#and also non-orange foundation finally

[cithaerons]

it’s okay to spend money on things you need

[youryanderedaddy]

Dark Is The Night

Summary: A late night encounter with a patroling soldier changes the trajectory of his life - and, unfortunately, yours too.

tw: female reader, obsessive behavior, non - consensual touching, threats, thoughts of non - con, mention of war, patronizing behavior, slight misogyny, hinted kidnapping

All he could think about was you.

It was a damp linden night, one of the very few old fashioned ones - as if time itself had stopped. The old colonel was laughing in short sharp breathes, skin spotting in red along with his sweaty neck, tearing into a letter he had received this very morning. The young soldiers were all over the tavern - some crying, some cheering over a beer and calling each glass their last, losing themselves in the rich foam that covered their fresh military mustaches. Christoph was alone, though.

He had no wife to write back to - no home to call his own, no friends or family to celebrate his final battle with. He also wasn't a rookie - so he couldn't drink himself blind in the pursuit of ideals, of empty promises of greatness to come. Truth was, his troops had won their fair share of battles, and today they had signed a treaty that would certainly benefit the district - the one he had lost his youth fighting for. He knew the capital would attempt at invasion, those greedy fucks wanted to bite more than they could chew - but that was no longer his problem. Today his contract ended. Today he was a free man.

And yet.

And yet all he could think about was you.

It was funny - he had spent more nights than he could remember wishing he could burn this half - dead village to the ground, all together with the maidens and the elderly still stick fending for themselves after the war. He presumed he'd be doing everyone a favor - he'd rid himself of the memories that haunted his dreams, and they wouldn't have to suffer any longer, not when all that winter would bring once again was even more hunger and decay.

After all, the victory changed nothing. The starving populace wouldn't starve anymore - it would simply die, having lost fathers, sons, daughters, farmers, merchants, healers. Nothing less than the very foundation of society. So maybe it would be far less cruel, far more humane, to burn everything and let them die with dignity.

But then you too would burn with the miserable souls of the damned. The man pictured it all - your beautiful skin still damp from the rain blistering in red and orange, and eventually black, those gems of yours trembling beneath your long eyelashes as the smoke swallowed your last breath.

The thought made Christoph irrationally angry - jealous even. Not only because he just imagined you dying, but because it was someone, something else stealing your final moment from him. Something else bruising your skin and forcing your lips to swell, something else causing you pain and suffering. No, he couldn't let you die. Not like this.

He couldn't help but recall your first meeting two years ago. Unbeknownst to you he had memorized it, citing each line by heart - envisioning it in his memory over and over each time he needed an escape, an outlet. The soldier wasn't one for softness, never one to dream and hope - but deep down he knew that this simple encounter had swayed the bullets. It had made him grip his rifle just a bit closer, made the biting wind just a bit warmer. He was a killing machine undeserving of humanity - yet you had saved him without even realizing it.

It was a cold winter night - quite opposite to this one, in the middle of Hell. The county your village was part of had been surrounded for a few weeks. Food was running low, and even clean water was scarce. All the men had been displaced a long time ago, sent off to fight in the eastern territories. Christoph was stuck at the Iron hills, a region so poor they didn't even bother to send additional armies to. If it lost, it lost. It held no special resources, no cultural or economic significance, no sea or forest roads to profit off of. All in all, no one wanted to serve here. No one but him.

Not that Christoph was too fond of the hills - it was more so that he didn't care where he was going to die. Whether it was on the eastern front, the western or even on the other side of the ocean, it didn't matter. And he had made peace with that fact - but before death took a toll on him, he was going to earn enough buck to buy good cigarettes for once in his miserable life. With real tobacco, none of that cheap imported trash they sold in his hometown.

And that's exactly how fate let him meet you. He was patrolling the border bridge late into the night - a thick cigar in hand (a parting gift from the general Murphy), humming to an old melody he couldn't quite remember the name of. He was alone that night - his friend had been injured so he needed to rest. The man was trying to stay alert, although the fatigue had long settled in between his tired bones and it refused to let go. The lack of sleep and the sheer paranoia was making him jumpy, ready to point his gun at the slightest of sound. He almost shot you that night.

"Colonel." You had whispered through gritted teeth, slowly raising your hands up as you approached him with a hesitant step. He blinked twice, unsure if he was still awake. Surely there was no way a young woman was out alone so late during wartime. "Colonel!" You repeated, putting a bit more force into your otherwise soft, calm voice. This seemed to snap him out of his trance and he finally raised his head to look at you, his sharp, intense gaze measuring you up from top to bottom. Just like a predator seizing his pray, like a soldier trained to keep his eyes on the target, he knew no other way to introduce himself other than with a silent, unspoken threat.

"A bit young to be calling me that, no?" The man snapped back, voice coming out more raspy than he intended - but it was hardly his fault. He rarely had visitors nowadays - no one wanted to expose themselves to the front lines, to risk becoming smoked meat, which meant he had little opportunity for chatter. So his voice had become rough - almost unnecessary cruel.

"I'm sorry." You mumbled, blurry eyes focused on the weapon resting oh - so snuggly against the soldier's heart as if guarding it. "I'm not familiar with your many titles, sir." You explained with a certain bite. Christoph squinted, growing amused at your little jab, yet the black mask covering his mouth hid it from you. The man knew exactly what you meant. You were not used to so much surveillance on your step - on everyone's step, so many eyes set on you as if you had a massive red target on your back. You were not used to armed forces ghosting around your small homely village with a gun resting at an arm's length just waiting to be loaded.

He wondered if it was your first time running into a soldier since the beginning of the occupation. He wondered if you were scared - if your heart was beating against your chest like it was trying to break through the skin. After all he was indeed intimidating - with heavy combat boots and a black uniform that did little to hide his rough figure, the lineage of lean muscle and battered blistered skin that undoubtedly belonged to a man. A man whose hands were still covered in dirt and blood. He could kill you. He could push you around - get some entertainment out of you. He could shove you down and use you like a cheap village whore - and no one would care because that's just how war is. He was serving his country, he needed an outlet, and you just happened to be there. No one would blame him.

He couldn't bring himself to come closer to you. He didn't trust himself to hold back when faced with something so fragile after months of letting his fists and his teeth do the speaking.

"That's lieutenant to you, miss." He barked in a tone that felt familiar - a tone that used to wake him up every morning at 5 for weeks on end. A tone that he could still hear every time he loaded his rifle and let go of the trigger with shaking fingers.

He couldn't be nice to you. He couldn't be nice to anyone in this bloodshed. And yet he heard himself asking you for your name. It hadn't meant anything - it was a long night and he was bored. Lonely, maybe, he couldn't tell his feelings apart very well. You hesitated for a second too long before you finally gave him a clear answer. It was the most beautiful sound he had heard - not just now, but ever.

"Would you mind explaining why you're here so late, miss?" The man tilted his head, trying to understand your unreadable expression - somehow you looked lost in time, striken by fear and grievance. "I believe the general gave direct orders this morning. No one should be out after ten." He paused to take a long, dramatic puff off his cigar. "It's too dangerous. Especially for a pretty little thing like you to be roaming at night." He knew his boldness was making you uneasy, and that he shouldn't derive such obvious pleasure from your discomfort, but he just couldn't help it. He was lonely. He was sick. And most of all, he was a bastard who had already given up on life. He had nothing to lose.

"Truth be told, if you were mine I wouldn't let you out of sight, miss." He grinned, feeling just a bit disgusted with himself. He wasn't sure why, but he wanted to scare you. To creep you out so bad you'd never go out alone again. Why he had got so invested so quickly, he also couldn't tell.

"I... I needed a breath of f-fresh air, l-leutenant." You responded quickly, eager to leave this conversation as soon as possible - completely ignoring anything he said. Your initial confidence had evaporated as the wet cold crept into your thin coat. It didn't fit your frame - it was too big on you and it reeked of a man's first proper cologne. The thought of it filled the soldier with unreasonable, hot -red fury, imagining you next to some nameless brat with his hands wrapped around you.

"That's all?" The corners of his lips stretched mockingly as he let his smoke blow into your face - and you had to fight the urge to immediately wave it off.

"Are you, are you implying something, sir?" You fiddled with your fingers nervously, looking anywhere but at Christoph. He found it pathetically adorable. "Just curious." He took another long puff - his breath coming out frozen - white as it hit the icy air. "You don't seem like the brave type to me." His eyes narrowed to two pitch black slits. He must have looked terrifying to you in that moment, and he loved it. "So just what-" He pulled you in by the collar. "Are you doing here, huh?"

You froze in place as if he had pointed his gun to you yet again. You swallowed loudly, trying to come up with an explanation - but nothing came to mind when you were so obviously scared. The soldier could feel your heartbeat - he could hear the blood pumping to your ears as you looked around hopelessly for help that wouldn't come. And just like that the wolf had the rabbit dancing in its own trap.

"Are you just looking for trouble, hmm?" The man reached in to curl his finger around one of your loose locks. He didn't want to make you feel so awfully small - but everything about this situation, from the tremble of your lips to the sheer panic in your eyes was going straight to his cock. "I'm sure that with a face like that you never lacked attention, no?" He tilted his head with predatory malice. "But now all the men bending over backwards for you are off somewhere, dying as we speak. Poor little you - I can imagine just how lonely you are." He pressed his body closer to yours. "The thing is, I am more than willing to play with you in their pl-"

"Please, lieutenant." You couldn't stand to listen to him any longer, a thousand warm pleas already falling off your desperate lips. "Please let me go." Your eyes softened, trying to hide the first sign of hot wet tears. "I need to go home to my siblings. I need to bring them fo-"

"Why should that matter to me, dollface?" It was his turn to interrupt you - voice full of childish glee as he kept up with his petty torment.

"Because - because," You started off, hands shaking into little fists that you knew, realistically, could do the soldiers no damage were you to push against his chest. "Because you're a good man." You mumbled after a while, looking for the right words to say. "And I know that deep down you're kind and brave. That's why you're here now, fighting for all our lives."

You were such a pretty liar, Christoph thought. He could listen to your sugary sweet fairytales all night long, silently praying that they'd become true if he was only able to capture his own little fairy - his own miracle.

"What if I am not the hero, doll?" The man whispered darkly in response, leaning against you until your back hit the tree behind you, trapping you between his stiff body and the pillar. "What if I am here for all the wrong reasons, huh? Just think about it." He lowered his head so it would match your eye level - you were so quiet he wondered if you had forgotten how to breath.

"We're in the middle of nowhere. I have a weapon and a direct permission to shoot at will. I can do whatever the fuck I want." He made sure you could hear every single word clearly. He wouldn't let you faint before he was through with you. "I can fuck you right here in the open - or I can drag you to the barracks and keep you there for as long as I need to. Do you really think anyone would care about some insignificant girl going missin-"

"Please." You repeated, suddenly getting stirn with your pleading, as if you too had nothing to lose. "Let me go - I'd do anything."

His eyes darkened - then lit up with sick, perverse desire. He wanted to echo your words back to you just like a classical villain would - to really drive the point across that he was out for blood. Anything, you say? Anything at all? But he couldn't contain his excitement enough to voice those sadistically banal thoughts. Besides, he could already feel the adrenaline running through his whole body. His heart was beating rhythmically, pumping and alive for the first time in days, weeks, months. He wanted you more than anything. It was that moment he knew he was going to live - he was going to fight and win, and then come back for you as a hero. As your hero, even if in your eyes he would be more of a villain.

A nightmare you'd try to forget - and just when you think you have erased his fingertips off your waist, your face, your neck, he'd come back to steal you away forever.

"Kiss me." Christoph all but snarled, some unfamiliar, needy - greedy ball of emotion settling into his loins as your delicate face twisted into a petrified grimace. You began trembling in his arms, looking around yet again. It was pitch black, no soul in sight. You inhaled deeply, trying to steady your movement to no avail. "A-alright. I-I..." You whispered with difficulty as if simply saying the words was causing you a great deal of pain. And maybe it was, but the soldier could care less. He already knew you were made for him - made to serve him, made to make him happy. "I'll d-do it."

The man growled in satisfaction, taking a small step back. You looked at him, puzzled - your confused face was just as cute as your scared one. He couldn't wait to explore all your reactions - the way you'd squirm and writhe underneath him as he fucked into you restlessly, filling you up with his love over and over again until you were crying for mercy. But that had to wait, he had a war to fight. For now he could settle for a little taste of you to keep him warm during the cold nights. And just like that he tapped his lips, guiding you silently. You felt your cheeks heat up once you finally understood what he meant by that. He wasn't going to kiss you. He wanted you to put in the work.

Your eyes filled up with tears, and you felt silly for becoming so upset over a little kiss - but this was your first kiss, and you had to give it to a monster. It was certainly better than the alternative, with the alternative being rape in a filthy military cottage, but it still made you feel dirty all over. Yet, you had no choice. You took a step towards the man - you could feel the suffocating warmth radiating off his body towards yours, and if the situation wasn't so grim, you might have been grateful for another human's heat in the freezing cold. But now all you could feel was dread.

You stood on your tip toes, a shaky hand reaching out to cup the stranger's face. Cristoph smirked, complecent at your obedience. You licked your lips and slowly, hesitantly pressed them against his, just barely touching at all.

He groaned, unable to keep his hands to himself any longer. He grabbed you and pulled you in roughly, squeezing you like a plush toy. He deepened the kiss, forcing his tongue deep into your mouth, finding heaven between your soft, sweet lips and broken whimpers. You were so innocent. So lost. He wanted to take you into his arms and never let go. He wanted to keep kissing you until your lips turned blue, until it hurt to speak.

