#echelon heights

[2hoothoots]

i gotta know but. how tall is your future au Raz. like height measurement wise . i don't think I've seen any drawings of him with his actual written height

i'm always a little hand-wave-y about it, but in terms of actual measurements - Sasha is canonically 7'2", and as an adult Raz has a couple of inches over him, so like... 7'5", 7'6", maybe?

[vampiricgf]

— VON LYCAON ; PROFESSIONAL DEMEANOR

warnings: fem reader, knotting, cervix fucking, unrealistic sex, creampie, size kink sorta, mentions of reader being smaller than him, I know he cums loud n abundant!!

sorry if this sucks it's my first time writing about knots pls be niceys to me im just horny >.< pst~ my zzz requests are open!

It was just so... adorable watching you struggle to take his knot all by yourself. The way your cheeks were so flushed from exertion and the many, many orgasms he'd given you over the course of the last hour or so, the way your skin glistened with sweat was so tantalizing his teeth practically ached to sink into the tenderness at the side of your neck.

Ordinarily Lycaon held himself to a higher standard, a requirement when dealing with the upper echelon of clientele that Victoria Housekeeping frequently partners with. But with you that carefully constructed veneer showed signs of wear, of cracks, as if you'd waltzed right up to him with a sledgehammer in your grasp.

As his fingers massaged careful, soothing circles into the backs of your thighs as he held your legs folded up to your chest he couldn't help but feel adoration for you in this moment. Not that he doesn't adore you all the time, always, but there's just something uniquely special about knotting you.

"Do you want my help?" He could barely get the words out, nearly cutting himself off in a ragged groan feeling your pussy clamp down around him again, walls desperately massaging his length and begging for what you both knew would finally grant fulfillment. And god did he want to give it to you, wanted to give you so much and your poor body would have no choice but to take it as he bore down on you against the mattress.

But he was mindful of your limitations, even in the heights of pleasure it was never far from his mind. He'd never be able to trust himself with you again if he caused you any harm, if he pushed too hard. But you're just so cute, begging to be filled up and held down until your glossy eyes are drowning with tears. You make it hard to be gentlemanly.

In between wheezing breathes you nod, pathetically whimpering as your arms lace around his neck and its all he needs before pulling out, agonizingly slow until just the tip of his throbbing cock rested heavily inside you. You gasped, crying out his name brokenly as his hips snapped forward, just hard enough to make you squeal before he felt the telltale pop of his knot slotting snugly against your walls.

With barely contained strength he used his upper body to push you deeper against the plush mattress, pressing his forehead against yours as his teeth instinctually bared with every spurt of hot, milky cum that drowned your cervix. He'd been so focused on you and your pleasure for the last hour or so that he honestly failed to realize just how badly he needed to cum, rocking against you to both ensure it filled up even the deepest parts of you and to hear you make those sweet little cries that he eagerly swallowed down as his lips pressed against yours in a kiss made of sloppy teeth and tongues.

Your walls fluttered around him, body greedily accepting the flood of sticky seed and it makes him more than a little lightheaded on the comedown. He stays inside you, holding you as your breathing evens out into a less frantic pace and your eyes flutter open to meet his. Despite being a bit far away he can tell you're present, and with a hum of satisfaction he presses a kiss to your hairline and finally slides out of you.

Pulling back to rest on his knees he helps you bring your legs back down, feet planted against the mattress but in an instant he freezes, captivated. The sight of his cum dripping from your still clenching hole, the sheer amount of it, and the way your mixed mess of cum and sweat made your inner thighs glisten makes his throat suddenly parched.

It's not lost on you, and despite your own exhaustion he watches the way your hand slides down your belly before swiping two fingers through your folds, gathering the pearly liquid on your fingers before gingerly circling your puffy clit.

It was absurd, how the sight had his cock twitching with renewed interest and he wondered briefly just how insatiable you really were.

He already knows how badly he wants to devour you, knows the amount of work it takes to keep the urge in check, but it seems you're determined to fully wrench that self control away from him.

And maybe he'll let you...

[san8ny]

Intermission

Ellie Williams <3

Synopsis: Ellie and you haven’t spoken since highschool, you two never really that close. One day, the all-star hits you up upon getting kicked out. You down to help her steal from her own childhood home or nah?

w.c: 4.1k / warnings include: Ellie is a bit rude in the beginning, some Joel slander, she’s just hella uptight, mutual pining, kissing, she makes out with your hooha, but it’s hot. ;-;

“Am I even doing this right?” you mutter down at the pocket knife you had angled, poorly sharpening it’s blade with the edge of the worn-down whetstone you and Ellie happened to find upon arrival to Joel’s cabins.

She gives you, and both the board, a once-over before turning back to the picture frames lined up on the wall, “Sure.” Rolling your eyes, you throw the knife onto the counter, “You know, I didn’t know he had such a swanky place.”

“Yeah. Reeaal swanky.” She huffs, scrunching her brows in annoyance when the clatter of the knife you’d just thrown doesn’t quiet down immediately, “You find the checkbook yet?”

Ah, the checkbook. You almost forgot she recruited you out here to practically rob her adoptive dad blind.

I mean, fuck, had you had the luck of being in her place— living so lavishly, you’d let the bastard yell at you all he wanted.

Dragging your finger tips across the wooden counter, careful to not splinter them, you push yourself off where you were leaning, and walk towards the stairs, “Doesn’t it make sense for him to like, I don’t know, have it upstairs?”

Ellie runs a hand down her tired face, letting out a huge sigh before turning towards when you stand near the railing, your foot already placed on the first step. Why didn’t she think of that before? She gives you the green light, following behind as you ascend up the stairs. She finds her breath hitched and her eyes closing in further irritation when you suddenly stop, her face parallel with your lower back due to the step-to-height difference.

“Is that you?” You say, a smile stretching on your face as you point towards the meek framed photo that hung above the handrail, depicting a pre-teen Ellie in a science museum tee, Joel slightly crouched behind her with two thumbs up. You almost would have missed the small smile she has in the snapshot had you had nor squinted, “Didn’t know you had a dimple. Do still have it?” You ask, turning down towards where she stood.

“No. Now move.” She huffs, bumping your shoulder as she takes lead, climbing up the rest of the stairs. Rude. Nonetheless, you follow her as you enter into the main hallway. How the hell was a cabin this big? you’re only in it for, like, less than a season— Right? Not like you would know, the fanciest thing you’d ever seen was the time you went to Dina’s Bat Mizvah down at the community center and got to see a chocolate fountain, granted it was years ago, it’s the closest thing you’d ever experienced comparisable to ‘upper echelon.’

She seemingly notices your distant stare, harshly bringing her palms together in a large clap thus pulling you out of your thoughts. Clearly taken aback, you meet her blank gaze, “You take the attic, i’ll take the main bedroom”

“Where—

“Down the hall, to your left. You’ll see the ladder cord hanging.” She cuts you off, already walking away and into one of the many doors you could only assume led to Joel’s bedroom. Okay! This should be easy!

It was not easy.

On your hands and knees, you cough uncontrollably from the dust that blocks insulation. It errupted when you pulled the damn ceiling ladder cord down. All this money and they couldn’t fucking dust it once in a while? Wait, when was the last time this place was even entered? That was the question you asked as you slowly tip-toed up with wide eyes. immediate, you’re met with U-haul boxes, plastic dinosaur figurines and some comics.

In that moment, you smile a bit as you kneel on the floor, grabbing the Stegosaurus and T-rex as you gently knock them against eachother, playing with them.

Though you swear you were being satirical when you began toying with them, you couldn’t help thoughts drift to a younger Ellie playing with these like you were. She’d probably always call dibs on the Carnivore, giving the other person an eyeroll when they cry at how unfair she was being for never giving them a turn at being the razor-bearing predator. ‘Skill issue’ she’s also snicker when the kids run back to their parents.

When you finally put them down after some time, you walk over to one of the several moving boxes. Some tattered, some dirty and some even still closed up. It was wrong for you to have been snooping around her childhood home, sure, but she’s also stealing from her own said home— so you can’t be that bad. Reaching into the closest one near you, you pull out a small velvet belt. One that stroke resemblance to the ones you’d see in the cheesy karate-cop movies your dad had been a fan of. Another, and another and shortly, you have a large array of belts, with at the very bottom of the box containing a small plaque of achievements, ‘Ellie Williams’ printed in fine, gold lettering, ‘Graduate from the Jackson institute of Martial Arts.’

Of course, she was a prodigy at everything. What wasn’t Ellie good at? She’d been your highschool’s valedictorian a couple years back when you both were about to graduate, given the golden chance to speak at the commencing, well, was. That was before passing the chance onto the second runner without a second thought; she claimed she wasn’t the talking type and just casually went about her day, like it wasnt the opportunity most students would have killed for. Students like you, who spent all night and day to even make a dent in the social stratosphere that was highschool.

Given now you both were in your early 20’s, you still hold admiration for Ellie. Maybe that’s why when she randomly called you to hangout after years, you didn’t question it, or even second guess yourself.

How long Ellie had been standing there watching you coo over her baby pictures was something you, and both she couldn’t answer. Originally wanting to smack you on the head or scare you, she couldn’t help but lean against the attic wall, eyeing the way you carefully place her achievements down like they were the most important thing to you.

You’d always been like that since Ellie can recall meeting you. Always so nice, so sensible, always the first one in the room to make light out of nothing. You definitely would have been burnt on the cross or something for just how smiley you were if you were alive back in that day. Ellie found you interesting in ways she couldn’t configure why.

She and Joel had a falling out a couple of weeks ago. He cut her off of all financial support, insisting she get a job or a higher education like her peers were. A few profanities and insults were thrown around, leading eventually to her getting kicked out. Funny. Though she never cared about being embarrassed or the opinions of others, she did feel some sort of seeping humiliation. So, with the money she had, she booked a hotel and called you up. She chuckles when she remembers the first time she sent the address, your hesitancy to type back as you get the wrong, but expected idea,

‘ .’.im not fucking u lol’

‘wth no I got kicked out’

‘OHHH srry!!! D: ‘

The chuckle that hears behind startles, your grip seemingly loosening on the picture frame you had in-hand meeting the floor in cruel shatters. Quiet consumes you both with your hands shaking erratically, “O-oh my god? i’m so sorry, I don’t even know why I did that. fuckfuckfuck!! It was an accident. I can pay for that! Like, i’m so so sorry—l” you frantically plead with her, your eyes alternating from her and the bloody gla—bloody?

“You’re bleeding.” Ellie sighs, softly reaching forward to grab your wrist, pulling you around the mess you caused. You didn’t even realize you were until you felt the blood drip from your ankles down to your shins, staining your bleach-white socks in scarlet droplets.

“I messed up, Ellie, i’m really sorry.”

“Can you like, stop apologizing? It’s fine. Didn’t even know when that picture was taken anyways.”

Somehow, her words worsen your hysteric state, you sinking down back onto your knees as you sob. Oh god, she didn’t even know when that picture was taken meaning it’s that long ago. Ellie stares at you clearly with a panicked look, not really knowing how to comfort you— or anyone for that matter. Again, you were more of the sensible one between them, even if you two hadn’t exactly been all that close growing up in the same town, school and similarly interconnected friend groups. ‘What would you do?’ So, Ellie slightly crouches down, her squeaky sneakers noising as she awkwardly encircles her arms around you. Clearly taken aback by this gesture, you peer up from where your head was buried inbetween your knees and instead, at Ellie, who’s usual laid-back expression is replaced with furrowed brows, her eyes not meeting yours and some reddening on her cheeks. “Y-you’ve seen the picture frames around, man, I see myself all the time. It’s fine.”

You sniffle abit before giving her a coherent answer that isn’t just hiccups, “Im sorry.” She sighs before slightly reaching up to pat your head, “Please stop crying, I think i’m more off-put by your ugly cries than you breaking shit.” That tugs a laugh out of you, pushing Ellie away as she matches your grin. “I mean look, you ruined my tee.” She wasn’t lying, you look down to her white tee and it was absolutely soaked with shed tears belonging to you. You gently run your thumbs over her chest in a bad attempt to wipe your embarassingly smeared mascara off, but it only recieves a small whine from Ellie, who backs away immediately. You’re left confused when she gets up, clearing her voice. “We should continue searching.” With that, she leaves the attic, leaving you up there and with multiple. How could ones demeanor change that often? You almost noticed the sensitivity in her chest.

“Pfft, softie.” You mutter, a smile on your lips as you follow her down. Eventually, Ellie is the one to find the book, it’s placed inbetween some folded jeans. ‘Fuck yeah..’ She bites her chapped lip as she flips through it. Enough pages for her, and a good forged signature she’d mastered when he’d be too lazy to sign her field trip permission slips— guess something did pay off. You stand there with crossed arms, feeling a bit squeamish all of a sudden, like the thought had hit you finally, Ellie is moving away. She notices you when she lifts her gaze up, puzzled with your stance, “I told you it’s okay, the picture frame can be replaced.”

“I don’t want you to move away.”

“What.”

“I won’t repeat myself.” You shake your head defiantly, standing your ground when she towers over you, all these years and when you two have somewhat of a bond, she wants to move away? And maybe yeah, you had it coming, being easily-attached to somehow who’d you’d only started recently hanging out with. “What makes you think I care?” She mocks, looking at you like you’d grown an extra head, she’s almost astonished with your stupidity, why would she have dragged you all the way here to just, stay? Something with the way she says those words churns humility deep in your gut, who were you to even admit that to her? You flail around your arms passively as you back away, a croak in your throat, “Just something I said. You’re a cool person.”

“Right, well, I got the checkbook meaning we can get the hell out. Seeing this place almost makes me want to not drain Joel’s pockets.” She yawns, throwing you the book before retreating into one of the previous rooms, though before, she asks, “Say, where’d we put the keys?”

..

Who had the keys?

