caution against false witness, and a commitment to truth, is compromised by the embrace of convenient falsehoods that justify their fears.

The Moral Consequence of Siding with Hate and Fear

The willingness of many religious conservatives to align with divisive, fear-driven politics and disinformation undermines their standing as moral authorities in public discourse. Their alignment with anger and mistrust has, in effect, rendered them complicit in the spread of social polarization. Where they could have served as voices for compassion, patience, and truth, they have instead contributed to an atmosphere of division and suspicion.

This complicity raises fundamental questions about the priorities that govern religious political involvement. While moral concerns like abortion and marriage remain focal points, their fixation on these issues has fostered a tunnel vision that allows, or even encourages, alignment with political actors who violate other, equally important moral principles. This selective moralism has not gone unnoticed; many younger, progressive Christians have distanced themselves from traditional religious conservative circles, disillusioned by the willingness to tolerate or endorse harmful rhetoric.

Conclusion: A Path Forward?

For America to move beyond the divisive cycle of fear, anger, and disinformation, religious conservatives must confront the contradictions in their political allegiances. This requires a renewed commitment to the moral principles that underpin their faith, prioritizing honesty, compassion, and humility over political expediency. By rejecting disinformation, holding leaders accountable, and refusing to endorse policies that harm vulnerable groups, religious conservatives could reclaim a measure of their moral authority and serve as advocates for healing rather than division.

The journey to restore moral integrity will not be easy. It demands difficult conversations within religious communities and a willingness to engage honestly with uncomfortable truths about their past choices. However, such introspection could ultimately lead to a political climate where shared values, rather than divisive tactics, define the discourse—an America where elections are guided less by hate, anger, and fear, and more by a commitment to the common good.

[van1lla-v1lla1n]

writing pattern game

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns! (from most recent to least recent, starting from the top)

tagged by @jaynovz :) (this was a fun exercise, thank you Jay!)

1. so violence begets violence (black sails silverflint)

“Attend to me in my cabin,” Flint said to Silver, presumptuous as ever, though his haughtiness had taken on this haunted glint.

2. upon my mother's breast (hotd rhaenicent)

“You know there’s another passageway, like the one from your chambers, that leads to the queen’s,” Daemon said.

3. the secret he carries between humiliations (sas rogue heroes mayne/jordan)

“Jordan,” Paddy said, feigning French. “Come.”

4. parity (black sails silverflint)

As if by some act of God they had escaped the doldrums.

5. the green fields we might visit (the terror irving/tozer femslash)

“It seems the prodigal Tozer girl is back again,” Georgie Kingston whispered into her ear.

6. a dusk holiday (sas rogue heroes mayne/sadler)

“Ever fuck a mate, Paddy Mayne?”

7. the violence of vulnerability (reylo??)

After he destroyed the holding cell that had been meant for the scavenger, Kylo managed to wrest back some semblance of control.

8. MTN DEW BAJA BLAST FREEZE-ARITA (the terror taco bell au asl;fh)

“You’re a glorified bean rehydrator, Cornelius."

9. the wilderness that waits (the terror armitozer)

Too many days out with hunting parties and Tozer, blind from all the white, had to submit to being led back to the ships. 

10. selfish (the boys maeve/butcher)

It was their shared hate that had made Maeve lean in the first time, the cruel curl of Butcher’s mouth when he thought of killing Homelander.

------

(technically i skipped my most recent fic, which is anne/max, bc the first line is an outright mention of sexual assault which i can't tag for very well here)

more of these kick off with dialogue than i'd've expected! looking back further i feel like it's a recent shift, but then almost all of these are shortish one-shots, and starting with dialogue feels like a quick way to get things moving, both narratively and for me in the actual act of writing them?

consider this a free-for-all tag if you'd like to partake in this game! (& feel free to tag me if you do so i can see yours <3)

[grlbts]

The Tyranny of Convenience

by Tim Wu

Convenience is the most underestimated and least understood force in the world today. As a driver of human decisions, it may not offer the illicit thrill of Freud’s unconscious sexual desires or the mathematical elegance of the economist’s incentives. Convenience is boring. But boring is not the same thing as trivial.