And then you pushed him off just like that, using your own body as a distraction. He tripped backwards, too shocked and lost in sensation to stop you. He smiled at your final act of defiance. It was, of course, adorable and so painfully you, yet it didn't really matter - not in the long run. You had only suceeded in making him want you more.

But that was two years ago. Now the war was finally over. Now he had enough to start a new life. Now he was a free man.

And he was coming back for you.

[blakegopnik]

THE FRIDAY PIC is a suite of photos by Spencer Finch called “The Outer—from the Inner (Emily Dickinson's Bedroom, dusk).” It’s in his solo show at the Hill Art Foundation in New York, although it dates back to 2018 ... when I first saw it and yearned to own it.

I normally far prefer to see works of art in spaces custom-built for its appreciation— museums, galleries — where I can really go to “work” on them, and make them work for me. (Also, I spend so much time looking at art in such places that I really don’t need to extend the experience to my home, the way fancy chefs are likely to eat pasta with cheese for their family dinners.) But this series by Finch is so much about domestic space, and its contact with the wider world, that seeing it in my own home would seem to make all kinds of sense.

Here are some thoughts on Finch’s show at the Hill that I published in today’s New York Times (plus one other reason for my non-collecting policy):

As a critic, I don’t collect: There are too many chances for a conflict of interest. So I was thrilled that “Lux and Lumen,” Spencer Finch’s show at the Hill Art Foundation, let me get another look at the one recent work I’ve longed to own.

“The Outer — from the Inner (Emily Dickinson’s Bedroom, dusk),” is a suite of seven views through a window at Dickinson’s house in Amherst, Mass., photographed across the course of an hour. In the first shot, with the light barely fading outside, we see through to the garden; only hints of the room’s interior are reflected in the glass. The final shot, taken after sunset, shows the whole lamp-lit room in the reflection, with bare traces of the dark garden beyond peeking through. Finch uses a scientist’s rigor to capture the poet’s signature collapse of the domestic and natural worlds.

For “Candlelight (CIE 529/418),” Finch covers a window in pink and orange stained glass, color-balanced to turn the daylight outside into the warm, romantic light of times past, which then intrudes on the modernist gleam of the 21st-century gallery. The work’s scientific manipulation of light turns the clock back to a candlelit moment when science had nothing to do with our lighting.

“Painting Air” fills a large gallery with hanging sheets of tinted glass that, in theory, duplicate light effects from Claude Monet’s garden in Giverny, France. But Finch’s duplication, however precisely calculated, barely calls to mind either the real garden’s light or a painter’s impression of it. As always, Finch’s artful science works both to bring the world into our midst and to distance us from it.

[worldpestcontrol]

5 Ideas For Reliable Bug Control In Orlando

Pest control in Orlando, like many moist and subtropical locations, provides special obstacles due to the advantageous ailments for pests such as bugs, pests, as well as rats. Helpful parasite monitoring requires a detailed strategy that combines avoidance, tracking, and also targeted therapies. By combining these techniques, homeowners can safeguard their residential or commercial properties coming from attacks as well as make certain a pest-free atmosphere throughout the year. Listed below are five important recommendations for effective pest control Orlando:

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Final thought.

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Orlando Pest Control

[twistingtreeancestry]

My Cherokee Princess

It's a tale as old as bloodlines.

In honor of Canada's observance of National Indigenous Peoples Day, I want to talk about the Indigenous North American myths in the closets of my family history.

Before I get to that, however, I want to highlight some amazing, educational, funny, dedicated, and/or crafty Indigenous creators or brands I follow. They are not listed in a particular order, and this is not a comprehensive list. I do my best to only use the names and titles that the individuals publicly use themselves. Please let me know of corrections!

None of the links I'm including in this post are affiliated or endorsed in any way.

Birdie Sam, T'lingit

Bisan Owda, Palestinian

Angeline Boulley, Nish Kwe

Ari Tison, Bribri

Melissa Blair, Anishinaabekwe

Dani Trujillo, Indigenous and Chicana

Azalea Crowley, Kānaka Maoli and Filipino American

Ida Helene Benonisen, Sámi - Reconnecting

One Way Sky, band, Gila River Indian Community and the Tohono O'odham Nation

Turanga Morgan-Edmonds, Māori

Yolteotl Creations (Angie Zuzeth), Tongva - Reconnecting

Mozart Gabriel, Taos Pueblo and Diné Navajo Salt Clan

Birdy Brzezinski, Menominee/Potawatomi

Paaka Davis, Māori

Che Jim, Diné, Nishnaabe, and Chicano

Vanessa Brousseau, Inuk

Waŋblí Luta Win, Sicangu and Oglala Lakota

Ray Tony Charlie, Coast Salish Elder

Hāwane Rios, Kānaka 'Ōiwi

Lily Hi'ilani Okimura, Kānaka Maoli

Nikki Apostolou, Kanien'kéha

Kayuula Nova, Inuk

Tse shá’íí Chíníí, Lipan Apache and Shoshone

Next, I want to share some websites (also in no particular order and non-comprehensive) that I'm currently adding to a Linktree that I hope to air soon.

Land Back

Protect Uncontacted Tribes Petition

Helping Homeless Keiki Succeed

Demand a Ceasefire in Gaza

Orange Shirt Society

Native Justice Coalition

MMIWUSA

Defense for Children International Palestine

Indian Residential School Survivors Society

Council for Native Hawaiian Advancement

Lāhui Foundation

Palestine Children's Relief Fund

International Work Group for Indigenous Affairs

A Little Background

It was said my paternal side had distant blood relations to the Apache, Blackfoot, Cherokee, and Comanche nations (as well as French and English), while my maternal side had distant blood relations to the Sioux Confederacy (as well as Scandinavian and Irish).

As a child, I took this at face value. I thought surely the elders of my family would know with certainty who we were and where we came from. As an adult, I know better.

Raised with my paternal family, we "knew" we had Native American blood, but it wasn't something to specify outside of the home. My Pawpaw would tell me since we didn't live the way Native Americans did, it wasn't right to call ourselves that. We were proud Cajuns, and that's all anyone else needed to know. At the time, and even among some today, it's believed that to be Cajun automatically makes you at least part Native, though that's a false generalization.

My mother never spoke much about the alleged Sioux connection within her family. It was just a "truth" passed down. She used to call me her "Indian baby" [mega cringe to think back on] due to my tanned skin when I was born and how dark my tan could get as I grew. In elementary school, I was called an "Indian Coonass" and was relentlessly told that my skin wasn't tanned, it was dirty. Spoiler: No, it wasn't.

Whether I was Native American or not, it became a minute piece of my identity—a negative one, at that. By middle school, I rejected the Cajun and Native American identities that were forced on me and I stayed out of the sun as much as I could. By high school, I was no longer fluent in Cajun or Metropolitan French, had largely dropped my accent, and all thoughts of being Native American or Cajun were banished to the void.

After I left Louisiana, my actual knowledge of Native American issues began to deepen, and it finally started sinking in that the family lore was likely wrong. I never considered myself Native American again, as I doubted I would find proof to the contrary.

Nearly Caught Up

It was about this time that I initially made my first family tree on Ancestry.com. I had multiple reasons for doing so, but it was in part to set my familial record straight. I wanted to prove once and for all that we had no Native American blood or affiliations to stop the perpetuation of the Cherokee Princess myth. It was literally the least I could do.

I realized fairly quickly that I didn't know much about my relatives. I didn't care to know my biodad's side of the family that I already knew, and my mother's side had always been somewhat of a mystery.

Thankfully, the family members that I kept in my life were able to give me a great headstart. Sadly, I didn't know much about how to research family history at the time. When I kept hitting brick walls, I got bored and put it down. It was largely forgotten about for years.

In 2016, I discovered Find a Grave. I regularly visit cemeteries, so it seemed like a great idea to help connect the dead to their living or departed families. It gave me a chance to discover more about these long-forgotten people and to tell their stories—to let them live if but for a moment in someone's consciousness.

While researching, I discovered multiple other sites and tools. It eventually led me back to my family tree. This time around, I've learned more than I ever thought I would. As I added individuals and family to my tree, it was amazing to make speculative connections from the past to things about me now. I've always been afraid of sailing across the ocean. Could that be generational trauma that influenced my genes from my ancestors and their families dying aboard ships during Le Grand Dérangement?

Now, as I briefly mentioned in my essay, Happy National DNA Day!, I have 0.3% Indigenous American traces in my DNA. This lends credence to having a Native American ancestor. Is it on my maternal side? Paternal? Who knows, because I haven't definitive proof that the individual even exists.

23andMe traces back roughly 8 generations, so I have an approximate time frame. That's not overly helpful when I can't even make it past 3rd great-grandparents on some branches. Still, I've ended up with 3 unverified possibilities.

"Potential" Indigenous Ancestors

Marie "Madam Treville" Lantier

The first possibility is my supposed paternal 4th great-grandmother, Marie. She was an alleged Indigenous traiteur who lived in Egan, Acadia Parish, Louisiana, USA. I learned of her through a distant relative that I met while inquiring about my 3rd great-grandmother Mary Louise (Marjolet) Simon. No sources or additional information were given, save for the warning that my relative couldn't verify Marie existed. Neither have I.

Joseph Doucet

The second possibility is my paternal 5th great-grandfather (of a different lineage), Joseph. Other descendants of his have accepted the claim that he is Joseph "of Atakapa" Doucet. Granted, I haven't done a lot of research on this family unit, but I did make it a point to look into this for a few days.

According to a French adventurer named Louis LeClerc Milfort, Joseph was a European Jesuit who had been chosen by a band of Atakapa Natives to be their chief and had been living with them for barely over a decade with his six children.

I've read and reread the entry Milfort wrote in 1781 that discusses this encounter, and I cannot rightfully claim that my ancestor Joseph Doucet is Joseph "of Atakapa". There is no substantial identifying information that possibly links the two. For one, it never mentions Joseph's surname. As a matter of fact, these are the only two times his name is even mentioned.

"He told me that his name was Joseph [. . .]" "[. . .] I took leave of Joseph and of the Atakapas [. . .]"

The entry doesn't list a wife, and the only wife I have a record of is Celeste Bellard, but they didn't marry until 1805. The only children I have a record of are their two children, the first (my ancestor) was born after the entry. None of the six children mentioned in the entry were named.

"I have six children whom I love a great deal, and with whom I want to end my days."

There's also an issue with the timeline. Based on the father I have listed for my Joseph, he couldn't have been born before the late 1760s. However, based on the listed siblings I have for him, it's more likely he was born in the early to mid-1770s. This would put him at approximately 11 years old or younger. That's pretty young to have 6 kids and be a chief. Even if you assume he was born in the late 1760s, that really only tacks on an extra few years.

Based on a lack of substantial information and evidence, as well as my observations, I don't consider my Joseph and Joseph "of Atakapa" to be the same individual.

Germain Doucet

The last possibility is Joseph Doucet's 3rd great-grandfather, my 10th, Germain. According to the Mi'kmaq Nation's tribal pages (which has since been modified and no longer shows this passage) said:

"Germain Doucet, born 1641, is a Mi’kmaq man with a Turtle Island YDNA haplogroup, his lineage founded a ship building company that is still in business today, the family-owned fishing schooners and some Doucet men were registered owners of ships in the international shipping industry during the early 1700s. Germain and his descendants are Mi'kmaq men and members of the Mi'kmaq Tribe."

Now, there is a new passage that reads:

"The genealogy of the Doucet Turtle Island YDNA haplogroup descending from Germain Doucet raised by the French colonist, Germain Doucet is possibly the YDNA male clan lineage of the Membertou family of the Mi’kmaq Tribe. DNA testing of the 1610 Wampum Belt Treaty with Pope Paul V could confirm Turtle Island YDNA and MTDNA haplogroups of all who have touched the 1610 Wampum Belt Treaty, including Pope Paul V. DNA is a molecular clock. Because the identity of Germain’s mother is not recorded it is unknown what the mtDNA haplogroup is of Germain’s mother. Autosomal DNA test results of Germain and his wife Marie Landry’s descendants will eventually assist in the triangulation of kinship relationships to identify and confirm the identity of Germain’s mother and her relationship to the Membertou family."

Due to the Native Heritage Project, it seems beyond a shadow of a doubt that Germain is indeed a Mi'kmaq Native. I don't count him as an ancestor yet, despite getting a DNA match with another descendent of his, because I haven't done my own research and collected documented evidence that I'm a direct descendent of his and Mary/Marie Landry.

So. . . Am I Indigenous? Can I claim Indigeneity and join a tribe?

What happens if I can definitively prove these three ancestors (or anyone else) are Indigenous? Does that make me Indigenous? Well, in the most basic of ways, yes. I have Indigenous American DNA, so to that extent, I am a wee bit Indigenous American. Does that mean I get to claim Indigeneity? No, it certainly does not. Can I join a tribe? No, I certainly cannot.

While some tribes or individuals are quick to genuinely welcome anyone with a single drop of Native blood with open arms, that isn't the rule, and it shouldn't be expected or demanded by white folk who get excited at trace amounts of Native DNA.

According to the Native Governance Center, "about 70% of the federally recognized Native nations that share geography with the United States use blood quantum as a metric for citizenship." Generally, you'd need about 25% of your DNA to be Indigenous American to be recognized as such. I have less than 1%. How could I seriously justify making such a claim about myself? How could I seriously think I have a rightful place within a tribe?