Comically enough, sirens began to faintly hear in the back, and your gaze locks onto Ellie’s, “Fuck— find the keys.” She says, running back into the room. How petty was her dad to call the police on them? Well, petty enough to have alarms laying around incase his thieving daughter comes around. You, instantly begin to eye around for them, palms growing clammy at the aspect of being arrested now comes into plan as the sirens grow closer. Finding them, you call out to Ellie who seemingly was already on her way once she heard the jingles of them, “Out the back. You’re gonna run, and not turn back, ‘alright?” She whispers, grabbing you and running towards the kitchen door once the front door is knocked.

Once it’s kicked in, Ellie manages to get out with a groan, definitely a bruiser, but nonetheless, they make it out of the area without getting caught. While she hasn’t broken a sweat yet, you were coughing up a storm like you were earlier, eyes tearing up as you let them out in fits. She gently rubs your back, looking around for where their parked car was, it was a good idea they’d parked so far away- granted it was flawed in multiple ways, it came out in their good favor. Once you’d caught your breath, Ellie hums, “You know where we parked?” You nod, looking around, “Yeah. near the marked tree, you smeared my lipstick over it..” She scrunches her nose to prevent a loud laugh from coming out, your sadness over lipstick being funny to her, “Right. That way.”

You both find the car and enter, ellie starting the car as she backs up and maneuvers around the various tall trees it was parked around before getting onto the main road. You don’t say anything for the majority of the one hour ride, those 60 minutes feeling like the longest ones to Ellie who’s gotten use to your talkitive habits. So when she asks you if you want aux, you shake your head— deflating her mood. She sighs, lighting up a cigarette at the light and rolling down the window. You just lean your head back and rest your eyes, emotions running through that you couldn’t even seem to process. Tiredness, embarrassment of her flat out saying she’d never stay for you, getting almost booked by the police, and just ones you didn’t want to acknowledge at all. You wanted to just, go to sleep.

Ellie, on the otherhand, feels nothing but anxiety gnawing at her. Why does she care so much whether you talk to her or not? She’s never even liked talking, and somehow, the thought of never speaking to you again after this makes her feel nauseous. Would you text her? Call her? Visit her if she left? Would you buy the nearest train ticket if she told you one day to come when she settles into her new place? Or would you just move on? Would you move onto some cooler girl in town to befriend? Some other girl you’d look up to, some other girl who would show you the hidden gems around town you’d been asking her to, Fuck— some other girl you’d give all your affection to. Ellie swerves the car, and had it not been your quick-wit to pull the steering back, she might have crashed the vehicle.

Pulling over, she places her head lightly on the leather wheel while you stare at her in bewilderment, “Are you crazy?! What was that?!” You say with a slight twitch in your eye at her loss of control.

“I don’t want to move away.”

“You literally have to, we’re on the side of the road and your emergency lights aren’t on so.”

“I’ll stay.”

“You can’t, that’s like, against the rules. I don’t know, my permit is expired.” First order of business, obtain a license.

“In Jackson. I’ll stay in Jackson.” She mumbles, lifting her head up to stare at you. This feels like a joke to you, like Ellie might just begin laughing at you when you show the tiniest bit of you of relief. So, you just match her stare, tiling your head. “Why?” Why? What do you mean why? Ellie wants to scream, why don’t you look happy? She’s staying for you.

“Just..wanted to.” She says after a beat or two, pulling the car back onto the road as she nears your house. Giving a curt nod, you look out the window, your knees feeling wobbly like a teenage girl all over again as you suppress asking questions to the clearly disoriented freckled girl. Once on arrival, Ellie expects you to leave and slam that door but instead, you sit there for a bit.

“My mom isn’t here.” You say, chewing your inner-cheek.

“You don’t have a spare key or ‘sum?”

“No no I do, it’s just— want to come in?” You ask her with big eyes, your hands folded on your lap like a child on their best behavior to get something.

“Did your mom bake that pie you got me last time?” She’s referring to the Cherry Pie your mom made last time you two hung out.

“Is the sky blue?” You say, with a smile, trying to lighten the mood that’ll need more than just that to recover.

“It’s grey but I see your point. I’ll go park, leave the front door open.” She smiles when you nod, skipping out of the car and into your home.

When she does so, and enters your door, she’s met with a warm wafting smell of baked goods. Ellie might gave been fairly thin, but she had a nose on her, leading her to the kitchen. You’ve changed out of your dirty clothes, she notices, you now wearing some small pajama shorts and a tanktop. You’re bent over the oven, grabbing the treats out of the pre-heated oven your mother had likely left them in to retain warmth.

“You’ve got to stop doing that.” You mutter, almost dropping the tray of food while Ellie smirks

“Can’t really promise accepting an apology if you dropped those.” She says, walking on over to where you stood by the kitchen island. Something in the way she says that so..flirtatiously, makes you look back at her twice. “Whatever. Do me a favor, take the plates out while I cut the pieces.” Ellie nods, walking over to the several arrays of cabinets. Though, upon doing so, she notices your refrigerator, decorated in colorful magnets, children’s literature and most of all, a picture of you, and an older woman. You were younger, hair a bit longer than you had it now, and a wide grin with your front tooth missing. You couldn’t of been older than 6, Ellie thinks. Smiley.

“This your mom?” she asks, running her fingerpads alongst the smooth film while you hum, nodding. “Yeah, it’s my mom” You say, handing her a slice of piece when she gives you the plate, “You look alike.” Ellie concludes when you two begin walking upstairs to your room.

It was certainly your room, is what the auburnette thinks as she sits on your bed. Messy bedsheets you never got to make, clothes scattered near your closet and other things you never got to clean up when she’d called you up this morning at such an ungodly time to divulge you in on her scheme,

though now, upon her decision to stay in the town, it seemed a bit for nothing. It’d be a funny story to tell with you. With you, she thinks, watching as you chew the treat and sit on the rugged floor as you flip through TV channels. Eventually settling on some show Ellie never knew was still even airing. She quietly sinks from the bed, onto the floor herself, sitting close to you as your gaze stays glued to the blaring screen, flashes of color reflecting onto your face as each scene passes. Ellie finds herseld staring at you, a person she once found so inconspicuous now becoming the very reasoning she stays in a town she hates so much. Whatever you had the girl under needed to be looked at.

“Do you like me?” Is what she wants to ask, but “Do you have a boyfriend?” is what she settles for.

You turn to her, meekly shaking your head. Since when was she sat so close to you?

Ellie nods, looking back at the show to get you to, before asking another question, “Girlfriend?” You shrug, “I mean, I use to talk to this one girl..”You mutter, before Ellie finds herself furthering it, “What happened?”

You sigh, before pointing a finger, “Don’t laugh.” you glare. Ellie smiles, nodding. “She told me she was straight after like 2 days AND THEN, i saw her kissing on Judy.” Ellie snorts, “No fucking way, Judy the librarian?” You nod, burying your face in a nearby throw pillow.

“I need a drink.” You mutter, getting up and leaving the room with Ellie in it. You return shortly after with a bottle of wine and some glasses. The girl groans as she stretches, “Now you’re talking. Pour me some.”

Eventually, the topic heads in the way of relationships once more, with you two telling each other of your awful sex lives in the majority straight town Jackson was as you sip.

As Ellie tells one, you find your eyes feeling heavy, alternating between her green eyes down to her pale pink lips. You nod, poorly attempting to give the illusion you were following along with whatever she was saying. Ellie, herself, wasn’t all that there but she was better. She’d stopped talking long ago and was just moving her lips with no dialogue coming out whatsoever, seeing if you’d ask why she halted her story. She licks her lips, leaning back as she places her glass down on the nightstand near her— jean-clad thighs spread tantalizingly as your gaze drops to them.

Her years of martial arts and track did her well, you admit, hoping it wasn’t obvious you were ogling the girl.

“Were you mad at me earlier?” you whisper, fidgeting with the loose seam of her jeans as you notice the difference in how she was acting at the cabin, and how she is now. Ellie hums, matching your small voice. “I was more so mad at myself.” She answers you, her hand finding where yours toys with a string, “Not at you.”

You nod, not really having anything to say.

“Can I kiss you?” you finally utter, liquid courage taking over as Ellie thumbs your soft hips from where you sit so closely. She gives you a soft ‘yeah���, pulling you onto her lap. You begin by littering feathery pecks along her jaw, her sensitivity earlier when you touched her chest beginning to make sense when goosebumps begin to arise along her pale skin, her nipples hardening as the hair on her neck stands before kissing her deeply.

You two kiss slowly for a while, finding some rhythm as it slowly turns into something else. You gently gasp when Ellie rocks your hips onto her thigh, making you detach from her mouth and straddle it the way she wants you to. The rough texture against her jeans on your soft shorts makes you huff a bit, face burning up as you grip her shoulders.

“You’re my sweet girl, you can do it.” She murmurs lowly, watching you grind all over her, your slick slowly starting to seep onto her denim pants— all like she wanted. You nod, frustrated to the brim of tears when you can’t seem to fuck yourself on her thigh well. Ellie pushes you down, caging your legs in between her hips as she tilts her head back down, "Seems like you're not the only sweet girl wanting my attention.." She smiles as you moan, the heel of her palm placed directly on your touch-starved mound, giving it just enough pressure and angling to make you whine out a small 'Ellie..'

She gives you finally what you want, sliding your shorts to the side and sighs when she sees just what a mess has been waiting for her.

No underwear?

You attempt to leverage yourself by sitting up on your elbows but Ellie pushes you down, hiking your hips up even more with a singular grasp of your shins as she kisses directly on your puffy pussy, your messy sap smearing all over her lips before giving you a grin,

Oh, you'd pay her what she was worth alright. Maybe returning Joel's checkbook can wait after this.

[All credits to the owner of the picture above!! i got it from popipa on pinterest]

[leafsbabe]

Justin Herbert - sparks fly (SMUT)

4.3k words, reader is described as not small height wise but the rest is hopefully vague enough

Coming to LA had been a spur of the moment decision but you never regretted it one bit.

You wanted an adventure and one of your friends needed an apartment sitter/somebody to take over their rent for a three month trip overseas so you packed a bag and headed to Hollywood. What you didn’t anticipate was falling in love with the city and so your illegal sublet turned into a small apartment of your own, your vacation into an unpaid internship into a paid internship into a job, and your adventure into a new home.

You didn’t live lavishly like the upper echelon but you could pay your rent, go to large outdoor flea markets on the weekend, and splurge on tacos from the taqueria at the corner while still putting away some money for savings so it was safe to say that life was going pretty damn great.

Justin and you bumped into each other on a hike. Or rather he bumped into you, causing you to stumble, fall, and skim your knee in the least sexy way possible… if there even was a sexy way to get hurt.

But Justin had been sweet, squatting down next to you and making sure you weren't seriously hurt before helping you up. You weren’t a short girl, never had been, but this handsome stranger towered over you in a way that made your thoughts run wild. You couldn’t help but look up at him while he helped you to the nearest bench. He sat down with you and you both drank from your water bottles side by side, sneaking glances at each other from the corners of your eyes.

He was the first to say something, his words stuck in your memory to this day. “Do I know you from somewhere? You look familiar.”

Later you would learn that this was supposed to be a pick-up line and the follow up would have been about him seeing you in his dreams but at that time you had just filmed a scene in a popular tv procedural as scared coffee shop visitor #4 (something you had told everyone back home and no one in LA, because it felt weird to talk about something like that here) so you just blurted that out.

Was it embarrassing? Yes. Did it lead to you two sitting there on that bench talking about shows until the sun started to set? Also yes.

Justin and you exchanged numbers and you even threw caution in the wind and let him walk you to your car, because pretty serial killers wouldn’t talk about the nuances of copaganda for hours and if they did you’d take you chances at knocking him out with your reusable water bottle even if he was over a head taller than you.

That night you sent each other a handful of messages. The next day he even called you after work like a total weirdo. The weekend after he took you to a restaurant in the hills and encouraged you to order something that wasn’t the cheapest salad on the menu because he was going to pay, like a gentleman. You shared a bottle of non-alcoholic sparkling grape juice. Him because he drove, you because you wanted that gorgeous man to absolutely rail you and thought any perceived inebriation might prevent that.

He didn’t fuck you but there was a prolonged make out session in his car where he felt up your tits, so you didn’t even feel bad getting yourself off with your trusty vibrator after he dropped you off at your apartment. 

Your second date took you outside again with a small hike followed by a picnic. He had packed all kinds of food because he wasn’t sure what you liked and had forgotten to ask. Justin laughed about panicking and buying half a store worth of snacks just so that you’d have something you like. It was so sweet.

He didn’t kiss you like he did after the first date, wild and like he had to hold himself back. 

No. His kisses were sweet, hands never wandering above your waist or below you hips. He did accept it when you invited him up to your place for a coffee though. Half a dirty iced chai latte later he had you pressed against your couch, his large hands dangerously close to your ass.

Yet he still didn’t fuck you.

“Next time,” he promised with his head buried in your throat, “after our third date I'll take you home and won’t let you leave my bed for the next three days.”

It was sweet, in a way, and you hadn’t had sex since before you moved to LA anyways so what difference would a few more days make.

“Okay. Tomorrow?” You didn’t even care that it sounded desperate.

“Can’t.” Justin groaned. “We’re leaving for an away game the day after tomorrow and I meant what I said about keeping you in my bed.” 

You felt his lips against your pulse as he spoke.

“When do you get back?”

“In four days.”

Fuck. Maybe a few more days did make a difference.

He kissed your neck again, grinding down and showing you just why the wait would be worth it. Hopefully you would remember to charge your vibrator. 

He took you to an arcade style place for your third date and it was an absolute blast. With so many options of games to try out you barely had time to look at everything. Justin was a gentleman the entire time, a pattern you noticed during your last two dates. Even though you’d worn a short skirt (and safety shorts because tall girls and mini skirts didn’t always get along) and cozied up to him all afternoon his hands remained off your ass and solidly in PG-13 areas.

