#expert-curated questions

[techminsolutions]

Unleashing Excellence: Hidden Potential Through CSC Olympiad 5.0: An In-Depth Guide

Introduction to CSC Olympiad CSC Academy, an esteemed educational organization, is renowned for its commitment to fostering academic competition and nurturing a competitive spirit among school children. By promoting education, digital literacy, and financial literacy, CSC Academy aims to prepare students for the rigorous demands of today’s highly competitive world. This comprehensive guide delves…

[phanyu]

ive talked about this before in the context of their gaming channel anecdotes but i can't stress how fascinated i am with watching the way dan and phil streamline their funny responses to the most commonly asked questions in the preshows. like they truly are professionals in a job that only exists on the planet for the two of them. the niche skillset theyve developed is just so fascinating. like in terms of this specific example, the way they so easily and naturally slip into what feels like an off-the-cuff banter that makes you feel like youre part of this intimate moment but really is as much theatre as the real show. and i mean this in a positive way, dan and phil are like EXPERT-LEVEL good at divvying up elements between their public and private lives while being people whose cult has grown specifically around their life and lore it blows my mind a bit. the line theyre able to maintain even in this era of like extreme calculated "openness" between their life meant for them and what they give to us to curate that parasocial experience of phannieism is so masterful. anyway it's so interesting i love having these preshows to compare to each other and track answers over.

[perpetual-stories]

Eight Strategies for Improving Dialogue in Your Writing

Well, hi! Oh my… wow! It’s been a long time since I’ve posted! I’ve been very busy and I am genuinely sorry to all my followers, but that doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten about this account, but here is one final post for the year!

Hopefully next year I become consistent with it again!

Let’s begin!

One of the best ways to help a reader connect with your writing is by crafting excellent dialogue. Use these tips to learn how to write dialogue that showcases character development, defines your characters’ voices, and hooks readers.

Why Use Dialogue?

Good dialogue performs all sorts of functions in fiction writing. It defines your characters’ voices, establishes their speech patterns, exposes the inner emotions, and showcases their character development. Beyond mere characterization, effective dialogue can also establish the setting and time period of your story and reveal information in a way that doesn’t feel overly expository.

Authors use lines of dialogue to reveal a character’s personality and express their point of view. For instance, an archetypal football coach might speak in short, terse sentences peppered with exclamation points and quotations from famous war generals. By contrast, a nebbish lover with a broken heart might drone on endlessly to his therapist or best friend, speaking in run-on sentences that circle around his true motivations. When an author can reveal character traits through dialogue, it cuts down on exposition and makes a story flow briskly.

Eight Writing Tips for Improving Dialogue

The first time you write dialogue, you may find it quite difficult to replicate the patterns of normal speech. This can be compounded by the concurrent challenges of finding your own voice and telling a great story overall. Even bestselling authors can get stuck on how a particular character says a particular line of dialogue. With practice and hard work, however, lackluster dialogue can be elevated to great dialogue.

Here are some strategies for improving the dialogue in your own work:

Mimic the voices of people in your own life. Perhaps you’ve created a physician character with the same vocal inflections as your mother. Perhaps your hero soldier talks just like your old volleyball coach. If you want to ensure that your dialogue sounds the way real people speak, there’s no better resource than the real life people in your everyday world.

Mix dialogue with narration. Long runs of dialogue can dislodge a reader from the action of a scene. As your characters talk, interpolate some descriptions of their physical postures or other activity taking place in the room. This mimics the real-world experience of listening to someone speaking while simultaneously taking in visual and olfactory stimuli.

Give your main character a secret. Sometimes a line of dialogue is most notable for what it withholds. Even if your audience doesn’t realize it, you can build dynamic three-dimensionality by having your character withhold a key bit of information from their speech. For instance, you may draft a scene in which a museum curator speaks to an artist about how she wants her work displayed—but what the curator isn’t saying out loud is that she’s in love with the artist. You can use that secret to embed layers of tension into the character’s spoken phrases.

Use a layperson character to clarify technical language. When you need dialogue to convey technical information in approachable terms, split the conversation between two people. Have one character be an expert and one character be uninformed. The expert character can speak at a technical level, and the uninformed one can stop them, asking questions for clarification. Your readers will appreciate it.

Use authentic shorthand. Does your character call a gun a “piece” or a “Glock”? Whatever it is, be authentic and consistent in how your characters speak. If they all sound the same, your dialogue needs another pass.

Look to great examples of dialogue for inspiration. If you're looking for a dialogue example in the realm of novels or short stories, consider reading the great books written by Mark Twain, Judy Blume, or Toni Morrison. Within the world of screenwriting, Aaron Sorkin is renowned for his use of dialogue.

Ensure that you’re punctuating your dialogue properly. Remember that question marks and exclamation points go inside quotation marks. Enclose dialogue in double quotation marks and use single quotation marks when a character quotes another character within their dialogue. Knowing how to punctuate dialogue properly can ensure that your reader stays immersed in the story.

Use dialogue tags that are evocative. Repeating the word “said” over and over can make for dull writing and miss out on opportunities for added expressiveness. Consider replacing the word “said” with a more descriptive verb.

[paradiseprincesss]

"Can't you forgive me? At least just temporarily."

this just screams perfection

one last time | jonathan crane

before anyone says anything i know this isn’t my best work bare with me i didn’t really know what the hell i was writing but i knew i wanted to write something sad

summary: jonathan runs into his ex who he still can’t move on from — if only things could have been different this time.

warnings: smut, p in v, angst, breakups mentioned, unrequited love, MDNI 18+ only!

word count: 2.5k

masterlist

pain is just a consequence of love — the question is if it’s worth all the trouble.

the warm, summer breeze blew through jonathan's slightly tousled hair as he stepped off the train into gotham city, holding his wrist out to check the time on his watch.

11:58 pm.

it was rather late, but jonathan was returning from the neighboring city where he’d spent the last few days testifying in a court trial as an expert witness. he was exhausted and all he wanted to do was go home, succumb to his sleepiness on his bed, and shut his eyes as he turned off his thoughts for the night. 

alone, again.

night after night, he slept without you beside him — he hadn’t had a good night's rest since the day you’d left him.

he didn’t blame you, though. he knew as soon as he saw you, scarecrow mask in your trembling hands, that it was over. jonathan could still remember the look on your face — you were so terrified.

he’d never hurt you; he couldn’t do it if he tried — but you couldn’t see that. he didn’t expect you to, but that didn’t make it any less painful when you told him it was over. that you were leaving him and you “couldn’t do this anymore.”

your laugh, your smile, everything about you echoed in his mind. a constant reminder that he’d been left lonely once again. 

in another world, he’d get to keep you.

he would get to come home to you again. watch your face light up with a smile as he walked through the front door, running into his arms as you peppered his face with kisses. he could still remember the smell of your perfume and the way you’d always leave a sheer layer of lip gloss on his cheeks when you kissed him. 

if only he’d done things differently.

he couldn’t bring himself to be with anyone else except you — he couldn’t even picture himself with another woman. if jonathan couldn’t have you, perhaps love was off the table entirely. maybe he’d just have to sit this one out and wait for the next life.

even if he was nonexistent in your world, you’d always be the centre of his.

the memories of you — every moment with you — would always be freshly tattooed in his mind. 

his thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the sound of someone’s baggage being dragged across the train platform, accompanied with a familiar little huff. 

could it be?

jonathan turned around immediately with his briefcase still in his hand, as he saw a sight that made his heart flutter. 

there you were, standing with a bag of luggage that looked awfully heavy. nobody else was around — it was just the two of you again. alone. almost as if the universe was sending a subtle sign to jonathan. 

where were you headed?

you glanced around momentarily before your eyes landed on the taller man standing adjacent to you. doing a double take, your jaw almost hit the floor as the memories of the past started to flood through your mind.

he called your name out softly, trying to decipher whether you were really standing there or if this was just a mirage — a hallucination his mind was curating to torture him, but when you called his name back out to him, he knew.

“jonathan?” you asked softly as he stepped a little closer to you, and finally, under the dim lights of the station platform, you could see him clearly. 

the two of you stared at each other in silence, neither sure of what to say at this very moment but jonathan was the first to speak again. 

“where are you headed?” 

the question echoed in the night, his voice familiar and comforting. it took everything in you not to run into his arms and break down — you regretted leaving him since the day that you did. 

“...i’m leaving gotham.” you finally replied, unable to look at his bright, blue eyes for a second longer.

“what?”

“i need to start over,” you whispered, still not looking at him, “i'm catching a flight to my hometown in the morning.” 

jonathan’s mouth went dry as looked at you, and instinctively, his hand reached over to your face as he tilted your chin up. you couldn’t go — you’d break his heart all over again if you did. 

“i haven’t stopped thinking about you.” jonathan suddenly confessed. it didn’t matter if you felt the same or not, it was like something supernatural took over him, forcing him to get the words out. 

“don’t,” you warned, and he saw the tears that started to well up in your eyes, “don’t say things like that. not after—”

“i don’t care,” he said, “you deserve to know the truth after all the lies i told you.”

“i was selfish, i shouldn’t have just left without warning—”

“you are not selfish.” he interrupted once more. “this is my fault — i should have been more careful.” 

“we both made mistakes.” you assured him, but both of you knew that wasn’t true. it fell on him, not you. his mistakes caught up with him, not yours. 

even now, you were still the most selfless person jonathan knew.

“i never deserved you.” he breathed, his chest feeling tight all of a sudden. “i don’t deserve it, but can we just…talk? i promise you can catch your train in the morning, just…one last time, please—”

“jonathan.” you warned.

“i know i sound crazy,” he sighed, “but one last time, i need to be the one who takes you home.” 

“it’s midnight and i have a flight to catch in less than six hours.” 