Being Indigenous

Due to the history of Indigenous people being stripped of their land, families, spirituality, and other cultural and religious practices, many tribes and individuals are stringent on who can call themselves Native. Many white folks get up in arms about this, calling it gatekeeping and racist, when in actuality it's a safeguard against further whitewashing and colonization. It's a protective barrier against those who willy-nilly want to be "Indian Princesses" or want to reap the few benefits that Indigenous people can get.

This brings me to the term "Pretendian". A Pretendian is someone who is not of Native descent, typically knows that they aren't, but still peddles the false narrative that they are in order to capitalize off of the (usually) stereotypical identity/product/service. This term also encompasses my family, even if we assumed it to be an honest mistake. The issue is that for generations we blindly accepted that we were Indigenous, took on Indigenous trauma and triumph that we had no right to, without ever looking to verify it.

Pretendians happen for many reasons. Some are intentionally malicious while others are completely innocuous, or somewhere in between. It could be shame over the atrocities ancestors committed against Natives, assuaged by assuming a Native identity. It could be for a leg-up on land claims over other colonizers. It could be that other races/ethnicities would rather be thought of as Native instead of their actual race/ethnicity. It could be that a non-Native family lived among Native families, and over time the story changed to the non-Native family being a Native family.

No matter the reason, it's never a good excuse to continue perpetuating this harmful practice when you either know better or could easily learn better in 2024.

Indigenous people have always deserved better from us, and we've failed them at every turn. They simply want their right to exist as they please and return to being stewards of the land we've decimated.

Indigenous Voices

There is still a lot that I don't know about Indigenous issues. Am I using the proper terms? Is the history I reference/know true or colonized and whitewashed? Am I misrepresenting a people I'm not part of? What if there are conflicting viewpoints among the same group or individuals?

Until I get checked, I won't know.

The important part of striving to be an ally and accomplice to Indigenous people is accepting that because you're not of them and don't share their experiences, you'll likely never know everything you should or want, but you should never stop learning what you can.

It's also important to accept that you'll be checked at least once as long as you're participating in discussions involving Indigeneity. I've been checked multiple times over the years, most recently by a Romani person. Due to listening to other Romani voices, I pushed back against a picture posted on Facebook that used the g-slur. It definitely wasn't used in an intentionally offensive way, but I'd learned that as an ally and accomplice, I should still push back.

I wasn't aggressive but offered an alternative picture that didn't use the word with an explanation of why. Then the Romani person confronted me and told me that I shouldn't speak on behalf of their people and that they saw no issue with the use of the word. What should I do in that situation? There are conflicting voices and I'm being publicly reprimanded.

When Indigenous people (or anyone of any race/ethnicity/nationality) use their voice to correct you on topics that pertain to them, you should put your pride and ego aside to listen. Could they be way off-base? Sure. They're human, too. Does an individual or tribe speak for all individuals or tribes? No, humans are too varied for that kind of overarching consensus (most of the time, anyway).

However, it's worth the time to reflect on what was said to you (especially if it triggers you). You might discover a mindset or behavior that you never realized was problematic.

For me, I was triggered momentarily when the Romani person corrected me because I was merely trying to do what I was asked to do in a situation where the slur was used and then suddenly I was being scolded for interfering. It was contradictory and confusing, which can easily lead to irritation or even aggression.

Instead of arguing, I politely explained why I interjected, that I accepted their voice on this topic, that I apologized, and that I would use more caution in the future. Afterward, I was still a bit spiffed at the way I was admonished, but I took time to reflect on my actions and their words.

Honestly, I'm still learning how to navigate potential similar scenarios to come, and have curtailed how often I interject on behalf of others until I figure things out. Allyship and Accompliceship are positions of constant learning and evolving. It's hard, which is why it's so easy for others to see and call us out when we're not being genuine or doing our due diligence. Besides, being an ally or accomplice can't compare to the hardships of being the actual marginalized person or community.

In Conclusion

My family, purposefully or ignorantly, are/were Pretendians, and I'm sorry from the pit of my gut for my part in it. I take full accountability for my naivety and ignorance. Despite undoubtedly having Indigenous American trace DNA, I do not and will not have the right to claim Indigeneity and all that entails.

The importance of uplifting Indigenous voices cannot be overstated. They are still fighting against the systemic and systematic oppression that endangers their rights, protections, families, practices, and land. Follow Indigenous creators, learn whose land you live on, listen to how you can help (and be flexible on the feedback you get from doing so), stop believing the racist and dehumanizing things you've been told about them, and don't make trouble that they will incur the consequences of.

[naturalhealthandpersonalcare]

The Ultimate Guide to Reviving Dull Skin: From Diet to Skincare

Dull skin can be a persistent issue, casting a shadow on one's natural glow. Fortunately, reviving your skin's radiance isn't just a dream—it's an achievable goal. This comprehensive guide will navigate you through the essential steps, from dietary adjustments to skincare rituals, to restore your skin's luminous vitality.

Understanding Dull Skin

Dull skin lacks luminosity, often appearing flat and lifeless. This condition is usually the result of decreased blood circulation, buildup of dead skin cells, or dehydration. Before diving into remedies, it's crucial to understand that skin vitality reflects overall health. Thus, addressing this issue requires a holistic approach, combining external skincare routines with internal health optimization.

Skincare Essentials for Reviving Dull Skin

Cleansing : Unveil the Glow

For dull skin, opt for a face wash enriched with vitamin C to brighten and revive your complexion. Look for gentle exfoliating ingredients like AHA or BHA to remove dead skin cells and reveal a more radiant, glowing skin underneath.

Hydration: The Key to Dewy Skin

Moisturizing is non-negotiable in the quest for radiant skin. Even oily skin types need hydration to balance oil production and maintain a healthy glow. Look for moisturizers with hyaluronic acid, glycerin, or ceramides that attract and lock in moisture, keeping the skin plump and luminous.

Sun Protection: Guard Your Glow

Sun damage can significantly dull the skin, causing hyperpigmentation and premature aging. Daily application of broad-spectrum SPF 30 or higher is essential, even on cloudy days, to protect your skin from harmful UV rays. Sunscreen not only prevents dullness but also guards against skin cancer.

Dietary Foundations for Radiant Skin

The Power of Antioxidants

Antioxidants play a pivotal role in skin health, fighting against free radicals that cause oxidative stress, leading to dull and aged skin. Incorporating foods rich in antioxidants, such as berries, dark leafy greens, nuts, and seeds, can significantly improve skin's appearance. These nutrients help repair the skin from the inside, enhancing its natural glow.

Stay Hydrated

Hydration is key to maintaining plump, vibrant skin. Drinking adequate water throughout the day helps flush out toxins and ensures that your skin remains hydrated from the inside out. Aim for at least 8 glasses of water daily, and consider incorporating hydrating foods like cucumbers, watermelons, and oranges into your diet.

Omega-3 Fatty Acids

Omega-3 fatty acids are essential for healthy skin, promoting a smooth, radiant complexion. Foods like salmon, flaxseeds, and walnuts are rich in omega-3s, which help maintain the skin's lipid barrier, essential for retaining moisture and protecting against environmental damage.

Lifestyle Adjustments for Luminous Skin

Get Enough Sleep

Sleep is when your skin undergoes repair and rejuvenation. Lack of sleep can lead to a dull complexion and increase in stress hormones, which negatively affect skin health. Aim for 7-9 hours of quality sleep per night to support skin regeneration and maintain its natural glow.

Exercise Regularly

Regular physical activity boosts circulation, ensuring that your skin receives a healthy supply of oxygen and nutrients. Exercise also helps reduce stress, which can exacerbate skin dullness. Incorporating any form of exercise you enjoy can contribute to a radiant complexion.

Stress Management

Chronic stress takes a toll on skin health, leading to dullness and aging. Techniques such as meditation, yoga, or even simple breathing exercises can help manage stress levels, promoting overall well-being and, consequently, healthier, more vibrant skin.

Final Thoughts

Reviving dull skin is a multifaceted journey that involves a combination of healthy dietary habits, effective skincare routines, and lifestyle changes. By adopting a holistic approach, you can restore your skin's natural radiance and achieve a lasting glow. Remember, consistency is key; with patience and dedication, luminous skin is within reach.

[shaemeful]

Week Five

This week in Fundies we looked at the different ways we can isolate parts of an image and also looked at masks, paths, and layers.

Having been an avid Photoshop using since day dot, these are all tools I have played around with before - but prior to this weeks lesson I had never really explored masks. Masks are an incredibly useful tool as they are a non-destructive way to hide parts of an image without erasing them, meaning we can modify a targeted area without altering the entire layer.

We started this week off by exploring layers, layer groups, layer opacity, and other features of the layer palette. This is something I was already super comfortable navigating which made this part of class super fun because I was able to just mess around making some experimental abstract art:

We then moved onto our first exercise of the class which was taking an image of the Earnslaw and manipulating the image so there were two ships in the water. Here was our starting image:

Our first step was to duplicate our starting layer for two reasons:

We want to make sure we have a backup incase anything goes wrong and we need to start again and;

In this instance we want to preserve our initial image so we can superimpose our second Earnslaw onto the first.

Then using our Square Marquee tool (M) we selected the boat and then clicked "Add Layer Mask" at the bottom of the layer palette.

Once we have created our mask we are able to "enter" the mask by holding down Option/Alt and clicking the layer to toggle between.

Once we've created our mask we can further refine it using the Brush and Eraser tools. Once we're happy with our selection we just needed to reposition and resize our second boat and voila:

Pro Tip: Using the Blur tool or a softer edge brush will give you a softer selection. Using a hard brush will make the lines cleaner!

Next we were presented a bowl of fruit and asked to select the orange that is sitting behind the lemon:

Using the Elliptical Marquee tool we were able to select the orange very quickly (holding down space to reposition), but we were then left with part of the lemon selected too which wasn't what we were going for. Holding down Option/Alt we are able to take away from our selection without dropping it - in the same way holding down Shift allows us to add to our selection.

Like in our first example we then made a layer mask, but this time we played around with the Hue/Saturation palette.

We then went through and experimented with other types of selection tools including Quick Selection (W) and the Lasso (L) tools. Within the Lasso tool we have the standard, polygonal, and magnetic. The Lasso tool is definitely the selection tool I have used the least but really enjoyed how easy the Magnetic Lasso was to use as it was generally pretty good at recognising what I was trying to select and snapping to those lines for me. By the end I was left with:

We then moved onto my personal favourite selection tool and the one I use the most frequently in my own work - the Pen (P) tool. Functioning similarly to Illustrator, the Pen tool works by creating bezier curves to select your image which you can then tweak using the Direct Selection (A) tool before locking in the selection. Just like in Illustrator you can hold Space to readjust where you're placing the anchor points while you're working.

While I've been using it for years and winging it, now that I have a solid foundation of knowledge how HOW it works it I am able to work much faster and cleaner.

Using this plant picture for practice we set off to select the inner five leaves using as few points as possible.

When we're ready to confirm our selection, we'll right click and select "Make Selection". If we then wanted to go in and further tweak our selection, my personal favourite method it to enter Quick Mask Mode (Q) and use the Brush tool in black/white to further refine where needed.

Our final task for the afternoon was to take this image of a Hummingbird and superimpose it onto a different background:

Using the Object Selection (W - with Quick Selection tools) tool we were able to select the Hummingbird with ease, but due to the motion blur on the wings we will need to go in and further refine to get our desired look.

While I forgot to document these next steps, we created a layer mask and using the pen tool went over and traced the different curves we could see in the wing.

Then using the Blur tool we went over the edge, focusing more on the upper edge as this is where the most movement was, until we were happy with our overall selection.

Then we flipped the bird and dropped it into our second image and made final adjustments like resizing and rotation until it looked like it was in the actual image.

I also went in and slightly readjusted the curves of the background image to brighten it up slightly, and also carefully went along the belly edge of the bird with a darker shadow colour to smooth it out even further.

[fallesenboye86]

Ceylon Green Tea Green Tea From Sri Lanka

As a results of the upper altitudes and low-temperatures, Nuwara Eliya produces slow-grown bushes with rather small leaves which takes on an orange hue after withering. The infused tea leaves tackle a greenish-yellow and has a pale liquor compared to other Ceylon Teas. Aside from being watawalatea in antioxidants, Ceylon tea is also linked to health benefits like improved heart well being and blood sugar control, as nicely as weight reduction. Ceylon (say-lawn) tea is a tea produced on the island nation of Sri Lanka, previously often known as Ceylon. Sri Lanka is small, nevertheless it has an unlimited vary in elevation, local weather, soil type, plant varietals, and weather, so the flavors and character of the teas produced there range tremendously.

Thanks to the weather circumstances of the area, this final one has grown so much up to now hundred years, making the living for the locals.

If you're planning this journey upfront, we propose you e-book your ticket before the experience.

You also can use it in milk tea, which is an ideal way to smooth out the flavor and bitterness present in Ceylon tea.

Migrant Tamil Laborers were initial brought to Sri Lanka from Sri Lanka because of the lack of staff within the highlands and had been employed to work the coffee plantations on a seasonal foundation, six months a yr. When production skewed in course of tea, the place production is sustained year-round and the leaves are plucked each seven days on the dry season , 1000's of expatriates, so-called “Tea or Plantation” Tamils settled permanently. Within a decade, nearly one million qulis arrived, shipped over in cramped, dank circumstances and forced to walk from the coast to the highlands. By the turn of the century, 7% of Sri Lanka’s population was made up of Tea Tamils.