You were having fun, challenging each other while laughing the entire time, but you were looking forward to the end of the date when you could finally go home with him. You could feel the vibe shift, growing needier as time went on, with Justin reflecting his own desires back at you.

When you accidentally touched a sticky surface and had to go to the bathroom to wash your hands you had the genius idea to take off the shorts and shove them to the bottom of your bag. 

And boy did that idea pay off.

Twenty minutes later you were in the front seat of his car as Justin drove the two of you back to his place with his right hand on your thigh inching higher and higher. He didn’t look at you as it slid under your skirt, eyes on the road, but the smirk on his lips made it clear to you that he knew what he was doing. He was so close to touching you where you needed him the most when the car stopped and he withdrew his hand as you groaned. 

“Patience.” He teased.

You climbed out of the car before he could help you out, downright eager now. By the time you reached his front door you could barely hold yourself back. All it took was a split second, the door closed behind you and Justin unceremoniously pressed you against it as his lips landed on yours. 

You’ve never been a small girl but the way you had to tilt your head to kiss Justin had a way of making you feel tiny. He bent down, lips never separating from yours, and just picked you up, hands under your skirt somewhere between your plush thighs and your ass. You moaned and he continued kissing you, fingers kneading against your soft skin as he turned around and started waking further into his apartment. God, you hoped his hands would leave bruises.

A noise interrupted you and when you looked to the side you saw a cat looking back at you from where it was perched on a cabinet. Justin didn’t follow your eyes, lip finding your neck instead. “That’s Nova.” He mumbled against your skin. “I’ll introduce you two later.” Then he sucked hard and you forgot everything except him. Somehow you made your way to his bedroom, something you only noticed after he let you fall back against the pillows.

With Justin standing at the edge of the bed looking down on you, you felt even smaller. He was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling, showing off his strong muscles. Oh, how you wanted them to hold you down as he took you.

You took off your shirt in one smooth motion, throwing it somewhere to the side of the bed and hoped that Justin wouldn’t mind. Judging by the way he was staring at your tits, he didn’t.

Justin soon followed your lead, stripping his clothes off as you watched. There was no denying that he was smoking hot, his body solid and you couldn't help but press your thighs together in the search of some relief.

“What do you need?”

Need. Not want. You had to take a moment to collect yourself. What did you need?

“I need you to fuck my mouth,” you started, “I need to choke on your dick until I cry and I need you to fuck me until I forget my name and can only scream yours.”

For a moment you worried that it would be too much. That it would be too rough for Justin or that you were too needy. But the look in his eyes showed you that he would give you everything you asked for. 

Justin stood in front of the bed, looking down at you while he stroked his dick. Precum gathered at his tip and a whimper left your lips at the sight. 

“You want it?” He asked, tone just mocking enough to make you close your legs harder, desperately looking for any kind of friction.

You nodded while looking up at Justin, moving on the bed to get closer to him. Finally you could almost taste him. The pink tip of his dick just barely touched your lips. 

“Please.” You begged for him to let you have it. 

“Be a good girl and show me you deserve it.” 

He gave it to you slowly. One hand holding his dick, the other cradling your cheek, as you took it.

Justin felt heavy in your mouth as you took more and more of him. He was big, yes, but you knew you would manage to swallow all of him. You looked up at him through your lashes until his muscles blocked the view and you could close your eyes, fully concentrating on making sure that Justin would give you everything you needed. 

Slowly you pushed yourself to your limit, fitting him into your throat until your lips wrapped around his base. Justin’s dick was a lot to take in and you didn’t know if you could take it should he try and fuck your throat but for a short moment —with him frozen in front of you— you managed to take all of him. 

You swallowed around him once, twice, and began to slowly pull back before Justin moved again.

“Fuck.” His voice was deep and low as the hand that had been cradling your cheek moved to now hold the back of your head instead.

You couldn’t help but moan around him, the vibrations around his dick only making him hold onto you tighter.

“Good girl.” His fingers flexed against your head and the combinations of both made you feel dizzy, happy that you could be good for him. 

With his other hand Justin reached out and trailed his fingertips from your shoulder down your arm until you realized what he wanted and gave him your hand. He brought it to his thigh, letting you lay your palm flat along the thick firm muscle before covering it with his own. 

“If I’m too rough,” Justin started, “or you need me to slow down, if you just want to take a break or stop for any reason, you slap my leg and I’ll stop. Understood?”

Nodding yes didn’t seem to satisfy Justin, instead he used the hand on your head to pull you off him. You barely managed to do that thing with your tongue before he had you looking up at him through your lashes again.

“I need you to say it.”

“Understood.” And oh how wrecked your voice already sounded. There was no doubt in your mind that it would be completely gone by tomorrow.

“Good girl.” He said again, before silencing your whine with his dick.

There was no denying that Justin was strong. He was thick with muscle, powerful, yet you never felt unsafe as he picked up the pace.

He was rough like you had asked him to. Thrusting hard and fast and pushing your head down to meet him halfway. It was maddening. Above you Justin said something but you were far too gone to listen.

It wasn’t until his movements got gentler and he slowly withdrew from your mouth that you tuned back in.

Justin hadn’t come and was still hard, was one thing you noticed, looking between his dick in front of you and his face high above you.

The fact that you had teared up like you had told him you wanted to, was another.

His hands came up to cradle your face and he gently wiped away the tears with his thumbs as you looked at him.

“So pretty.” His voice was soft, gentle as if to not spook you and the thought of him underestimating you made you want to protest but all that ended up happening was you pouting as he stroked your cheeks.

“Aw don’t pout. You can suck it again later. I just didn’t want to come until I got to fuck you.”

He had to bend down to kiss you, this tall man folding in half to reach you where you kneeled on his bed, and the reminder of your size difference made you squirm.

In response Justin kissed you harder, pushing forward until you lost our balance and fell back on the bed. In a fluid motion Justin followed, bracing himself above you as his lips found your lips, your jaw, your neck.

He made his way down your body, leaving behind a trail of kisses as he went. When he reached your chest he departed from his careful line of kisses. The two kisses, sweet little pecks almost, that he pressed to either boob, stood in stark contrast with his hand that bullied it’s way under your body so that he could unhook your bra. He tugged on the bridge until it became loose enough for you to get the hint and shrug it off while he pulled your skirt and embarrassingly soaked underwear down your legs in one smooth motion.

You didn’t even get the chance to think about hiding yourself from Justin before his large hands gently parted your legs enough for him to fit between them. His mouth fit itself against the skin on the side of your knee before he slowly, teasingly, kissed his way up to where you needed him most. Even though you anticipated the first touch of his lips against your pussy it still sent a shock through your body.

Justin didn’t waste any time pretending to tease you any longer. His lips found your clit almost immediately, wrapping around the small bud almost lovingly before sucking. His tongue toyed with it while you moaned his name. Your hands found their way into his hair and you pulled, hard, but not hard enough to dislodge Justin’s wonderful mouth. It took two more moans before he released your clit and wandered lower, dragging his lips along your skin as he moved. The first drag of his tongue was testing, exploring. The second one wasn’t tame at all.

Justin groaned against your pussy and you swore you could feel it through your entire body. He pulled away for a moment and a pitiful whine left your lips at the loss of his mouth, only for it to turn into a moan when you saw him licking his lips before diving in again. 

You got lost in the feeling of his mouth on you, the way his lips moved so similarly to when he was kissing you just moments before. His long fingers joined his lips in bringing you pleasure and you couldn’t hold back anymore, grinding against his face until you came with your thighs wrapped around his head.

Justin continued to mouth at your thigh as you started to come down before he stood up from the bed and you took a moment to just watch him. The aftershock of your orgasm still ran through your body and combined with the picture in front of you it felt like a high you never wanted to end. Justin was breathing heavy, his thick chest rising and falling hard. The last bit of sunlight shining through the curtains tinted the bedroom in a soft light making his face glisten and you realized with a jolt that the wetness on his cheeks came from you.

The fading light painted him golden, with his hair shining like a halo, a statue as a tribute to raw desire. His likeness could grace museums across the globe, giving other marbles complexes but instead of the Louvre he stood in his bedroom, looking down at you sprawled across his bed, waiting for him to take you like he had promised. 

When Justin finally moved it was in determined long strides. He was a simple man that kept his condoms in the first drawer of his nightstand. Part of you wanted to tell him to forget about them, to fuck you bare until you were dripping with him, but you didn’t want to spook him with your eagernes, so you resigned yourself to bringing it up the next time. Justin passed you on his hunt  for protection and you had to crane your neck back to watch him, but the view made up for it. His front was absolutely gorgeous but you had to admit that his backside was quite nice to look at as wel.You were debating whether or not you should reach out to touch him when he turned around, box in hand, before throwing it onto the bed near your head. It still had plastic around it and you couldn’t help but imagine Justin going to the store in preparation of your date, grabbing it not just in case but on purpose. Had he gotten it in preparation for this date? After the second date? After your first? The big box seemed awfully ambitious though. Perfect.

Instead of walking back to the end of the bed and working his way up your body again Justin just skipped straight to holding himself above you and you didn’t waste any time getting your hands into his locks and pulling him down until your lips connected. He kissed you hard and fast while slowly lowering himself until his heavy body pressed yours into the mattress. It felt so easy to let yourself be blanketed by his warmth, his solid body so close to yours that you could feel every inch of his desire.

“Fuck.” He exclaimed as he pulled away from the kiss. Justin didn’t venture far though, staying close enough that you could feel the strands of his hair tickling your cheeks.

“Can you…” He nodded towards the box.

You nodded, eager, before reaching for the box and struggling to rip it open. When it finally popped open it did so in spectacular fashion, spilling an avalanche of little foil packets all over the bed and your body.

“Oh.”

You didn’t know which one of you laughed first but it took some time before the two of you calmed down again. Justin helped you clear the mess, swiping the countless packets towards the free side of the bed. It should feel weird, at least a little bit, now that the tension between Justin and you got broken. For a second you feared that your clumsiness had turned him off completely but then he kissed you again, slow and deep and like he wanted to devour you.

One of his hands reached for the pile of condoms while the other moved up your side, cupping one of your boobs when he reached them. His thumb barely grazed your nipple before Justin moved away but he still managed to pull a moan from your lips.

“Ready?” He asked, looking at you with hungry eyes.

“Yes.” You needed him so badly. “Please.”

The first push of him inside you was careful but determined. Justin gave you aloof himself until he was buried to the hilt, pausing once he was fully inside you and giving you time to adjust to his large size. Youwanted to tell him to move,to fuck you until you felt him days fromnow, butbefore you could ask-beg-demand he silenced you with another seering kiss. You learned why when he pulled away from the kiss, still buried deep inside you.

“I need to be careful with you.” He talked low, almost whispering. “Don’t want you to be sore when I fuck you again later.”

It made sense. Afterall Justin had promised to keep you in his bed for days. But with him filling youtube so perfectly, there was simply no room left for logical thinking.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he started to move. Slow, meticulous thrusts that didn’t feel overwhelming at first but drove you wild after just a few movements of his hips. There was something otherworldly in the way he managed to hit all the places that needed to be hit, filling you up perfectly again and again and again. Justin stayed close to you while he fucked you, his hips grinding in deep and putting just enough pressure on your clit to send sparks of pleasure through your whole body.

Your hands tightened in his hair, making him groan before dipping down and encapsulating one of our nipples with his hot, wet mouth.

“Jus- Justin.”

His teeth grazed against the soft flesh of your boob teasingly before his tongue delved down, soothing the hard peak between his lips in gentle laps. Justin groaned when you tugged on his hair and the sensation of it vibrating against your skin just made you tighten your grip further. There was no denying that you needed him. Him and his soft mouth and his hard dick and his strong body pressed against yours. This perfect wave of pleasure just kept building with every single movement but you couldn’t reach your high.

“Just—” He bit down hard enough for it to sting before his tongue traced the slight indents. “Please.”

You weren’t above begging but your fucked out brain couldn’t think of any more words. Thankfully he seemed to understand what you needed even without your saying it.

“Fuck. Okay.” He lifted himself a little bit higher, chuckling when you whined at the loss of his weight and warmth. “You asked for this.”

He sounded just the right amount of condescending when you clenched around him and he rewarded you with a “good girl”.

You didn’t last long after Justin started fucking you properly, rough and fast like you had wanted him to. The power behind his thrusts was enough to move you on the bed, closer and closer towards the headboard every time your bodies connected. He had stopped holding back and made you come with only a handful of thrusts.

When you came to it was with Justin holding himself above your body —breathing hard— and your still shaking thighs wrapped around his hips. Part of you felt disappointed for missing what he looked like when he came but you knew there would be more than enough orgasms for you to catch a glimpse.

It took you a while to feel secure enough to remove your legs from him. After you did so Justin carefully pulled out and disposed of the condom. While he went to get a towel to help clean you up you were left in his bed. It took some energy to sit up but it didn’t hurt. You felt empty but that could be changed soon enough. 15 minutes. Maybe 20. Depending on when Justin wanted to go again.

Speaking of. Justin returned to his bedroom, still gloriously naked, holding water bottles in one of his hands and what looked like a washcloth and a towel in the other. You didn’t feel self conscious as he helped you clean up. He had seen every part of you already anyway.

He offered you a shirt of his to cover up but you didn’t mind being bare before him. There was the hint of a love bite starting to form on your chest and you hated the thought of covering up all his hard work. Still, you made a mental note to take him up on his offer later. You had a feeling that a shirt that fit his large frame would swallow you up and you wanted nothing more than to live out the big men’s shirt moment that had been denied you for so long. 

Instead you curled up with him, his blanket half draped over your bodies while you just laid there, enjoying the closeness between you. The energy between Justin and you continued to be magnetic, even after giving in to your desires, and you found yourself unable to tame a wide smile.

