#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…

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change of Heart - 1 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4 , -

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Time changes everything. Interviews used to take place indoors, in studios, or in booked hotel rooms. The questions were serious—focused on economics, politics, or other weighty topics. Back then, only experts or public figures were deemed worthy of being interviewed.

But now, thanks to social media, interviews can happen anywhere. They’re no longer the domain of reporters or TV stations. Instead, anyone with a phone, a camera, and a microphone can conduct an impromptu interview in random places.

These spontaneous interviews often gain far more attention than their polished, scripted counterparts on TV. On the streets, people are asked silly, lighthearted questions, and their candid, often hilarious answers resonate more with viewers. They feel authentic and relatable, unlike the carefully curated responses of experts.

Some people never imagine their offhand comments will make them go viral. Take the girl who became famous overnight for her absurd response to a random question—she jokingly told someone to spit. It was ridiculous, but human nature is unpredictable. The absurdity drew millions of viewers, and just like that, she became an internet sensation.

Today, another viral moment is taking over the internet. The current trend? A simple, loaded question:

“If you were offered 1 million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Many people, interviewed alongside their partners, responded with sweet or heartfelt answers. But one woman gave a response that stopped everyone in their tracks:

“Give me 1 dollar. I’ll leave him this second.”

And the interviewer handed her the one dollar.

Her comment sparked chaos online. Most people laughed, seeing it as a joke and sharing it for its sheer absurdity:

“LMAO, this girl is my spirit animal!”

“She’s not wrong, though. 😂 Relationships are overrated!”

“The audacity! 😂😂😂”

However, not everyone found it funny:

“This is what’s wrong with society—no loyalty anymore.”

“Imagine being her partner and seeing this. Yikes.”

“If this is how people think these days, I’ll stay single forever.”

But there was one man who didn’t find it amusing at all.

He replayed the video, his expression unreadable, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his anger. The room was silent except for the faint hum of his phone’s speaker. His piercing gaze flicked to the woman sitting across from him as the video looped again.

Bucky Barnes hadn’t paid attention to what was happening online. As the CEO of the Lena Group, a leader in car and chip manufacturing, his schedule left little time for distractions. It wasn’t until his secretary and his mother mentioned the viral uproar that he decided to investigate.

Watching the clip now, he felt a surge of disbelief. Shock. Anger. He had worked tirelessly to build his empire, and yet here she was, casually dismissing him with a joke to a stranger.

“So,” he said, his voice cold as he set the phone down on the table, “you think I’m worth one dollar?”

She didn’t flinch under his icy glare. Instead, she calmly lifted her teacup, taking a slow sip before setting it back down. Her movements were measured, deliberate, as if his words carried no weight.

Meeting his gaze, she tilted her head slightly, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Now that I think about it,” she said, her tone casual, “70% discount sounds fair.”

His grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles turning white. “What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded, leaning forward, his voice sharper now.

Her expression didn’t waver. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m tired, Bucky. I’ve had enough.”

The room felt heavier, the unspoken words between them thickening the air.

His jaw clenched as he let out a heavy sigh. “You’ve got to be joking.”

His eyes searched your face for any hint of humor, anything to suggest you didn’t mean it. But there was none. Only calm resolve.

He looked at you—the woman he had married two years ago. The truth was, this wasn’t an ordinary marriage. It was what people called a contract marriage. But to Bucky, it was just business. Marriages forged to benefit two businesses had existed for ages, after all.

The so-called marriage contract was simply a guideline—a formal agreement to ensure both parties understood the terms, what was acceptable and what wasn’t. Many people chose contract durations of three or six years before going their separate ways. But Bucky had kept it simpler: a one-year contract, renewable if his wife agreed.

The reason he opted for this arrangement was to avoid the casualties of love. He’d seen it firsthand—his parents, who had started with love, had eventually torn each other apart, not literally, but close enough to leave scars on everyone involved. It was enough to make Bucky swear off traditional marriage altogether.

But his grandfather had other plans. “If you don’t marry, you’ll never inherit the company,” his grandfather had declared, determined to ensure his legacy stayed within the family. Having watched his son—a serial adulterer—destroy the family’s reputation, the old man had become obsessed with the idea of keeping his grandson grounded.

Bucky, however, had no interest in marriage. He had no desire for emotional entanglements or the drama that came with them. Yet his grandfather’s ultimatum left him with no choice. If he wanted to lead the company, he had to marry.

That was when he turned to a matchmaker agency, one well-known among his wealthy peers. It wasn’t cheap, but the agency had stellar testimonials, and they assured him they could find the perfect partner.

And they did.

That’s where he met you. You, too, were looking for something unconventional. You weren’t interested in traditional marriage and came from a good family background, which made introducing you to his parents remarkably easy. Despite his parents’ separation, you navigated the introductions with grace, impressing his mother and, surprisingly, his father.

The wedding happened quickly. You were the ideal partner—easygoing, understanding, and undemanding. When the first year of the contract ended, Bucky asked if you wanted to continue. You had simply smiled and said, “Yes.”