“then catch your flight in the morning, please — i promise after that, i'll let you go.” he said, voice trembling as you tried to fight back tears from the way he was pleading with you. “you’re my everything.” 

you tried to rationalize with your head, but your heart was taking the reins right now — how could you say no? 

you couldn’t if you tried — and that’s how you ended up tangled in his arms as he held you closely. his lips were pressed against yours like they used to be, as if nothing changed. 

of course, you told yourself you were only letting him take you home so that you two could “talk” things out and hopefully find some closure. however, it seemed that the only thing you were finding right now was how much you two missed each other. 

“this is a bad idea,” you murmured against his lips, “but i missed you.”

jonathan pulled back from the kiss as he looked down at you, your head resting on the pillows of his bed. his hand came up to cup your cheek, a faint smile appearing on his lips as he admired you. it was like things had never changed. 

“i missed you more than you could imagine.” jonathan admitted, feeling his chest tighten with emotion once more. “i’m sorry.”

you sighed, getting propped up on your elbows as you looked into his eyes. you couldn’t find the right words at first, but after a moment of silence you spoke softly to him. “that doesn’t change things, you know. you lied to me.” 

“can’t you forgive me?” he asked, his cerulean blue eyes pleading with you, “at least just temporarily?” 

“i don’t wanna talk,” you whispered, “...i just want to forget.” 

he wanted your temporary forgiveness, and you wanted to forget — it was bound to end in disaster, wasn’t it? it seemed neither of you cared though, because seconds later, you were locking lips once more. 

jonathan bit your bottom lip gently, making you moan softly into his mouth as your hands found their way around his neck. it was almost like time hadn’t gone by since the last time you saw him, as if you were happy together like before. 

key word — almost.

he unclasped your bra, tossing it to the side as the heat of the moment swept both of you up. you gasped, feeling his warm hands kneading your breasts, his fingers pinching your pebbled nipples gently. he took his time with you, placing soft kisses down your jaw and neck as he focused solely on your body. 

as much as you wanted a bit more foreplay, it had been a long time since you’d last saw him — and all that pent up sexual frustration had to be let out somehow. you wasted absolutely zero time helping him undress as he returned the favour for you. 

you were soaking from the moment he’d first kissed you — the damp spot on your pink panties made that pretty clear. jonathan freed his throbbing length, stroking himself gently as he looked at you with blown out pupils.

so blown out that you could barely see those brilliantly blue irises of his. 

he lined his cock up with your drooling hole, pushing in with no resistance due to how wet you were. you let out a filthy moan, and jonathan groaned as the slick walls of your cunt sucked him in. the pace he set was gentle, but he was deep inside of you as his hands gripped onto your hips. 

“missed you,” he almost whined, “missed this, fuck—”

“h-harder, please jon…” you whimpered, feeling him thrust his thick cock into you harder, faster.

“shit, how’d you get even tighter?” jonathan groaned, pounding into your pussy as your mind went blank.

so much for closure. 

but you weren’t too focused on that right now. in fact, you weren’t focused on that at all. the feeling of jonathan's cock brutally ramming into your cunt had you thoughtless for the time being. the only thing that your mind was able to conjure up was the thought of how badly you needed to feel him fill your cunt up again. 

this is just sex, you reminded yourself, no strings attached — just one last time.

the way he looked at you told a different story, though. jonathan looked at you as if you were the only thing that mattered — because you were the only thing that mattered to him. you could both lie to yourselves and say that this was just a poorly thought out hookup, but one of you wasn’t ready to face the truth — that this was so much more than just two exes hooking up.

i’ll give you a hint — it was the one who was fleeing the city as a last resort in hopes of moving on. 

“i love you.” jonathan whispered, so quiet that at first, you thought you’d misheard him.

“m-mhm–!” you moaned, deliberately ignoring his words. if you said those words, there would be no going back — it would make things all too real. “fuck, i’m g-gonna– mm, c-come!”

“drench my cock, darling. i love seeing you come undone for me — fuck, you’re just so beautiful.” jonathan said, and this time — he was definitely whining. the desperation in his tone was evident, and he tried to ignore the way his heart was pleading with you to say those three little words back. 

as your cunt clenched around his cock, you saw stars. your release washed over you like a tidal wave, hitting you all at once and jonathan's eyes widened at the sight — you were breathtaking. he let out a choked moan, unable to get the words out as he suddenly felt his own release catch up to him. 

he gripped your hips painfully tight, slamming his cock into your tight hole deeply as his tip brushed up against your cervix, and his warm cum spilled into you. his cock pulsed as he filled your cunt up with his seed, and you were still a pathetic, moaning mess as he did so. 

after both of you had calmed down for a moment, the post-sex silence was painfully bittersweet. it was almost like for a second, both of you had forgotten that this was a mistake. but alas, reality catches up with us all much too quickly for our liking, doesn’t it?

“join me in the shower?” jonathan asked after a moment of stillness, pulling out of you as his cum leaked from your spent hole. 

“actually, i think i’ll just wait in bed for you — i need to sleep before my flight.” you said, your voice breaking as tears threatened to spill from your eyes. 

you felt incredibly guilty for what you were about to do — history always repeats itself, as they say. 

thankfully, jonathan was too busy looking down in order to notice your watery eyes, and you’d turned away to really make sure he wouldn’t see a thing. “okay,” he said softly, “i'll be in the shower if you need me. i’ll drive you to the airport in the morning.” 

“i'll be waiting in bed.” you replied sweetly, watching him disappear into the bathroom as he shut the door. you heard the water in the shower start to run, and with a sigh, you grab one of the many papers littered on his bedside table along with a pen. 

quickly scribbling down a messy note, you placed it on the bed for jonathan to see. 

maybe in another life, you wouldn’t leave him to clean up his own mess — and maybe in another life, he wouldn’t have lied to you about who he was. 

if you could have it your way, there would be no such thing as goodbye; but you didn’t make the rules. 

grabbing your packed luggage, you exit through the door of his apartment quietly, taking the elevator downstairs before hailing a cab. you almost regretted it as soon as you’d left him again, but it wasn’t enough to make you turn around and go running back into his arms. 

you knew better than to keep him in your orbit — you were two worlds away. 

as jonathan finally stepped out of his shower and back into his bedroom, his heart dropped as the realization kicked in. he saw it coming, yes — but he just thought that if he pretended not to, then maybe you wouldn’t go.

he looked at the burlap scarecrow mask that was laid out on his dresser — he couldn’t change who he was, and he couldn’t force you to accept that even if he wanted to. noticing the letter on his bed, he picked it up, warm tears falling down his cheeks as he read it. 

dearest jonathan, 

i’m saying sorry for the sake of us. i couldn’t stay, but i think we both knew that. 

if i cross your mind, just know i'm yours. i hope we can have our happily ever after in the next life, but for now, i will love you from a distance. 

you are and always will be my everything, j.

yours truly, 

your darling.

ps. i love you too. 

jonathan held the letter in his trembling hands as he looked out the window of his apartment — he almost had you this time. so close to being in love, but the past came back to haunt him. what could have been if you hadn’t slipped through the cracks of his hands once again?

if only you two got the chance you deserved — you almost loved him enough to stay.

but almost is never enough.

@girlinterrupted505 @ciriceimpera @jordyn-yeager @thevelvetvampyre @galactict3a

@xanaxiii @nocturnest @psylrd @bloodandglitter207 @humbuginmybones 

@oceanstem @futurefamousdeadmusician @jonathancraneslittlepet @dolleyednymphette @kpopgirlbtssvt 

@ll4n4 @ilovetoxicfictionalmen @the-buddy-things @ellebelleshelby @wiseyouthinfluencer 

@aprilsfrog05 @minedofmoria @strangeobsessed @5tud10-54r4h @franzine-xii 

@stsrfujid @psylrd @eyraaaaaae @nyxxie-pooh @momoewn

@fauxcongenialite @ceruleanrainblues

[shirefantasies]

LoTR Characters When You Give Them Flowers

Sorry for the absence, been crazy times 😅 Just something cute I couldn’t get out of my head, enjoy~ Also, correcting my Faramir drought let’s frickin go 🤙🏻

Aragorn

The last town you’d stopped in, there’d been a girl. A little thing, hardly more than seven or eight years old, and there she stood with a basket in hand. She was selling flowers, long and dainty stems with white blooms, no doubt to help her family sitting off in the distance.

The moment he laid eyes upon her, Aragorn had bent over, pressing the loaf he had just bought into her hand and whispering some words of hope you wished you could hear. Heart leaping, you watched him move along before approaching the girl yourself.

~

When night had fallen and a fire began crackling, you took the flowers from behind your back and held them out to the ranger you so dearly loved. The smile that instantly graced him was truly a worthwhile blessing.

“I know where you found these,” he remarked, turning them gently over in his hand as his smile softened.

You mirrored the expression. “I thought they could use a bowl of soup to split the loaf with. And you deserve a gift, even to the smallest gifts of the earth.”

Wordlessly, Aragorn took your hand with the one not holding the flowers, clutching it tight as his blue eyes gazed into yours.

Legolas

“Do you elves know anything of the language of flowers?”

Legolas’s brows furrowed a bit at that, and you couldn’t help giggling at the sight of his expression, his next choice of words. “Words of the trees, yes, but flowers? Perhaps an old tale.”

“No, no,” you shook your head, still smiling, “my people have quite the elaborate custom around flowers. Different blooms in different colors make quite unique statements. Take roses for instance- they come in a whole slew of colors.”

“I see,” he nodded, “so a yellow rose would speak volumes apart from a red one, then?”

Your heart leapt at Legolas’s choices, his unwitting contrast between the blossoms of friendship and passionate, deep love. “Indeed. There are even flowers that say ‘your letter was received’! But if this is unfamiliar to the elves, any flowers would be quite the surprise, would they not?”

“We have always had appreciation for the earth’s beauty.”

You took that as as close of a yes as you’d get, shaking your head as you shifted in the hard base of your seat, turning back to grab the vase of flowers you’d made for your friend, the one who made your heart beat like no other. White lilies could symbolize mourning, but also that one’s love was pure. Perfect, perhaps, if unrequited. Pink irises for hope, though. Hundred-leaved roses in pink for a love truly sincere. Bursts of snow and sunset pink dotted with faint yellow, all curated by your hand to shine with words you hadn’t the heart to speak aloud.