In the developed nations of the 21st century, convenience — that is, more efficient and easier ways of doing personal tasks — has emerged as perhaps the most powerful force shaping our individual lives and our economies. This is particularly true in America, where, despite all the paeans to freedom and individuality, one sometimes wonders whether convenience is in fact the supreme value.

As Evan Williams, a co-founder of Twitter, recently put it, “Convenience decides everything.” Convenience seems to make our decisions for us, trumping what we like to imagine are our true preferences. (I prefer to brew my coffee, but Starbucks instant is so convenient I hardly ever do what I “prefer.”) Easy is better, easiest is best.

Convenience has the ability to make other options unthinkable. Once you have used a washing machine, laundering clothes by hand seems irrational, even if it might be cheaper. After you have experienced streaming television, waiting to see a show at a prescribed hour seems silly, even a little undignified. To resist convenience — not to own a cellphone, not to use Google — has come to require a special kind of dedication that is often taken for eccentricity, if not fanaticism.

For all its influence as a shaper of individual decisions, the greater power of convenience may arise from decisions made in aggregate, where it is doing so much to structure the modern economy. Particularly in tech-related industries, the battle for convenience is the battle for industry dominance.

Americans say they prize competition, a proliferation of choices, the little guy. Yet our taste for convenience begets more convenience, through a combination of the economics of scale and the power of habit. The easier it is to use Amazon, the more powerful Amazon becomes — and thus the easier it becomes to use Amazon. Convenience and monopoly seem to be natural bedfellows.

Given the growth of convenience — as an ideal, as a value, as a way of life — it is worth asking what our fixation with it is doing to us and to our country. I don’t want to suggest that convenience is a force for evil. Making things easier isn’t wicked. On the contrary, it often opens up possibilities that once seemed too onerous to contemplate, and it typically makes life less arduous, especially for those most vulnerable to life’s drudgeries.

But we err in presuming convenience is always good, for it has a complex relationship with other ideals that we hold dear. Though understood and promoted as an instrument of liberation, convenience has a dark side. With its promise of smooth, effortless efficiency, it threatens to erase the sort of struggles and challenges that help give meaning to life. Created to free us, it can become a constraint on what we are willing to do, and thus in a subtle way it can enslave us.

It would be perverse to embrace inconvenience as a general rule. But when we let convenience decide everything, we surrender too much.

Convenience as we now know it is a product of the late 19th and early 20th centuries, when labor-saving devices for the home were invented and marketed. Milestones include the invention of the first “convenience foods,” such as canned pork and beans and Quaker Quick Oats; the first electric clothes-washing machines; cleaning products like Old Dutch scouring powder; and other marvels including the electric vacuum cleaner, instant cake mix and the microwave oven.

Convenience was the household version of another late-19th-century idea, industrial efficiency, and its accompanying “scientific management.” It represented the adaptation of the ethos of the factory to domestic life.

However mundane it seems now, convenience, the great liberator of humankind from labor, was a utopian ideal. By saving time and eliminating drudgery, it would create the possibility of leisure. And with leisure would come the possibility of devoting time to learning, hobbies or whatever else might really matter to us. Convenience would make available to the general population the kind of freedom for self-cultivation once available only to the aristocracy. In this way convenience would also be the great leveler.

This idea — convenience as liberation — could be intoxicating. Its headiest depictions are in the science fiction and futurist imaginings of the mid-20th century. From serious magazines like Popular Mechanics and from goofy entertainments like “The Jetsons” we learned that life in the future would be perfectly convenient. Food would be prepared with the push of a button. Moving sidewalks would do away with the annoyance of walking. Clothes would clean themselves or perhaps self-destruct after a day’s wearing. The end of the struggle for existence could at last be contemplated.

The dream of convenience is premised on the nightmare of physical work. But is physical work always a nightmare? Do we really want to be emancipated from all of it? Perhaps our humanity is sometimes expressed in inconvenient actions and time-consuming pursuits. Perhaps this is why, with every advance of convenience, there have always been those who resist it. They resist out of stubbornness, yes (and because they have the luxury to do so), but also because they see a threat to their sense of who they are, to their feeling of control over things that matter to them.