To him, that was enough.

Two years had passed since then, and he thought everything was fine. You never complained, never asked for anything more than the life you had agreed upon. He thought you were content. He thought you were okay.

But now, standing before you on the last day of the contract, he couldn’t reconcile the image he had of your quiet satisfaction with your answer in that viral video.

He stared at you, confused and hurt. “Why did you say it?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost pleading. “Why give that answer? I thought everything was fine.”

You didn’t flinch. Instead, you glanced at your watch, casually checking the time. “I’m not,” you said, your voice calm, almost detached. “At 12 a.m., our marriage contract will be over. By tomorrow morning, I won’t be here.”

His mouth opened as if to protest, but no words came out. He reached for the black tea you had placed in front of him earlier, taking a sip. It had gone lukewarm—neither hot nor cold, a temperature he despised. It mirrored the hollow, uncomfortable feeling gnawing at his chest.

Finally, he set the cup down with a dull clink. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said, his voice firmer now, though tinged with weariness.

You said nothing in return, merely turned and walked away.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The next morning, when he woke up, sunlight was already streaming through the curtains. His eyes flicked to the clock on his nightstand—10 a.m. He sat up abruptly, his head spinning slightly from the sudden movement.

He rarely ever slept this late. For years, he had trained himself to wake by 5 a.m., no matter how little sleep he’d had the night before. Even on his most exhausting days, he never overslept. At most, he might sleep in until 6 or 7 a.m., but 10? Never.

Rubbing his temples, he tried to piece it together. What had made him sleep like this? He thought back to the night before, to your calm words, to the tea…

His hands froze mid-motion. The tea.

A surge of realization hit him. You drugged him.

He swung his legs out of bed, his movements sharp and full of urgency. Throwing on a robe, he stormed out of the bedroom, his voice cutting through the quiet house. “Where is she?”

The housemaid appeared, her expression hesitant and unsure. “She left, sir. Early this morning.”

His jaw tightened as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “And she didn’t say anything? Not a word?”

The maid paused, then held out a small item. “She left this, sir.”

He grabbed the velvet box from her hand, his chest tightening as he opened it. His breath caught at the sight of your wedding ring nestled inside.

For two years, he had worn his own wedding ring daily, thinking of it as nothing more than a piece of jewelry. But now, staring at your ring, it felt heavier than it should, as though it carried the weight of your departure.

Inside the ring box, you left the same crumpled dollar bill. It sat there like a cruel punchline, mocking everything he thought both of you had built together—a final, silent reminder of just how little she thought he was worth.

He set the box down on the table, his eyes scanning the room. When they landed on the wardrobe, he froze. It was still full. You hadn’t taken a single thing.

His mind raced. Where could you have gone? How did you vanish so quickly?

He reached for his phone, dialing his security team with shaky fingers. After two rings, someone picked up.

“Where is she?” he barked, his voice tight with frustration, the tension unmistakable.

The security officer on the other end hesitated. “Mrs. told us… madam wanted to meet her.”

His brows furrowed. “My mother?”

“Yes, sir. She’s in another state.”

That meant only one thing. You had gone to the airport.

“Did she take the private jet or a commercial plane?” he demanded.

“Commercial, sir. It was a last-minute trip, and we hadn’t prepared the jet.”

Bucky’s grip on the phone tightened, his knuckles whitening. His jaw clenched as frustration surged within him. He wanted to scream, to lash out at the sheer incompetence of his team. You fucking idiot. The words pounded in his mind, but he bit them back, forcing himself to stay composed.

“Who bought the ticket?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

“It was Mrs. who purchased the ticket herself.”

Bucky exhaled sharply through his nose, his patience wearing thin. He wanted nothing more than to explode, but he kept his voice steady. “Find out where she went.” Without waiting for a response, he ended the call.

Immediately, he dialed his mother. The line connected after a single ring.

“Hello.”

“I’m glad you called,” she said briskly. “Do you know what’s going on right now?”

His grip on the phone tightened. “Did you ask her to meet you?”

“Me? No, I—”

He ended the call before she could finish. That ruled out her involvement.

His mind raced as he considered the possibilities. If you had boarded a plane, he could easily track your destination. But the other option loomed: that the airport was a decoy. You had used his mother’s name as an excuse, ensuring your movements would go undetected by his security team, who clearly hadn’t been following you as closely as they did him.

Bucky’s phone buzzed. The confirmation from his team came through, and the news made his blood boil.

“Mrs. bought a plane ticket but didn’t get on the plane,” the head of security reported.

“Did you check the surveillance cameras?” he snapped.

“Yes, sir. We’ve reviewed the footage. There’s a woman with a similar appearance to madam who rented a car at the airport.”

Bucky pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration mounting. He sucked in a breath, exhaling slowly to keep his temper in check. So, it’s option two. You’re still in the same state.