“As do I. These I arranged for you, in fact!” Hands curling around the vase, you held your gift aloft.

Legolas’s dark eyes lit up, mischief crossing his handsome face. “Now that I’ll be guessing the meaning?”

You flushed, rising from your seat as his hands covered yours, accepting your offering. “Well, I was just curious if you’ve heard of-”

“Oh, it is far too late for that! I’m certain Lord Elrond has books on the subject. By tomorrow I’ll be an expert, and who knows? Perhaps you’ll find some flowers of your own.”

You couldn’t help shakily smiling as Legolas’s eyes peered into yours glittering so, his hands still resting warmly over yours.

Boromir

“Boromir! Look!”

The man in question turned his head at the sound of your voice, watching as you bounded his way with hands full of flowers. Their bright color perfectly brought out the tone of your twinkling eyes, eyes that glittered unlike anything Boromir had ever witnessed before.

“Lovely, truly,” he inclined his head toward them as you reached him, “the finest. Where did you come by these?”

“Off at the far end of the meadow!”

Boromir chuckled deeply. “The firewood may have been forgotten, then?”

Pouting suited you, didn’t it? Adorable indeed. “Well, I just saw these and-”

“Worry not,” he slid an arm about your waist, “firewood is no emergency. You deserve this small joy- we all do.”

Glancing down a bit, you extended your hand, raising your treasure such that it practically brushed you both as it connected you. “Well, they are for you.” Were you flushing?

“For me? Well, what a gift! I suppose they do suit me more than you. After all…” Smiling, Boromir tightened his grip around you just a bit. “The most beautiful blossom in leagues is right here. If you keep this little bouquet they will envy you forever.”

Gimli

You stand beneath the awning’s shade, swaying slightly as you tend to the baskets placed along your cart. Your favorite is one filled with mountain poppies collected near the base of the snows, cheery and delicate and brisk as it had felt to be there trimming them. Truly you love your life, though it gets lonely having only plants to speak to. Sometimes you find yourself drifting into fantasy, imagining someone to protect you. You like to think you’re no damsel in distress, but the truth of the matter is you’ve never been a fighter and the village ravagers have been drawing closer.

~

A woman purchases a simple vase of sunflowers, nodding gratefully as you pass them to her. Behind her, though, emerges a shorter figure- a dwarf, by the looks of his armor and beard. You smile. That trip to the mountains introduced you to a host of very friendly dwarrowdams who bid you stay in their boardinghouse, boisterous though it may have been.

“Good afternoon,” you greet him from aside an arrangement of daisies.

“Good afternoon indeed! Tell me, though, why one as fair as yourself is hiding behind a lot of old daisies, eh?”

Flushing, you shrug and step around the side of the cart, removing all obstructions. “I suppose I’m just a bit used to it is all. Were you looking for anything in particular?”

The dwarf shakes his head. “Nay, I was just struck by the sight of the one smile this town seems to have.”

It is a fair point. Rohan has been downcast of late, hope in short supply with all the attacks. Your lot was seen as mere peasants in the way of it all.

“Times have been hard. The orc packs have been running rampant for a long time. I- I don’t know how much longer we can hold out.”

Smirking victoriously, the dwarf leans on his axe. “You wouldn’t happen to mean the pack of stragglers that just got slaughtered, would you?”

You lit up. “You’ve seen them?”

“With my own eyes. They certainly won’t be bothering you anymore.”

“Pick anything you’d like here, please, it isn’t much, but it is the least I could do to repay your gift,” you insisted, waving a hand over your display.

He scanned your cart before a look of comical shock burst across his face at the poppies. Noting it, you lifted the basket gingerly into his hands.

“Those are my favorites, too! And they are yours.”

“Only if you keep one to remember me by. Gimli, son of Glóin,” he introduces himself sweepingly, outstretched hand deftly producing a poppy to hold out your way.

Frodo

“What is this one?” Frodo inquired, holding up a small leather tome.

“Oh,” you tilted your head, “that one is a bit different. Here, let me show you.”

Shifting to sit at his side, you took the book from his outstretched palms and opened it, revealing pages blank save for the flowers you’d pressed in them, splashes of yellow, red, purple, green.

“I try to add one from everywhere I’ve been,” you added, turning the pages, “I even have a page from the Shire.”

The spread of the next pages revealed stems of lavender you’d plucked from gardens, Shire daisies, even some pansies you’d plucked from Bag End itself, and plenty more, too. Frodo’s bright eyes widened at the sight of it, a smile growing upon his lips.

“This is a treasure to see- a reminder of home, and one I can touch, too,” he sighed, brushing his fingers softly over the crisp petals, “I remember the feel of them again.”

His relief was practically palpable in the air as his eyelids fluttered shut in content, smile growing. Heart swelling, you pushed it closer to him.

“It’s yours.”

“I can’t-” He protested.

Handing the leather-bound book over to him, you nodded. “Yes, you can. Your happiness, your relief, is a much greater gift than these to me. The earth will renew it over again on my travels,” you told him with a smile.

One of Frodo’s hands left the petals long enough to linger atop yours. “I will never be parted from it.”

Sam

“Sam! Oh, Sam, wait up!”

Turning his golden head your way, Sam smiles the moment he sees you, sending your heart leaping from your chest as he speaks your name softly in reply.

“What is it?”

“Well, nothing, really,” you reply shyly, hands behind your back, “I just saw these and thought of you.”

Alight is the only word you could have used to describe Sam’s face as your hands leave your back and bring forth the bunch of little bluish-white blossoms you had just discovered a little off the road.

“Absolute beauts, those are,” he breathes with a grin, “harebell, they’re called. They like to grow in rocks for some reason, the little buggers.”

His knowledge sweeps you off your feet, but you can’t help asking. “Do you like them?”

“Of course I do! These are some really pretty ones, very bright indeed!”

Holding them out, you giggle nervously. “Well, good, because they’re for you! I picked these to give you, Sam.”

Jaw dropping and green eyes widening, Sam reaches forward and gently takes the miniature bouquet from your hands. “You mean it?” He asks with another bright grin.

“I really do,” you smile and nod.

For the rest of the day those harebells don’t leave Sam’s hand, and any time he has a moment’s idleness he’s looking at them, fingers gently caressing the blossoms as he glances your way with a smile.

Merry

Normally Merry dipped you. But you changed that that night. Normally he was the one to sweep you off your feet, charm you, but it was you who stole his breath away that night. The way you took his hand and pulled him closer into the dance, twirled him and brought him inches from your face, only had him wanting more.

What really got him, though? The rose you’d handed him at the end of it all. Such a simple gesture and yet he couldn’t tear his eyes off the thing. Or you.

Surely you noticed. The two of you were quite comfortable, else you wouldn’t be dancing so, but no one had gone beyond any teasing. It was all in good fun, unspoken attraction that suddenly grew, enveloping and consuming Merry’d beating heart as he looked at you with new passion. He needed someone who made his heart race so by his side. Someone like you could keep him up being the best hobbit he could be.

And that was why he marched right up to you later in the evening, taking one more massive swig of ale before he approached, rose twirling between his fingertips all the while.

“I hope you meant this,” he nodded down to the bright red bloom, “as much as I mean this.”

Your lips parted, the beginnings of a question fell from them, but not much escaped before your lips were pulled into Merry’s, your hands falling against his chest.

Pippin

Never had you felt so light as when you were around one mister Peregrin Took. All your time with him, it seemed, was spent in joy, laughter, comfort. One look from him was all it took for a smile to creep onto your face. One song from him and it was all you could do not to kiss him right then and there.

For your part, though, you weren’t sure how he felt, thus you acted accordingly, enjoying the time you had with him as much as possible without pushing your feelings. Well, not too much- he was quite fun to tease, after all!

A flower had caught your eye as you strolled, some little cousin to a daisy bursting from brush in a merry little yellow spark you couldn’t help taking for yourself.

Well, mostly. “For you,” you said in a playful lilt, holding it out his way.

The manner in which his smile and shoulders rose had you shyly grinning. “For me?” He repeated, ecstatic as he was incredulous.

The moment you nodded the flowers was all but snatched from your hand. “Where do you think it would look better, here?” First he tucked it into his mess of curls. “Or here?” Tucking it next into the buttonhole of his coat, he grinned at you.

Giggling, you told him he didn’t have to wear it.

“Oh, I want to. I want the whole of Middle Earth to know you’ve given me this gift.” Comical as his words were, the shine in his eyes told you Pippin was sincere.

Faramir

The steward of Gondor had gone up before the people to address them on some perceived victory. To his side he had pulled up his son, the elder one, and named him spearhead of it all. Boromir was a great man, certainly, but so in no shorter words was his brother Faramir, the dearer sibling to your heart.

The moment you met Faramir in the crowd of people, mostly men celebrating in their keep outfit, dented as it was, you rested a hand upon his shoulder. “Let nobody so insignificant taint your victory, Faramir. Were it not for you, half the city would not even be standing.”

“We could have kept it as it was if we-”

“No,” you shook your head, leaning a bit further on him, “none of that. You are a man, not a miracle worker. And so is your brother and everyone else in your family. You have fortitude of mind, strength of heart.”

“Yet less the swing of a sword,” Faramir chuckled.

“The swing of a sword alone a kingdom does not make,” you teasingly chastised, waving a finger, “besides, you have something none of them will ever have.”

“And what is that?” He asks, gently lifting your hand off his shoulder and up to his lips.

“My heart,” you reply, pulling one of the flowers woven into your hair out to press it into his other palm.

Faramir pulls those petals to his lips, too, twirling the stem thoughtfully with a hum. “Then I am, indeed, blessed.”

Eomer

Every time it felt like your heart would shatter. He left again and again but it never got easier wondering if the man you’d grown to love would be torn from you in a brutal battle, one lax moment ending it all.

Tears pricked at your eyes as he looked into them with a smile far too easygoing to you. Too assured.