“Happy?” Justin looked at you with a soft smile on his lips.

“Hmmm. Very.” You let your eyes wander for a moment. “Want to make out?”

Instead of verbally answering Justin just cupped your face and brought your mouths together in a saccharine kiss.

[sunderingstars]

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✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ DIVERGENT UNIVERSE ⌝

sampo analysis m.list

— what the stars reveal: interpretative analysis

— word count: 2.1k

— overview: a collection of thoughts on the divergent universe as it relates to mr. sampo koski (i dropped everything to write this as soon as i read the equation stories lol)!

— divergent universe spoilers ahead!

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✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ MASKED FOOLS BOUNDARY EQUATION ⌝

— Unlocked after obtaining 16 Blessings of Elation.

(please bask in the glory of at least fifteen attempts’ worth of rng (•̀ᴗ•́ )و)

The main thing that interests me here is the story; interestingly enough, the wiki showed a different story than the one I got for the expanded equation, so I wonder if there’s multiple stories 🧐 I’ll be going over both anyway!

Starting with the one from the wiki:

This one is the most obvious to me as something that could relate to Sampo (although not as one-to-one as I believe Jester of Anatta is) — specifically, the mention of a “dynasty’s providence,” “fruit extracted from bitter hatred felt after falling from great heights,” a mask concealing an expression, & a glass running dry. I feel like there could be a lot of interpretations for this, so i’ll go through each detail.

— Dynasty’s Providence: In my opinion, this relates most to Sampo’s name as a reference to the finnish Sampo, an item meant to create and “provide wealth” in Finnish mythology — the specific usage of “conjuring” providence into a glass could be an indication of Sampo as a creation of Aha meant to dispense wealth or money, much like the function of the mythological item. There is also the deceit of the packaging, the hidden nature of something that looks one way on the outside, but is very different on the inside. If we are assuming Aha is the “you” in this scenario (and we are simply living vicariously through Them), then I also feel like there is room to interpret this as establishing a pattern of Aha liking to “hide” things behind seemingly innocent facades.

— The Fruit: I feel like this is the most solid connection to Sampo here; Sampo’s character very much emphasizes an underlying “hate” — whether of the self or of others — & the mention of “falling from great heights” makes me think this could be the reason for that hatred. It’s possible that Sampo was an Emanator or even Aha Themself in the past, but due to specific circumstances no longer inhabits that role. In context, this “hate fruit” is used as part of a beverage or concoction, which could also signal Aha toying around with Sampo’s status and/or power for fun (please god let this man rest) — it’s possible Sampo “fell from great heights” not due to his own machinations or will, but due to Aha’s meddling.

— The Mask: The mask is also interesting because it creates a direct link to the Masked Fools (in addition to the name of the equation itself). This implies that the “core” of Elation — perhaps even Aha Themself — lies in the Masked Fools, even at the heart of it. For me, this leads to three ideas: 1. Aha is most aligned with the Masked Fools as an agent of pure, elated chaos, and likely intermingles with them on a regular basis by wearing a mask (in this case They are not Sampo), 2. Sampo is/was Aha, or at least a part of Them, and the “mask” is directly referencing Sampo’s involvement with the Masked Fools, or 3. we are viewing Sampo as an Emanator of Elation here — the perspective we take in this story is not necessarily Aha’s, but rather the “higher echelon” of Elation.

— “Glass Running Dry”: I specifically wanted to point this out because it could hint at a double-meaning — one where the once “half-full” glass is physically empty, but also symbolic of Aha or Sampo’s disillusionment with Elation (or the current state of Elation factions). For Aha, this might reference the wear-and-tear of such a long existence intermingling with mortals in mortal form; things become boring very quickly, and the more They try new things the more new things They run out of to try. For Sampo, this could be an example of Emanator burnout, realizing that the Elation he has access to is more finite than he thinks, and easily running out of that joy the more he experiences it. It’s also possible that Aha!Sampo could experience both of these or even more at once, finding “Elation” to be a compulsory state imposed by the Primum Mobile — one They begin to realize They want to break free from.

Overall, there’s quite a few references to Sampo here, although I can’t parse out which specific theory is at the forefront.

(Misc. Detail: “Wanton flow of soda” could refer to Soulglad/Penacony, & “frozen lands of splintered realms” could refer to Belobog! I wonder if the “collapse of inorganic judges” could refer to a future plotline 🤔)

Onto the version of the story I got!

The main thing that sticks out to me here is the presence of money — the context of the story is that of an auction, one with bidding and appraisals and rewards. This naturally leads my mind towards Sampo’s obsession with money, as this seems to be an event he would likely be at. Especially given the role of “you” as the one in charge of the auction (being the one to begin it and congratulate the winner), it also leads my mind towards a potentially past position of power; the Sampo we see today seems to be on a “smaller scale” from that of this story, placing importance on different things, so that makes me think this scenario could be reflective of past Emanator or Aeonic status.

If not, this could simply be Aha doing chaotic Aha things, while the references are included by Them to reference Sampo as either an Emanator or other influential figure. I also find the “would you like a drink?” line interesting, as it links back to the previous story!

Overall, I want to point out how tame everything is. Despite the chaos that ensues in both stories, they are surprisingly low-stakes in terms of physical and mental harm. In the first one, the “main” joke centers around the protozoa, but what exactly is the harm of unsuspecting guests drinking it? There’s no implied harm that would come from it — it could even be the same as microorganisms living beings naturally imbibe on the regular — and the guests may never even realize it happened. This “inside joke” even seems to be a backdrop to the stories “you” are more interested in hearing, the Elation of simply observing life. Whether “you” are a stand-in for Aha or Sampo or both, there is a care present. Even the word choice of “providence” links to spiritual care & protection!

In the second one, while there is clearly more chaos ensuing, there is no direct physical harm. When I think of the Masked Fools and fanatical Elation, I think of things like torturing people for fun or Sparkle’s seemingly genuine attempts to blow up Penacony, not this. Like the story mentions, the “show” is the main focus, not any kind of harm itself. The only “loss” is a monetary one, and from a rich duke at that. Again, there seems to be a clear delineation between Elation and suffering.

I find this to be pretty similar to both Aha’s modus operandi — operating in the background and/or setting things in motion through small events — and Sampo’s worldview — using Elation for protection and care rather than pain and suffering. While there is still an inherent chaos to these stories, no one seems (key word “seems,” to be referenced later) to be harmed by them. The guests are still having fun, and the people at the art show dug their own hole by being obsessed with money. There is no punching down, only up. If Sampo were to make any kind of big “joke,” I would imagine it would be like these: chaotic and confusing, but ultimately careful and calculated — something that allows for a good laugh, but doesn’t disregard the inherent dignity of human existence.

(As mentioned later, this lack of harm could also be a matter of perspective; it may not seem like harm because “we” are the one making the joke, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.)

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ JESTER OF ANATTA (NIHILITY X ELATION) ⌝

— Requires 4 Blessings of Nihility & 4 Blessings of Elation to activate.

While the Masked Fools’ stories have references and ties to Sampo, I feel like this one is more direct about it. Not only does this equation sit in the intersection of Sampo’s two identities — Nihility and Elation — but it makes direct mentions to bombs (like Sampo’s burst), stealing from the rich, and being chased by guards. These are all specific actions in Sampo’s day-to-day life that makes it difficult for me to view this as a story not about him.

Protozoa makes a comeback in the first sentence, and since “you” are the one swallowing it, it feels like a hint towards a potential relationship between Sampo & Aha; perhaps Aha is the one making or “concocting” the jokes/drinks, and Sampo is the one “swallowing” them — there is also the chance that Aha’s casual sipping of the drink in the first story is indicative of Them “bleeding Sampo dry” but not even caring; to Them, he might be a backdrop to Their real interests, something to easily be drained before moving on. In this case, the contrast would come from Aha’s easy disregard of the glass “running dry,” while Sampo is one one actively in pain and being drained because of it.

Additionally, there is a very different form of Elation present here. While the Masked Fools’ stories seem relatively harmless in terms of effect, Jester of Anatta clearly shows a visceral and imbalanced relationship. Rather than unsuspecting guests going on their merry way or rich dukes getting scammed out of their money, this story features not only explicit pain and suffering, but casual dehumanization and self-destruction.

To me, this seems to focus on the “two sides of the same coin” motifs present in Sampo’s narrative — the highs of Elation, the crowds, the cheering, the lights and joy and Laughter, are contrasted with the lows of self-destruction, the bombs and the Nihility and the lights fading away. This is very similar to Sampo’s themes of “love and hate” as it focuses on two extremes.

Overall, the story is very tragic. It depicts someone who is so addicted to “Elation” that they can’t stop acting out even after the audience leaves, needing the validation of an uncaring “other” to support their existence. 

For Sampo theories, I feel like this mainly points to self-conception — whether he’s a creation of Aha or an Emanator or part of the Aeon Themself, we can gather that his relationship with Elation isn’t a healthy one. There’s even the implication that all he does in Belobog — the stealing, the running, the performance — is all for an ultimate end of self-destruction, the meaninglessness of vying for the attention of something that has simply moved on. 

I find this lining up with Doll! and/or Emanator! Sampo well, especially both theories at once. Sampo as both a creation of Aha and an Emanator could account for the “need” and the compulsion of each action; the subject of the story never seems to consider leaving or stopping, which could be a combination of seeking a creator’s indifferent attention, being intrinsically linked with Elation on a higher level, and potentially having the ingrained “purpose” of entertainment. 

It would also allow for Sampo’s inclusion in both the Masked Fools’ equation and Jester of Anatta. A purely Doll!Sampo would relate mostly to Jester of Anatta, while purely Emanator! or Aha!Sampo would relate mostly to the Masked Fools’ equation. However, a combination of multiple identities could allow for “both sides of the same coin” — for Sampo to experience the “high” of making jokes at a party or inducing chaos at an auction while also experiencing the “lows” of withdrawal, the need to constantly outperform himself to draw in more Laughter; an existence that is both the maker of the joke and the butt of it. (For my TMA listeners, think of it as similar to being an Avatar of a Fear!)

In fact, I’m beginning to think both equations could be viewed as different sides of Elation itself, with the Masked Fools’ jokes indicating the glossy surface of Laughter — as well as the misunderstood impact of actions — and Jester of Anatta indicating the actual messy nature of cause and effect. Perhaps the five-star stories seem so harmless not because they are, but because of perspective. Perhaps the harm is there, but we as “you” and Aha and perhaps even Sampo don’t see it, whereas Jester of Anatta shows us exactly what these “jokes” are capable of, almost like a domino effect.

I also think there is room to interpret the four-star Jester of Anatta as indicative of Sampo’s current status as a four-star character, and the five-star Masked Fools’ as indicative of Sampo’s potential future five-star unit, likely an Emanator or higher being. 

And that’s all I have! I don’t know how to end this though so uhhh funny man being silly. He is so silly but also sad & tragic. I need to give him a hug. (.づ•᷄ᴖ•᷅)づ.

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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ જ⁀➴ thank you for reading to the end! feel free to share your comments with me, i love talking theory !!

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© analysis by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[ratgrinders]

the rat grinders and the ring of brass and their separate relationships to hubris and how it dooms them are fascinating to me, like at first glance theyre so different but there's some interesting similarities there

you have the ring of brass that represent the height of wizard hubris, a group of mostly extremely skilled magic users defined by their dominance in their particular sphere (commerce, knowledge, the arcane) and who are all of the higher echelon of society. these guys are the top dogs, the guys who run everything, and they know it, and ultimately its this belief in their superiority that dooms them

then you have the rat grinders, defined by their mediocrity. unremarkable, grasping for any sort of underhanded way to reach the top because they feel victimized by how they are forgotten by the narrative. the ring of brass may have been doomed, but at least they were the main characters. the rat grinders don't even have that.

and yet, both groups are defined by their constant want of more. More of this, more of that, I deserve this, why is this being withheld from me when it is rightfully mine?? doing everything they can to attain that which they deserve, even to the detriment of not only themselves, but the death of those close to them. lucy and evandrin, the simultaneous sacrificial lambs and the canaries in the coal mine, members of the group that died so their ambitions could live.

[sugoi-and-spice]

Chapter Twenty-Eight - Playing Pretend

Summary: Tomura Shigaraki was her dad’s boss’s son. He was the creep that stole girls’ underwear and tried to grope her in his room. But it’s not like he could get her Dad fired just because she wouldn’t sleep with him, right? …right?

CW: Quirkless!AU, Explicit Smut, Dub-Con, Coercion, Blackmail, Cheating, Sexual Guilt, Humiliation, Unhealthy Relationships, Power Play, Hate to Love, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Slow Burn

A/N: Hnnnnnnnngh, something something, commentary commentary idk. I'm caught up with the manga. Life is meaningless lol. Hopefully this chapter can ease the pain a little (though probably not much since we're hopping right back into angst town lmao, I'm so sorry)

Read Full on AO3

[excerpt]

Luxury. That was the word of the night. Everything about this experience dripped with luxury. Luxury was in the limousine that All for One had been so generous to charter for their pick up. It was in the Don Perignon chilled and waiting for them inside that her parents were kind enough to let her have a glass of. And it was in the Palace Hotel Ballroom that the company had rented out for this party. From every tuxedo-wearing waiter carrying trays of canapes around the room, every member of the string quartet playing Schubert as they entered, even to every Swarovski crystal ornament on the ceiling high Christmas tree in the center of the room. It was all pure, unadulterated luxury.

And it honestly had her wondering for a moment.

“You sure we’re in the right place?” she whispered to her mom, earning a reassuring squeeze.

“No, I’m not,” her mom joked back, just as hushed, “But we’re going to pretend like we are regardless.”