By the late 1960s, the first convenience revolution had begun to sputter. The prospect of total convenience no longer seemed like society’s greatest aspiration. Convenience meant conformity. The counterculture was about people’s need to express themselves, to fulfill their individual potential, to live in harmony with nature rather than constantly seeking to overcome its nuisances. Playing the guitar was not convenient. Neither was growing one’s own vegetables or fixing one’s own motorcycle. But such things were seen to have value nevertheless — or rather, as a result. People were looking for individuality again.

Perhaps it was inevitable, then, that the second wave of convenience technologies — the period we are living in — would co-opt this ideal. It would conveniencize individuality.

You might date the beginning of this period to the advent of the Sony Walkman in 1979. With the Walkman we can see a subtle but fundamental shift in the ideology of convenience. If the first convenience revolution promised to make life and work easier for you, the second promised to make it easier to be you. The new technologies were catalysts of selfhood. They conferred efficiency on self-expression.

Consider the man of the early 1980s, strolling down the street with his Walkman and earphones. He is enclosed in an acoustic environment of his choosing. He is enjoying, out in public, the kind of self-expression he once could experience only in his private den. A new technology is making it easier for him to show who he is, if only to himself. He struts around the world, the star of his own movie.

So alluring is this vision that it has come to dominate our existence. Most of the powerful and important technologies created over the past few decades deliver convenience in the service of personalization and individuality. Think of the VCR, the playlist, the Facebook page, the Instagram account. This kind of convenience is no longer about saving physical labor — many of us don’t do much of that anyway. It is about minimizing the mental resources, the mental exertion, required to choose among the options that express ourselves. Convenience is one-click, one-stop shopping, the seamless experience of “plug and play.” The ideal is personal preference with no effort.

We are willing to pay a premium for convenience, of course — more than we often realize we are willing to pay. During the late 1990s, for example, technologies of music distribution like Napster made it possible to get music online at no cost, and lots of people availed themselves of the option. But though it remains easy to get music free, no one really does it anymore. Why? Because the introduction of the iTunes store in 2003 made buying music even more convenient than illegally downloading it. Convenient beat out free.

As task after task becomes easier, the growing expectation of convenience exerts a pressure on everything else to be easy or get left behind. We are spoiled by immediacy and become annoyed by tasks that remain at the old level of effort and time. When you can skip the line and buy concert tickets on your phone, waiting in line to vote in an election is irritating. This is especially true for those who have never had to wait in lines (which may help explain the low rate at which young people vote).

The paradoxical truth I’m driving at is that today’s technologies of individualization are technologies of mass individualization. Customization can be surprisingly homogenizing. Everyone, or nearly everyone, is on Facebook: It is the most convenient way to keep track of your friends and family, who in theory should represent what is unique about you and your life. Yet Facebook seems to make us all the same. Its format and conventions strip us of all but the most superficial expressions of individuality, such as which particular photo of a beach or mountain range we select as our background image.

I do not want to deny that making things easier can serve us in important ways, giving us many choices (of restaurants, taxi services, open-source encyclopedias) where we used to have only a few or none. But being a person is only partly about having and exercising choices. It is also about how we face up to situations that are thrust upon us, about overcoming worthy challenges and finishing difficult tasks — the struggles that help make us who we are. What happens to human experience when so many obstacles and impediments and requirements and preparations have been removed?

Today’s cult of convenience fails to acknowledge that difficulty is a constitutive feature of human experience. Convenience is all destination and no journey. But climbing a mountain is different from taking the tram to the top, even if you end up at the same place. We are becoming people who care mainly or only about outcomes. We are at risk of making most of our life experiences a series of trolley rides.

Convenience has to serve something greater than itself, lest it lead only to more convenience. In her 1963 classic, “The Feminine Mystique,” Betty Friedan looked at what household technologies had done for women and concluded that they had just created more demands. “Even with all the new labor-saving appliances,” she wrote, “the modern American housewife probably spends more time on housework than her grandmother.” When things become easier, we can seek to fill our time with more “easy” tasks. At some point, life’s defining struggle becomes the tyranny of tiny chores and petty decisions.