“Do not look so defeated,” Eomer told you, reaching down with a hand to caress your face in a way that sent your heart leaping, “it’s a small raiding party, that is all.”

“I know, I just-” Your breath hitched, words caught in your throat. “I care about you. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

At that, he smiled, releasing his hand again. “You should worry more for the orcs.”

“Still, though, here,” shaking your head, you produced the bundle of flowers you’d tied together for him, face warming, “take these. For luck.”

Eomer’s smile widened even as his horse grew a bit restless; giving its mane a quick pat, he reached down to accept your proffered gift. Sweeping some golden hair off his shoulder, he tucked your blossoms into his saddle.

“Now I know I’ll make it,” he replied, and with a wink he rode off.

Needless to say, he has gifts of his own planned when he returns: a confession, once and for all, and a kiss.

Haldir

"Come now, keep up!"

"Whatever for?"

Laughing, you turn to face Haldir once more and see him ascending the spiraling steps behind you with a look of exasperation. Perhaps, too, amusement. Long, fair hair whips about his face in the breeze as a smile teases onto his lips.

“Is it so bad to spend a little time together?” You shot back merrily, feet still eagerly tapping upon every plank that raised you higher amidst the boughs.

“I only ask because I know of your schemes,” Haldir teases in response.

“If you must know,” you stopped, hands on your hips before you waved one about a spray of vines snaking over the tree’s bark, powder-blue blossoms extending from them, “my scheme was to see if you'd noticed these in your travels."

"I had not," he murmured in response, stepping to your side to caress a pale petal gently, warmth filling you at his proximity.

With a small smile, you took up the age-old habit you'd developed in childhood so many years past, deftly plucking and weaving stems together as Haldir watched with amused interest. Unsure as you were how much time passed, he stood stock-still even as you finished your work, placing the crown of flowers atop his head.

"Here you are, My King," you jested with a smile, taking two steps forward.

Grey eyes staring into yours, Haldir took your hand, shaking his head softly and taking a blossom of his own. "Wait here. No king should rule alone, after all."

Eowyn

Riding brought such joy and exhilaration as one could hardly know elsewhere, especially with a fair and fearless maid like Lady Eowyn at your side. The smile you so longed to see bloomed across her face as you both urged your horses on, picking up speed into a run across the green of the plains. The thudding of hooves invigorated you as the pair of you pressed on, riding like the wind until whim took you to dismount and stop for a breather.

As you sat upon the grass, a dotting of pink flowers amidst the waving green caught your eye; joy seizing you, you picked one after the other until you had a tiny handful. Eowyn’s eyes, you saw, drifted over your work, but she said nothing.

Nothing, that was, until you broke the silence. “These remind me of you, you know. We often think of flowers here as signs of mourning, but these? These are hope. Bits of brightness out of nothing.”

She smiled faintly, shyly, blue eyes shining. “Sometimes it does not feel so.”

“Well, to me it is so,” you replied, extending your little bouquet her way.

The glitter of her eyes somehow brightened as she looked upon your gift, smile opening all the way. You were overcome at the sight of it, the return of warmth to the fairest of faces, and before you realized it you had leaned in and pressed your lips to hers.

Arwen

“But surely you have already received so many mighty gifts!”

“None were from you,” Arwen replied simply, breathily, waving a hand, “come, show me.”

Her smile, breathtaking even in the simplest of moments, encouraged you to pull your hands from behind your back, revealing the bouquet you’d recently tied. With the best ribbon you’d found on hand, of course, beautiful white silk lined with thin silver.

“You see, I wanted to honor you with gifts pure as your heart- gifts from the earth. These are-”

“From the garden where we met!” Arwen was one to remain composed, often feeling the pressure of her years and upbringing and, surely, wisdom. “Of course I remember! You tripped and I caught you!”

Unable to help flushing beneath her grin and the rush of memory, the heat across your face as you pitched over a stone and were captured by the hand of the most graceful maiden you’d ever seen, you simply smiled. “That would be the time. Ever since that day I cannot walk past white roses without thinking of you. And that seems fitting,” you added.

Arwen pursed her lips, eyebrows raising curiously. “Oh?”

“Pure,” you repeated, “fair and beloved as all. Delicate, but formidable. More than capable of defending themselves.”

“Are you saying I have thorns?” She teased, leaning an arm upon your shoulder, breath warm against your ear.

“I’ve seen what you can do,” you shot back, “perhaps I am.”

“Well, at any rate, I love this gift far beyond all displays of wealth. This is a gift of your heart, is it not?”

The moment you nodded, her arms were thrown about your neck, pulling you into the warmth of her chest and letting your heart beat against hers.

[themultifanshipper]

George knew he was fucked.

Well, preferably he was going to be doing the fucking.

Warnings: being disgusting in public, infidelity? Kinda fluffy? Idk

George spotted you from across the paddock on media day. You were new on the media team but you were already proving to be a force to be reckoned with. Didn't take anyone's bullshit, didn't ask mundane, stupid questions that made the drivers internally cringe. You were smart, that much was obvious the first time meeting you, and it didn't take long for the drivers to warm to you, especially George.

He was instantly drawn to you and always went out of his way to talk to you first, guaranteeing he'd be in a good mood for the rest of the day.

Then he spotted you from across the dance floor after the last race of the season, at some overpriced privatised club everyone was invited to celebrate at.

You were wearing a strapless thing that showed off your figure, perhaps more than was appropriate, but it was certainly effective in making sure you caught his eye constantly, only leaving the dance floor periodically to get drinks.

Every time you walked past him he would catch your eye and you would exchange winks and conspiratorial grins.

That night, he decided he needed you. He walked over and you danced awkwardly for a while, in true George fashion, but the songs got slower and it quickly turned into dirty whispers and roaming hands.

If you asked anyone else, your behaviour would be qualified as indecent, and even Lando, the expert on public indecency, told you to "maybe cool it a bit". But George's thigh between your legs made it hard to think straight and soon enough the two of you needed your clothes off.

You inevitably ended up in his hotel room and he picked you apart, learning the ins and outs of your body.

He made you writhe, gasp, shiver and moan in pitches you didn't know you could manage, and you knew you were screwed. Ruined for anyone else.

That was the first time. And you both knew it wouldn't be the last. His house, his drivers room, various private jets, clubs, hotels all around the world, Charles' yacht (that was a night to remember, Charles' scream still ringing out in the collective memory).

You were convinced Carmen knew about it. How could she not? The two of you were inseperable, fucking like rabbits all over the place. It was clear to anyone who knew the two of you that you were made for each other.

But as it turned out Carmen didn't care at all, only interested in sponsors and her carefully curated PR image that made her rich. So the only reputation their breakup could hurt was George's.

And it didn't really hurt it, let's be honest. Famous, popular Mercedes formula 1 driver George Russell could pick whoever the fuck he wanted, and that was you.

You celebrated with champagne and a very drunken, very public wedding in Vegas at the Grand Prix, which just happened to be the next weekend...

It was quite the blowout. All the drivers showed up, showering you in champagne which almost made you cry with how symbolic it was of their acceptance of you into the F1 family.

But it didn't take long for you and George to dissappear into the night together, stumbling along, giggling away as you made your way slowly up to your hotel room.

He undressed you carefully, worshipping your body like it was made just for him. He spent over an hour between your legs, sliding his tongue over every inch of skin he could find, sucking and biting the sensitive skin until you were begging him for release, which he took pleasure in denying over and over again.

When he finally slid into you, rubbing gentle circles over your clit, you were so riled up you came instantly. The feeling of being filled and stretched enough to send you over the edge.

He didn't stop though as you held on to his hair and scratched down his back, driving the final nail in the coffin that sent him over the edge as well.

You fell asleep like that, and when you woke up you went again, and then once again after breakfast, plastic ring pops hanging on to your fingers for dear life.

You were in love with George Russell, and he was equally in love with you.

Horny bastards that you were.

[nightdiary]

txt as moments of intimacy

word count: 2.7k genre: fluff, established relationship, comfort author's note: this is my first published work, so i'm a bit nervous to share it with the world! i'm quite happy with it though, and hope that it can bring anyone who reads it a sense of comfort and warmth. 🤍

✧ yeonjun - washing your hair

when you come home after a particularly draining day, yeonjun's almost too quick to pick up on your weariness even if you're smiling. he instantly notices the tenseness of your shoulders and your bleary eyes when you shuffle up to greet him with a hug, one that's too rigid and awfully telling.

his heart squeezes when he watches you trudge to the kitchen and slump by the counter, dropping your keys and wallet onto it with a sigh. yeonjun likes to think he’s an expert at comforting you, especially after having been together for so long, but on days like this, uncertainness creeps up on him relentlessly.

drawing up beside you, he reaches out to trace a gentle hand on your upper back, eyes softening as you practically melt into his touch. he thinks he hears you mumble an apology, and something in him falters.

"how about i run you a bath?"

and before you can fully process his question, let alone finish saying yes, he's jumping out of his seat and speedwalking to the bathroom.

the bathroom smells like sweet lavender and cream honey when you walk in, and you find yeonjun crouched by the faucet, struggling to make bubbles with the liquid soap. he doesn't realize you're there until you giggle, startling him into nearly falling face-first into the growing heap of pink bubbles.

after you strip out of your day clothes, you shyly shuffle into the tub under yeonjun's watchful stare. you dare to look up only once you're submerged up to your shoulders and find that his eyes are filled with nothing but adoration. if anything, that just makes you feel even shyer.

yeonjun takes care in gently detangling your strands and making sure that he doesn't accidentally tug at your roots. his ministrations are slow, massaging your scalp and letting the blunt end of his nails drag along just the right places. you can almost fall asleep like that, lulled into a hazy doze by his soft humming and the comforting warmth cradling your head.

he takes his time in properly washing the product out of your hair and ensuring that none of the suds fall into your eyes, cupping the area just above your eyebrows with heed. once your hair seems to be all done, his hands slip to your shoulders and begin to knead in slow circles, coaxing soft sighs out of you the closer they draw to your neck.

after you're out of the tub and wrapped up in a clean, fluffy towel, yeonjun will seat you on the toilet lid and blow dry your hair. it's a bit awkward, especially since he hasn't really done this for anyone but himself, but the fondness with which he carefully cards through your damp strands is enough to make you forget all about your day.