“Great,” he muttered under his breath, pacing the room. He could feel the tension radiating through his body. “At least you didn’t go far.”

Without wasting another second, he barked into the phone, “Chase the car. Check every schedule she might have left behind, and contact her friends. I want updates—fast.”

Ending the call, he threw the phone onto his desk with a sharp clatter. Running a hand through his hair, he leaned against the desk, staring out the window as the weight of the situation pressed down on him. For someone who always had the upper hand, this was new territory. And he hated it.

Bucky sat in his office chair, staring at the empty ring box on his desk. His mind swirled with unanswered questions. Why had you suddenly left without a word? Both of you had been such a good team—practical, efficient, and untroubled by the complications that plagued most marriages. At least, that’s what he thought.

If he could, he would turn back time and relive the past few months, examining every moment you’d spent together. Had he missed something? Made a mistake? Or had something happened that he was completely unaware of? The uncertainty gnawed at him, a feeling he hadn’t experienced in years.

His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“We found her. But…”

“What?!” he barked, standing abruptly.

“It’s not Mrs.,” the security team clarified hesitantly.

A chill ran down his spine. “Then who is it?”

“It’s her friend, sir.”

His stomach tightened, and for the first time in years, Bucky felt a flicker of fear. He thought he was closing in, that you were still within his reach. But now, you were out of his watch, slipping further away with every passing second.

“Secure her. I’m going to meet her,” he ordered, his voice cold and sharp.

“Yes, sir.”

"Prepare the car," Bucky ordered, his voice cold and demanding.

"But, sir, you have a meeting at 2 p.m", his assistant replied, hesitant.

Bucky shot him a sharp glare, his jaw tightening.

The assistant quicklu nodded. "I'll reschedule it, sir," he muttered avoiding Bucky's piercing gaze.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

Minutes later, Bucky arrived at a quiet café where Grace was waiting under the watchful eye of his security team. The moment he saw her, he recognized her immediately—your friend, the one who had attended your wedding. Grace was the only person you had trusted with the details of this marriage contract.

Bucky approached the table, his expression unreadable, but his clenched fists betrayed the storm brewing inside him.

“Where is she?” His voice was steady, but there was an edge of desperation he couldn’t fully mask.

Grace avoided his gaze, staring down at the steaming cup of coffee in front of her.

He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. “I could raise my voice at you, but I won’t. Grace, please. Tell me where she is.”

Grace finally looked up, her expression guarded. “As far as I know, last night was the last day of your marriage. Today, she’s a free woman.”

Her words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, Bucky’s mask slipped. He stared at her, bewildered, the weight of everything sinking in. What had he done to make you leave? Had he overlooked something so significant? And why did Grace seem to despise him so much?

Before he could respond, his phone buzzed again. He stepped aside to take the call, his jaw tightening as he listened.

“Sir, we’ve reviewed additional footage. Mrs. used Grace’s ID to purchase another ticket. She’s already on the plane.”

Bucky’s grip on the phone tightened. His gaze snapped back to Grace, who was now watching him warily.

“Grace,” he began, his voice sharper this time. “I’m asking you again. Where is she?”

Grace shook her head, her tone calm but firm. “I don’t know.”

His frustration boiled over. He leaned forward, his palms flat on the table as he stared her down. “Don’t lie to me, Grace.”

She didn’t flinch. “I’m not lying. You don’t know anything about her.”

Her words struck a nerve, leaving him momentarily speechless. He straightened, trying to collect himself, but his mind was racing. Don’t know anything about her? He hated the implication.

“She trusted you,” he said, his voice low. “You were the only one who knew about the arrangement, the only one she confided in.”

“And that’s why I won’t betray her trust now,” Grace replied evenly.

Author Note: Do you found this interesting? Would you like it to be continued?

[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.

[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.

[vague-humanoid]

Though calling out antisemitism is central to the commissioners’ role, it’s unclear what qualifies these officials to adjudicate anti-Jewish bigotry. Klein, for instance, came to his current position after a stint working as the German government’s representative to Jewish organizations, but prior to that, he spent most of his career in Germany’s foreign service working on unrelated issues, stationed in places like Cameroon and Italy. When I visited him in his office in Berlin last April, only a menorah decal pasted on one of the windows hinted at the nature of his position. Klein told me that there are no standardized training programs for the commissioners or educational requirements that they must fulfill before their appointments. Schüler-Springorum pointed out that, though references to the Holocaust underlie every aspect of Germany’s antisemitism system, many of the commissioners are far from experts on the history in question. “It’s amazing how little they know about National Socialism,” she lamented. None of the antisemitism commissioners for either the German Federal Government or its Bundesländer, or states, is ethnically Jewish—which, according to Klein, is by design. “The fight against antisemitism is a problem for the whole of society. It isn’t a problem for the Jewish community to face by itself,” he told me. “I mean, it’s not as though the most pressing problem with antisemitism in Germany is among Jews.”