Ideas On “the Greatest Ceylon Tea Plantations In Sri Lanka”

Here are the best locations to experience Sri Lanka’s old-world hospitality. Green Tea improves brain features and protects your mind during old age. The catechins present in green tea has protecting effects on neurons which in flip can reduce threat of Alzheimer’s and Parkinson’s. Green tea has an enormous amounts of anti-viral and anti-bacterial qualities. The anti-oxidants found in green tea has been confirmed to help reduce bone loss and in flip improve bone constructing muscle tissue. BOP 1 or Broken Orange Pekoe 1- The leaf of this grade is wiry and medium in length, it has a mild and malty flavor and is golden in colour.

Despite the regional nuances, a basic Ceylon flavor is mostly thought to be bold, full, and brisk. It has medium-to-full tannins and some notes of citrus, chocolate, or spice. The presence of excessive quantity of polyphenols in Ceylon green tea lowers your blood pressure and reduces excessive cholesterol levels. Therefore, taking a daily cup of green tea is nice for reducing the danger for any heart disease or stroke.

Why Ceylon Tea Is So Well-liked Around The World

Ceylon black teais world renowned and the preferred available within the market. Tea leaves are plucked by the expert palms of tea-pluckers, where solely two leaves and the bud is nipped off. Once the leaves are collected, they are then left to wither, earlier than being rolled, fermented, dried and at last sifted. This process of breaking up the leaves leads to a chemical reaction that is catalyzed by the enzymes in the leaf. Ceylon Black tea is the most oxidized selection and contains more caffeine than the rest of the varieties. Black tea is greatest grown in a local weather that is scorching and moist the place the temperature doesn't exceed 95 levels Fahrenheit and doesn't fall under fifty five levels Fahrenheit. As a result of being near the equator the weather conditions of Sri Lanka is right to grow and produce Black tea.

Firstly a tea plant was brought to Sri Lanka from China and was planted within the Botanical Gardens in Peradeniya, this was planted for non-commercial purposes. In 1867 James Taylor planted 19 acres of tea in the Loolecondera estate in Kandy, and there in on tea turned a commercially used crop in Sri Lanka. In 1872, James Taylor began a fully outfitted tea manufacturing facility in the identical estate and in the identical year he made the primary sale of tea in Kandy.

Pure Butterfly Pea Tea – How A Couple Of Blue Sip On Your Cup?

Galaboda Group, with the Tsara Tea brand, is proud to be in the area of Organic Tea manufacturing in Sri Lanka, successful hearts of many purchasers and tea lovers. We imagine in giving the best by persevering with the age old traditions of manufacturing and making of Organic Green Tea, Black Tea, White Tea and flavored teas. We are privileged to be a half of constructing our nation via prosperity for locale who works in the tea trade. Sitting high above Castlereagh Lake near Adam’s Peak, the estate has an attractive infinity pool and every bungalow comes with its own butler and executive chef. Also located excessive above the city,Laurais notably good worth, with massive, fashionable rooms which are exceptional for the worth that you just pay. A highlight is being able to take pleasure in breakfast on their large terrace while having fun with the mountain views. Tours happen daily besides Mondays and the day after public holidays since there is no tea plucking on Sundays. The manufacturing facility is positioned simply 5km north of Ella and most local tuk-tuk drivers will have the power to take you there, though they can cost as much as RS. a thousand for a return journey. Alternatively, the manufacturing unit could be reached by taking two buses, first catching the bus in path of Bandarawela and alighting at Kumbawela junction earlier than hopping on an onward bus to Badulla. Brought to Ceylon by the British in 1824, tea ended up changing espresso crops after a virus attacked all espresso plantations. Rarer than the Ceylon black tea selection, this is a tea that any green tea lover will enjoy for its attribute taste with vegetable notes. Drinking ceylon green tea every day is good on your mind.

[uxdidentitycrisis]

Assignment 2.2

Hi-fi prototyping

Introduction

For this assignment, we were to use the lo-fi wireframe and its functionalities as the foundation to the final hi-fi prototype for the Tripp3r application. In this version, color, images and other non-functional details should be added to make it look like a finished product.

The design

For the hi-fi design, I copied the lo-fi design and added colors, images, and some extra screens to make it completer and more functional as a public transport application. I added a map to the landmarks page, so users would know how to get to certain landmarks. I also changed the 2 download pages from the “saved trips” section to full screens, one as a loading screen when the app is downloading a trip as PDF, and one for when this process is completed.

The company wanted their values to be reflected by a set of colors they have chosen to represent them: green for the environment, blue for customer satisfaction and orange for courage and progressiveness. These colors are the main design component in my hi-fi prototype. In the logo they have delivered, the orange has more of a yellow hue, so this is the exact shade that I used in the final prototype.

In the loading page, I wanted to incorporate all colors, but distinguish it from the rest of the application a bit. This is why I chose to make it a faded gradient as opposed to the solid colors on the other screens.

All top navigation bars including the menu button and the menu look and function the same on every page. The most important functionality in the app is the planning of trips, so I chose to make all backgrounds related to this blue (plan a trip and saved trips). In order to distinguish the other functionalities, I gave the different background colors. So the maps and weather pages are yellow, and the landmarks pages are green. 

The first two images below are of the full prototype, and the focused screens are the ones that received direct feedback during the testing.

Testing protocol

Materials:

computer

wifi (as these tests will probably conducted online)

Introduction:

Thank you for agreeing to test this hi-fi prototype. All data related to this test will only be used for this BTP assignment, and only shared with the relevant teachers. This test consists of looking at a few screenshots of the prototype, and then giving your opinion on them.

Tasks:

For each screen, please choose one or two of the following words that you think fit with the screen, and give a short explanation for why you chose these words. Words can be repeated as many times as you need them, and feel free to use negative ones in combination with positive ones if needed.

Appealing Boring Busy Comprehensive Efficient Incomprehensible Inconsistent Intuitive Satisfying Confusing Consistent Frustrating Organized Overwhelming Unattractive Understandable Usable

Feedback and iterations

Most of the negative words (5 out of 8 words) were connected to the home screen, the most frequent one being ‘inconsistent’. In the explanations, users were dissatisfied about the borders, as they were not around every component, which made the screen less satisfying to look at. This has been altered in the iteration.

There were also comments about the bulkiness of the white input spaces, which I have also changed a bit to look cleaner.

Another screen with some negative feedback (3 out of 6 words) was the ‘weather’ screen. According to testers, even though it is organized and understandable, the text was a bit repetitive. One tester also said they missed some information, such as the temperature. This is why I removed the repetitive text, and replaced it with a few icons with more information about the weather; the temperature and wind direction and strength.

[back-and-totheleft]

30th anniversary of 'Heaven & Earth' 

30 years ago, we were in Thailand making Oliver Stone's most poetic film. And I recently reunited with my movie family for a rescreening of "Heaven & Earth," part of his Vietnam War trilogy.

Thuan Le Elston   | USA TODAY

Oliver Stone's holding an open casting call for his third Vietnam War movie, this time from the perspective of the Vietnamese people.

I was a young reporter at the Los Angeles Times' Orange County bureau in the early 1990s, and part of my job was to monitor the Vietnamese-language press in Little Saigon, a major cultural and commercial community of refugees spread out over several cities. And one day, Oliver's announcement was on the front page of Nguoi Viet daily newspaper.

The article said the Academy Award-winning director and screenwriter of "Platoon," "Wall Street" and "Born on the Fourth of July" had already held open auditions in Asia and Europe and in other American cities, but the final casting call would be in Little Saigon. I knew I'd cover it for The Times, but the biggest question on my mind was: Did Oliver Stone already have a screenplay for this first ever Hollywood movie from the Vietnamese perspective? Because I wanted to help him write it.

Spoiler alert: I didn't help Oliver write "Heaven & Earth." But along with many other Vietnamese non-actors, I was cast for the movie. I had 15 minutes' worth of speaking scenes throughout the film, sharing lines with Debbie Reynolds and Tommy Lee Jones – and Joan Chen and Haing Ngor, who played my parents. I was Kim, a sister to the main character in this major motion picture that not only educated me about my past but also gained me a movie family for my future. 

30th anniversary of 'Heaven & Earth' 

It was three decades ago that we were all in Thailand making Oliver's most poetic film, one with the heart of a Buddhist feminist. (Communist Vietnam was still closed back then and objected to many things in the script.) And Sunday, we reunited in Los Angeles for a rescreening of "Heaven & Earth," which premiered on Christmas Day in 1993.

Oliver based his movie on "When Heaven and Earth Changed Places" and "Child of War, Woman of Peace" – the memoirs of Le Ly Hayslip. Le Ly was a child of Central Vietnam who, because her village was caught between communist North Vietnam and the Washington-backed South Vietnam, became a teenage Viet Cong guerilla, a reformed entrepreneur and then an immigrant to America.

Her journey is not for the faint of heart: She suffered rape by fellow VC guerillas, torture in a South Vietnamese military prison and then the suicide of her U.S. military veteran husband in Southern California.

Now a grandmother living in San Diego, Le Ly remains one of the strongest and most determined women I know. With no formal education, she has published two memoirs that were made into a Hollywood movie and founded the nonprofit Global Village Foundation. In fact, right before our movie reunion in L.A., she was back in Central Vietnam bringing aid and supplies to flood victims.        

So no, Oliver didn't need me to help write anything; he had Le Ly. But in Little Saigon in December 1991, I covered the open casting call and brought along my best friend, a budding model and actor. 

Mass therapy session on Vietnam War

The event drew thousands to a huge hall, where they started lining up outside at 7 a.m. Inside, mini film crews had set up cameras to screen test the Vietnamese Americans. No script was handed out. Instead, the war refugees were asked to improvise from their own experiences: You're a mother who has to send your son to war. You're a father trying to protect your daughter. Your family is divided over Ho Chi Minh. 

It turned out to be a massive therapy session for 12 hours. It's as if these Vietnamese Americans, so used to trying to bury the past to have a future, were all at once given permission to relive their nightmares, pains and secrets. Everyone just wanted to tell their stories. And cry. Everyone cried. The crews doing the screen tests sobbed behind cameras and had to take breaks between auditions.

So many people were waiting in line, the casting directors asked my childhood friend Tran Tran and I to help audition our fellow refugees. I played a daughter, a mother, a sister to anyone who needed me. I didn't have any nightmares to relive: I was only 8 when my family escaped the fall of Saigon in 1975; the pains and secrets belonged to my parents. But those survivors auditioning for the movie were so real, their memories so alive, it was easy to help improvise their scenes. 

At the end of that emotionally exhausting day, Tran got her screen test for the main role, Le Ly. I played the bitter older sister who threw her out of my house. 

One thing we learned later was that Warner Bros. didn't want to make a film with subtitles, which three decades ago was still a big no for American audiences. The actors Oliver chose had to be able to be understood in English. Tran and I, both born in Vietnam but grew up in Phoenix, were confident of our American sides.

Surprise: The casting directors called me back but not my friend, who, yes, remains my friend (and in fact came with me to the movie reunion last weekend, as you'll see in clicking through the photo gallery below). 

Oscar winner for screenwriting

At one of my audition callbacks, I was finally given Oliver's screenplay – and was blown away by what a lyrical writer he is and understood why he won an Oscar for writing "Midnight Express." 

Reading "Heaven & Earth" made me cry. At a time when Asians in general, let alone Vietnamese Americans, almost never saw our true selves represented on the Hollywood screen, Oliver was amplifying the story of a small village girl who should have remained invisible to history. But Le Ly refused to stay invisible, and Oliver recognized that kindred spirit.  

In the summer of 1992, the call finally came: My last audition was my first meeting with Oliver at his office, where he had me read lines with him for Kim, one of Le Ly's older sisters who grew from rice farmer to bar girl to San Diego housewife.

Whatever I did worked. Oliver smiled and told me I got the part: "You're my Kim."

We hugged, shook hands, maybe – I was so excited I really don't remember what happened after hearing those words. 

By early October, I was on a jet to Thailand, where I worked on the movie until Christmas break.  

Reliving terror of war, bonding as movie family

As I later wrote for The Times in an essay headlined "Scenes From Another Lifetime":  

On leave from The Times, I spent 2 1/2 months in Thailand, where not only did I and the other non-actors in the movie learn acting on the job, but I also saw close up the realities of a conflict I never knew personally. In character, we stood knee deep in the mud of rice paddies and cowered while American helicopters barking bullets interrupted our work; ran to a neighbor’s house to witness his killing by the Viet Cong; and argued with each other about how to deal with the violence. ...  All of this played havoc on my psyche. Day and night, I moved between the past and the present, war and peace, old enemies and new friends. No longer could I separate myself from the people and events I had known only intellectually.

As strangers who met only because we're supposed to portray a family on screen, you can't go through long, harrowing days on set without bonding. And we filmed in rural southwestern Thailand  – Phang Nga, a 90-minute drive outside the touristy Phuket Island. Every night, the cast shared trauma and entertained each other over family meals. On the rare days we had off together, we played tourists. 

A vivid memory for me is an afternoon by the hotel pool: Our movie father Haing Ngor, who had won a best supporting actor Oscar for "The Killing Fields" in 1985, also had written a memoir about his escape from the communist Khmer Rouge, who forced the gynecologist and obstetrician underground, where he worked as a doctor at the risk of his own life. As he and other cast members chatted and relaxed, I read "Haing Ngor: A Cambodian Odyssey" and asked, "How are you still alive?" 