✧ soobin - baking together

ever since soobin initially suggested you two bake brownies a month into your relationship, baking quickly became your favorite couple’s activity.

you were never really an expert, quite the contrary, but soobin reassured you that baking required less skill and more love. naturally, you called bullshit on his encouragements. if you couldn’t properly handle a mixer, much less bake cookies without burning them, you were sure it was a sign from the universe to stay away from baking.

and yet, several baking dates later, you found yourself genuinely enjoying the silly desserts you and soobin would curate. you even had a shared pinterest board on which you added any eye-catching recipes you scrolled past, and had gone through a sizable amount yourselves. from chocolate hedgehogs to studio ghibli-inspired creampuffs and outrageously sweet brownie-oreo hybrids, you’d pretty much explored all ends of the dessert category with soobin.

“this looks like a lumpy boob, not a cookie,” you whine loudly and step back from the counter angrily.

you and soobin are currently in his apartment’s kitchen, whipping up cookies for his family to enjoy tomorrow. after you found out they’d be in town, you slipped the suggestion to your boyfriend, who delightedly offered you two take on a family recipe. in retrospect, everything was going to be fine.

until you actually got your hands on the damn dough.

“babe, you have to form it with your palm, not your finger,” soobin giggles. he abandons his own tray to sidle up behind you, grabbing your wrists gently and imitating the technique he’d been using.

“i’ve tried,” you huff. glancing down at your hands, you watch in awe as your boyfriend manages to fix up the shape of the cookies, forming them into perfect hearts and stamping space in their middles for jam.

between the two of you, soobin was by far miles more experienced and adept at baking. you often found yourself frustrated with certain steps of recipes, unfamiliar with more practical methods and tricks that the directions called for. as such, you’d end up partially screwing up, and–

–and each time, soobin would drop what he was doing and come help you. he’d gently guide you and talk you patiently through what he was doing, ensuring that you understood the logic behind the approaches. he never once responded to your panic with annoyance or carelessness, despite the numerous times it’d happened.

without fail, soobin would always knead your worries away.

“there! do you want to go try with the rest of my dough?” you look over your shoulder and blink soobin’s face back into focus. he’s looking down at you with a soft smile, raising his brows when you take a minute to respond.

“yeah, i’d like that soob,” you say. before he can walk away, you spin around and cup his face with your flour-coated palms, giggling at his surprised squawk. pecking him squarely on the lips, you revel in his dazed expression before skipping away smugly.

✧ beomgyu - teaching you how to play his favorite game

despite how cool your boyfriend is, he's also a huge dork.

the kind of dork to geek out over computer games and text you with long strings of excited emojis whenever he progresses to the next level. the kind to facetime you during rounds and send you screenshots with updates, even if you have no idea of what you're supposed to be looking at.

it's really cute, you absolutely couldn't deny that, and it makes you feel ten times more enamored with him, but he is still undeniably a dork.

he's playing something on his computer when you arrive at his apartment for your date. it’s saturday, meaning it’s movie and takeout night for you and beomgyu, so you’ve come prepared (read: a slightly damp plastic bag with several containers of noodles, rice, and various types of meat). you call his name as you slip your shoes off, frowning when all you hear in response is the keyboard clicking from down the hallway.

peeking into his room, you shyly knock on the wall to get his attention. beomgyu almost falls off of his chair in surprise, but he launches up almost immediately to engulf you in an embrace. he asks if you’re okay waiting a couple of minutes for his round to finish, at which you readily nod and proceed to plop yourself down on his bed.

watching beomgyu play through his round is surprisingly entertaining, particularly because you’re not really sure what’s going on in his game. your gaze drifts off to his concentrated expression, tracing his soft features and dropping to his bitten lip with interest. something in your chest flutters, but you quickly push it aside when you see beomgyu lean back in his chair and a leaderboard pop up on his screen.

the game’s over, and yet you can’t help but be curious.

"can i try?"

you think he might laugh it off, might just shake his head and call you cute, but beomgyu's chair swivels around to face you and he looks anything but humored. instead, his wide eyes meet yours and you almost startle at how eager he looks. he nods bashfully, and as you draw nearer, you notice the growing red tint along the tips of his ears.

you're instructed to sit between his legs and rest your arms on his desk cover, hands hovering over the mouse and LED keyboard nervously. they're quickly covered by beomgyu's own, and he situates them on top of the necessary keys as he walks you through the basics of moving around and using items in the game.

it's honestly a bit confusing at first, but you think you get the hang of it when you manage to get through the first level. it's also very difficult to concentrate when you have beomgyu's chest pressed up against your back and his chin propped on your shoulder, so it's a miracle you don't end up sending his character into one of the lava pits from the get-go.

after a few minutes of familiarizing yourself with the basics, you begin to feel a bit braver, so you decide to join the queue of a team round. it isn't exactly the best decision, given the exasperated remarks from your teammates in the chat, but beomgyu cheers you on regardless and claps keenly when you score.

unsurprisingly, you place somewhere right above last place. but beomgyu is sure to give you a congratulatory kiss (or two) when you turn around to grin at him sheepishly.

✧ taehyun - sharing clothes

drip, drip, drip.

the rain outside of your window had measurably subdued, but you were still suffering the consequences of being outside at the wrong time. wrapping the towel tighter around your shoulders, you frown up at the murky sky and slide the curtains closed again.

“you’re going to catch a cold like that,” your boyfriend’s voice rises from behind you, and you look back to find him toweling his damp hair. you also find that he’s not quite clothed, just like you, and resist the urge to scoff despite your reddening ears.

the situation you found yourself in was frustratingly preventable. if either you or taehyun had taken a look at the forecast for the day before meeting for your date, you wouldn’t be shivering or about to catch a cold. you were caught outside when the storm came on, and taehyun’s place was the closest shelter you could take, so you braved through the few minutes of running in the rain to get back.

your heart catches in your throat when he steps closer, and you pointedly look away from his defined torso. he’s smirking, you can tell from your periphery, but you won’t let him win this time.

“and it’ll be all your fault,” you huff. “where’s that sweatshirt you promised me?”

taehyun laughs, and you instantly feel yourself relax despite the way your body's shaking. he gestures for you to follow him, and you watch as he digs around in one of his drawers for the promised snoopy sweatshirt. it’s the one he was wearing when you two first met, and undoubtedly your favorite from his entire wardrobe.

as you’re slipping it on and reveling in the comforting smell of his laundry detergent, you catch a glimpse of a criminally-familiar shade of pink out of the corner of your eye. tugging the sweatshirt down properly, you thank taehyun and watch him pace over to the side of his bed to grab some moisturizer.

while he’s busy rubbing on lotion, you curiously open the drawer again, and– there it is. your beloved hoodie. in all of its stolen glory.

“hey,” you say, furrowing your brows. “isn’t this that hoodie i texted you about? the one i wanted to wear out with my friend? you said you didn’t know where it went!”

picking it up, you hold it out in front of you and frown.

any sound from taehyun’s direction halts and you look over to see him grinning shamelessly. “oops?”

“i’m going to start keeping a lock on my closet,” you grumble. ignoring the flutter in your chest, you haphazardly fold the hoodie back up and toss it onto the bed.

taehyun says nothing, but you hear him approach you and hold your breath, trying to will your racing heart to calm down. except that he doesn’t kiss you on the shoulder like he usually does when he senses you’re upset. instead, you hear more shuffling, and can’t help but sneak a glance over to see what he’s up to.

you’re met with an image that makes your chest feel stuffed to the brim with butterflies. taehyun’s wearing your hoodie, his hair adorably ruffled, and he’s looking up at you with wide, smiley eyes that melt away any last of your resolves. you can’t even pretend to be mad at him anymore.

“you can keep it i guess,” you know your exasperated sigh sounds fake to both of you, but taehyun laughs and kisses you on the cheek for good measure.

his fingers dance along the sleeve of the snoopy sweatshirt you’re wearing, humming absentmindedly as he brushes off any rogue pieces of lint. “yeah? i suppose this is a fair trade then.”

✧ kai - tracing his moles

kai’s bed is cramped. warm, comfortable, but also cramped.

you’ve woken up from your nap because of something poking you in your upper back. you don’t need to turn around to know that it’s one of your boyfriend’s plushies, likely the new pokemon you’d gifted him for his birthday. you were plenty excited when you’d found it in store, absolutely delighted because you knew he’d be overjoyed with it, but you were slowly beginning to strongly dislike it.

reaching back with a wince, you attempt to dislodge the stupid glaceon, prodding and pushing around blindly, but your bicep begins to burn uncomfortably after a few moments.

a soft huff from your front draws your attention away from the pressure against your spine. kai’s face is nestled comfortably against your chest, and it seems like he’s trying to wriggle around and make himself space further up, closer to your collarbones. immediately, any prior negative thoughts vanish, and your heart practically melts.

your boyfriend’s sleepy noises are enough for you to abandon any efforts to move the plushie, so you settle with running your fingers through his hair. it’s blond for now, and surprisingly soft given the intense bleaching process it’d undergone. he stirs in response, but the happy hum he lets out reassures you to continue with your movements.

blinking blearily, you squint over at the blinds covering the windows, where the sky outside has turned a mellow, sunset-y orange. you’d slept through the afternoon it seems, but you have no intention of getting up anytime soon. looking down at the boy in your arms, you surmise kai might feel the same.

his eyes flutter open like he can read your thoughts, and his lips pull into an adorable pout. smiling back, you let your hand gently fall to cup the side of his head, thumbing at the speckled spots you find.

“weirdo, why are you staring at me while i sleep?”