Indeed, when Jews interact directly with the system, it is often as its targets: Klein told the Berliner Zeitung in a January 2021 interview that “tendentially left-leaning Israelis in Berlin” should “be sensitive to Germany’s special historical responsibility” when they criticize Israel. In the eyes of the commissioners, this seems to be all the more true of Muslims and Arabs—especially Palestinians—who voice support for the Palestinian cause. “Palestinians are like a thorn in the side of Germany’s memory culture,” Palestinian German lawyer Nadija Samour told Jewish Currents. They’re “disposable,” but also “crucial for the German identity . . . If you really want to prove how civilized you are, and how philosemitic or pro-Israel you are, you get the chance to prove that by throwing Palestinians under the bus.”

This commitment to Israel advocacy—which requires disciplining the state’s Jewish critics as well as suppressing Palestinian speech—has led observers to argue that the system of antisemitism commissioners exists less to ensure the safety of Jews than to placate Germans’ feelings of guilt for the Holocaust. Indeed, last summer, in the course of admonishing Palestinian Authority President Mahmoud Abbas for comparing Israel’s crimes to the Holocaust during his visit to Germany, Klein emphasized the way that antisemitism hurts Germans. “By relativizing the Holocaust, President Abbas lacked any sensitivity towards us German hosts,” Klein said. Emily Dische-Becker, a left-wing Jewish curator and journalist in Berlin, told Jewish Currents that German antisemitism efforts are ultimately not driven by a concern for Jews. “It basically is an issue of German identity politics at the end of the day,” she said. Neiman—whose 2019 book Learning from the Germans argues that the nation provides a model for other countries struggling with the weight of collective memory—told me that the creation of the commissioner system, and the passage of the anti-BDS resolution the following year, had caused her to question her previous evaluation. “Things have changed really dramatically since the book came out,” she said. “I still think that Germany did something historically unique by putting its crimes in the center of its national narrative, but I also think it’s gone haywire in the last three years. This system of antisemitism commissioners basically went in all the wrong directions.”

[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.

[multifunctionalnitroglycerin]

The Radiant Dawn, Leona of the Solari – an analysis

Leona, Leona, what to do with you, oh Radiant Dawn, daughter of the Sun-forgers? You who scorn love so, in the face of duty?

What with the latest season of Arcane having fully come out, and many of us still grasping to comprehend the ending of that wonderful series (I will maintain that it’s probably one of the best pieces of media I have ever had the joy of consuming), I got to thinking about another military dictator that leads a scourge against her lover’s people. So, strap in and grab your drinks, cause this is going to be a long one.

I have seen some funny posts juxtapositioning Violyn/ Caitvi and Leodia, and while one cannot deny the first glance similarities in the stories, especially with the new route Piltover’s finest took, the premise of their stories is at its core different.  BUT today we will not explore the similarities and differences in the premise of the broader systems that both stories take place in, but rather take a deeper look into our beloved obstacle of a Targonian “cult leader”, Leona.

            Now Leona’s character in league is rather…unremarkable at first glance. More of an obstacle than a worthy adversary, a mindless cultist that perpetuates the oppression against her peoples’ sister tribe, too blind to see past that, even when her lover begs her to. Personally, I prefer to think of Leona as an unremarkable character with remarkable potential, should Riot decide to ever do anything with it. The roots of a good story have already been planted. Because yes, in Arcane we also talked about oppression, class stratification, abuse of power, and a twisted corrupt judicial system, but now, in Targon, we’ll talk about cults.

I am no expert, but cultism and totalitarian regimes do have a few common points in the way they function, thus the perceived similarities between the two storylines. However, I feel in the hands of capable writers the Targonian storyline can become a beautiful story about religious fanatism, and cultism, the struggle of individuality, and how challenging it is to escape from them, if at all… (I do like some tragic lesbians, sue me. A happy ending that does justice to the inherent tragedy of those two will have to be earned, and if a tragic ending is what does them justice, I will accept it.)

It’s high time we got this party started though, isn’t it?

Leona is born in the Solari tribe of Targon, a tribe that venerated the Sun more than any other upon the mountain. Which at first glance seems innocent enough, right?

Cults in principle, and to my limited understanding, are authoritarian systems that revolve around a particular belief, that have rules and dogma and encourage their members to isolate themselves from would-be questioners of their faith. By taking a look at what we know about the Solari, most of these terms seem to be fulfilled. An authoritarian system based around the worship of the Sun, with strict rules, rigid principles, and rituals, led not by one charismatic leader, as many cults are, but by a council of elders, that determine what is acceptable and what not in Her worship. While they also take care to mindfully curate the available information in the temple and discourage or silence those that oppose their teachings.

Leona is a child born to the Sun-forgers Melia and Iasur, and takes to her parents’ faith with a stride, comfortable in its rigidity and its unrelenting structures. She is reportedly as seen both through her bio and the letter to her parents in “Rise with me”, a near perfect acolyte, her devotion, and excellence in seemingly everything but that one oration class, inspiring envy in her peers, and admiration in her elders, all of them certain that she would one day become a Ra’Horak, a holy warrior of the Solari.