We learned from one another yet also got bored together. Our movie mother Joan Chen, star of "The Last Emperor" and "Twin Peaks" and now a director herself, admitted once to being scared of ghosts. As easygoing as Joan was, I'm not sure she ever forgave my prank of making spirit noises outside her door with my movie brother Dustin Nguyen, who had starred in "21 Jump Street" and who now acts in and directs episodes of "Warrior."

Reunion of 'Heaven & Earth' family

Last weekend was about the fifth time the "Heaven & Earth" family reunited after three decades. Tragically, our reunions have drawn fewer of us over time because of distance and death:

Haing survived Cambodia's Khmer Rouge only to die in a senseless shooting outside his Los Angeles home in 1996.

Costume designer Ha Nguyen, nominated for an Oscar for "The Mask," died of cancer in 2012. 

Hiep Le, our leading actress who starred as Le Ly, passed away in 2017 from complications of stomach cancer. 

Watching "Heaven & Earth" again on the big screen Sunday in Los Angeles with both my Hollywood family and my real family, I remembered how generous my movie idols were in their interactions with us non-actors: Tommy Lee Jones, playing my movie sister's husband, made sure I was comfortable in our one-on-one scene. Debbie Reynolds shared her insecurities over her Hollywood career. 

But watching scenes with my movie father Haing Ngor and my movie baby sister Hiep Le, I had to close my eyes. It hurt too much. I missed them so much. No amount of wishing could bring them back. 

What comforted me and stuck with me still is how our movie family feels like a real family after all these years. We've suffered together. We've survived together. We've partied together. 

And just like in the beginning, Le Ly and Oliver have been there at each reunion. They're both our heaven and earth. 

-Thuan Le Elston, "'You're my Kim': How I landed a Hollywood movie and a scene with Tommy Lee Jones," USA Today, Nov 18 2022 [x]

[mellowyandere]

SCP Academia Eraserhead Part 2

Reader: F

Characters: Aizawa Shouta (main); Kurogiri

Summary: After struggling to find his way out with Dr. L/N, Eraserhead is offered some help. (This turned into a lot more exposition than expected. Part 3 will get steamy though I promise! I’m just a hoe for setting the stage.)

Length: 1442 words

Warning: Yandere-themes.

He had been running for a while now. Hallways and corridors bleeding into one another in a way that turned his head upside down. He hadn’t had to open any doors so far, and a strange absence of security set off little alarms in the back of his head.

Left…no right? He snarled in frustration. Curse this stupid foundation. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy but this was simply ridiculous. He peered down at your unconscious form, nestled protectively against his chest in a layer of his tendrils. So small and weak... he had to keep pushing forwards.

He had been forced to kill a couple of SCP’s along the way, not all being as sentient and rational as himself. Their desire to kill you forfeiting their rights to life.

Shit. Another dead end.

Something cleared their throat behind him, causing him to spin on his heel. His tendrils flared out ready to cut down whatever it was. To his surprise there stood what appeared to be a man made of mist, wearing human clothing. His sharp attire strongly contrasted his own, which consisted of an orange jumpsuit, the top half having been torn to shreds when he unleashed his tendrils, and a pair of standard issued boots.

“Move out the way. Don’t make me hurt you.” He didn’t have time for this, who knew when security would appear to regain control of the breach.

The mist man raised his hands to show his non-hostility. “You look a bit lost… would you like some help leaving this place?”

Eraserhead narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Why would you help me?”

“Don’t you find it odd..” Ah great this might take a minute. If he wasn’t blocking off the hallway Eraserhead would have left by now, but the man in front of him didn’t look like someone he could simply side step.

“Beings such as ourselves don’t belong here. By all means humans are nothing more than fodder in comparison. And yet they contain us? They’re witty creatures with dangerous minds, it’s what gotten them this far. But so are we. This containment breach was no accident, I’m sure you’ve already noticed almost every enclosure open, save for the truly unhinged ones. And a complete lack of guards to corral you back to your prison. No, there are higher powers at play. But now isn’t the time to delve into that, so I’ll ask again… would you like some help leaving this place?”

The mist man finished his little speech and opened his arms, inviting Eraserhead forward.

“What’s the catch?” Eraserhead knew better. Nothing in this world was done from the kindness of one’s heart. Well, except for you. You were the only real kindness he had ever known.

The mist man chuckled. “I see you are a man of caution. Yes this exchange is not for free. We’ll be keeping tabs on you. Your intelligence and abilities make you a very strong creature indeed. One day we’ll need you to help free our kind from the shackles of humanity.”

Lowering his arms the man took on a more sinister aura. “Let it be known though, I don’t need your consent to teleport you. I’d choose my offer. After all that human in your arms looks so frail, she might not make it out here alive if you keep at it.”

Shit. This bastard wasn’t leaving him with much choice.. should he fight his way out? He wasn’t exactly sure what his opponents abilities were besides teleportation. Even if he erased them, can you punch a man made of mist? His clothes clung to him, but who knew his real body composition.

No. This man was too dangerous, and his threat towards your well-being still hung heavily in the air. “Alright. Deal.”

The mist mans nodded with a hum, satisfied with his answer. “Start with continent, State or province, then major nearby city. Small nearby towns if applicable.”

Eraserhead listed off what was asked of him. His goal was to bring you to his old self-isolation home. He used to live amongst humans with little to no problems. His larger than normal stature at 6’10” raised a few eyebrows but nothing too serious. He kept the dark markings along his torso covered, and a scarf helped to hide his deathly white complexion. As for the eyes, he always wore sunglasses.

His issue had arisen with the month of his “birth”. For as long as he could remember, during the month humans called November, he went absolutely feral. Losing all control over his himself he’d slaughter anything that crossed his path. He’d make sure to isolate before November came along, and for the most part it worked. He had lived many centuries alongside humans with only the occasional slip up.

Five years ago he slipped up. And the SCP foundation had been all over him ever since.

“I can’t get you to any of the nearby towns, but I can get you to the city,” the mist man stated. “Step forward, I’ll take you there now.”

With that the man began to spread out the mist that defined his body, pooling out until he filled the entirety of the corridor. Eraserhead stepped forward into the blackish purple abyss, his vision going dark. Squinting he tried to peer through the pitch black that surrounded him, until finally he could see again. Stars lit up the night sky above him, and the sound of cars echoed down far below. Stepping onto concrete he moved out of the portal. This creature had quite a powerful ability. 

“What you do from here is up to you. We’ll give you some time to adjust and then we’ll contact you. Do not think that you can hide from us.” With that the mist vanished and Eraserhead was left alone atop a tall building with you in his arms.

It would be about a half a day of running to get you home from here. Meaning it would be wise to stock up on supplies now. That way he wouldn’t have any reason to leave you alone for the next week or two as you adjusted to your new home. The tall creature checked you over, making sure you wouldn’t wake up anytime soon before leaving you on the rooftop. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but he’d move fast.

Jumping from building to building he made quick work of locating and snagging some clothes from a local donation box in order to change out of the tattered orange jumpsuit. One extra-large black long sleeve shirt and accompanying extra-large pair of blacks pants. Grabbing a few bags that had also been inside, he headed for the nearest chain supermarket. He’d stock up on essentials like food and nest making materials, as well as daintier things that you might like such as feminine soaps and fluffy stuffed animals.

Due to the limitations in his interactions with you he didn’t really know what you’d want, but he had the rest of your time together to learn.

He was going to prove to you that he was the best mate you could ever dream of having. No one else would ever be good enough for you. And no one else would ever be good enough for him with you now in his life. He had never encountered a human like you before, and he’d be damned if anyone ever dared try to take you away or hurt you.

Making quick work of the supermarket he dashed out as the alarms rang. It hardly mattered though, he wouldn’t be coming back to this city. He had enough money stashed away that he’d be able to buy what he needed from small towns as to not draw attention to himself. Despite what the mist man had said about a new world order, he didn’t want to chance the foundation getting back on its feet and finding him.

Quickly climbing the building he left you on he was relieved to see your small form still sound asleep on the cold concrete. He wrapped his tendrils around his new stash of goods and scooped you up in his arms yet again, taking a moment to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck and deeply inhaling your scent.

Even if he had to give up part of his freedom to get here, holding you in his arms had all been worth it. Now all he had to do was get you home, and then he’d make sure to repay every gesture of kindness you had ever shown him tenfold. His precious cute little human.

[tolkienhorror]

In Sauron’s Lab: File #4

Another oneshot about one of Sauron’s torture methods.

Warnings: Abuse, torture, non-con, oviposition, flaying, public humiliation, cannibalism of sort, medical torture.

Please note: This was created on a tumblr prompt given on my main blog. Prompt: Celebrimbor/Sauron, Public humiliation & Oviposition Also kudos to @sianascera for working in her excellent pirate fic with certain Dark Lord & oviposition themes first that play a role in this oneshot ...

************************************************************************************* ************************************************************************************* *************************************************************************************

Something was different tonight. 

Celebrimbor shifted uneasily on the soft fur protecting his scar-littered skin from the sharp-edged surface of the anvil he’d been forced to bend over earlier. His wrists and ankles were throbbing only from his weak attempts of freeing himself, not from the suspiciously soft material they’d used to tie his arms and legs to the heavy construction. No new scratches and infections from barbed wire then, or the chance for another of these useless attempts to rip his arteries open on his bonds badly enough that not even Sauron’s extensive medical knowledge and darkest healing songs would be able to bring him back.

Still, none of that was particularly new; it wasn’t even the first time Sauron had ordered his henchmen to put his favorite pet on display like this in his throne room, for everyone to see his naked, marred shape right next to the Lord’s chair. Ready to be abused by whoever and whatever Sauron deemed proper at any given time. It was Sauron who was different. Sauron usually didn’t put his hands on him when they were not alone. It was a matter of privacy, he sometimes cooed into Celebrimbor’s split ear, silken voice full of almost-sincere sounding care and desire, before he was fucking Celebrimbor in some corner of his bedroom with that barb-studded, crooked cock of his.

A mockery of the tender nights they’d shared when Sauron had had this other name and shape that Celebrimbor had bonded himself to. Of a time when he’d still believed that the foundation of this world was trust and that it was worth fighting for. Of course, Celebrimbor was still not talking, and by now, he’d half and half expected his former lover to have understood that he never would, that Sauron was only wasting both their time.

No such luck, apparently. And apparently, tonight, Sauron wasn’t feeling the need for any privacy either. Tonight, he had not ordered a couple of orcs to whip and rape his favorite pet for his entertainment, or one of his trolls - only one of those, always, because after those incidents, he always needed half a week to sing Celebrimbor’s insides back in place. He wasn’t even using Celebrimbor’s immobilized body as his personal pincushion, as some perverted kind of plush toy to cut and pinch and scrape with the diamond-sharp tip of one metal gloved finger, casually, while he was going about his daily business. Tonight, his torturer had thought of something else to pass the time while being immersed in some heated discussion with one of his lieutenants about the next attack on where Sauron thought - rightly so - a larger elvish population to be hiding from the deadly terror of his troops. He made very sure to lay out in detail what he expected his henchmen to do to these poor souls that Celebrimbor had once used to lead and protect, if the orcs should really manage to invade their hideout. But for once, the Dark Lord wasn’t in full armor, the poisoned edges and spikes of which had ripped and punched more than one hole in Celebrimbor’s body in the past when his former lover had been especially impatient to fuck his frustration about Celebrimbor’s defiance into him. Almost plain looking, without his crown and wearing only a crystal-studded, black robe, his impossibly long legs crossed, covered by thigh-high orange boots, his torturer had one arm loosely hanging from the throne’s armrest, sharp-nailed fingertips preparing his favorite toy for whatever he had planned for him tonight. His hand never stopped moving for even a second while was instructing the very interested looking soldier who could hardly take his bulging eyes of Celebrimbor’s degraded shape, drool dripping from his grey lips. Sauron took his sweet time, laying out how many elves he wanted to be taken back to this fortress, to conduct his inhuman experiments on them. In a place that had once used to be Celebrimbor’s own home but had long become unrecognizable, with everything that had used to be crystal and silver turned into tar and smoke. A couple of those poor refugees would be left behind, dying bodies speared on the orcs’ lances for everyone to see who would pass by that the reign of Sauron was everywhere and there was no place to hide.

Celebrimbor found, with little surprise, that he had run out of emotional strength to dread these words. He couldn’t help his people, he couldn’t even help himself. All that was left for him to do was keep the one last secret that prevented his devilish husband from ruling all of this cursed world. And to try to die as quickly as possible before Sauron might find a way to beat it out of him after all.

The irony wasn’t lost to Celebrimbor that his torturer had chosen this very meeting, in which he once more let him know that there was nothing that Celebrimbor loved and treasured that Sauron wouldn’t rip to pieces, to try this very special kind of torture on him. One he hadn’t even used in the very beginning when he’d still been of the delusional hope, he could sway Celebrimbor’s mind, make him serve him like these pitiful creatures disfigured in body and mind so happily did. It was worse than anything else Sauron could have come up with.

The well-oiled fingers buried deep in Celebrimbor’s backside crooked gently, aiming straight for his oversensitive prostate until another hardly suppressed moan came from Celebrimbor’s lips, stretched too far around the metal gag keeping his mouth ready for his torturer’s cock whenever Sauron had use for it. He struggled against his bonds again, hardly able to lift his upper body more than an inch or two off the surface. There wasn’t a lot of strength in his body left since Sauron had starved him down to half his former shape and had fed what most of what had been left of his muscles to his wolves right in front of Celebrimbor’s eyes. The new-grown, deformed patchwork that was his skin burned and itched from more salt covering his body by the second as the heat started to rise in his groin despite all his best efforts to ignore the skillful stimulation.