“your moles are really cute,” you say, ignoring him. tracing the tip of your finger up from his cheek, you tap his temple gently. “they sort of remind me of a constellation. like the big dipper.”

you feel rather than hear the flustered whine that kai makes, right against your sternum. he curls up against your front, and you almost forget about the fact that he’s big enough to have his feet hang off of the end of his bed. his arms and legs wind tighter around you, almost as a form of punishment, and you gasp when you feel his hand flitter up your side threateningly.

thankfully, no further moves to tickle you are made, and you relax again in his hold. he’s warm, pleasantly so, and you can feel your eyelids beginning to droop.

you’re almost asleep when the pressure along your back disappears. you hear shuffling, and then something that feels an awful lot like kai’s arm brushes your side. incoherently, you mumble a soft thank you, and you’re certain he’s understood you when he kisses your forehead and tucks you into the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

[coochiequeens]

Women's history just got richer

By Mindy Weisberger, CNN

More than 1,000 years ago, carvers in what is now Denmark set their chisels to rock to etch runestones — monuments to Viking leaders naming their deeds and achievements. Two groups of runestones mention a woman named Thyra, and new analysis of the carvings suggests that the runes on both sets of stones were inscribed by the same artisan and refer to the same woman: a Viking queen of considerable power.

Researchers from Denmark and Sweden used 3D scans to analyze carvings on the runestones, finding telltale clues that marked the individual style of the person who carved them. That carver’s repeated mention of Thyra’s name — a rare occurrence for Viking-era women — suggested that Thyra was a powerful sovereign who likely played a pivotal role in the birth of the Danish realm, the scientists reported Wednesday in the journal Antiquity.

“To learn more about the rune-carver and those named on the stone is fascinating,” said Dr. Katherine Cross, a lecturer at York St. John University in the UK who researches and teaches the history of early medieval northern Europe. She was not involved in the study.

“We can only understand early medieval sources once we can think about who made them and why,” Cross told CNN in an email.

One set of runes came from a pair of monuments known as the Jelling stones, erected in the town of Jelling around 965. The larger Jelling stone is often referred to as “Denmark’s birth certificate,” as it’s the first monument to name the land as its people pivoted to Christianity, according to the National Museum of Denmark in Copenhagen.

Both Jelling runestones also named a royal figure: Queen Thyra, mother of then-reigning King Harald Bluetooth. The smaller stone was raised in her honor by her husband (and Harald’s father) King Gorm, calling her “Denmark’s strength/salvation” (or “Denmark’s adornment,” depending on the translation, the researchers noted in the study). Harald commissioned the larger stone, to honor both of his royal parents.

In another set of four Viking-era monuments, known collectively as the Bække-Læborg group, two runestones mention a woman named Thyra. Those stones are associated with a carver named Ravnunge-Tue, but experts disagreed on whether that Thyra was Harald’s mother, said lead study author Dr. Lisbeth Imer, a curator and senior researcher at the National Museum of Denmark specializing in the study of runes and ancient inscriptions.

Before the new investigation, it was unknown who had carved the Jelling stones. Confirming that their carver was Ravnunge-Tue would strengthen the connection between the Jelling and Bække-Læborg runestones, Imer told CNN in an email.

“Then it is much more reasonable to suggest that it was in fact the same Thyra,” she said.

A question of style

Some details in ancient runestones that indicate a carver’s individual style are visible to a trained expert’s eye, such as the language or the basic shape of the runes. Other details are harder to detect, Imer said.

“What you cannot see with the naked eye is the carving technique,” she said.

To get a closer look at the carvings, the researchers took scans of the stones and created 3D digital models, then measured the runes’ grooves with a software tool that weighed variables such as angle, depth and cutting rhythm. Together, these variables can create a unique profile for a carver.

“Every rune carver develops his own motor skill and holds the tools in a certain angle, strikes with a certain strength,” Imer said. “The motor skill is individual and other individuals cannot copy that.”

When the researchers compared runes from Jelling 2 (the larger of the two Jelling stones) and the Læborg stone from the Bække-Læborg group, they found striking similarities, such as height of the runes, straightness of the main staves and length and placement of rune branches.

“In the Læborg and Jelling inscriptions you can follow the cutting rhythm of Ravnunge-Tue as one deep stroke of the chisel followed by two not so deep ones: DAK, dak-dak, DAK, dak-dak,” Imer said via email. “It is ALMOST like hearing the heartbeat of a person that lived so long ago.”

Jelling 1 was more eroded, so its markings were harder to analyze. But if the Læborg runestone was Ravnunge-Tue’s handiwork, Jelling 2 was likely his as well, Imer said. It would mean that the Queen Thyra mentioned twice in the Bække-Læborg group — on Læborg and on the stone Bække 1 — was the same person commemorated on the Jelling stones, the study authors concluded.

In recent years, archaeologists have revised prior interpretations of Viking warrior burials as exclusively male, finding that Viking women were fighters, too. The new findings add to the picture of influential Viking women holding prominent roles in statecraft as well as on the battlefield.

“This research highlights how Viking-Age women wielded power through political authority and patronage, not just violence,” Cross said.

What’s more, the fact that Thyra is mentioned on four runestones offers strong evidence of her importance, Imer added. Fewer than 10 runestones in Denmark from the pre-Christian era mention women at all — and four of those are of Queen Thyra.

“Runestones in Denmark were mostly erected in honour of men, but Thyra is commemorated on more runestones than any other person in Viking Age Denmark,” Imer said. “She must have held extreme power and social position.”

Mindy Weisberger is a science writer and media producer whose work has appeared in Live Science, Scientific American and How It Works magazine.

[blueiscoool]

Lost Chopin Music Uncovered in ‘Thrilling’ Discovery

A curator at a museum in New York City has discovered a previously unknown waltz written by Frédéric Chopin, the first time that a new piece of work by the Polish composer has been found in nearly 100 years.

The waltz, written on a small manuscript measuring about 4 inches by 5 inches, was first discovered by curator Robinson McClellan in 2019, who then sought outside expert help, according to a statement from the Morgan Library & Museum on Monday.

“He found it peculiar that he could not think of any waltzes by Chopin that matched the measures on the page,” reads the statement.

“Chopin famously wrote in ‘small forms,’ but this work, lasting about one minute, is shorter than any other waltz by him,” adds the statement.

“It is nevertheless a complete piece, showing the kind of ‘tightness’ that we expect from a finished work by the composer.”

McClellan asked Chopin expert Jeffrey Kallberg, associate dean for arts and letters at the University of Pennsylvania, to help authenticate the waltz. “Extensive research points to the strong likelihood that the piece is by Chopin,” according to the statement.

This research included analysis by paper conservators who found that the paper and ink match those that Chopin normally used.

The Morgan Library & Museum believes that the fact that the manuscript is so small could mean that it was meant to be a gift that the recipient would have kept in an autograph album.

Chopin was known to sign manuscripts that were gifts, but this one is unsigned, which the museum says suggests that he ultimately decided against giving it away.

“This newly discovered waltz expands our understanding of Chopin as a composer and opens new questions for scholars to consider regarding when he wrote it and for whom it was intended,” said McClellan in the statement.

“To hear this work for the first time will be an exciting moment for everyone in the world of classical piano.”

“Our extensive music collection is defined by handwritten examples of the creative process and it is thrilling to have uncovered a new and unknown work by such a renowned composer,” said Colin B. Bailey, museum director, in the statement.

The discovery of an unknown piece of work by Chopin has not happened since the late 1930s, according to the museum.

The Polish composer was born in 1810 and was best known for solo piano pieces.

Chopin died in Paris, France, at the age of just 39. He’s one of Poland’s most famous sons, and his name adorns the airport serving the capital Warsaw, as well as parks, streets, benches and buildings.

His works and image are ubiquitous across the central European country, and his residences bear unmissable plaques. Busts and statues of his likeness are dotted across several major cities.

Even his heart, preserved in alcohol after his death in 1849 is sealed into a wall of Warsaw’s Holy Cross Church.

But recent suggestions about Chopin’s private life collided awkwardly with Poland’s staunchly conservative traditions – and caused some to question whether the story of Chopin that Poles are told from a young age is true.

According to a Swiss radio documentary released in 2020, the composer had relationships with men, and those relationships were left out of history by successive historians and biographers; a potentially thorny charge in one of Europe’s worst countries for LGBTQ rights.

By Jack Guy.

Chopin - Waltz in A Minor (Discovered in 2024) - Played by Lang Lang

[pmpmyread]

spreading positivity for yourself and for others: what are some fanfics you've written that you're proud of? who are your favorite writers in the fic community?

Hey Anon, thanks for your lovely ask! Sending some positive vibes right back at you 🩵

Your first question tasks me to choose a favorite among my children lol but I will give it a shot.

Distraction is a Drifter x Eris Destiny 2 fic I wrote last year. I'm proud of it because it was my first try at tiptoeing back towards the romance genre after over a decade since writing my previous fic (a FFVIII Squall x Rinoa thing I'd written on ffnet back when I was 19 lmao). It's pretty tame, I even stopped just short of tagging it as Romance, opting for Romantic Friendship instead, that's just how chicken I truly was LOL. My writing has definitely improved since, but ultimately, composing and sharing this fic helped alleviate some of my self-doubt at the time.

Nanami Kento & Casual Touches is one of my earlier JJK x Reader fics. I'm proud of this one not only for what I've created but the way by which it was produced. To this day, it was the easiest time I've had writing anything during what happened to be a difficult period for me. I'd somehow managed to turn my turmoil into one of the most hopeful and positive pieces I've ever written. Corny as it sounds, that story and that moment truly did so much for me. The only negative here is that I've been chasing that elusive high ever since LMAO.

I've answered a variation of your second question within a recent ask linked here, so do check that out as well, but I will certainly add some more inspiring writers below, along with my current favorite work of theirs.