The thing is, that children growing up in cults are a tricky thing to write despite its supposed straightforwardness. Especially if you want to create a character as complicated as I hope Leona will turn out to be. The basics of it are things we already know; children are extremely vulnerable to adult influence; their minds are sponges and their parents’ world is their world. They listen, observe and absorb the behavior, the views and opinions of the people around them, and accept them as reality, because they are children and do not know any better. As one might imagine, the extent of fanatism that Leona grew up with is variable, depending on how her own parents acted and how deep in they were themselves. Now I am a bit rusty on Rakori and Targonian lore, but if we take the short story “Rise with me” into account, I think it is safe to say that Melia and Iasur were in pretty deep.

Another thing to note about children that grow up in cults is that the cult leader and the cult’s needs come first. Which means that the child rarely enjoys their parents’ attention, much less love and affection. Something that in my humble opinion would drive some of them to strive for perfection and trying to satisfy their parents’ every wish and every whim, in hope of getting even a hint of affection. That is something we can see rather clearly in the story if we want to examine a bit Leona’s relationship with her Dayblessed parents.

Before we dive into that, however, what we can summarize from all of the above is that Leona is, in principle, a person that likes rules. Someone that grew up heeding them. That thrives in hierarchical systems, and well-structured environments, with clear denominations for right and wrong, for what one should and should not do. According to the bio this rigidity brings her comfort, and solace. Because it is familiar and comfortable. It’s what in all probability she grew up with. Moreover, Leona is a perfectionist. Something we are told, through her bio, and her own letters and diary, but we can also see when looking at her through the lens of Diana’s eyes.

To continue with my previous point, though, when looking at her relationship with her parents…well, I’ll let you figure this out on your own. We only have her diary entries and letters sent and unsent to garner information from, but that is enough to paint a detailed enough picture of what her relationship with her parents entails. Even without looking at it from the “child that grew up in a cult” angle, we can see there is little affection between them. Even from her first letter, we can feel the clean-cut, prim and proper courteousness of their communication, accompanied by the hints of affection every child holds for their parents. It is, however, far from warm, or heartfelt. It seems more like kind interest, than any real investment, in her parents’ or siblings’ wellbeing and then proceeds to become a report on her achievements and perceived weaknesses. Even the title of the section, the opening of the letter, “Letter from a devoted daughter” holds no personality, as if Leona’s entire being can be compressed and described by those two words.

We do get a similar impression from the letter Polymnius sent to Melia and Iasur. The letter itself contains the priest’s thanks for the new lanternglass crafted by the sun-forger, and also devolves to a report of Leona’s progress after his communication with all of her instructors, and his observation of her skills in battle. Now on the one hand, Polymnius could be just a family friend or the priest responsible for communicating with the acolytes’ families. On the other hand however, one might start questioning just how much control Leona’s parents can exert over her life, even in their absence. Do they hold sway with the priesthood? Are their immense expectations passed on through priests and teachers, adding more and more to the pressure Leona faces every day? To be strong, devout, worthy and good? And again, the letter ends with  “I know you would be proud.” I am sure they would Polymnius, I am sure they would.

            At this point I’d like to point out that he is probably the only person that worries that Leona is taking her duties far too seriously and needs to take a few steps back to relax and delight in the Sun’s gifts. (And honestly, same.)

Moving forward we have the Letter from Sunsworn Priestess Nemyah to a shining pupil, that once more applauds Leona for her achievements, with little to no fanfare. And again we note that sense of depersonalization, of Leona being defined by those characterizations, by her achievements, her rights and wrongs. 

            And then of course we get into the fight between Leona and Diana and the disciplinary letter sent to her by her parents. Which honestly goes about as well as you would expect,

We know that you are capable of better and expect you to rise to the occasion. Leaders in Her Light do not run into impediments that they cannot overcome, nor do they get hindered by such earthly mischief as “a shouting match at school.”

And of course

…will speak with you about how better to secure your future then.

So much for parental love… If anything, it’s a declaration of disappointment, with clear expectations and measures to be met, We know you are better than this, we expect you to be better than this, leaders do not fumble. Sounds particularly loving, doesn’t it? Definitely not like they worry about their reputation, and their image in the community more than their daughter’s wellbeing and most certainly not like they have her future already decided for her. A future they can benefit from, of course.

I will try to keep this at a reasonable length and will not overly analyze Leona’s own unsent replies, for they are pretty straightforward. They are characterized by Leona’s anxiety, fear and guilt for disappointing her parents and failing to reach the tremendous expectations they have set for her.

            So to sum this part up, Leona was raised by overly strict parents, in an environment in which she received little to no affection and positive reinforcement, even for her achievements that far exceeded those of her peers. She has also been burdened with a set of rather impossible expectations, that she strives to reach no matter what. We saw that Iasur and Melia are quick to discipline her and voice their disappointment, rather rancidly might I say, and yet made little to no mention of Leona’s multiple achievements that have been noted by multiple instructors as well as Polymnius. As for Leona herself, one might say she is afraid to be herself and express her own thoughts. Even when she writes a letter that truly encompasses her thoughts and feelings, in that same letter she resolutely states that she will not send it.