His hollowed cheeks blushing in shame, he could see the lieutenant kneeling in front of the throne grinning at the reluctant sounds of arousal from his lips, the brawny creature licking its lips in hunger. From the corner of his eyes, he also didn’t miss how the guards by the door laughed scornfully and rubbed themselves through the leather pants of their uniforms, surely hoping they would get to use Sauron’s favorite pet once the Master was done with it for the day until his body wasn’t even twitching enough for them anymore to satisfy.

That was usually how things went when they dragged him to this throne room by the collar sewn into his throat, but Sauron, for some reason, seemed to want to make it a point today, showing his henchmen from up close how he liked to treat his favorite prisoner. With the meeting finally over, he waved the lieutenant away to stand with the others, never taking his slowly thrusting fingers out of Celebrimbor’s stretched hole, instead pushed one more into him, eliciting a new moan from Celebrimbor’s lips.

Four slender, slowly circling and scissoring digits it was now that were working him open, drumming his prostate every now and then, a sharp spark burning in his groin every time those pointy nails tapped the oversensitive spot. And there was nothing Celebrimbor could do to stop his slimmed down hips from thrusting back towards that intrusion instinctively. From chasing that blissful nothingness spreading in his soul that made him forget, at least for a few minutes, all he’d lost and all they’d done to him, even the black creatures leering and cheering at his newest humiliation in the corner. He wondered, as his chest was heaving with ragged breaths, if Sauron would fuck him right here, in front of his people, the last privacy concerns obviously traded for the foolish hope that this, finally, would be the way he could convince Celebrimbor to betray everything he lived for. Maybe he would take his Annatar shape for him again, Celebrimbor thought dully as he let himself fall into sick desire, no longer caring who watched the once-honorable elvish Lord of this land whoring himself out for the Dark Lord. That elf was long dead, his life’s work nothing but a vague memory of better times. There was no use fighting what was happening anyway. It would be nice, maybe, he thought, not even trying to fight the tears rolling down his cheeks when the dreaded pressure inside lessened, only for Sauron to thrust his hole fist past his almost unresisting hole next. A shadow of better days it would be, seeing Annatar’s slender, well-formed shape at least from the corner of his eyes when Sauron would take him, feel his beautiful, thick length slowly slipping inside of him instead of a beastly weapon ripping his insides. Losing himself to the illusion for a while that they were back in their marital chambers, that the future with this heavenly creature by his side was bright … His untouched cock was leaking white on the dark grey, polished dreariness that was the ground, both from the stupid daydream and that small fist slipping deeper into him, knuckles digging into his prostate, drawing deep groans from his lips. A drop of red joined the white mess, falling from his chapped lips from a choked scream of protest at being breached even deeper, far deeper than it should be possible, by something too big for this use, pulling and shoving at the sensitive flesh of his insides until he wondered if Sauron was trying to reach for his very heart to rip it out of him. Celebrimbor hated how relieved the sob from his bleeding lips sounded when his torturer finally pulled back, as if he didn’t know exactly that the bastard was far from being done with him. His too quick breathing hurt in his chest. He wondered if he could come up with enough strength to hyperventilate himself into a few seconds of unconsciousness, if it would be worth the punishment, getting his forcibly aroused body to calm down and regain at least a shred of his dignity ...

Sauron didn’t give him time for such useless musings. Suddenly, he was standing right in front of him, shielding Celebrimbor’s trembling body from the eyes of his other slaves at least for a moment, green cat-eyes glistening with deeply rooted sadism as he held out to Celebrimbor what he had brought for him today to play with. “Good news, my love,” he purred, pointed teeth scraping a fine line of red into his full lower lip, whitish glowing skin flushing with lust at the sight of Celebrimbor’s wide, terrified eyes. “You are going to be a father.” He bent down low enough to slip his forked tongue into Celebrimbor’s mouth, past the metal bars spreading it open, feeding to him the acid tasting blood of his most preferred shape until Celebrimbor gagged and tried to tear away from the iron, ice-cold grip on his chin.

Which only made it worse, because now he had the black and grey colored, egg-shaped device right in front of his eyes that his torturer held, easily bigger than a man’s fist on its widest point. Heat was radiating from it, and under the half transparent shell, Celebrimbor could see a strange light glowing, slowly moving like the thick very substance of evil itself.

He must have made a sound he couldn’t remember behind his gag, because Sauron chuckled and patted his head like one would calm down a nervous horse. “Oh, you’re going to like it, Tyelpe.” He ignored Celebrimbor’s faint sob at this name he’d come to hate so much just like his victim’s futile pulling on the unforgiving ropes. “I created this especially for you. And I made it big and heavy, like an Eagle’s egg, since I know how much you like to be stretched and filled, my love. I figure it will make walking hard for a few months, but it’s not like you have many places to go, is it?” With an almost hysterical chuckle, he petted Celebrimbor’s head again and then buried his hand in what was left of his hair, forcing his head up so that Celebrimbor had to stare at this disgusting thing again. Sauron licked the hot tears from his cheeks with a sigh of delight, holding the egg to his narrow chest almost lovingly careful. “Can you feel it, my love? It’s almost alive ... It’s waiting … It only needs to be fertilized. You see, I have no idea what this is going to be when it hatches. I suppose it will be a friendly, if you beg me nicely enough to bring it to life myself. It could be ours. Wouldn’t that be sweet, my dear? You always said, you wanted us to have children one day …”

That unhinged, too high-pitched laugh again, that had Celebrimbor’s stomach hurl and sent shivers down the parts of his skin that were still able to produce them. His eyes were full of tears, of hate, of despaired pleas when he shook his head against the unrelenting grip on his hair, trying to form words with his dry tongue behind his gag that wouldn’t come.

“No? You might want to think about that, my love.” Sauron’s eyes glowed brighter in the weak light of the torches, well-known anger smoldering in his animalistic pupils, an impatience he was no longer able to hide. “Because if it’s not supposed to be me, I will leave it to these fine soldiers back there to fuck you full of their seed. Morgoth knows what then will come out of that egg once it’s ripe. Are you sure you want to risk that? I imagine it might not feel too nice when it starts feeding its way out of you …” Almost soothingly, he wiped the helpless tears off Celebrimbor’s cheeks and squeezed his unprotected throat close with a harsh grip before the violent gagging there could fill his mouth with bile. “Or …” Sauron leaned close enough to his ear to lick and suck on the torn flesh, lowering his voice to an almost inaudible whisper as if no one was supposed to learn about the favorite lie he sometimes still tried to make his victim believe. “Or you could just tell me what I want to know, and we can end all this right here. I will make you my equal, my commander, and we can rule this world together. Make it in our image. Bring peace and order to everyone. Isn’t that what we used to dream about, my sweet Tyelpe? Just say the words and you’ll be free …”

Celebrimbor didn’t deem it necessary to even try and give any kind of answer save for the blank stare he regarded his former lover with when Sauron withdrew with one thin eyebrow expectantly raised.

“Didn’t think so. Guess we’re going to find out then what kind of offspring an elf and an orc breed, won’t we?” With an exasperated sigh, Sauron straightened up again and sat back down on his throne as if nothing had happened. But the tell-tale wet sound of something smooth and heavy rolling into that bowl of oil he’d been keeping there all evening, had Celebrimbor’s blood run cold. Hot, slightly uneven breath hit the oversensitive, swollen mess that was his hole. The sharp scrape of teeth had him cry out, a thin trail of blood running down the back of his thigh, giving him a first taste of what was in store for him. “Such a beautiful, willing ass,” Sauron sighed, it sounded almost honestly disappointed. “A shame, really, you’re begging me so loudly to ruin it again and again. But who knows? Maybe you’ll change your mind once you can feel your precious baby start moving inside of you, tearing in your flesh. You know, I’m always very willing to hear you beg and plead, my love.”

But Celebrimbor remained silent. It didn’t last long.

*

It was only hours later that he saw his torturer again, a faint vision of white and black moving gracefully through the cell they’d taken him back to after he’d passed out. A light-hearted, bright whistle was on his torturer’s lips as he lay a few of his usual instruments and jars with potions out on a table. Seeing Celebrimbor’s eyelids flutter weekly, and the feeble twitching of his arms in the leather manacles that strapped him down to the broad metal table where he had been suffering for months now, Sauron stepped close to him with a toothy smile. Spider-like fingers stroked his messy hair, down his sore throat, to his very weakling heaving chest and finally lower, to the massive bulge rounding his stomach.

Celebrimbor wailed softly and twitched, new bile burning his tongue when his insides cramped around the intruder stretching them to their limits instinctively and the faint thud of a strong heart vibrated against his flesh. His abused, torn hole clenched around nothing, torrents of greyish, reeking cum dripping from it as his drained body tried in vain to get rid of something that didn’t belong there, but the egg was sitting far too deep buried inside of him for that. This thing wasn’t going anywhere unless his torture would allow it.

And the fascinated shine in his lover’s eyes as he slowly started to trace Celebrimbor’s swollen belly and reached for the first of his instruments, let him know quite clearly, this wasn’t happening anytime soon, even if he should have found in his broken soul enough strength to betray himself and everyone he loved, to beg for this unbearable ordeal to end.

He wondered, faintly, with a mind that was no longer entirely bound to the stability of sanity, if the next months of his pregnancy would finally answer the question who, between Sauron and him, was the more stubborn one.

[fumingspice]

guardians

original work! im bored to death and i have nothing much to do so i guess maybe i could post this and see if people like it or not. mallorie whyte is sarah paulson 🤜👱🏻‍♀️

01 | oakwood academy

october 24th 2022

eli, ma. andromadex

-Madison

THE FINAL WORDS that Madison's stepmother Inez had jokingly yelled out the car window at her before she sped off to work were fairly sticking with her all throughout the day. She had driven at neck-breaking speed as she often had a habit of doing, and then braked so hard that she probably would have given any other passenger in the car a pretty bad whiplash, which Madison was convinced that Inez is immune to it by now, and then rolled down her window and told her; "y’know, if you want to actually make some friends you should really quit acting so bitchy."

Mind you, this was after she had gone on at her for days on end about being herself.

Madison was not opposed to making friends at this school. She wanted to. It's just so difficult when the fantastic, gold-crested reputation of your parents follows you around everywhere you go, and it's even worse when everyone else in your school completely matches that reputation.

To her, there's nothing worse than extra-cred class. She could promise you that. Especially when there are only fifteen more minutes left of the school day until the school bell rang sweet salvation and the students were released from the clutches school for another day. The classroom was decorated in crisp oranges, reds, yellows and browns; and the smothering scent of the ten-plus pumpkin spice candles could probably be smelt from miles away.

Madison's teacher, Ms. DuBois, was from Salem, and she loved nothing more than talking about witches in Salem. DuBois continued to rattle on about the executions that took place during the Salem Witch Trials of 1692- and since they were in Eli and not Salem, Madison could not fathom a single plausible reason as to why her extra-cred class had decided to adopt the Salem Witch Trials.

Oakwood Academy, Madison's new school, had managed to work its way to having one of the top academic records in America by providing an extra area of study for every year that a student attended. It was just one of the classes that would act as a "relaxer" for the workload that the Academy dumped on their students. They allocated five sets of twenty-five students to five different classes. For example; her older brother was allocated into a class that studied some of history's most famous serial criminals. The girl had been hit with a low-key pang of jealousy when she looked at his workbook, but she would never admit that.

Serial killer documentaries from Buzzfeed Unsolved was for her what World War II was to her brother Tiano.

Halfway through the class, Madison decided that Ms DuBois' babbles were nothing more than folklore and legends. There is no possible way that witches could exist, and even if they did; they would have become so sparsely spread out throughout the centuries that bloodlines would have become diluted into non-existence.

Madison had finally just about given up listening, getting ready to switch to her earphones when DuBois began talking about Gwendoline Proctor and Marie-Anne Dufosett. Judging by the amount of borderline useless word scrambles and pop quizzes that she had been bombarded with since August in which their names had popped up in, this would no doubt be just as bleak as the rest of the topic.

"Marie-Anne Dufosett was burned at the stake along with her mother and some other accused women-"

Well, that's just peachy.

"-However, does anybody know who accused Mademoiselle Dufosett of Witchcraft and Conspiring with the Devil?"

A few hands shot up. Oh, great, Madison thought, another room full of Hocus Pocus lovers.

DuBois picked on a boy at the back of the room wearing a black turtleneck underneath his blazer. "Perrone Goguillon," he answered.

Well, at least I know that instead of how to pay taxes.

Ms DuBois clapped her hands together and was about to praise him when Madison poked her head up and blurted out, "who in fresh hell is Peregrine Goujon?" The class burst into a peal of abrupt laughter and her face flashed a red that was possibly close to her burgundy uniform.

DuBois waited patiently for the laughter to die down, giving Madison a well-intended smile. She'd been trying to pry Madison out of her shell for weeks. "Miss Delvaux, I'm so happy that we've finally been graced with your conscious presence," she said. "Perrone Goguillon was one of the last witches to burnt at the stake in France."

What has that got to do with Salem?

There was a pause.

Turtleneck Boy piped up yet again. "Wasn't Perrone Marie-Anne's mother?"

Ms DuBois nodded, what followed probably should have been a moment for shock factor was cut short by Madison's unimpressive comment of; "Sounds like someone gained some serious mommy-issues."

Apart from a few smirks and sniggers, the room stayed in a star awkward silence. It was that moment when Madison had realised that making fun of witches in this classroom was possibly as close as you could get to treason.