@mysteria157 (JJK): Incredibly deep stories with some of the strongest and most admirable MCs you'll ever read. Rec: Love's Ransom

@rahuratna (JJK + BNHA): Intricate and immersive universes depicted in the most beautiful prose. Rec: Arangetram

@cmdrfupa (JJK): Expert-level character studies skillfully wrapped into elaborate narration. Rec: Furtive

@espace--positif (LaDS + JJK): A fluff merchant. Target-precise canon characterization depicted in wonderful, feel-good fics. Rec: Mornings with Him

@imonthemoonitsmadeofcheese (Destiny 2): Insightful and healing stories that truly dig deep into the vast Destiny 2 universe and the complexity of its characters. Rec: Perfection

This list is FAR from exhaustive as I've recently connected with so many talented writers within these different fandoms and I still have a ridiculously long TBR list. I will definitely create a recs list sometime soon. If there is one thing I am confident about, it's my fan work curation skills. lol 💅🏽

Thanks again for your ask, Anon, it was a great way to start my day 🩵

[historical-fashion-polls]

Hi Curator!

I love popping in to see the new polls! Just a question, not sure if you have answered this one but I couldn't find an answer. What made you interested in Historical fashion? Was it always a hobby? You always have so much information and detail to provide, I love it!

Thank you!

hi dear anon! 💕

thank you so much for this lovely message and this super fun question! ☺️☺️

to be honest, I'm not sure if I could point to any one thing that made me interested in historical fashion. I really enjoyed American Girl dolls when I was younger (my favorite was Felicity ☺️), and those are definitely focused around interpreting history/historical fashion, so that could certainly be one reason! 💖💖

I also watched a lot of period pieces with incredible costuming (or at least costumes that I thought were really pretty) during my formative years, so that probably influenced me too. some notable examples are:

The Young Victoria (2009) – the gold dress with the red roses that she wears at the ball had me in a chokehold as a pre-teen

Pride and Prejudice (1995) – regency fashion isn't always my favorite, but this series is just sooooooooo good and it's one of my comfort shows, and I just feel like the costuming and the whole vibe of the series is very lovely and immersive (also not to start discourse but the 1995 version is the superior adaptation, I know that the 2005 film has folks on this website in a chokehold but the 1995 version is far better I have to speak my truth 😤😤)

Downton Abbey (2010-2015) – yeah I was and still am a Downton Abbey girlie, y'all. I watched the first couple seasons on dvds from the the library and I think I caught up with it "live" so to speak in the third season. I've seen the whole series twice now and I just love it. and the costumes are EXQUISITE 😍😍 Mary's turquoise and gold dress is absolutely [incomprehensible screaming]

btw I'm putting images of the gold ball gown and turquoise/gold dress below the cut in case you want to see ☺️☺️

I think the more I saw of fashion history, the more entranced by it I became, and I just wanted to learn more! I'm also a huge fan of many of the historical costume youtubers like Bernadette Banner, and I watched a lot of videos like that in undergrad just to expand my knowledge on the subject

plus, running this blog has helped me learn so much, and I've come to appreciate some styles that I used to not like as much! I'm still definitely not an expert, but I love learning about things that bring me joy, and historical fashion is definitely one of those things! 🥰🥰

thank you so much again for this lovely question and for giving me an excuse to ramble about my love for fashion history! ☺️💕 and now I'll turn the question to you and anyone else who wants to answer: what made you interested in historical fashion and/or what brought you to the blog?

[sgiandubh]

Loringrandolphny has a story with possibly Cait. Looks like her hair. She might be wearing a jacket. And you are right no 🧛

Dear Jacket Anon,

You mean this, I suppose?

If so, my red arrow could very well point to C. I think it's her, too and the jacket makes sense, for many reasons.

I also noticed Mrs. Randolph tagged Levy, who (we now know) escorted C at the event. So maybe they were introduced to each other, even if they do not mutually follow on Insta (but Randolph also has a secondary private account and so, all bets are possible).

Who is this poster, though? A very sophisticated American contemporary art expert and curator - one of the top 10 in the world, judging by her credentials (Frieze is probably the world's leading contemporary art magazine and resource portal, to which I would add Sotheby's) :

Currently, she manages the Nasher-Haemisegger Collection, based in Dallas, TX, but she's doing it from Brooklyn, which tells me a lot (irreplaceable expertise):

(sourced at: https://www.artnews.com/art-news/news/loring-randolph-frieze-new-york-director-steps-down-1202697196/)

Enough said. The facts that Mrs. Randolph also follows Dua Lipa (behave!), reads The New Yorker (so does this humble blogger) and is interested in getting the planet's oceans rid of plastic are not enough for me to infer anything. These can at most sketch a profile, placing her into the well-heeled and Democrat New-Yorker crowd, bikram yoga on top. Nothing less, but nothing more.

I would like to add something. There are no 'more' and 'less' important events when it comes to these two people networking at the same damn time (isn't that uncanny?). There are different events, attracting different crowds, with different purposes. You would, however, have to be very parochial or quite idiot not to think worlds collide very easily at that level of wealth and rolodex power. And the more you climb up the social scale, the less degrees of separation it takes to connect the dots. In other words: most, if not all of the people present at the Keepers event or the Loewe Foundation one (or the Harrod's, FWIW) know or at least heard about each other. You'd be surprised.

Last, but not least, I am going to ask a very cruel and reactionary question: how do you think Tracula would fit in such company?

I'll mercifully leave this unanswered. But I hope my long rant satisfied at least your curiosity, Anon.

[yogadaily]

(5 Day Yoga Sacred Heart Meditation Retreat, Frosinone Province, Italy: $745 $852  || Curated with love by yogadaily) 

Features

Styles: Hatha Yoga, Tantra Yoga

Skill Level: Beginner, Intermediate, Advanced

Description

Experience Tranquility and Transformation at Our Sacred Heart Meditation Retreat

Imagine arriving at our serene retreat, nestled in the heart of Abruzzi National Park. The air is fragrant with jasmine and roses, and the gentle breeze promises tranquility.

You awaken to the first light of dawn each morning, ready to embark on a journey of self-discovery and inner peace.

Your day begins with an hour of meditation from 8 to 9, guiding you to a deeper connection with yourself and the universe.

After a light breakfast, you gather with fellow participants for a lecture about the Sacred Heart and deepening your meditation practice.

These sessions provide insights and wisdom, setting the tone for your transformative journey.

Mid-morning combines Hatha yoga and meditation, where the Hridaya approach helps you connect mind, body, and spirit.

The serene surroundings and expert guidance make each movement and breath a step closer to inner peace.

After lunch, the afternoon is yours for rest and integration. Wander through lush meadows, relax by the river stream, or reflect quietly under the shade of ancient olive trees.

This time is essential for processing your experiences and rejuvenating your spirit.

At 4 pm, another meditation session awaits, followed by a brief introduction to a new technique. This is a time for questions and answers, where you can delve deeper into the practices and concepts shared.

You explore methods like the self-inquiry technique by Ramana Maharishi and learn about living with an open heart.

Evenings are spent discussing the three pillars of meditation, sending blessings, and understanding consecration from the perspective of Karma Yoga. Each topic is designed to enrich your practice and deepen your spiritual journey.

The retreat offers more than just activities; it provides a sanctuary where you can nurture your soul. You leave feeling renewed, empowered, and ready to embrace life with an open heart.

This is the transformative experience you seek, where every breath brings you closer to your true self.

[magnetic-regent-magneto]

|| ⸻ RULES . ||

|| ⸻ ABOUT THIS BLOG : .

WRITER: Fen. 22+ She/Her

VERSE: Canon Divergent, Comic Based Magneto, NO MCU,

A STUDY in Survival, the burden of memory, the seductive allure of power, the rage of the oppressed, the cost of vengeance, the blurred line between freedom and war, building a world, being of war, the burden of leadership, the temptation of extremism, the enduring hope for a better tomorrow, the weight of the past, the fight for a future, the enduring question: can peace be forged from the ashes of hatred?

STEADY: Selective activity. No worries if you don't hear back right away, I haven't forgotten!

|| ⸻ ROLEPLAY : .

TRIGGERS: MINORS NOT WELCOME, Mature Themes, Darker Content Warning (Historical Context, Mental Health, Gore, Violence, ...)

DISCLAIMER: I strive for historical accuracy, but I'm not an expert. Do your own research for in-depth knowledge. I am not your source.

WARNINGS: Please let me know your triggers in advance, especially concerning the Holocaust (a significant part of Magneto's history), character death, violence, or sexual content. I can adjust my writing style to respect your comfort level.

CURATE your Experience: You are responsible for managing your own online environment.

ZERO TOLERANCE: This blog prohibits hate speech, including sexism, racism, homophobia, transphobia, and other forms of intolerance.

SHIPPING: Relationships might develop organically through RP, but I don't actively pursue shipping.

RESPECTFUL Boundaries: Constant pressure regarding specific ships (like Cherik) won't be tolerated. While some interactions might be considered "shippy," this doesn't imply a permanent ship preference.

HARASSMENT is Unacceptable: Harassing my RP partners will result in blocking and reporting. The same goes for anonymous hate messages – they'll be ignored.

OPEN COMM: Despite the character I portray, I'm approachable. Don't hesitate to speak up if you have any concerns about our RP.

PARTNERS: Mutuals Only. Selective. Selective OC friendly. Chemistry Based. No Duplicates. I have Mains. Shyness is okay! Memes are a great way to let me know you are interested when we are not mutuals yet!

OPEN PROMPTS: Don't hesitate to throw out ideas and prompts! We can develop them into full-fledged threads, keep them short, even without extensive plotting beforehand.

LAYOUT: I use icons, headers, and some color coding for aesthetics. If this layout is difficult to read on your device, or if you prefer larger text, please let me know!

[mpchev]

Update on the fanbinding dissertation: surprise first bind!