She looked back at her mom curiously. If she was feeling uneasy about the sky high expenditure and decorum of this place, she could only imagine how out of her element her mom was. She herself had spent her entire life ping-ponging between lower and upper middle class. But her mom, even before she’d been in foster care, had only known the heights of a paycheck to paycheck smalltown flower shop. Tie in the not insignificant times she’d spent living exclusively in manga cafes, and she could only imagine what an out of body experience she was having at this moment.

Although, maybe she wasn’t as out of her element as she thought.

If her mom was feeling any nerves or apprehension, it all went away the moment they were approached some of her father’s new, upper echelon bosses and colleagues, beautiful women on their arms (some being the mens’ wives, some being definitely not the mens’ wives), and she was rubbing elbows and talking the talk like the best of them.

“So, was that your first time in a limo?��� Yamamoto, one of her dad’s bosses asked the bunch.

“Is it that obvious? ” her mother smiled politely

“Oh on the contrary. I think you all look quite natural at an event like this,” he turned then to her father, “A very handsome family, son. You should be proud.”

Her father smiled, giving her shoulder a little squeeze, “More than you can imagine. My oldest here is a senior at Kamino, and one of the top in her class.”

“Is that so?” Yamamoto said, turning to her, “Entrance exams are just around the corner, aren’t they? You feeling ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she answered, trying not to think about it too long, lest she get nervous.

That was pretty much the course of all her conversations tonight, so far at least. If it wasn’t asking her about her college plans, it was middle-aged VP’s telling her what a looker she was and how she “must have guys lining up for her at school”. Blegh.

All throughout she just smiled and nodded politely while trying not to look around too much for Shigaraki, who surprisingly, for the first quarter of the party, was nowhere to be found. Same for All for One. 

Weird, she thought at first, considering that this was their freaking party. Until she overheard one of her dad’s coworkers mention to him, “You know how much that ol’ bastard likes to make an entrance.”

As if on cue, the double doors to the ballroom opened (she hadn’t even realized they’d been shut?!) And in strutted All for One, standing tall and pompous as ever. She had to fight the biggest eye roll of her life as a soft applause filled the room, and he waved them off as if he wouldn’t have been completely pissed had the room been silent.

But just as fast as annoyance crossed her face, she couldn’t fight the skip in her chest when Tomura Shigaraki followed into the ballroom behind him. 

He’d cleaned up, and he’d cleaned up freaking good. 

His typical ill-fitting sweats and hoodie had been switched out for an impeccably crisp, slim fit suit that did his long legs and defined figure all the favors in the world. His hair was not only brushed, but obviously had some care put into it, fringe still in his face, but strategically so. He kept his eyes, staring forward intensely, intimidatingly, in full view. 

And on top of it all, much to her shock and joy, was the red jacket she’d bought for him hanging off his shoulders almost capelike. He’d even kept the fur part on and she’d be remiss to say it didn’t make him look like royalty.

He didn’t just look amazing, he looked like a leader. 

Her mom leaned down to her, nudging her not so subtly out of her awe, “Didn’t I see you bring home a jacket like that the other day?”

“No idea what you’re talking about,” she said, swatting away at her, but still unable to take her eyes off Shigaraki through it all.

The two crossed to the center of the room, stopping directly under the giant Christmas tree, where a member of the hotel staff was there to meet All for One with a microphone.

“Thank you all so much for coming tonight…” he started an inevitably long and pompous speech that she was eager to tune out.

And it was easy to do so, the longer she stared at his ward, admiring the way he stood off to the side of All for One, head held high, but still unmistakably himself as he stuffed a hand into his pant pocket. 

She smiled at the sight. Seeing him like this, she couldn’t help but be brought back to a few months ago. To that fateful dinner her family had shared with the Shigarakis. The one that Tomura had worn a ratty old hoodie to and had spent the whole night either slouching in his chair, avoiding eye contact, or feeling her up under the table. There was none of that immaturity or recalcitrance here tonight. While he may not have learned the ways of the fake smile and schmoozing that practically permeated the air here, the hard bitterness in his expression was one that could actually be interpreted as polished stoicism. An authority that was hard to impress. And above all, the model heir to his guardian’s company.

Continue on AO3

[lets-try-some-writing]

I've eaten up all your feral!Orion content and it's SO GOOD!! Do you...have any thoughts on feral!Orion and Megatronus???

I do love me some feral Orion. So of course here is some more for you dear anon!

Previous part here.

The Terror of the Pits

Megatronus met Orion in a rather simple way. Orion Pax came down from the upper echelons of Iacon to ask him some questions about his ideals and beliefs. While not normally something he would entertain, Orion had a look in his optics that Megatron knew well, the gaze of a hunter. Thus, intrigued with the archivist, he allowed an audience... then two... then three... and before long he was having bi deca-cycle meetings with the head archivist.

Orion was well educated in all manners and knew far more than he likely should have about anatomy, methods of making mecha "disappear", and how to get out of arrests and assault charges. Not only that, but Megatronus noted nearly immediately the fanged denta the archivist had and the slightly clawed digits that he sported. At first he thought them mods or upgrades made for appearances sake, but upon meeting Ratchet around the time Orion began associating with him regularly, those thoughts went out the window.

He watched on in total bewilderment as Orion went from normal mech™ to possessive nightmare fuel straight from the deepest pits of Cybertron in under a Klik whenever Ratchet turned up. Orion did not play games when it came to his medic and Megatronus was quick to stay the frag away from any action that Orion saw as a threat. He was there to observe the archivist nearly shred a gladiator after the mech in question made an inappropriate comment toward Ratchet and since that cycle he never again judged Orion based off his appearance and kept himself in line.

Ratchet was off limits and that was fine in Megatronus's book. Orion was a good companion and grew to be an excellent aid in his efforts. Thus he could easily overlook a little hyper aggression on the archivist's part. He was content to merely observe Orion's little habits and keep himself out of them, however he should have known that as his and Orion's friendship grew stronger, so would Orion's tendency to act out of the norm.

It was small things at first, a simple lingering touch here, a slight growl there, and the odd instance of Orion stepping in front of him almost protectively. That was it for a while and despite being odd, it was nothing worthy of much note. They were friends and gladiators tended to behave similarly when they felt the need to make a point. Of course then Orion seemed to get bolder and those small things evolved into something more.

Next thing Megatronus knew, Orion followed him fragging everywhere when he was in the pits visiting. The archivist was not as tall as him, but Primus his field made up for the lost height easily. Orion took no slag and made himself to be Megatronus's personal guard even though it was completely unneeded. The younger mech was not afraid to size up gladiators nearly double his size nor did he hesitate to begin growling and making a show of himself with flared plating when he felt Megatronus was in any sort of danger.

It was odd, very much so. However when asked Ratchet simply shrugged and offered the truth like it wasn't the strangest thing of the century.

Megatronus: Why is he like this? Is he perhaps malfunctioning?

Ratchet: No, not at all. He's just got active base coding.

Megatronus: Orion Pax? The archivist? Who hurt him badly enough to have him acting on base coding?

Ratchet: No one. According to Alpha Trion he came straight from the wilds and the coding has just stuck.

Megatronus: Then all this-?

Ratchet: Its a sign that he cares. You get used to it.

It was worrisome at first, but Megatronus let it be. Orion could be as wild as he wished so long as he didn't cause any wars or civil unrest. Thus Megatronus also overlooked the scratches that were most decidedly not from battle that he found carved onto his back almost as boldly as a "kick me" sign. He got a bit of mockery for it from his fellows, but that mockery quickly evaporated like smoke when his archivist threw himself into the arena during a particularly tense fight and practically mauled Megatronus's opponent.

Orion was downright feral as he latched on and dug into his enemy with enough strength to have Megatronus considering weather or not Orion was a civilian or not. Of course what terrified him most was how Orion's mouth seemed to open far larger than it should have as he bit down on the other gladiator's neck all while his optics widened so impossibly that it was frightening. It took three separate mecha to get Orion off Megatronus's opponent and even then it also took Ratchet to calm Orion down enough to peel him off where he had practically welded himself to Megatronus's side.

Orion Pax was from then on known as a terror in the pits not to be trifled with. Not a spark dared go anywhere near Megatronus with anything but pure intent when Orion was around simply because there were also a few incidents reported to him by Soundwave of Orion hunting certain mecha down to leave ominous dead things on their porches.

It just kept escalating as their friendship grew and eventually Megatronus grew to appreciate the little things Orion did. He liked the way Orion wrapped his field around him and he greatly enjoyed the random gifts Orion brought. They were always a tad ridiculous, but he was proud to weave the bits of plating Orion collected from his foes into a charm that he wore when he wanted to make a statement. And while a little more irritating, it was rather humorous to have Orion go out of his way to bring Megatronus his energon for him and only after checking for contamination.

It was almost like he had his own attack dog, but Orion was far too clever to be awarded such a pathetic title. No, with the way he would hunt down those he thought wronged Megatronus with a vengeance? He deserved the title of Terror of the Pits.

In the end Megatronus took great pride in painting Orion's armor a few vorns after their meeting and proclaiming him an honorary gladiator with how often he somehow managed to kick the afts of his fellows during spars. Orion was a challenge the gladiators liked to face and Orion was always calmer after getting down on all fours and going wild against the heavily armored gladiators who could take a great deal more of a beating than the soft little city mecha.

Good times.

Megatronus never forgot those simple days and had a great deal of fun making bets with Ratchet regarding who Orion would fight and who would win. Ratchet usually won, but Megatronus told himself it was because Ratchet had known Orion longer.

[basiltonbutliketheherb]

hello and welcome to my chappell roan ted talk

these days, more than ever, i am feeling incredibly disheartened by the treatment of female artists and the deep societal misogyny that it signifies. there is such a vast expanse between this and the typical experience of a male artists, that they have come to occupy an entirely different space in the cultural zeitgeist. male artists are often considered evergreen. allowed to make mistakes, to be rude, to release below average material and be given endless chances, to age, and to have problematic pasts and relationships. (yes, i am generalizing, of course male artists experience mistreatment as well, but generally to a lesser, and less permanent degree. we are talking about women today.)

the experience of a female artist is that of being constantly balanced on a knife’s edge. they are idolized, deified and built up to insanely lofty heights, then one (real or perceived) wrong move and they are viciously turned upon. they are built up almost solely so that they can be delicious to destroy.

we’ve seen this over and over in the past with people like taylor swift, demi lovato, britney spears, katy perry, kristen stewart, miley cyrus, ariana grande etc. (blake lively is a current example.) once they reach a level of overexposure and mass appeal, the vultures begin circling. one bad song, or thoughtless remark, or bad breakup, and they are public enemy #1. even when they do something truly problematic they are not allowed to learn and grow from it as men are. their purpose in society is immediately shifted from entertainment at their charm and success to entertainment at their suffering and demise.

this phenomenon used to be mainly sourced at the hands of media figures. journalists, talk show hosts, gossip sites, magazines. this highly visible upper echelon held all the cards and could sway the public in any direction they pleased in a pre internet monoculture, but now, with the rise of social media, billions of normal people have this power while being safely guarded behind a screen, or even wholly anonymous.

the recent years (and impact of younger generations growing up chronically online) have led to a sort of moral grandstanding, virtue signalling, victorianesque societal revolution. in this space there is no room for error. everything female artists do is taken out of context, twisted, and shamed. they are fully dehumanized and treated like a product belonging to the masses. a subject of discourse more than a person. they are expected to be perfect in every aspect, off the bat, with no room to make mistakes or learn. they need to be knowledgeable in every subject and never ever offend anyone, or do anything to bring anyone, anywhere, anything less than pure satisfaction.

there is no right move a female artist can make. if they take chances to further their career they are calculated, selfish, greedy, competitive. if they are content with the level of success they are at they are lazy, mid, a flop. if they are comfortable with their appearance and body size and aging, they are mediocre, not meant to be famous, a bad influence. but if they alter their appearance in any way they are fake, self obsessed, arrogant, and a bad influence. if they appear perfect, well spoken, kind, and generous then they are liars, manipulators, schemers. but if they appear blunt and not perfectly media trained then they are not cut out for fame, ungrateful, annoying, and spoiled.