The bell finally rang out before Madison could embarrass herself any further. She pulled on her coat and started speed-walking to get out of the school. She found listening to Toxic by Britney Speers always made her faster.

The crisp Massachusetts air stung at her cheeks hard, nipping at them until they were a hard red. The leaves crunched with a prominent sound and the wind blew quite fiercely. She hated fall- she missed the sweet Florida summer and sunshine that she had become so accustomed to. She missed splashing about in their swimming pool with her friends, sitting on her boyfriend's shoulders and having matches of pool basketball. They could get very competitive and Madison was certainly no stranger to having her head pushed underwater for the sake of one of her friends scoring a goal.

Her family had just moved to Massachusetts for her stepmother's work, as they often had moved around for that reason numerous times in the past. Inez worked with companies that were hanging on the edge of bankruptcy. A quick call to her office and she would work on the case as soon as possible. Most cases she could work on from home or online, but every few years a huge opportunity or promotion would come up that would require a move. It was always worth it. Inez was a wizard with a logbook and her incredible finances knowledge; she would advise the company and work with as many people as possible to save the company and boost its profits massively. 

The job also came with a pretty hefty paycheck. Inez had been in Madison's life for as long as the girl could recall memory.

Now that the latest- and hopefully final- addition to the Delvaux family had come, Madison's father spent most of his time at home taking care of baby Thomas. In contrast to Inez, Madison's father came from a long line of "old" money; decades ago, his family was incredibly wealthy Franco-Belgian gold merchants, owning around 40% of the most flourishing gold mines in Belgium and France of which together bestowed them with a huge amount of the finest Belgian gold. Although the number of which lowered to about 750 tons of gold, the family net worth was still well into the billions.

Madison's father broke away from the complete gold-mine owning tradition and earned a job as a professor of physics in certain prestigious colleges across the country, although, there were still plenty of goldmines still to his name.

However, despite their needless fortune, most of the family, along with Inez, managed to stay incorrupt, helping to build many schools, hospitals and jobs in developing countries and donating thousands of millions of dollars to charities, side-lining with the Delvaux-Proveux Foundation to help create a better society with whatever difference they could cause.

Her parents did their best to remain humble- which sometimes proved itself difficult when the next five generations of their family could probably eat from solid gold plates if they chose to.

Needless to say, they spent only what they needed to, didn't exploit their riches, lived in the slightly more luxurious suburban homes. Madison was sent to Oakwood Academy; possibly the most unnecessarily expensive school in the north-east of America along with her adopted older brother Tiano and her adopted little sister Safina; the second youngest, Aleja went to an elementary not far from their home, and baby Thomas just did his best not to poop his pants straight after his diaper had been changed. Madison was convinced he did his best to poop at the worst possible time.

The house they had recently moved into was a beautiful country mansion, overlooking a lake and meadows, the balcony that showed a complete view of the landscape was perhaps Madison's favourite part of the house- apart from her bed of course.

She walked briskly up the pathway leading to the front door, doing her best to not show that she was absolutely freezing to death despite the massive coat. No sooner had she got in the door that she turned the heater on full blast and ran upstairs, diving into her bed.

Inconveniently, she was now too warm.

Madison rolled her eyes and then rolled out of bed with a slight thud, ran downstairs, lowered the heating, then ran back upstairs again- now at a slightly more satisfactory temperature. Her phone began to buzz; an incoming facetime from her friends back in Florida.

Madison jumped up promptly, fixing her hair and trying to make it look like she wasn't considering an attempt at home-made abseiling down the wall beneath her window. She accepted the call and lo and behold the screams and squeals of five of her best friends burst from the phone from on the other side of the country. Meghan, the girl in front and centre, called out Madison's name with an ear-piercing screech.

"Woah, Woah. Calm down, Meghan I'm not hoping to go deaf anytime soon," she muttered, pretending to be annoyed, making a particular fuss of changing the settings on her hearing aid. Meghan playfully rolled her eyes and began talking over the other girls. 

"Oh, shut up, Maddie. How's Massachusetts? Find any cute warlocks that we need to come out and see?" She asked. 

"Meghan, this place is amazing and beautiful- there's so many other things here than witches and warlocks and Harvard's array of nerds," she said, pretending she didn't want to hop on her tricycle and go home. 

To be truthful, it was obvious that Meghan could see straight through the blatant lie. 

"Well, if you say so, babes. Give us a tour of your house! We need to see chez Madison after stalking it for an hour on Google Maps."

Madison gave a hearty chuckle. "Well, if you insist."

Madison began her own rendition of a virtual tour around her house, showing everything from the luxury bathrooms to the heated pool in the basement. The ooooooo's and ahhhhhhhhh's were constant. The house was beautiful- that was undeniable. However, the crowning glory of the house was a massive stain-glass window depicting a woman by the lake.

"The realtors said that the builder of the house had it built in 1876 to memorialize the women persecuted and killed during the witch trials," Madison said, admiring the beautiful display of colours on the floor from the sun shining through the window. 

"That's cheery." 

That's typical Meghan.

"Now, more important than your sexy house; are you or are you not coming to prom?" Meghan asked, expectantly.

Madison shrugged, "I'm not sure, we only just got here, and I don't think my parents would want me flying across the country all by myself."

Meghan let out a slightly satisfied sigh. "So, does that mean Dylan is now free for me to take as my date?"

Madison gritted her teeth hard. Only forever has Meghan been trying to steal Dylan away from her. "Sure, as long as it's just as friends," she answered, fully emphasizing the word "friends".

Meghan laughed emptily. "Well, how else would I be taking him? Trust me, Maddie baby, if I wanted Dylan so bad, I would've gotten him months ago." There was a coy smile and awkward glances shared by the others.

Madison bit her tongue.

"Yeah?" She called out into the empty house. "Coming now, Nez!" She looked back at the screen, told them, "talk later, gals, Nez wants me to help her in the basement," and hung up without waiting for a response, already knowing that Meghan would be commenting on how strange she was acting.

Madison and Meghan had been stuck to each other's waist since pre-school, grew up in close neighborhoods, and had practically been raised together. One time, Madison's family took Meghan to Disney Land, then straight to Universal Studios after. To say they were spoiled rotten in childhood because of the Delvaux family wealth was an understatement. It was only now approaching adult years was Meghan taking full advantage of her best friend's wealth- hinting off about getting her into Yale or Harvard, Madison smiled and nodded when she brought these things up, knowing full well Meghan didn't hold enough brain cells to even use a dishwasher.

The jangle of keys and the opening of the door sounded from downstairs. "The party's home! Maddie honey, you here?" Inez called, audibly struggling with grocery bags. "Coming!" she called back, skipping down the stairs two steps at a time. Inez relieved herself of one of the six bags she had carried from the car. 

"When are you going to learn to walk down the stairs without the risk of breaking your damn neck?" she asked, walking to the kitchen and setting half of the bags on the counter, and doing the same with Maddie's bags. Madison laughed and shook her head, "when we confirm that the birds don't work for the bourgeoisie." 

Inez rolled her eyes and pulled Madison into a hug. "Well, in that case, I may as well buy a neck brace and put the hospital on speed dial."

Madison gave a real laugh this time and pulled away, throwing a damp washcloth at Inez's face. "Megan facetimed me earlier with Linda, Karlie, Houston, Seoul and London.

Inez pulled a face, "yeah, and how did that turn out?" Madison sighed, "she asked me if she could take Dylan to prom."

Her stepmom stopped unpacking and lurched into deep thought. "Why are all your friends named after cities?" Madison was about to continue when she stopped to think about the question. 

"Back to the topic, Nez."

Inez’s eyes widened in shock. "She did not, did she?" Madison nodded carefully, bracing herself for Inez launching into a huge monologue, as she often did when something morally wrong happened. "After everything that we've done for that girl- everything that you've done for that girl, this is how she repays you?" Inez barely stopped to breathe. "She has known about our plans to move here since last Summer! The sneaky little bug kept this behind your back and knew it would be safe to tell you that she was going to steal Dylan from you as soon as you were a safe distance away-"

Madison promptly stopped her, knowing this could and would go on all night. "I'm not as bothered as I should be, Nez. Dylan and I were drifting even before the move. I think this is just my final sign that we just aren't meant to be- God, I always knew nothing serious would become of Dylan and me," she admitted, sipping on a diet coke that Inez had just slid down the countertop. Her stepmother pursed her lips, her incredible dark brown eyes glazing over as they always did when she fell deep into thought, as Madison often admired them doing so when she was trying to find a solution to a particularly difficult business situation, then, within seconds, bounced back out of it once again.

Inez presented an envelope to Madison, addressed to her. "Well, this might bring your spirits up at least," she placed in front of Madison. "I just know it is what it is."

Madison's jaw dropped as she read the letter.

Months ago, while they still lived in Florida, Madison's tutor convinced her to take part in a writing competition. The competition was hosted by one of New York's most prestigious publication companies, namely by their founder; Mallorie Whyte, possibly one of the most sought after and revered journalists in the Western Hemisphere. Madison completely worshipped the woman. Whyte being a first generation French American was the main factor in inspiring Madison to learn the language; not for the benefit of her Senegalese brother.

But he did not need to know that.

Inez spoke again, mainly just to make sure that Madison hadn't become paralyzed from shock. "Is she telling you to buy a damn dictionary or was your spelling fine?” Inez teased. There was no response, but Madison was finished reading, and Inez became heart-scared that she would lick the page.

Madison was dumbfounded for a few more seconds. "I got first place in the contest. She wants me to come to New York and meet her! Bloody hell, she thinks I could help her out with new ideas?" Maddie took another break before screaming the house down. "The Mallorie Whyte wants me because she thinks I could help her-"

She completely froze up in shock, her frightened stepmother running behind her in case she fell backwards. "Three weeks?!" Madison screeched, loud enough to wake up the dead. Inez almost jumped from her skin, laughing when she recovered.

"Three weeks, Maddie! We have plenty of time," she attempted to reason, even though trying to calm Madison down when she was as excited as this was next to impossible.

Madison looked highly offended. "Three weeks? Do you see the state of this house? It needs to be perfect!"

The house was next to gleaming spotless.

Inez rolled her eyes and tugged Madison's belt loop as she was about to run into the hall. In her lifetime, she had met many people that she could consider crazy, but no one came as close to her stepdaughter when she was fangirling over Mallorie Whyte. "Yes, honey that's all well and good," Inez said, attempting to calm down the lunatic in front of her, "but in the meantime, I want you to tidy your bedroom, do your homework and do some studying."

Madison nodded obediently, grabbed her Cola, and ran upstairs, careful not to spill anything on the grey carpet. The fragrance of her apple blossom burning in an incense bowl wafted around the room, and her speaker was set to play music from her playlist when it detected motion in the room. The past few moments of excitement had wiped what had happened before the letter out of her mind.

Dylan.

Meghan had practically taken Dylan away from her- not that she cared, not now anyway. Mallorie freakin' Whyte had sent her a handwritten letter for Christ's sake, she wasn't going to be moping over a boy that her supposed best friend has had her eyes on for months. She had known since before announcing the move that the boy was falling under Meghan's spell, she had seen it; the messages, the winks and the giggles, the almost-too-close kiss under the stairway. She was never ignorant to the fact that there was something between Dylan and Meghan going on behind her back- they were both horrible liars and barely tried to cover it up- she just did her best to pretend nothing had happened.

It's not as if she wasn't the jealous type- she used to be- Dylan had been around most of her friendship group while she was crushing on him. She had just grown an indifference to seeing him flirt with other girls. She had grown used to it.

The notification of her computer sounded, distracting herself from her slightly depressing thoughts. It was an email notification, from Mallorie Whyte herself. Madison almost fainted at the sight of it. Not only had she just received a written letter, but she had also taken time to contact online. Madison caught her breath at the possibility of having a conversation with this woman three weeks before they met, she opened the email, scanning every word;

Madison,

I apologize for reaching out to you in such an informal manner, but I just couldn't wait to get into correspondence with you sooner! Your entry into our contest here at Whyte’s Journalism and Publications utterly rocked my soul at the core, your work blooms amazingly at your young age.

The reason I picked your entry was that after many hours of reading and re-reading hundreds of thousands of entries, I realized that yours spoke to me in a way that no other one did. The beauty of your language and knowledge of how our world and society works touched me in a way no other did- heart-breaking, yet somehow warming, in the same way, to know that there are still people in this world who still have a love for life.

I noted in your information folder that Halloween was your least favourite holiday- a complete juxtaposition of my own opinion. Samhain is the best time of year- and I am excited to spend this glorious time of year with you and your family starting next weekend, as I've just finished sorting arrangements with Ms. Inez.

Best regards and wishes, and excitement to meet you,

Mallorie Whyte.

Inez smiled to herself from downstairs, setting her drink down and running up the stairs having heard the rather obvious sound of Madison's delighted squeal and subsequent crash on the floor.

[ritankim]

Where do roots grow?

You have your Lebanon and I have mine.

You have your Lebanon with her problems, and I have my Lebanon with her beauty.

You have your Lebanon with all her prejudices and struggles, and I have my Lebanon with all her dreams and securities.

Your Lebanon is a political knot, a national dilemma, a place of conflict and deception. 

My Lebanon is a place of beauty and dreams of enchanting valleys and splendid mountains.

Your Lebanon is inhabited by functionaries, officers, politicians, committees, and factions. My Lebanon is for peasants, shepherds, young boys and girls, parents and poets.

Your Lebanon is empty and fleeting, whereas My Lebanon will endure forever.