An unwelcome consequence of living in a world where everything is “easy” is that the only skill that matters is the ability to multitask. At the extreme, we don’t actually do anything; we only arrange what will be done, which is a flimsy basis for a life.

We need to consciously embrace the inconvenient — not always, but more of the time. Nowadays individuality has come to reside in making at least some inconvenient choices. You need not churn your own butter or hunt your own meat, but if you want to be someone, you cannot allow convenience to be the value that transcends all others. Struggle is not always a problem. Sometimes struggle is a solution. It can be the solution to the question of who you are.

Embracing inconvenience may sound odd, but we already do it without thinking of it as such. As if to mask the issue, we give other names to our inconvenient choices: We call them hobbies, avocations, callings, passions. These are the noninstrumental activities that help to define us. They reward us with character because they involve an encounter with meaningful resistance — with nature’s laws, with the limits of our own bodies — as in carving wood, melding raw ingredients, fixing a broken appliance, writing code, timing waves or facing the point when the runner’s legs and lungs begin to rebel against him.

Such activities take time, but they also give us time back. They expose us to the risk of frustration and failure, but they also can teach us something about the world and our place in it.

So let’s reflect on the tyranny of convenience, try more often to resist its stupefying power, and see what happens. We must never forget the joy of doing something slow and something difficult, the satisfaction of not doing what is easiest. The constellation of inconvenient choices may be all that stands between us and a life of total, efficient conformity.

[lillyjen]

All seasoned adventurers have a tale or two of seemingly sentient dungeons. Times when a path they've walked a dozen times or more seems to inexplicably twist & turn confusingly. Times when the treasure seems to just fall into their laps. Or times when the monsters seem to bypass all others only to target them specifically. Everyone knows life begets life, and death is not always the end. Dungeons are places where the vibrantly alive meet endless death, over & over again. Well, is it any wonder things might get a bit... blurred?

Do I think there's any risk to the children? No, quite the opposite. I think this particular dungeon only poses a risk to monsters.

It makes sense, right? With all the dungeons out there that raise monsters & target humans specifically, or target both with extreme prejudice, there must be at least one out there that likes us. Still, just to be safe, I wouldn't advise any adult to test it. We only know for sure it's safe for vulnerable humans....

There is a dungeon deemed "coughing baby easy," used by everyone to train rookies, test spells, and as a hangout spot for ordinary children. A roaming frenzied super monster from the MOST dangerous region just took one look at it, froze, became scarily aware of where it was, then fled.

[thstrongest]

“was that another joke, or were you telling the truth?”

From Kento 💖

@colorescaelistis, prompt.

NANAMI  WAS  RIGHT  TO  question  the  sincerity of the epitome  of  flippancy.  typically,  when  gojo  would  hand  him  a  piece  of  paper,  obscene  doodles  and  jokes  were  inscribed.  nothing  more  than  a  prank  to  get  a  rise  out  of  him.  or  so  it  appeared  on  the  surface.  in  actuality,  there  was  something  to  read  between  the  lines.  a  code  to  be  deciphered.  a  hidden  meaning  to  be  discovered.  yet,  nanami  never  seemed  to  figure  it  out.  his  cluelessness  necessitated  that  he  spell  it  out  for  him.  so,  his  latest  note  posed  a  confession  and  question,  "i  like  you.  do  you  like  me  too?”  and  beneath  it  were  the  potential  answers  of yes  or  no,  a  checkbox  next  to  each  for  nanami  to  mark. 