So insofar we have an affection-starved, rule-loving perfectionist, that probably hasn’t had any positive reinforcement since she was like 5 and has her parents and everyone around her connect and define her worth as a person though her personal achievements and services in Her light. It would be safe to assume that from a point on, Leona herself starts putting herself in those boxes, limiting her sense of self and worth to the glass ceiling of their expectations, adding more and more expectations on herself, back bending further and further back, until inevitably reaching her breaking point. And of course, this is all she has ever known. The rules, the hierarchy, the expectations, the dogma, is what she grew up with, is what feels familiar, and in a twisted sense, “right”.  We could thus somewhat explain why Leona holds her duty in such high regard. She has come to define herself and her worth as a person, through it. It’s all she has ever really known.

            Not to say that things are as bleak as they seem at first glance. For there is one shining light in Leona’s life, one guiding beacon that tries to break her out of the glass cage, at least at the point in time when Rise With Me takes place, and it is none other than Diana.

            Now, according to Leona’s bio, she saw in Diana an ever-curious spirit devoted to the search for meaning, and the truth, and that’s sth that holds up in the short story as well. Diana’s ingenuity and unique perspective of things, her being the one dissonant voice in the harmonious chorus of the elders’ teachings, intrigue young Leona.

When looking into the respective missives that Leona sends to Diana in respects of their shared oration class, starting from the first one even, we can see that despite all the greatness she has achieved, all her triumphs, and graces, she remains shy, and humble. Even knowing that she is amongst the best of her peers, and the priests’ favorites, she does not brag, does not demand, does not exert any power or control. Instead, she approaches her faults humbly and asks for Diana’s – the outcast’s - help in a respectful manner. She does not let her shortcomings define her or hinder her. She recognizes them as something to improve, and humbly asks for help from someone she believes she can benefit from, someone that will help, and not just shower her with mindless praise.  She recognizes Diana’s ingenuity and applauds her argument construction; while pledging to help her in return should Diana need assistance herself.

Leona is humble and kind. Though to a certain degree we might even consider her having a bit of a people pleasing attitude accompanied by a slight lack of confidence. Perfectionists as a rule hate making mistakes or seeming inadequate. It’s a big blow in their confidence and the sense of self they have constructed around the concept of said perfection. After living for so long in an environment of such heavy expectations, it’s no wonder one might start second-guessing themselves, no matter how good they are, even for the smallest of mistakes.

            Back to Leona though, she is humble, kind and considerate, perhaps even to a fault. There is this sense of her not wanting to impose on Diana’s schedule, on which she rather insists. She doesn’t want to be trouble, she does not want to be a burden, and of course she then offers her own help in return should it be needed, which is the decent and honorable thing to do.

            Leona’s diary entry where she considers asking Diana to the festival is what also gives us a glimpse of the person behind the armor, behind the rule abiding student, behind the mask of achievements and perfection. To no surprise, we get a more in depth perspective of Leona’s own thoughts and feelings, as long as her take on “how to ask the girl I like out without coming across like a total fool, or indoctrinating asshole?” She is anxious, thoughtful and tender, considerate and sweet in her approach, and a little bit hopeless, but I think we can forgive her. She is downright smitten and hasn’t realized how much just yet. She even goes through with one of her plans to ask Diana to practice with the shields, and well, forgive me if I say it is adorable.

            Diana’s presence in Leona’s life and story, however, is not important because the will-be Aspect of the Sun is absolutely smitten with her, or even because she encompasses the total opposite of what Leona is (which let’s be honest, she doesn’t. They are complimentary to one another, not opposites), but because Diana makes Leona think.

            That’s the reason Leona approached her in the first place, her ability to think and construct cohesive and compelling arguments. Something that Leona herself is lacking in, because alongside most of the other Solari acolytes, she lacks critical thinking. An essential component of trying to construct an argument of any sort - if you do not want to parrot something you learned in a book once.

            Diana’s arguments, thoughts and criticisms on their given materials have Leona thinking, examining what she is taught, and what she says in oration class herself. Diana teaches Leona how to think, she teaches her how to construct arguments, how to reinforce them, to find fallacies in arguments and counteract them. In her quest to learn how to defend her point, Leona starts learning how to look deeper into things, to examine their essence, and construct counterpoints. And we can see that she starts thinking about it, if only superficially. She doesn’t go full out critical thinking, or questioning everything she has ever known, it doesn’t work like that, but the seed has been planted.  “Why do you think I need to go deeper than that when it’s widely known already?” It’s not much but it is a start to the path of critical thinking.

And then after an undetermined amount of time, comes their shared ascension. And that’s where the discrepancies in the story start. Mind you the bio was written a few years before the short story came out, so the characterization obviously is not entirely in line with what we know.