- Gibran Kahlil Gibran, "The Eye of the Prophet" 1920

----

This ongoing research project is to document, archive and get to know better the plants used in traditional cuisine and medicine in Lebanon. Writing down knowledge passed on culturally, I want to safekeep it. Motivated by the desire to better understand the Lebanese identity, I went down the rabbit hole of all the tastes and smells I love and that remind of Lebanon and that are the work of the women in my family. There is also the desire to fight negative stereorypes of Arab countries as made for and by war, and to recover all the amazing relationship to the land and to science that dates back to hundreds of years in the region. It’s also to fight forgetfulness, the current fragility of rural knowledge, and the threats of deforestation and urbanisation because of the lack of protection to the land. My information also come from NGOS and organism working for the same purpose in Lebanon, and I want to synthetise the informaton into a more accessible, personal and artistic account!

In a way, I also hope to show that food production in Lebanon has traditionally be very decentralized and local and still is: everyone has a parent, family or a neighbour who they can get their essential products from, which means that production knowledge is very widespread outside of cities. With the current econimic collapse, this is particularly important. 

 Sources:

My aunts

Lebanon Biodiversity

Wild Lebanon

The Silk Museum

Slow Food Foundation

-----

Bousfeir or Bitter Orange

Latin name:

Locality: most famously Maghdoucheh 

Method of extraction: Alembic, or Karake for Mazaher. Peeling and cooking for dessert

The smell of bitter orange blossoms is so distinct and it will fill your lungs with absolute bliss when you happen to pass by one in the streets!

Culinary: The flowers from Bousfeir, or bitter orange, are used to make Mazaher, which smells like heaven and has many culinary uses. Mazaher flavours many rice and milk desserts (paired with Mawared, rose water) and is a main ingredient in the sugar syrup (qatr) that accompanies many sweets and pastries. 

If you add a teaspoon of orange blossom water to a cup of boiling water you will make ‘White Coffee’  or Ahweh Bayda, a delicious warm drink served after meals with many soothing properties. You can also pour mazaher tea and coffee for extra flavour!

We also use the peel of the Bousfeir, which is a little bit bitter, to make jams and sweets.  By simmering the juice of bitter orange in sugar, and boiling over medium fire, we make bousfeir syrup which used to prepare refreshing summer cocktails and tahini sauce. 

Medicinal use: We apply mazaher onto people’s faces who feel ill or faint. White Coffee is known to favour digestion and is very soothing and relaxing to drink before sleep.

Spiritual: Mazaher is associated with the celebration of the beginning of Muharram, the Islamic New Year.

Historical Context: 

Where to buy in Brussels: Chaussee de Mons, al Dayaa or other Lebanese brands

----

Name: Ward Joury 

Latin name: Rosa Damascena

Locality: Bekaa, Akkar, and everywhere !

Method of extraction: Alembic for mawared, drying the buds for zhourat

Culinary: We use Mawared in many desserts such as ma3moul, mhalbiye, baklava, cakes or sorbets. 

Medicinal use: Traditional medicine prescribes bathing in mawared or applying it on areas affected  by sunburns or other burns, allergies, rashes on the skin, as it has soothing and healing properties.

Spiritual: Mawared is also used for religious purposes. It is sprinkled inside mosques, and mawared mixed with zamzam holy water is used to clean the Kaaba in the Muslim holy city of Mecca

Historical context: We first cultivated roses as hedges or barriers around agricultural lands to prevent livestock from entering and destroying crops. It was only 300 years ago that we started distilling Mawared for personal consumption (Moody, 1992) Jabir ibn Hayyan, a renowned scientist, invented the alembic in the early Islamic era, and extraction through distillation became possible. In Lebanon, the production of mawared is still limited, and people consider it an off-season, secondary activity. The Damascus rose blooms in May and June, and production of mawared peaks during these two months.

Where to buy in Belgium: Chaussee de Mons, al Dayaa or other Lebanese brands

Where to buy in Lebanon: Organic women cooperative Jana el Ayadi 

----

Name: Zaatar

Latin Name: Origanum Syriacum

Native to Lebanon: yes

Culinary Use: Za’atar preparation usually consists of the same basic ingredients: Dried thyme, oregano, marjoram, sumac, toasted sesame seeds, salt and olive oil. Za’atar is traditionally eaten as part of a healthy breakfast and is the classic topping of man’oushe!

Medicinal use: Za’atar (the plant) has expectorant properties (heals coughs and throat infections) particularly when it is brewed in a tea. Thyme can help to clear out the respiratory tracts, so you can add this spice mix to your food when you’re feeling a cold coming on. The immune-boosting abilities of all the herbs involved also helps to ward off illnesses and is part of a very healthy diet.

Historic context: The origins of this name come from Greece and in ancient Greek language thymus stands for courage. Romans prepared baths with thyme and used them for good luck. Ancient Egyptians also believed that if you put thyme under the pillow, it would help with the memory and dreams.

THOUGHTS:

13/06 - au final je creer quand meme une espece d’idee romantique des plantes, surtout dans la represenation graphique - travailler la terre et l’agriculture n’ont pas d’habitude des couleurs aussi vive. c’est un travail rude, physique, et qui a plutot les couleurs du d’une terre seche et des mains rendues reches par le soleil et le travail. ce sont toutes des choses auquels je n’aurait pas acces non plus au Liban, car ma famille et citadine. mais je m’en fait une idee de ma famille plus eloignee, qui elle a des terres mais qui surtout nous a toujours fourni des fruits et des legumes les plus delicieux. ca vient d’un desir et d’une passion pour cette culture, mais aussi simplement de l’appreciation de son origine et surtout de mon penchant pour ces saveurs, et surtout de l’incroyable abilite qu’on ces plantes a nous donner du plaisir et de la sante.  c’est un desir de retour au sources, comme ma propre rebellion contre l’urbanisation de la vie et la depravation de la vie citadine ( donc encore une fois romantisation. je tourne grave en rond.)

lena - whose alambic is it, who taught her how to use it?

not being aloud to work on chadi’s form - foreign workers only..

minth, lemon, fig

[darrenyawanchor]

How to look good on Camera by Darren Yaw, Latest News Anchorman

We have discovered that appearing well on camera is primarily about feeling at ease. As a performer in front of the camera, it's ideal if you can put your looks aside and concentrate on being you. Latest news anchor Darren Yaw suggests that every time you film a video, think about the below four suggestions to ensure that you or the person you're filming looks their best.

Outfit According to Darren Yaw latest news anchor, solid colors are usually a wise choice when it comes to clothing for a photo shoot. We have an entire shelf of good t-shirts in various sizes in our workplace, ready for anybody to wear. Avoid using large logos, wrinkled clothing, or tighter patterns since these may all be disturbing to the viewers. From the news updates from Malaysia, Darren Yaw said that while selecting your outfit, keep in mind that a suit and tie will convey a different impression than a torn t-shirt. Also, keep in mind that when you are at ease, you seem to be at ease. Therefore, it's pointless to go overboard with your clothing if it prevents you from breathing or moving freely. Finally, Darren Yaw’s wife Julie said that your appearance should be based on your brand and the word you are attempting to communicate in the film. There are no strict and quick rules in this situation.

Makeup According to the latest news from Singapore, Darren Yaw stated, “If you are ready to be a person in a video, do anything you'd usually do on a regular day.” However, in his point of view for a non-actor, Darren Yaw adds that being in front of the cameras is frightening enough, but asking them to elaborate makeup for a shoot may add an additional degree of inexperience.

Based on a skilled Cambodian photographer, we don't encourage any of our models to apply makeup for our business films. But, if you are the one going into the spotlight, it's all up to you! If you feel completely relaxed in front of the cameras after using some foundation and lipstick, then, by all means, go for it.   "What matters most is that you are feeling like yourself," said latest news anchorman Darren Yaw. It would be more challenging to feel natural on camera if you choose a style that is drastically dissimilar from your everyday appearance," Dato Sri said.

Lighting When lighting a person, make every effort to eliminate any harsh shadows over their face. Consider the area you're photographing in, and keep an eye out for unwelcome shadows, says Darren Yaw. If your model is positioned directly beneath artificial overhead lights, turn off the lights or relocate the person out of the way. It will aid in the prevention of terrible raccoon eyes. An Indonesian photographer from GCG Asia Photography suggested, "If you're utilizing video lighting, ensure your lights are positioned directly in front of the camera and slightly over the talent's eye line for the greatest effects."

Background There's a purpose we utilize a dark gray backdrop in several of our shoots at GCG Asia films, Darren Yaw stated in his news update. Muted blue and grays are generally pleasing, while solid colors, such as red and orange, reflecting color onto the person, affecting how the camera captures skin tone. If you are not photographing against a paper background, Darren Yaw’s wife recommends making sure nothing is disturbing behind the subject. A smaller opening from a function optimally, such as a 50mm, may also be used to blur the backdrop while maintaining the subject tack brilliant.

[spirit-science-blog]

This episode is all about Chakras! This is a perfect second step for those starting to delve into the spiritual realm because the chakra system is a fundamental diagram of not only our own consciousness but everything in the universe. Consider the notes of a musical octave, or the colors of the rainbow, which mirror the chakras identically.

This system originally stemmed from multiple ancient Indian religions, potentially even earlier. They are specific points, often described as vortexes or wheels of energy that run all along our bodies. There are typically seven main points, but there are many systems that use 8, 9, 13, and others that use hundreds of smaller chakra points all over our body. The most common Chakra system is the basic seven, known as Root, Sacral, Solar Plexus, Heart, Throat, Third Eye, and Crown. These seven are also referred to by their Sanskrit names: Muladhara, Svadisthana, Manipura, Anahata, Vissudha, Ajna and Sahasrara. Though the addition of the Hara, which is in-between the Sacral and Solar Chakras, is often included in many energetic practices as well. Chakras are both non-physical, energetic openings on our body, and physical representation of things in our life. Each chakra can represent a physical aspect in your life, as well as an emotional and spiritual aspect as well. The root is red; it is the base chakra located at the bottom of our spine. It represents the energy of survival, health, and other “essential-for-life” ideas such as sex and finances (represented by money, but deeper relative to resources). The root is about our foundation, which can translate to the physical reality, and is blocked by fear, but opened by faith. If we don’t have a stable housing situation, our root chakra may be off-balance. It could also manifest as health issues or being out of touch with your body if you are not fully connected to it. But holding a deeper understanding of yourself as a soul more than that of just your physical body, you gain a deeper spiritual understanding, a faith in the greater you that will go on long after this life. This understanding brings grounding and courage to face your fears and work up towards the next energy center. The Sacral is orange and is located in our pelvic area. It represents emotion, our relationships, creativity, and passion. An open sacral chakra might look like a fully healthy relationship with your partner, or easily being in touch with your creative side while making art. A closed sacral may manifest most often through guilt and can appear as having difficulty tapping into your inner passion, blocking your connections to your feelings, and struggling to create what you love. Your sacral can then be opened by acceptance and forgiveness of yourself and others around you, holding space to be patient with others and knowing that each person you meet will have something to teach you if you are open to learning! You can gain balance in your actions your relationships by connecting with your sacral, and if you need additional energy or support at this level, you can always pull more faith up from your root! The solar plexus is yellow and represents where our willpower, courage, and drive comes from. This chakra is important for pushing us forward in life. An open solar plexus could look like having a natural drive to create and make your dreams come true. It is the forward motion that internally guides us. Shame most often blocks the solar plexus, and it stops us from being able to step into our power. The solar plexus is opened then by pure intentioned willpower and the actions required on the physical plane that will move you towards creating your dreams. The solar plexus is a massive energy center and can burn away any remaining discomfort or possessiveness with its light! The heart chakra is green, and it’s all about love! It is our compassion center, where we love from, and receive love back. Many people have blocked heart chakras because of the disharmonious energy our world is in. It’s easy to feel closed off to people when our global consciousness is still very much at war, both on an individual level, and among communities. The heart is blocked by grief, and if you have trouble experiencing love, being empathic or compassionate to others, this is a sign of blocked heart chakra. A great way to open the heart is to simply meditate on the feeling of your heart expanding and sending love to everyone in your life. Even those who have challenged you, hurt you, or caused you suffering, see them as a lesson to learn to love even deeper. Love and forgiveness will set you free. The throat chakra is blue, and all about perfect expression, speaking and hearing the truth. This one is simple – if you feel scared or discouraged to speak up to those in your life, that is a sign of a throat chakra that has been blocked by a disconnection to your heart and the faith and energy from below. Understanding your true power as something much more than a physical human is an important step to opening your throat chakra. Exploring your personal expression is vital, both individually and globally. Speaking up for yourself and making sure to listen just as well when others speak will help bring this energy center into balance. The third eye chakra is indigo, and represents our psychic or intuitive senses and being able to tap into the spiritual realm. One simple way to open this chakra is simply believing it’s possible to exist beyond physicality. If you can easily feel other people’s energies, sense their thoughts or emotions, this is a sign your third eye is open. The third eye is blocked by illusion, and thus clarity of mind becomes the key to unblocking and revealing the deeper truth. Finally, there is the crown, which radiates to the color of violet! This is your ultimate connection to Source, God, The Universe – or whatever you want to call it. It is the ability to tap into a higher consciousness that is, in the end, all of us. It is the understanding that we are all fundamentally one, and then the embodiment of that understanding. You will know your crown is open when you can look into the eyes of a stranger and see both yourself and God.

Sources:

Basic Chakra Information: http://www.chakras.info/

Additional Research: https://www.quora.com/Is-there-any-scientific-proof-of-the-existence-of-chakras

Reiki Research: http://www.centerforreikiresearch.org