he’d  watched  as  nanami  opened  and  read  it.  suspenseful  silence  quickly  thickened  the  air.  it  felt  stifling.  gojo  tensed  up,  rivaling  nanami’s  rigidity,  and  broke  out  in  a  sweat,  awaiting  his  answer⸺only  for  him  to  wordlessly  put  it  in  his  pocket,  turn  and  walk  away.  the  reaction  was  a  slight  relief;  at  least  he  didn’t  ball  it  up  and  toss  it  in  the  trash.  he’d  been  given  the  impression  that  the  suited  sorcerer  needed  time  to  think.  and  while  that  wasn’t  an  outright  ‘no’,  he  was  almost  certain  that  a  straightforward  question  would  beget  a  straightforward  answer.  but  he  supposed  he  did  complicate  things  by  not  being  direct  in  the  first  place.  he  had to  wait  in  suspense  longer  and  deal  with  the  bilious  combination  of  hope  and  apprehension.

it  was  tempting  to  prod  nanami  for  his  answer.  he’d  shown  restraint,  however,  because  of  indecision.  if  he'd  persisted,  it  would’ve  either  annoyed  nanami  or  conveyed  to  him  the  depths  of  his  desire.  if  he’d  given  him  the  time  and  space  without  intruding,  it  would’ve  aided  nanami’s  rumination  or  made  him  think  that  he  didn’t  want  him  badly  enough.  he  just  didn’t  know  what  would  increase  the  probability  of  a  ‘yes’.  ultimately,  he  unintentionally  went  with  the  latter.  overthinking  had  frozen  him.

now,  this  was  the  moment  of  truth,  and  still,  an  answer  eluded  him.  he  felt  like  he  was  being  interrogated.  dejected  by  the  idea  of  having  to  prove  himself,  a  deep  sigh  pushed  past  pouty  lips,  posture  deflated  and  drooping.  ❛  oh,  c'mon,  nanami!  i  bare  my  heart  to  you,  and  you're  already  breaking  it?!  ❜  it  was  a  bit  of  an unsettling  prospect,  to,  for  once,  try  and  earn  what  he  wanted  through  vulnerability.  but  he  could  begrudgingly  acknowledge  the  sense  in  it.  to  convince  nanami  of  his  seriousness  and  loyalty.  he  had  to be willing to venture  into  uncharted  territory.  go  to  lengths  he  never  thought  he  would.

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Behind Closed Doors: Shocking Cases Handled by HNI Investigation Services

We say when wealth walks into a room, the shadows walk in with it. From disloyalty from trusted staff to complex dating site schemes, the realm of High Net Worth Individuals (HNIs) is frequently riskier than it seems. Everyone has been led to believe that wealth begets security, but that mirage disappears fast when privacy is violated, wealth is at risk, or estates are distorted.

High Net Worth Individual Investigation Services are more important now than they’ve ever been. When out of sight and out of mind These elite services have trailblazed behind the scenes, tackling the most high-stakes problems, saving lives, reputations, and fortunes without leaving so much as a footprint.

Join us behind closed doors to find the true, outrageous stories that made professional investigators intervene before it was too late.

Why HNIs Need Investigation Services to Begin With

Wealth’s Vulnerability

In many ways, money provides protection but it puts a bullseye on your back. HNIs are often targets of specialized risks most people will never face — from predatory employees and stealthy suitors to high-tech cyberattacks and premeditated inheritance scams. As in most child maltreatment, the abusers often hide in plain sight. Perpetrators often come masked as trusted members of the inner circle.

As financial portfolios get larger, the risks escalate. More money means more opportunity to manipulate, deceive and even develop criminal intent. As you may know, not all threats are front and center. Some work behind the scenes, planning attacks quietly.

The Role of Confidentiality in Violent Crime Disappearances

The topmost worry when it comes to HNIs is privacy.(https://www.supportfamilyoffices.com/)  A single leaked made-up scandal, true or not, can destroy a hard-earned reputation built over many years. This is why discretion should always be the cornerstone of investigation services for high net worth individuals. These services excel at addressing serious issues quietly.

Rich families frequently deal with difficult issues behind closed doors that are well hidden from the public, such as betrayals, hidden relationships, and inheritance disputes. In order to resolve these delicate matters in complete confidence, Family Investigation Support Services for Family Offices are essential. In high-net-worth family structures, these services help preserve legacy, reputation, and harmony by detecting counterfeit wills and confirming the intentions of new associates.