            This Leona is one that debates with Diana still, but wants to persuade her not to look further into their faith, and just accept it as it is. At Diana’s sharing the secret of the alcove, Leona is a stone wall of resistance urging her friend away from the climb, afraid for her wellbeing should she inspire further ire from the Solari. When Diana inevitably climbs the mountain, and while her first instinct is to alert the elders, Leona resolves to help and protect her friend instead and follows after her into the night. Against all odds they manage to reach the peak, and she is wreathed in golden light, fighting tooth and nail to keep her sense of self intact. And she wins.

            At this point, I think we can all see the difference between bio-Leona and the Leona that the short story sets the foundations of. Obviously for the sake of storytelling and with some tweaking these two could co-exist as canon versions of Leona in different times of her life. We could potentially be talking about a tragic story about how religion and blind adherence to duty and tradition drive a wedge between two people that very much love each other. Or the bio could be a bit of a “historical account” of what happened, and Leona having had to care for Diana after her punishments one too many times puts up a wall of resistance, an ultimatum of the “I don’t want to lose you” kind.

            No matter the case, and despite of what Riot might decide to do to expand on their story, and either give us a critical thinking Leona, or a very good reason for not having a critical thinking Leona, the point is that Leona is incredibly loyal to those she cares about.

            And now comes the point of the ascension. The critical point in their story, where instead of going with Diana, and living their happily ever after away from the system that tortured them both, albeit in completely different manners, Leona chooses to stay.

            And I think sometimes when thinking about Leona, we do not always recognize that this is the point where everything is going down. This is the point where everything we have so far discussed comes into play. Because their ascension is a traumatic experience. One that upends everything Leona has ever known. The process of their ascension is traumatic, the very essence of it, bloody terrifying. Because it is a jump into the unknown. It challenges the truths that she has constructed her whole sense of self around, demolishes the very principles that she grew up enforcing.

            There is this interaction in Legends of Runeterra, where Diana urges Leona to understand that Day needs Night, referencing the visions they both saw upon Targon’s peak. And what does Leona reply? “Visions from memories not my own.”

            Full-blown denial. Not that I particularly blame her initial reaction. Because what is it that we have here? We have that affection-starved perfectionist that grew up in a cult, that wounded inner child that has come to tie her worth as a person to the degree of her personal achievements. We have that honorable, rule abiding, and duty loving person, a person that finds solace in strict structures and hierarchies, that thrives in them, thrown into absolute CHAOS.

You have Leona, that rule abiding idiot, that transcends her own limits that takes that one calculated risk to follow Diana and save her from the mountain’s clutches and ends up with watching a blast of divine light slamming into Diana. She goes to help, and before she can help a blast of divine light slams into her, filling her head with a second divine conscience, with visions and memories of other Sun Aspects, of times when truly the people of the mountain were united. And then the onslaught ends, and she faces a Diana different from the one she knows, a Diana dressed in the colors of the enemy.

            So Leona, bearing all of the characteristics we mentioned above, is bloody terrified out of her wits. She is faced with such terrifyingly foreign notions, with such stress, that what is she going to do? She regresses back to what she already knows. And what she knows are the elders and the Solari, and the priests, the rules, the scriptures, the dogma. In face of that terrifying truth she regresses back to the perceived safety of that toxic and unhealthy system -that on top of everything is a cult- that she grew up in.

            Now this brings forth this thought about ignorance. Because Leona is ignorant of the truth. She is, however, intimately familiar with the narrative she has grown up with. People are familiar with their ignorance, and oftentimes they choose to bear the ills of what they know than to fly to others that they know not of. And thus, they are cowards. (Hamlet anyone?)

Leona is a prime example of that. Instead of sitting down and considering the new information, the truth revealed, the unknown future ahead, she clings to her ignorance, to her half-knowledge of the story, because it is familiar, and safe. And she is bloody terrified of the new unknown that Diana proposes they follow.

Now that is not to say that everything we have discussed boils down to Leona is a coward. Though that is partly true. But she is also a kid that grew up in a system that fostered that kind of cowardice. She is someone that grew up in an environment of cultism and religious fanatism, and she grew up ingrained to it. Contrary to Diana as one might point out. And these are all things we need to take into account when handling a character like Leona, and care that we do not flatten such immense complexity of conditions and circumstances, such depth of thought and emotion to “brainless genocidal cultist”. 

(Now if you ask, why does Diana have critical thinking, why did she not get ingrained and lost in that system despite growing up in it for as long if not longer than Leona, what is it that makes her different from the other cult kids, I have absolutely no idea, but that’s not the point of this particular post.)

To finish this off, the point of this post is not to excuse Leona of all the horrible things she has done, or even to argue that she is not a genocidal cultist- she very much is, and the point is definitely not to say that it is not her fault and she was just a product of her circumstances. We all are products of the circumstances that surround us, but we are not passive participants in those conditions. No, the point is to try and understand where Leona might be coming from, and to demonstrate that even the simplest and most obtuse of character concepts can have an intricate and complicated story behind them.