( i am aware that i sound like the barbie movie monologue, but that doesn’t change the reality.)

the thing is, there have always been haters, trolls, liars who wanted to instigate the downfall of female celebrities. who couldn’t bear their success and admiration, and just wanted to burn it all to the ground. but today, in this social media generation, the call is often coming from inside the house. so often the ones to turn on famous women and treat them inhumanly, are their own supposed fans. people who are so obsessed with this perfect image that they project onto their fave. who feel so deeply entitled to their time, attention, and recognition that they feel personally slightly and attacked when things don’t go the exact way they want.

let’s take for example, the cancelling of taylor swift’s vienna tour dates.

these shows were cancelled by the venue management, due to a planned terrorist attack that was intended to kill 10s of thousands to 100s of thousands of people. due to the delicacy and danger of this whole situation, taylor swift decided to not mention the incident until after she had finished her european dates and was safely back in the US, as to not further endanger herself, her crew, and her fans.

this caused an unbelievable outrage. people who were both personally affected by the cancellations and those who weren’t, came for her throat. they were furious at her for not talking about it. for not coddling them and telling them how deeply sorry she was. for not grovelling at their feet and self flagellating to make it up to them. once she was back in the states she did in fact release a statement telling everyone how devastated she was over the whole experience and explaining how she felt it was important to stay silent until the right moment to speak on it.

now you’d think this would be enough to assuage the angry mob, but no. they doubled down and declared that it was too little too late, not enough remorse, and that they deserved even more of her attention and repentance. the whole behavior reeked of a desire to chain her to a post and throw bricks until she promises to do better next time and to give everyone their own personal concert and cradle them in her loving motherly arms, to make amends.

and these are supposed to be her FANS. people who were willing to spend hundreds, if not thousands of dollars just to be in the same room as her. just to breathe her air.

now, taylor swift ultimately will be fine (i am talking career wise), she is one of the richest female celebrities in the world. no one can even come close to matching her music sales, fan base, legacy, and broken records. she can lose 10%, 20% of her fan base and still be on top of the world.

but now let’s look at chappell roan.

in the past 6 months or so chappell has rocketed to fame. as someone who has been a fan for ages, this explosion of recognition and admiration was both outstanding to witness, and deeply dread inducing. especially knowing that chappell stands out as a loudly queer artist, who is unique and deeply talented, who is open about her struggle with bipolar disorder and depression, and has no desire to whittle herself down for public consumption. all of this, while incredible and refreshing, was a clear warning sign for what was to come, given the history of female artist reception, even for those who check every box of being publically consumable.

in the past couple weeks there has been a massive wave of both “fans” and those who didn’t even know chappell previously, turning against her for sport. chappell roan released a statement after having nonconsensual interactions with crazed fans, having her family members stalked and doxxed, being yelled at and harassed on the street, and having her personal history, relationships, and childhood mined for exploitative content.

now this behavior may sound familiar. just the typical feral stan behavior that celebs often experience.

but one key factor here is that chappell is brand new to this level of exposure. her fame exploded before her income could from this success, far too suddenly to have taylor swift level security measures set in place around herself and the ones she loves. too sudden for anyone to adapt to their experience of existing in public, online, and even private spaces being permanently altered. she woke up to an entirely new world and had little time to figure out how to move within it without further damaging her own mental health and safety, and likely few people around her who had experienced even close to this caliber of success and could guide her through it. all with no major record label crafting her image or providing pr.

so, the statement. chappell has recently gone on social media and set boundaries for herself. for how she chooses to move within this new world. she has explained the way this rise to fame has impacted her mental health and filled her life with fear and anxiety. she has made her position clear that she is an artist professionally, but a human being when she’s off the clock. her career is just that, a job. an amazing job, yes, but she is still an autonomous person who is allowed to clock out. who is allowed to turn off the character that she puts on for performances, and be left alone when she is not at work.

this includes, (considered most egregious) fans not touching her without permission, coming up to her in public and asking for pictures or autographs, or shouting her legal name at her on the street and taking pictures of her. as well as not harassing the people in her life or sharing her personal information online.

now while these things all sound reasonable, and something any one of us regular folk would expect in our daily lives, this boundary setting is nearly unprecedented for female artists. anyone who has tried has been deemed a cultural blight.

celebrity worship and stan behaviour has lead to an extremely parasocial society.

fans feel it is their god given right to own every aspect of a celebrity. they “deserve” to know every detail of their relationships, their thoughts on politics and events, their secrets and shames and preferences and loves and traumas. they are “entitled” to their time, attention, and endless gratitude, no matter what they are going through or willing to offer up. female celebrities are solely there for the consumption of the general public, they are to be picked apart and chewed up strip by strip. fans “deserve” to touch them, take pictures of them, yell at them, just for a moment of recognition, validation of their obsession, a glimpse of heaven at the alter of their deity. this is just the way it is, has always been, and will always be.

but chappell roan has said NO. no, this is not the way it has to be. just because something has been tolerated in the past, doesn’t mean it’s not wrong. doesn’t mean the future generations need to abide by the tradition of stalking, harassing, and devouring. doesn’t mean that it should be the norm to accept the potential of home invasions, hacking, and assassination attempts.

this simple act of boundary setting has caused an absolute outrage. media publications, other artists, “fans”, haters, and causal media consumers have come with pitchforks and torches to burn her at the stake. they say she is entitled and ungrateful, despite her explaining how deeply grateful she is to all those who support her and also support her privacy. they say she is a nobody and hasn’t earned the right to set boundaries. that society needs to swish her like wine in their mouths and spit her out once they’ve tasted enough, before she’s allowed to say anything other than “thank you thank you i love you i am not worthy”. they say she is not cut out for fame, because this is what fame is and has to be for all female celebrities. they do not get to have autonomy or choice. how absurd that they’d even try, how selfish and greedy and self important to think they deserve it??

of course true fans are going to rock with her no matter what, but chappell is brand new to most. to outsiders she is a face that appeared one day already cemented in a superstar position, and was suddenly unavoidable, confusing, and suspicious. the court of public opinion and the power of negative discourse have a weight to them which can easily overshadow the newfound success of a niche, less easily marketable celebrity like chappell, who has only just gotten her foot in the door.

in the midst of this discourse something else has occurred to deepen the gash of public animosity. chappell roan was given the career and life changing opportunity to perform at the VMAs for millions of people. an opportunity to grow her critical notoriety and fan base, as well as bring queer representation to the live screen, that would be a massive career misstep to pass up on. in accepting this opportunity, chappell was forced to cancel a couple shows that had been planned for a while. she tried to make the situation work for everyone, but ultimately was unable to. she expressed her regret and apologies and assured everyone that she would be rescheduling those shows when she had the chance.

as we have seen with the taylor swift vienna situation, this was NOT going to go down well.

“fans” came after her with a vengeance. they called her selfish, greedy, fake, and wicked for choosing her career growth over their personal experiences. said she was an ungrateful hypocrite for asking the world for space and then choosing the option to be unhumble and promote herself to the masses. the tickets were refunded, but people had CHOSEN to book hotels and fly out to see her in concert and thus blamed her for their financial burden. just as taylor swift “fans” did with the vienna tour dates.

as if chappell roan should be obligated to recoup them for the financial choices they made, and give them the experience they wanted right the fuck now, with the right level of humility, or else be deserving of punishment.

it is understandable for fans to be disappointed that they didn’t receive the experience they hoped for. that the situation was so sticky and immediate that they didn’t have time to cancel plans and grieve the loss. i know when i waited two hours after the opener at sabrina carpenter’s tour last year, just to find out she wasn’t able to perform due to bomb threats, i was heartbroken and angry at the world. i was frustrated with how the situation was handled by management, but i was not angry AT sabrina. i didn’t evicerate her online and demand that she FIX my heartbreak at once. i sat with my feelings and knew that there would be other opportunities, and that

sometimes life isn’t gratifying, no matter how fucking unfair it feels.

it is becoming more and more rare for any degree of understanding and grace to be given to female artists. every success i witness for the artists i appreciate (like this year for sabrina and chappell) fills me with a deep foreboding dread. because they are considered disposable and easily replaceable in this instant gratification, tiktok algorithm generation. everything has to be right now, done perfectly, and hold up to high moral inspection or else they are slotted for obscurity or public crucifixtion.

meanwhile, every aspect of these situations is deemed frivolous by society. they say if you don’t like it, get out and go work at dairy queen, there’s a line waiting behind you who are willing to appease us more. they say that having income from success immediately delegitimizes any social commentary or personal issues. because celebrities are not human beings. they are religious figures. they are both royalty and court jesters. they are toys to be played with ad nauseam, and then discarded.

but why?

why does it have to be this way? why does wanting to share your art with the world mean giving up your safety, privacy, and peace? why is it okay for male celebs to be grumpy and brash and never interact with fans, but it is a cardinal sin for female celebs to do the same or to transparently ask for it? and why is any of this important to you and i, who are barely scraping by and unlikely to ever be famous? why does it matter when these women generally still have some semblance of their careers leftover even after mass disdain?

because all of this is indicative of a greater issue that pervades every aspect of society. it is simply that with famous people we can see it on a macro scale.

all women and femme presenting people are held to the same standard as female celebrities, but on a less publicly visible level. in our careers, our relationships, our expressions of joy, our community and bonds with other women, and our own calcified internal misogyny.

we are here for consumption, we are here for the pleasure and entertainment of others. how dare we ask for more? how dare we know our power and set boundaries for ourselves? how dare we think we deserve a seat at the table, even as we age and grow and expand beyond the bounds of charming ingénue? how dare we collaborate instead of seeing each other as competitors and threats to our own power and beauty and ability to be loved?

how fucking DARE we ever get the idea that we are worth more than our youth and beauty and service to others?

i don’t know how we, as a whole, address any of this when the matter at hand is so deeply pervasive and engrained in the foundation of society. but i, for one, will start by looking at my own role in the treatment of female artists.

i will take the time to ask myself why even the existence of certain figures sparks a feeling of rage within me, and why i feel such a deep desire to know every detail, action, and thought of the artists i appreciate. why i feel joy and satisfaction when female artists i dislike are taken down, or “beat” by someone i prefer. why i let drama that has nothing to do with me alter my perception of art created by people i do not know personally. why my black and white thinking and sense of justice only applies to those who don’t resonate with me on an artistic or personal level.

i will work on finding grace and understanding for those who are trying to grow beyond their mistakes and be better people, the way that i am trying to everyday. those who exist both in the public sphere and in my daily life.

because it’s never too late to rip out the teeth of the bear trap we were born in.

long story short: chappell roan did nothing wrong. but if she ever truly does, all you can do is ask for accountability, then take a breath, get the fuck over it, and see the bigger picture for once

thank you for coming to my ted talk

[aroseyetbloomedwrites]

Regis O. D'amadeux

If you are concerned with clicking links, I will submit a preview:

Name: Regis (Ree-gis) Octavian D'amadeux

From: Coerthas (Lowlands)

Age: 30

Gender/Pronouns: Cis male, He/Him

Sexuality: Gay

Hair: Auburn

Eyes: Mahogany

Height: 6'7" or over 204cm

Regis is a Coerthan Manor Lord (though his predecessors are Ishgardian), or Baron, who lives mostly in his lowland estates de Amadeux. The property, and town he lives in and assists with bringing prosperity to, borders the Shroud so the winters and weather are not so harsh for his distillery and House Business. He deals in fine liqueurs, specifically Amaretto and Chambord. Regis is a friendly but calm individual, though he can be quick to joy.

(More in Carrd)

Storylines:

In Pursuit of Relaxation

Having been Baron lord for some few years now, he is near perpetually tired, but do not let the slight darkness beneath his eyes fool you. Regis is alert, and friendly and looking for social connections. With regularity, he will, and does, make trips into the City of Ishgard with the intent to explore, listen, and learn. Being from Coerthas, and residing there, he knows he misses out on the bustle of City Life, with the conclusion of the War, the change of tides and opinions, he is very curious. You will find him frequenting not only the upper echelons' choice drinking holes and gentlemen clubs, but the Forgotten Knight as well, and perhaps even some unimposing Brume Bars. If you see him, he is but a greeting and smile away.

(More in Carrd)

On another note, Regis is currently, newly employed at an upscale gentleman's lounge & venue; Le Renard Argente. Which you might have, from time to time, earlier in the year or last year, seen an ad for by Mooglesmeet. Adding to his busy life with the addition of social nights he can be in the City.

This is a free-agent character I am looking to foster organic connections with. Feel free to reach out.

[sicutpuella]

Desiderium [Tom Riddle x Original Character]

Chapter 0: Grim Old Place

Within the somber confines of 12 Grimmauld Place, an ancient dwelling tinged with an air of mystery, Harry Potter stood with his senses heightened, attuned to every whisper and rustle that permeated the shadowed halls. This place, steeped in the ancestral legacy of the noble House of Black, seemed to hold secrets within its very walls. It was in this hallowed abode, at the dawn of a new chapter in his extraordinary journey, that Harry heard a voice—a voice that beckoned to him from the depths of the unknown.

Harry Potter, the fabled wizard of renown, turned swiftly, his emerald eyes scanning the room in search of the enigmatic voice that had addressed him. To his astonishment, he found himself beholding a woman, whose ethereal beauty captivated his senses. Claudia Rosier, a bewitching figure, stood before him.

"Harry Potter, finally in the flesh!" she uttered, her voice resonating with a blend of anticipation and delight. The words, a mere handful, hung in the air, carrying with them a weight that stirred within Harry an inexplicable mix of curiosity and fascination. Her tresses, a resplendent cascade of dark crimson, differed from the ginger hues known to the Weasley clan. It was as if her hair possessed a bewitching charm, casting its spell upon all who dared to gaze upon its allure. Yet it was her eyes that held Harry transfixed—a striking shade of electric blue, vibrant orbs that seemed to penetrate the depths of his very soul.

Though the passage of years had marked her countenance, Claudia's allure remained undiminished. Her visage bore the traces of a life well-lived, etched with lines that added a touch of elegance to her graceful face. Towering above most in the room, she possessed an imposing stature, her regal presence exceeding the height of Harry himself. It was evident that she hailed from a privileged upbringing, a scion of the uppermost echelons of society.

As she uttered his name, her voice carried a gentleness that caressed his ears. Yet her refined accent hinted at a pedigree steeped in refinement and opulence. Every aspect of Claudia's being exuded an air of meticulous grooming, while a captivating fragrance enveloped her, enchanting those within its proximity. Her posture, straight and commanding, radiated both power and wisdom, as if she had long mastered the arts of authority.

In this extraordinary encounter, Claudia Rosier embodied a mesmerizing presence, a tapestry woven from the threads of ageless beauty and refined sophistication. Harry found himself spellbound by her very essence, the allure of a woman whose charms transcended time itself. Claudia Rosier's presence did not go unnoticed by Harry's faithful companions, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. As if summoned by an invisible force, they gravitated towards the enchanting figure that held their friend spellbound.

Ron, with his hair as fiery as the sun's golden rays, and Hermione, her countenance bright with intellect and determination, approached Claudia with a mix of curiosity and reverence. The twins, Fred and George, ever mischievous and quick-witted, joined the gathering, their eyes widening as they beheld the radiant beauty before them. Claudia's captivating aura transcended the boundaries of age, captivating all who gazed upon her with a mystifying allure. Her dark crimson locks cascaded like a silken tapestry, captivating even the mischievous twins, whose gazes momentarily faltered under her bewitching spell. Her eyes, an iridescent blue, seemed to hold within their depths a wellspring of wisdom and secrets, whispering untold stories to those who dared to look deeply enough.