Chief Case 1 – The Saboteur Assistant

Setting and implementation challenges

From one of the world’s most valuable companies, a famous CEO started to see laxness in his long-range financial projections, and soft material leaking to competitors. The unifying element underneath all of these diverse initiatives and approaches? His longtime personal assistant — the woman who had been with him more than six years. There were no visible indicators of treachery, yet instinct screamed otherwise.

Investigation and prosecution of crash investigations

A confidential special investigation team was called in. Without ever raising suspicion, they began being able to monitor internal and external communications, trace valuable financial documents, and conduct thorough background reconnections. What they found was shocking — the assistant had formed hidden relationships with a rival and was disseminating private information for profit.

Result

Without any media clatter, the assistant was challenged, cut off, and slapped with a lawsuit. The client’s reputation was protected, and internal infrastructure was improved to better secure against future leaks.

Case 2 – The Romance Scam That Almost Cost Us Millions

Background

This middle-aged entrepreneur on his second marriage developed romantic feelings for a woman he started talking to online. She was exactly what Ellen was looking for — intelligent, successful, emotionally supportive, the ideal partner. As time went on, her financial tasks began to stack up, and her personal story didn’t quite compute.

The Red Flags

She strongly objected to anyone intruding into her life. Travel was repeatedly canceled, her accounts varied from day to day and her history couldn’t be verified. That’s when the family got worried and called in the pros to investigate.

Investigative techniques employed

After extensive nation-wide background checks, identity verification, and even an FBI-sponsored social media deep-dive, the investigation uncovered her true identity — a deadly, dangerous serial con artist on the run in two nations. Her whole profile had been made up and she had scammed people previously.

Resolution

He broke up with her. The threat of legal action was effective, and the financial damage was averted at the last possible moment.

Case 3 – Contested Inheritance With Forged Wills

The Issue The Struggle

When a famous philanthropist died, the family was devastated to learn that an unknown will had turned up — one that greatly benefited a far-flung relative who had rarely been active in the family. Rumor and speculation filled the air. The court filing seemed real enough.

To further settle doubts about the handwriting and signature, a team of forensic professionals was commissioned. They employed signature verification, ink age analysis, and document forensics to take a hard look at the truth. What did they learn from this? The will was certainly there because that funding was forged.

Legal E and Emotional Resolution

The political will was regained. The fraudster was unmasked, and the true heirs got what belonged to them. The whole issue stayed under the radar, saving the family’s respectability.

Case 4 – Cyber Threats and Social Media Extortion

Threat Emergence

Recently, one well-known fashion investor began receiving emails threatening to release fake, morphed images and private voice memos unless a ransom was paid—with the currency of payment specified as cryptocurrency. This digital blackmail was very systematic.

Digital Forensics in Action

With a full-blown cyberattack on their hands, a cyber forensics team was immediately deployed to trace the source of the emails and ransomware. As the Bureau explained, they identified the hackers’ names, tracked down cryptocurrency wallets, and restored deleted metadata to show that the altered content was doctored.

so-called containment strategy

Law enforcement was a key partner, but behind the scenes. Consequently, the threats never actually made it to social media. The hacking ring was outed and brought to justice.

Lessons from the Shadows: What Every HNI Should Learn

Prevention Over Cure

Most cases could have been avoided with early vetting, employee background checks, and digital monitoring. Being proactive always costs less — emotionally and financially — than reactive clean-up.

Trust, But Verify

Blind trust is dangerous, especially when your wealth and reputation are at stake. Even family members, personal staff, and business partners need occasional scrutiny.

Choose the Right Investigation Partner

The best investigators offer more than just tools — they offer judgment, silence, and results. Look for partners experienced in handling investigation services for high net worth individuals, especially those who value confidentiality above all else.

Conclusion

These stories are not fiction — they’re real, they’re happening, and they often go untold. In the world of the ultra-wealthy, danger doesn’t always wear a mask. Sometimes it looks like a friend, a partner, or even a loyal employee.

That’s why Investigation Services for High Net Worth Individuals are not a luxury — they’re a necessity. Whether it’s safeguarding your wealth, your privacy, or your peace of mind, professional investigators are your quiet allies in a world full of unseen risks.