If you did manage to reach the end of this, congratulations! Have a cookie and don’t forget to hydrate!

[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

[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.

[sweetbabymantykes]

How do you keep habitats for swamp-dwelling pokémon like Clodsire or Whiscash appropriately... "swampy"?

I've recently come into possession of an Alolan Muk. I'm trying to figure out what sort of habitat it needs online, but all I've found is someone talking about "sludge ponds".

How do you figure out what sort of purity to keep the swamps at? I know she's supposed to eat trash, but I don't want her habitat to just be an uncleaned pool. Do you have to clean the swamps at the aquarium?

Well, uh...Muk is a bit of a special case. For most 'swamp' habitats we make, the most important factor is the substrate. Clodsire and Whiscash specifically require mud-bottom habitats, which means we bring in a lot of silty soil and leaf litter to make sure their environments are accurate and the water's acidity is high enough. Getting the right plants in there too really helps minimize the amount of work that needs to be put in filtering and cleaning the water, most of the cleaning we do of the wetland exhibits involves pruning plants and rotating leaf litter and adding peat moss, but most of this advice isn't particularly helpful with the Muk family.

The thing about Muk, and especially Alolan Muk, is that they feed off of human pollution. The 'sludge pools' in question are usually full of this- trash, oil, chemicals, industrial sludge. And to that end you really can't keep anything else in there, ideal living conditions for Muk are toxic to everything except the most resilient poison types. It's great that you want to do better for your Muk in terms of food, but if they aren't fed something with a diet of enough heavy metals and toxic chemicals- the chemicals are especially important for Alolan Muk, the reactions is where they get a lot of their energy- they get aggressive and destructive, and then they get sick.

I'm not an expert on poison types, but given the conversations I've had with other competitive trainers, you can at least curate the type of garbage your friend eats. The fancy curated diet one of my IRL friends feeds their Alolan Muk consists of cadmium paint, industrial pesticide, and batteries (charged and dead). Kind of expensive, but this is a diet for a high-level competitively-trained Muk, so given that it's still in the same ballpark of other high-level diet costs. I'm not sure how you plan to train your Muk, but I think this diet is a pretty good base to build off of. Paint, household chemicals, and scrap metal generally aren't difficult to come by. And if that doesn't satisfy them, give your local sanitation department a call and see if they're looking for help with waste disposal- I'm sure your Muk would be more than happy to help.

[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)

[riverofjazzsims]

Nyami Neptune reporting in for Dating Deanna by @changingplumbob

Nyami Neptune Young Adult/Lesbian Occupation: No worries she keeps busy Aspiration: Jungle Explorer Traits: Loves Outdoors, Adventurous, Cringe, Socially Awkward, Erratic

Nyami is descendent from one of the few remaining aboriginal groups that still exist in Salvadorado. Raised by parents who are historians and anthropology experts for their people, she and her siblings spent their childhood (hell their lives) in the literal jungle.

Due to that upbringing and her parents being the local owners and curators to the museum of antiquities of aboriginal history. She spends a good part of her time at various dig sites or visiting with some of the more obscure tribes that have shied away from mainstream to learn as much as she can about the people of her land. One would think Nyami would be this confidant woman, and she is in certain aspects of life, around family and very close friends. To the public at large Nyami is a beautiful socially awkward butterfly that is too smart for her own good and talks about calcified bones and carbon dating like a teenager may talk about their favorite RPG game. Definitely not the intro to new friend groups or budding romance most dream of.

Needless to say she has had very few romantic encounters but does know enough about herself that she absolutely will burn to keep the right woman warm, protected and in a constant wind of the chaos that is her erratic, adventurous life.

Fun Facts: Nyami, a twin, was supposed to be baby boy B, surprised her parents and became their first born daughter. Though her name means River God, her parents thought after seeing her it was still fitting and so never changed it.

She is HUGE on family and even though she is off doing her own thing alot she is never too far from them for long.

Her twin brother Nereus usually acts as her wingman whenever they would go to town.

Nyami didn't start talking until she was about 5 so she also knows sign language - she also hasn't been silent since that day she uttered her first words. No seriously she talks to herself when alone. Out loud. She even talks in her sleep. Her brother jokes that she should have the worse dry mouth cause she talks so much

She was blessed by the sun gods and people have sworn to see her inner sun hovering above her when she works at times

Answers to Questions

All IN !!

Would you prefer your sim to only build a romance bar with Deanna or are you fine with them getting flirty and/or intimate with other contestants? Friendly flirting is ok. No intimacy with the other characters. Is your sim monogamous or would they be open to polyamory? monogamous Would your sim be open to woohoo in the later stages of the competition? yes Would your sim be open to flirting with Joey? Deanna's older brother is an aromantic allosexual and will likely try to hit up a sim or two - in a friendly flirty way sure

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