This week, I met with the book conservator of my university's library, who used to organise (very popular) bookbinding workshops a few years ago. When I showed up with my list of questions on materials and techniques, she had a leftover bookbinding kit ready for me, so I technically bound my first book! Everything was already cut and measured, and I had both The Expert and a great powerpoint to help me do it, so my upcoming attempt at fanbinding still feels like its own thing, but this was officially the first hands-on moment of autoethnography for this project, and I'm so happy with my tiny tiny blank book 😌💜✨

The curator was incredible — she mentioned a few distinctions between bookbinding and conservation techniques (like hiding knots in the spine vs keeping knots easily accessible between the pages for future restoration needs), had tips on where to find supplies locally, and recommended two volumes I've added to my bibliography/reading list:

Johnson, Arthur W., The Thames and Hudson Manual of Bookbinding (London: Thames and Hudson Ltd, 1978)

Smith, Keith A., Non-Adhesive Binding: Books Without Paste or Glue, second edition (Fairport: Sigma Foundation, 1992)

[mariacallous]

There has been plenty of discussion in Western media about why Russians are not protesting President Vladimir Putin’s regime and the war against Ukraine, whether it’s due to the economy, genuine enthusiasm for the war, or fear. One thing that most experts agree on is that Russia has a severe political apathy problem. That’s true—but it’s also far more pervasive than even Russianists often realize.

This problem is not new; it’s a continuation of Soviet-era cultural norms that have been carefully amplified and curated by Putin’s state propaganda. Russian experts themselves were once able to point out the problem—including Andrey I. Kolesnikov (a member of the “Kremlin pool” of journalists as the deputy CEO of the influential Kommersant newspaper and the editor in chief of Russky Pioner magazine) in an RIA news article from 2006, or academic Marina Podhomutinkova in a 2011 paper.

As statistics on the increasingly low number of people who get involved in politics show, the situation has only gotten worse over time. Apathy, tinged with fear, is the Russian norm. That explains some of the strangeness of public opinion data. Recent polls by the Moscow-based Levada Center show that support for war among the general population remains high, fluctuating around the 75 percent mark. At the same time, 71 percent of respondents would also approve of immediate peace talks. Although part of this can be attributed to the “preference falsification” that researchers find is common in authoritarian states, the apathy that Putin has cultivated goes far deeper than that.

On a personal level, if you ask the average Russian what they actually want from the war or expect to achieve if they win, then the answer is a resounding “nothing.” I’ve asked this question to many Russians—including relatives, friends, and business acquaintances. I’ve also spent a considerable amount of time on various anonymous Russian imageboards and Telegram channels, asking about people’s opinions in situations where anonymity is guaranteed. The result stays the same—the average Russian person just doesn’t care.

As one interviewee told me, “This is a stupid question. I’ve never thought about politics in my life—that’s the smart thing to do. Let politicians do their politics; that’s not for me. Sooner or later, this will be over. Putin will probably figure something out with China and [U.S. President Joe] Biden. I just hope that they don’t start throwing nukes around, but that’s all.”

Unsurprisingly, my interlocutors almost universally asked for anonymity.

Lev Gudkov, the director of the Levada Center, stated a similar conclusion in an interview with Radio Liberty in January this year: “This is indifference and being overwhelmed by life, poverty, and lack of rights, and pacifist beliefs, or simply well-being combined with the position ‘politics does not interest me.’”

As Gudkov noted, in some ways, this helps Putin: Active, ideological pro-war supporters, known as turbopatriots, have certain demands that Moscow has largely failed to fulfill. Look at the imprisoned ultranationalist Igor Girkin, who turned on Putin after the war against Ukraine went sour.

Maxim Katz, a Russian opposition politician-turned journalist-responded when I asked him this question during a livestream : “What an American, very Western question. It’s hard for the people in the West to understand that the average Russian wants nothing from this war, he does not see the victory in any way, he completely doesn’t care. For him, this is a question that his superiors are dealing with. The most important thing for him is to ensure that this war doesn’t affect him personally in any way.”

In part, this cynicism is bred by the gap between propaganda and reality. Russian state media takes nationalism to extremes, but ordinary Russians know that this is nonsense, often using the phrase “war between the TV and the refrigerator” to talk about the discrepancies between broadcast propaganda and the reality of empty shelves or failing appliances. The elites also know that the people know. As the old Soviet saying goes, “You pretend to pay us, we pretend to work.” That mentality is in full swing here.

This charade was a mainstay of the Soviet system. Elections were faked, with 99 percent of the population always voting for the only available party list. Trade unions nominally existed, but they were directly under the control of the Communist Party, never fulfilling any real functions, and any real expression of people’s political will was nearly nonexistent. But patriotism was compulsory, especially over national holidays. This led to an increase in apathy, nihilism, and disillusionment about the Soviet government.

When Mikhail Gorbachev took power, some nonpolitical interest clubs concerning social issues were finally permitted, such as the green movement. Russia had a brief spurt of real politics, freedom of speech, and open discussion—one that also coincided with economic chaos and a deep sense of disillusionment as Russia’s place in the world plummeted in the 1990s. The combination of all of these factors led to many people losing faith in democracy and liberal ideas, an increase of nostalgia toward the Soviet era, and a neglect of politics in general.

There’s a common Soviet era saying that remains popular among Russian speakers: “The folks up there see better.” What it means is that if you’re not one of the members of the political elite, then you should not be questioning their decisions, because they probably know better than you do—so don’t be curious, just do what you’re told. It’s related to another famous phrase—“I’m not an expert in this matter, but…”—that’s reached a meme status on the Russian speaking internet. Sometimes it’s joking, but often it’s used seriously. The idea that only an authorized few should get to have an opinion is embedded deep into the public mentality.

Another familiar trope that serves political apathy is the idea of “tough Russians.” Putin loves to play on that, portraying himself as a strongman who embodies the traditional Russian virtues of virility and masculinity. He makes macho but hollow boasts, such as his response from 2018 to a question about the potential of foreign nuclear threats against Russia: “We will go to heaven as martyrs, and they will just drop dead.”

But for ordinary people, there’s the commonly used term terpila (“the one who endures” or “endurer” in English). It refers to someone who just suffers through everything that life throws at them, without ever doing anything about it. It’s a negative term—but it describes many Russians.

These are the ideals that are being actively reinforced in Russia today as Putin doubles down on Soviet nostalgia. People are shown that they have a strong, powerful leader, who will bring greatness to the country. That is a promise of stability and prosperity, but because of Russia’s Soviet past, it is also a reminder that you shouldn’t bother with politics or civic engagement, and that only a narrow group of specialists are ever allowed to have an opinion in any given matter. If there are any problems, you should endure them as a so-called real Russian and not have any ideas of change.

What does this mean for the war? Well, it’s been decided by the higher-ups, so it’s not any of your business.

Roughly 20 million Ukrainians have relatives in Russia. One-third of Ukraine’s population stated in a 2011 survey that they have friends there as well. So, when Russians answer polling questions about their support for the war, they say “yes”—because that’s a political issue, and they have enough problems to deal with. At the same time, when they get asked about whether they would support immediate peace talks, they respond “yes” again, because the killing of Ukrainians just seems odd to the vast majority of people—even if they’ve bought into Putin’s propaganda about Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky’s government supposedly being full of Satanists and neo-Nazis.

As one of my own distant relatives told me on the phone, “What do you mean, want from the war? How can you even want something from a war? I want the war to end, and I think that every reasonable person has the same opinion!” Her husband added, “We’re just not that political, as a people, you know. Nobody thought this was possible, but now … now we just want this to end, to return to how things were.”

The bloodiness of this war seems to play little role in the average Russian person’s political activity. Casualties in this conflict are very high—current estimates of those killed or wounded in the conflict put the figure at more than 500,000 people, much higher than the casualties suffered during the Soviet war in Afghanistan, where approximately 15,000 USSR soldiers were lost, with approximately 35,000 more wounded. The difference lies in who is getting mobilized.

During the Afghanistan war, the Soviet Union sent regular conscripts to fight, as per the mandatory service and zinc coffins were seen in cities all over the USSR. In the Ukrainian war, Putin is careful to preserve the illusion of normalcy for the citizens of Moscow and St. Petersburg—it’s the ethnic minorities and convicts that do most of the fighting, as to not provoke the Russian people into caring too much. Especially since he has another political issue with this war that he needs to be careful about.

Putin has described Ukrainians as belonging to the Russian civilization—misled by the West, yes, but brothers nonetheless. My impression from talking to Russians is that at this point, they’ll support whatever Putin declares needs supporting, whatever scheme he has going on, as long as this confusing nightmare ends faster. Then everyone, ideally, could go back to business as usual, pretending that this war never even happened.

There is a silver lining to this though. Putin is 71 and has been in power for nearly 25 years. Anyone who could have given him an honest opinion, much less some constructive criticism, has long been forced into retirement, pushed into exile, imprisoned, or outright killed. He’s visibly lost touch with reality—according to a recently defected Kremlin insider, Putin does not use a smartphone, nor does he know how to use a computer beyond the very basics of functions. He does not use the internet. A video where he, supposedly, is shown logging in to vote via Russia’s online voting platform in the farcical so-called presidential election in March was laughable, as it’s obvious that Putin has no idea what he’s doing.

But the cynicism and apathy of the older generation may not extend to the younger one. The Kremlin has no clue about what to do with the younger generation, who mainly watch YouTube and listen to podcasts. Among this category of Russians aged 25 to 39, the Levada Center’s April polls showed only 23 percent support for the war. Russia’s best attempt at propaganda on YouTube was its failed RuTube project, where various popular Russian content creators were paid large amounts of money—more than they were making via their channels on YouTube—to move all of their content to RuTube and occasionally include pro-Kremlin content among whatever they were posting normally.

As a result, most of the pro-Putin YouTube channels have lost their audience, and the Russian government is wasting money paying for content that nobody watches. It’s also about to launch a state-approved version of Wikipedia, which will steal articles from the original Russian-language wiki and then automatically censor them. The project is equally likely to crash and burn.

Russians won’t be overthrowing their regime anytime soon. But if the war becomes a more personal problem, attitudes could shift fast. This is important, because people reevaluate their risks on a daily basis—when the regime is strong, they would rather lay low and stay on the safer side. But as soon as cracks start to appear, the very same people can suddenly turn fiercely.

Western policymakers should take this into account. Russian people are absolutely fine with the war ending—as long as there’s a plan for them, and not a repeat of the humiliations of the 1990s.