Ron, his freckled countenance flushed with a mixture of awe and admiration, struggled to find the words to capture the essence of this ethereal presence. Hermione, her eyes sparkling with an inquisitive light, observed Claudia with an astute curiosity, her mind working tirelessly to unravel the enigma that stood before them. As the companions stood in the presence of Claudia Rosier, her allure resonated with an undeniable magnetism, evoking a symphony of emotions and intrigue. The air crackled with an undercurrent of anticipation, as if destiny itself had woven its tapestry around this meeting, entangling their lives in a web of unforeseen possibilities.

In this sacred gathering, amidst the aged tapestries and ancestral secrets, Claudia Rosier cast her spell upon the hearts and minds of those who beheld her, leaving an indelible mark upon their souls. The threads of fate intertwined, as the companions embarked upon a journey that would forever be intertwined with the enigmatic presence of Claudia, a woman whose beauty transcended the realms of mortal comprehension.

Sirius Black, with his boisterous laughter, shattered the silence that had settled upon the room, drawing the attention of the spellbound teenagers. His voice boomed with mirth as he spoke, bringing forth the revelation of the esteemed presence that had graced them all.

"Ah, I've seen you've met our special guest!" Sirius exclaimed, his jovial tone resonating through the ancient halls of 12 Grimmauld Place. "The honorable Claudia Rosier! The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Head of Magical Artifacts!"

At the utterance of the name Rosier, a collective recognition flickered in Harry's mind. It was a name that bore significance, for it was etched in the annals of infamy, belonging to those who had sworn allegiance to the Dark Lord. The Rosiers, notorious for their unwavering devotion to blood purity, were revered amongst the ranks of the Death Eaters. Yet, there was a complexity to their lineage—an undeniable wealth and influence that flowed through their veins. The noble Rosiers, as they were known, had established themselves as pillars of the wizarding elite.

With a graceful inclination of her head, Claudia Rosier acknowledged the young ones before her. A subtle air of dignity surrounded her, as if the weight of her position and the legacy of her name lent her an aura of quiet authority. With measured steps, she made her way toward the beckoning dining room of Grimmauld Place, joined by the other venerable members of the household.

In the wake of her departure from the hall, a mingling of emotions stirred within the hearts of the young wizards and witches left behind. A tapestry of intrigue and curiosity unfolded, woven with threads of apprehension. The presence of Claudia Rosier, a living embodiment of the complexities that entwined pureblood heritage and dark alliances, cast an enigmatic shadow upon the path that lay ahead. As they prepared to partake in the familial feast, the air thickened with unspoken questions, and the companions found themselves drawn further into the intricate web of secrets and destinies that bound them together within the hallowed chambers of Grimmauld Place.

In hushed tones, Ron Weasley leaned toward Harry Potter, his voice barely above a whisper, as if fearful of disturbing the delicate balance of the room. "A Rosier, Harry? Is she not of the same kind as... you-know-who's followers? One of those staunch believers in blood purity?" Hermione Granger, ever the fountain of knowledge, displayed a similar reaction, her expression etched with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

The trio, accompanied by the mischievous Fred and George Weasley, advanced into the opulent dining hall of Grimmauld Place, where Claudia Rosier occupied the seat of honor. There she sat, an embodiment of elegance and poise, her back held erect with a refined grace. The atmosphere seemed to shift, charged with an air of anticipation, as if the very room itself acknowledged her presence and yielded to her authority.

Their footsteps faltered for a fleeting moment, halted by the weight of their contemplation. The mere mention of the Rosier name sent ripples of unease through their collective consciousness, for it was synonymous with allegiance to the dark forces that had threatened their world. The Rosiers, a family entangled in the web of you-know-who's gang, had long espoused the ideals of blood purity, their beliefs steeped in tradition and exclusivity.

And yet, even in the face of their reservations, the trio pressed on, curiosity mingling with caution as they approached the table where Claudia held court. The resolute determination that guided their steps belied the doubts that churned within. Inwardly, they prepared themselves to navigate the intricacies of this encounter, to glean what truths lay concealed behind the veneer of elegance and power.

As they drew nearer, the allure of Claudia Rosier's presence intensified. Her poised countenance, an embodiment of regality, invited admiration and respect. Every line and curve of her figure spoke of confidence and authority, a testament to the depths of her experience and knowledge. The trio, accompanied by the ever-watchful twins, took their places at the table, the gravity of the moment hanging heavy in the air.

Amidst the resplendent atmosphere of the dining hall, an air of reunion pervaded the space, embracing all who gathered within its opulent confines. Nymphadora Tonks, the ever-capricious metamorphagus, regaled the younger attendees with her remarkable talents, effortlessly transforming her countenance into a succession of creatures—a duck, a pig, a lion—eliciting peals of laughter and delight. Even Claudia Rosier, a paragon of grace and refinement, found herself captivated by the whimsical display. Meanwhile, a distinguished assembly had formed on the side of the table, where Claudia sat alongside Sirius Black, Harry Potter, Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Engrossed in earnest discussion, their attention focused upon the pressing concerns plaguing the Ministry of Magic—specifically, the obstinate denial of Lord Voldemort's resurgence by the deluded Cornelius Fudge.

"What purpose does it serve to sugarcoat the truth?" Moody interjected brusquely, his words reverberating through the hall and punctuating the conversation. The room fell into an uneasy silence, as the weight of his statement hung heavy in the air, casting a somber pall over the gathering.

"Alastor," Claudia chided gently, her voice a soothing balm that sought to quell the mounting tension. But Moody, unyielding in his resolve, persisted. "Show him! The boy will discover the truth soon enough, one way or another."

As if in response to their exchange, a gentle hand extended toward Harry, bearing a newspaper with the front page emblazoned by a striking headline: "The Boy Who Lies." The words cast a shadow over the young wizard's countenance, stirring a mix of emotions within him—an amalgamation of defiance, frustration, and an unwavering determination to confront the harsh realities that lay ahead.

Amidst the distinguished company gathered within the walls of Grimmauld Place, the weighty matters of the day weighed heavily upon their minds. Cornelius Fudge, a figure of authority wielding power and influence over the Daily Prophet, had employed his position to suppress any claims of Lord Voldemort's menacing return. Sirius Black, his voice resolute, interjected with an air of defiance, breaking the silence that enveloped the room.

"Why?" Harry Potter, his disbelief palpable, queried in a tone laced with incredulity, his faith in the integrity of those in positions of power momentarily shaken.

Remus Lupin, a sage presence amid the assembly, endeavored to shed light upon the perplexing matter. "The Ministry suspects that Dumbledore seeks to usurp Fudge's position," he explained, his words tinged with a hint of weariness. "They harbor a deep-seated fear that compels them to perceive threats where none exist."

"But that’s insane! No one in their right mind could ever—" Harry retorted, his disbelief tinged with a note of righteous indignation. The flagrant incompetence of Fudge and the Ministry's willful ignorance stretched the bounds of reason, testing the limits of their patience and resolve.

"Indeed," Claudia interjected, her voice carrying a measured tone that bespoke wisdom earned through the passage of time. "Fear possesses the power to distort minds and drive individuals to commit unspeakable acts. Fudge's faculties have been compromised, clouded by the very dread that should impel him to action."

With a somber gaze fixed upon Harry, Claudia continued her discourse. "The last time Lord Voldemort seized power, our world trembled on the precipice of destruction. We cannot afford to dismiss that grim reality, nor can the Ministry, in their misguided attempts to pacify the masses, ignore the imminent threat that looms before us."

Sirius, unwavering in his resolve, added his voice to the somber discussion. "We believe that Voldemort seeks to rebuild his formidable army, just as he did fourteen years ago. His followers included not only dark wizards and witches, but creatures of all kinds." Remus, ever the embodiment of insight, continued, "He has been aggressively recruiting, and we too seek to gather our forces. Yet, in the face of the Ministry's hateful and ignorant gaze, our efforts have been hindered at every turn."

"And yet, there is more," Remus stated with a measured tone. "We suspect that Voldemort's motives extend beyond the mere construction of an army. We believe he harbors unfinished business, a desire to complete what he failed to achieve in his previous bid for power." As the words lingered in the air, the gaze of Alastor Moody, Claudia, and Sirius converged upon Harry, a shared understanding etched upon their faces. The gravity of the situation had deepened, casting a shadow upon their hopes and filling their hearts with a sense of foreboding.

As the weighty revelations continued to pour forth, a voice pierced the air, cutting through the rising tide of information. Molly Weasley, her tone filled with maternal concern and protective instincts, interjected with a fervor born of love and apprehension. "No, that is enough! He is but a boy, barely of age! If we delve any deeper into this dangerous path, we might as well extend him an invitation into the Order!"

Harry, emboldened by his newfound resolve and a fire that burned within him, seized the moment to make his proclamation. "If Voldemort seeks to gather an army, then I’ll come with you!”

Claudia, her vibrant spirit undimmed by the gravity of the situation, found amusement in the audacity and courage displayed by Harry. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, mirroring the playful spark dancing in Sirius's eyes. They recognized in Harry the same indomitable spirit that had guided them in their own battles against the encroaching darkness.

With Molly's intervention, the evening slowly began to regain its semblance of a joyous reunion. Conversations flowed freely, laughter mingled with whispers, and the atmosphere regained its familiar air of camaraderie. Each segment of the table formed pockets of dialogue, their words and laughter intertwining, as friends and allies found solace in the presence of kindred spirits. Yet, amid the din of jovial chatter, Harry's mind remained fixated on the enigmatic figure of Claudia Rosier. Her presence, though known to him by virtue of her position within the Ministry, seemed peculiarly timed. Questions formed in the depths of his inquisitive mind, a desire to unravel the mysteries surrounding her newfound association with the Order of the Phoenix.

As the evening progressed, Harry's curiosity simmered beneath the surface, a flame that threatened to consume his thoughts. The allure of Claudia's presence beckoned him, urging him to seek answers and uncover the truth that lay hidden within her crimson hair and electric blue eyes. In this union of destiny and circumstance, Harry resolved to delve deeper into the enigma that was Claudia Rosier, for he sensed that her presence held significance far beyond what met the eye.

As the night began its descent towards the late hours, Claudia Rosier, ever conscious of her responsibilities, gracefully excused herself from the gathering. With a gentle smile upon her lips, she delicately maneuvered through the clusters of conversation, offering her farewells to each individual in turn. Her departure elicited a collective murmur of appreciation and respect, for her presence had brought an air of wisdom and elegance to their midst.

Pausing momentarily before the trio, Claudia's eyes gleamed with a genuine interest as she addressed them. "You find yourselves embarking upon your fifth year, do you not?" Her tone carried a warmth that embraced both familiarity and curiosity. Hermione, ever respectful and poised, replied with a deferential nod, her voice laced with a measure of reverence towards the seasoned witch.

"Ah, the fifth year—a truly magical time," Claudia exclaimed, her laughter bubbling forth like a melodic symphony that echoed through the grand hall. Her words carried a hint of nostalgia, evoking memories of her own youthful adventures and trials within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

The brief interlude drew to a close, as Claudia's obligations beckoned her away. With a final gaze that held a promise of future encounters, she addressed Harry directly. "Tomorrow, Harry, we shall meet again at the Ministry. Until then, I bid you all adieu!"

Masterlist : Next Chapter

[angelthefirst1]

Norman just posted this photo from Paris, which includes a dinosaur 🦕 wearing a beanie and it has love ❤️ heart nostrils.

His post is pointing to Emily's song about a dinosaur 🦕 in the museum of her broken 💔 hearted past.

Read about Emily's broken-hearted dinosaur 🦕 💔 museum here.

Norman's photo also shows symbolism of a bird 🐦 (Emily is marked as the hummingbird or song bird) "nesting" on a diamond 💎

Diamonds are pyramid (Louvre) symbols

You can read more on that here and here.

While the nest symbols are related to where Daryl will find her X.

My personal thoughts are that Daryl will get a clue to her survival at the Louvre and will then have to track her down.

We saw a mini template of this in Consumed (The book of Carol 1.0) when Daryl and Carol entered this office building filled with artwork (representation of the Louvre)

We also see "wing-back" chairs 💺 in this room, significant to Daryl getting his "Angel" or wings back.

Here, Daryl finds a picture 📸 picks it up and looks at it...I personally think this is a shadow of him finding a clue to Beth's survival at the Louvre.

In the next scene, he and Carol look out the window, Carol says, "How did we get here?" A clue to the future and to being in France.

In real time, they do get a clue to where Beth is...the + ambulance 🚑 on the bridge... The bridge symbolism is Jacob's (Israel's) ladder. 🪜

As @bethgreeneprevails has mentioned, the echelon briefing means ladder 🪜

@galadrieljones has done some amazing posts on Jacob and Jacob's ladder. She first clued me into the Leah/Rachel, Jacob (Daryl/Israel) connection.

I talk about how Daryl is Jacob/Israel here and will talk more on it in future posts.

But inside this room, we see a Meridian globe, giving us a hint and pointing to a different time and location.

The Meridian wheels are a representation of the Ferris wheels 🎡 symbolism we see in the show, and Norman recently posted about that too...

Ultimately, these are all symbols of Ezekiel's "wheel within a wheel" vision, which represents a birds eye view (God's view) of everything happening past, present, and future at once - being outside of time.

Interesting Ezekiel 10.10 is where we find this vision.

This Meridian symbolism doesn't just point to France, it points to shifting locations depending on what story they are telling. Which is the biblical end times.

Ezekiel’s Wheel Within a Wheel: What Does It Mean?

Ezekiel, one of the Jews exiled from Israel to Babylon after the fall of Jerusalem, receives this vision as a sign that God has not abandoned him (or the people). The wheels are a sign of God's omnipresence, for he can move anywhere; the height of his throne illustrates that he is always watching from high above us. Another decoration of the wheel chariot was numerous eyes, for God sees everything.

The wheels within wheels allowed the spirits to immediately go in any of four directions where they were told to go (Ezekiel 10:16 - 17).

There is a Ferris wheel in Barcelona, Spain, on the way to the Windsor bridge. It will be interesting to see if they film in a Ferris wheel location at any point when Beth comes back.

I've talked many times before how the "Nest" in France represents Israel, protected by the Archangel Michael, who have a leading role in biblical end time events.

Well, in this room that Daryl and Carol find a Beth clue in, we also get a depiction of Carol's Balaam's donkey symbolism used for DD2 advertising.

Daryl tells Carol that the painting looks like a dog sat in paint and wiped it's ASS 🫏 all over the place...

Dog backwards is god with a little g. This can represent an angel (it can be either holy or fallen depending)

It dipped it's ASS (donkey 🫏) in paint...

Angel donkey painting...numbers 22-Balaam's donkey. I will bless those who bless you and curse those who curse you, a promise made to Abraham's line. X

It wasn't an accident they gave Carol the Balaam's donkey symbolism for DD2. It's so important, and as I've mentioned, it's all related to the biblical end times.

The alcohol symbolism we see around Beth is related to the "spirits." Which I will go into more another time.

Before Daryl spots the ambulance 🚑 on the bridge, we see Daryl and Carol look out the window and see this sign...

This muse sign is pyramid symbolism - as above, so below.

If you read it from top to middle and bottom to middle, you get the word MUSE. Something Emily has written about in her song Jonathan from the album "OH" Jonathan album. Something I have talked about here and here.

Oh Jonathon is about Daryl and Beth.

MUSE is related to art, obviously, so it's just another hint to the Louvre.

One aspect of the dinosaur 🦕 key and the Seahorse key symbolism that I never went into in my previous post on Emily's dinosaur beanie.

Is that it all relates to the rise of the beast as described in Revelation 13.3

🦖🐉🦕🐲

The First Beast

And I saw a beast rising out of the sea, with ten horns and seven heads, with ten diadems on its horns and blasphemous names on its heads. 2 And the beast that I saw was like a leopard; its feet were like a bear’s, and its mouth was like a lion’s mouth. And to it, the dragon gave his power and his throne and great authority. 3 One of its heads seemed to have a mortal wound, but its mortal wound was healed, and the whole earth marvelled as they followed the beast. 4 And they worshipped the dragon, for he had given his authority to the beast, and they worshipped the beast, saying, “Who is like the beast, and who can fight against it?”

Beth's two "clue" cars, have both dinosaur 🦕 and a Seahorse symbolism.

Dinosaur can also mean dragon 🐉 and so can sea dragon, which is a Seahorse. Notice the yellow and blue on the Seahorse key... It's to tell us specifically that it's a sea dragon.

And again, Beth's mortal head wound and her survival, combined with the dragon/beast and sea dragon symbolism, points to her story being linked to the rise of the beast and the biblical end times that revolve around Daryl (Jacob/Israel)

[todaysjewishholiday]

16 Menachem Av 5784 (19-20 August 2024)

The 16th of Av in 5645 saw the death of a great leader within the Jewish community of Great Britain— and indeed, all of Europe and the Mediterranean. This giant was not a rabbi or a sage but a financier, statesman, and philanthropist, who had spent the first half of his life doing his best to assimilate into the upper echelons of British society, and the remainder very deliberately reasserting his Judaism and doing all he could for global Jewish welfare. He died nine months into his hundredth year of life, having witnessed a full century of historical and social transformation at the height of the Industrial Revolution.

Moses Haim Montefiore was born in 5545 in Livorno, Tuscany to a large Sephardic merchant family with interests spread across Europe. He was named for his paternal grandfather, the patriarch who had relocated the family from Livorno to London forty years prior, and came into the world while his parents had returned to Tuscany on business for the family’s firm. Montefiore left school at a young age to begin work in another trading firm, and at the age of 18 became a trader in the London Stock Exchange. For the next thirty years he expanded his business and focused on attaining markers of social respectability, joining both the Freemasons and the local militia as Britain entered the Napoleonic Wars. Soon, through his own efforts and the good fortune of becoming brother-in-law and then stockbroker to Lord Rothschild, the British representative of the famous banking family, Montefiore’s fortune expanded exponentially. In addition to business, Montefiore devoted himself to the popular social reform campaigns of the era, including the promotion of charity hospitals and the abolition of slavery. In 1827, Montefiore and his wife went on a long voyage throughout the Mediterranean that included a visit to Jerusalem. The visit profoundly altered the course of Montefiore’s spiritual life. While he had always been proud of his Jewish heritage, Montefiore had been casual in his religious practice until his first experience of the holy city. While there, he committed himself to Shabbat and kashrut observance, and to attendance at the Torah readings in the synagogue on the second and fifth days of each week in addition to attendance at Shabbat services. He began traveling with a personal shochet and his own kashered dishes so that even when attending soirées and banquets with wealthy gentiles he would always have kosher food available. He also brought his own minyan of devoutly Jewish staff members and a personal Torah scroll so that his business travels would not interfere with his participation in religious services.

The newly devout business magnate then devoted his full energies, talents, and extensive connections to advocating for the welfare of the Jewish diaspora. He traveled to Morocco, Istanbul, Rome, Russia, and numerous other destinations specifically to use his considerable influence to combat antisemitic policies and pressure government to ensure Jewish subjects the same rights given to other citizens. Time and time again, Montefiore’s interventions were crucial. He also raised funds— and donated a significant proportion of his own wealth— to Jewish causes around the world, and especially for the welfare of the Jewish community in and around Jerusalem.

When his wife died, Montefiore had a replica of Rachel’s Tomb built as a mausoleum for her, and also established a yeshiva in her honor. He lived as a widower for another 23 years, still actively involved in a large number of charitable causes, before he was buried there beside her.

[usafphantom2]

Check Out This Incredible Air-to-Air Footage Of The B-2 Spirit Stealth Bomber

July 20, 2024 Military Aviation

B-2 Spirit as seen from the cockpit of a T-38C Talon during Wings over Whiteman 2024 airshow (Image credit: screenshot from the video below)

From certain angles, the B-2 still looks like an alien spaceship.

As reported in detail in the story with the exclusive interview with the newly appointed 393rd Bomb Squadron Commander Lt. Colonel Joseph “Zorro” Manglitz, after a five-year hiatus, Whiteman Air Force Base in Missouri made a grand return with its airshow on July 13 and 14, 2024.

In fact, the event featured a stunning lineup, highlighted by unique aircraft formations, which made the 2024 Wings Over Whiteman Airshow an unforgettable spectacle.

Hints of something special emerged during a conversation with Colonel Keith Butler, commander of the 509th Bomb Wing, who teased surprises in store for the audience. The B-2 Spirit bomber, exclusive to Whiteman AFB, stole the show by flying in formation with the historic B-29 Superfortress “Doc” and two T-38 Talon jet trainers.

Special Flyby of 2 T-38A’s from Whiteman AFB and B-2 “Spirit of New York”. (Image credit: Howard German)

B-2 pilots at Whiteman Air Force Base are required to be dual-qualified in both the B-2 and T-38 aircraft. As explained us by “Zorro”, the T-38 serves as a companion trainer, which is crucial for maintaining their flying skills. Pilots must fly twice a month, with instructors often flying more frequently.

The T-38, being very different from the B-2, offers significant value by allowing pilots to perform aerobatics, test various instrument approaches, and practice close formation flying. This contrast helps keep their stick and rudder skills sharp, ensuring they remain proficient in diverse flying conditions.

Taxi back of a Whiteman AFB, T-38A in special livery depicting a World War I, Spad S.XIII, from the 13th Aero Squadron known as the “Devils Own Grim Reapers” (Image credit: Howard German)

Therefore, the T-38 aerobatic jet trainer plays a vital role in maintaining pilot proficiency within bomb squadrons: they help the 393d Bomb Squadron Tigers maintain foundational airmanship, allowing them to concentrate on advanced tactics and missions when flying the B-2.

Interestingly, one of the T-38 pilots had a Go-Pro camera in the cockpit and shot some really interesting footage of the B-2 flying its flypasts with the two Talons in Vic formation.

The clip, shot from an echelon left position shows the B-2 flying a low level visual pattern around Whiteman with the T-38s.

The video includes various aerial perspectives, capturing the aircraft against the backdrop of clear skies and the ground below: from certain angles, the Spirit still resembles an alien spaceship 36 years after its roll-out (on Nov. 22, 1988) and 35 since its first flight (on Jul. 17, 1989).

The T-38 Talon

The T-38 Talon is a twin-engine, high-altitude, supersonic jet trainer renowned for its versatile design, cost-effectiveness, ease of maintenance, high performance, and outstanding safety record. Primarily used by Air Education and Training Command for joint specialized undergraduate pilot training, it is also utilized by Air Combat Command, Air Force Materiel Command, and NASA for various roles.

The T-38 boasts swept wings, a streamlined fuselage, and tricycle landing gear with a steerable nose wheel. It has two hydraulic systems powering flight controls, with critical components easily accessible at waist height. The T-38C features a “glass cockpit” with advanced avionics displays and a head-up display, while the AT-38B includes a gun sight and practice bomb dispenser.

Special Flyby of 2 T-38’s from Whiteman AFB and B-2 “Spirit of Texas”. (Image credit: Howard German)

About David Cenciotti

David Cenciotti is a journalist based in Rome, Italy. He is the Founder and Editor of “The Aviationist”, one of the world’s most famous and read military aviation blogs. Since 1996, he has written for major worldwide magazines, including Air Forces Monthly, Combat Aircraft, and many others, covering aviation, defense, war, industry, intelligence, crime and cyberwar. He has reported from the U.S., Europe, Australia and Syria, and flown several combat planes with different air forces. He is a former 2nd Lt. of the Italian Air Force, a private pilot and a graduate in Computer Engineering. He has written five books and contributed to many more ones.

@TheAviationist.com

[loving-n0t-heyting]

Sometimes i feel despondent and miserable over the fact i am kind of a listless, unrigorous, self destructive, aging, boring, pathetic wreck and failure to myself and those who have loved me in soooo many ways but it helps to remember there are plenty of freak geniuses my age or younger with confidence oozing from every pore and poise from every orifice putting in 25h of work a day at the height of their powers daily grazing the uppermost echelons of humanly achievable worldly prestige all to to turn a new cold war from a dream into a reality and by god not to render any definitive judgment but at least i seem to be doing better than them

[zapreportsblog]

Hydra Prized Creation

➥ summary: Hydra created a mastermind unlike none other with intellects only the greatest individuals could possess they combined that with their new advanced version of the super solider serum, and thus a ghost was born.

➥ chapter 1: The Creation of a Living Enigma

In the clandestine depths of a hidden laboratory, far away from prying eyes, a young woman named (Y/N) came into existence. She was no ordinary being; she was the result of a dark alliance between the nefarious organization known as Hydra and their insidious experiments. (Y/N) was forged to be their ultimate weapon, a convergence of scientific prowess and untapped potential.

Hydra, driven by their insatiable desire for power and control, spared no expense in crafting their living enigma. In their relentless pursuit of dominance, they combined the most advanced iteration of the Super Soldier Serum with a host of genetic material derived from the greatest creators, inventors, and masterminds the world had ever known. (Y/N) became a living amalgamation of brilliance and physical prowess.

The laboratory hummed with energy as the final preparations were made for the creation of this unprecedented being. Hydra's scientists, cloaked in the shadows of their sinister intentions, meticulously calibrated the intricate mechanisms of (Y/N)'s creation. They carefully infused her nascent form with the advanced Super Spiller Serum, a potent elixir designed to enhance her physical attributes to unparalleled heights.

Layer by layer, (Y/N)'s genetic blueprint was woven with threads of brilliance and ingenuity. Fragments of DNA from luminaries such as Leonardo da Vinci, Nikola Tesla, Ada Lovelace, Albert Einstein, and countless others were delicately interwoven into her being. This genetic mosaic imbued her with an incomparable intellect, a mind capable of grasping the intricacies of science, art, and invention with unprecedented clarity.

As the final stage of her creation approached, (Y/N)'s dormant form lay suspended in a chamber of pulsating liquid, each nutrient-rich droplet nurturing her developing potential. The air crackled with anticipation, for Hydra knew that within her lay the promise of unrivaled power and immeasurable destruction.

With a surge of electricity and a burst of blinding light, (Y/N) emerged from her liquid cocoon, her eyes snapping open to reveal an incandescent intelligence that seemed to pierce through the veil of the unknown. Her hair cascaded around her face, dark as midnight, as she took her first breath, filling her lungs with the air of her newfound existence.

The scientists, simultaneously awed and fearful of their creation, gazed upon her with a mix of trepidation and pride. Their ultimate weapon had been forged, an entity capable of reshaping the world in Hydra's sinister image. But (Y/N) was no mere puppet; she possessed a mind of her own, fueled by the amalgamation of the world's greatest intellects.

Hydra, basking in the thrill of their accomplishment, prepared to unleash their creation upon an unsuspecting world. They envisioned a future in which (Y/N) would infiltrate the highest echelons of power, bending governments and institutions to their will. She would be Hydra's masterpiece, a living embodiment of their aspirations.

Yet, in the midst of Hydra's triumph, a flicker of defiance danced within (Y/N)'s eyes. Deep within her core, she harbored a yearning for freedom, an innate desire to break free from the clutches of her creators and chart her own path. She knew that she possessed unparalleled potential, not only as a weapon but as a force for change in a world marred by darkness.

As (Y/N) stood tall, her presence radiating with the knowledge of her extraordinary origins, she resolved to seize control of her destiny. She would harness her superlative intellect, her physical prowess, and the echoes of the greatest minds ever known within her, to forge a future that defied Hydra's sinister machinations.

And so, (Y/N), born of Hydra's ambitions but tempered by the indomitable spirit of her creators and inventors, took her first steps into an uncertain world. Her journey had just begun, her path riddled with choices, challenges, and a purpose that transcended the shadows of her creation.