#**fortunes conman

[hexarcana]

Did somebody say Gravityjuice or perhaps Beetlefalls?

Had to combine my two greatest passion, Beetlejuice and my Gravity Falls OCs

Bonus

Move over Billford there’s a new old man yaoi in town

[nite-puff]

y’all ever think about who yasuhiro could’ve been if the writers weren’t racist and just want to scream??

[mariocki]

Night Has a Thousand Eyes (1948)

"Why was this gift given to me? And why was this other power withheld - this power to turn evil into good?"

[elidee-art]

Playlist cover for the new (ish) party member, a cleric/rogue that Fortune is trying really hard to not have mixed feelings about.

(The feelings are annoyance and envy)

((The guy was hired to make sure our prophecy goes through. And he's making Fortune feel redundant and talked down to. That's Fortune's own fault tho))

[appleimp-7]

Fun fact: Yalda was originally an oc for Phantom Hourglass until I completely reworked them last year lol

[qqueenofhades]

I just feel like even if we all vote and Biden wins, Trump won't accept the loss, and eventually they'll just put him in anyway. And then there won't be another real election. Even if Biden wins and somehow is actually confirmed (which again, I think is unlikely) we're going to have to do this for 30 more years because of the SC, and that isn't at all sustainable.

All this isn't to say I won't vote but I just think people are being way too optimistic about what happens if Biden wins. I don't think him winning will keep Trump out or the horrible fascist future at bay.

Look, I get the fear. I do, I do... but this is also one of the times when you have to ask if it's actually telling you something true, or if it's just preying on that generalized feeling of doom to make everything seem hopeless even if we win again. And that is... there is absolutely no actual mechanism for Trump to be installed as president if Biden wins the Electoral College (since as we have repeatedly seen, the popular vote is immaterial). SCOTUS is horrible and evil and are trying to interfere as much ahead of time for Trump as they can, but part of that is because they can't simply issue an order for Biden to be removed and Trump to become God King By Fiat. That is not how it works. If Biden wins in November, he will be president until his term ends, he steps down, Kamala takes over, or anything else.

Trump tried a coup with all the entire overwhelming might of the US government as the sitting president last time; fortunately, it failed. Reforms to the Electoral Count Act have been made to prevent another January 6. The Department of Defense and the military are still under (and would be on another January 6) Biden's command, not Trump's. That's not to say that Trump won't try some shit with his insane cult followers, but he is just a late 70s conman from Queens out on bail and under sentence for a criminal trial, who is already the biggest and most disgraced loser and asshole in American political history. He is so desperate to cheat his way back into power because in a real sense, this IS the last-chance saloon for him. He can't put off the legal proceedings, however long they take, for another four years. He's losing his marbles at a rapid rate. I'm just saying: we don't know what or when, but there will be (and already have been) real consequences for him. That is why he is scrabbling so hard.

"Even if we vote, nothing matters and Trump will win anyway" is another of those insidious lies that works to make you feel as if the battle is endless and pointless and none of its victories matter. Of course it will not all be magically fixed forever if Biden wins. We will still have to figure some godforsaken fucking way to expand SCOTUS or kick Alito and Thomas off it. But we will have bought ourselves, our democracy, our country, and the world time to do that, and put another nail in Trump's coffin. That matters. It matters a lot.

Fascism wants to present itself as overwhelming, irresistible, inevitable, and ready to happen no matter what you do, and that's what your brain wants you to buy in now. But that's not the case, Trump is not inevitable or some all-powerful monolith (in fact, another of the debate takeaways seemed to be that Biden looked bad but people still hate Trump too much for it to really shift anything). He is a loser, a fraud, a conman, a liar, and a crook, and he WANTS you to fear him like an almighty god. Don't give him or the MAGAGOP the satisfaction.

Frankly, having to endure another four months of this might kill us all, and I know that we are tired and scared (me too). But IT IS NOT INEVITABLE THAT WE ARE DOOMED. Not at all. Let's hang onto that and tell that anxiety doom voice to shove it.

Hugs.

[d0llsart]

gravity falls — malay archipelago!AU

This AU is based off the maritime trading period of malay and indonesian culture + folklore.

in this AU, stanley pines is a fraud fortune teller/conman and mabel & dipper sailed down straits of malacca for the monsoon season at their grunkle's 'kampong misteri'.

ummmm yeahhhh silly doodles teehee :3

[mylordshesacactus]

I don't think I'll ever be over the way that the thesis statement of OWK is represented, more than anything else, even more than Reva's plotline honestly, in Haja.

Like.

Genuinely? The one "twist" I wasn't emotionally prepared for was that Haja was legit, and he really was trying to help, and there really was a massive grassroots shadow-network underground railroad evacuating Jedi survivors and Force-sensitive kids across the galaxy, and he really was part of it.

Because the thing with his whole setup--the magnet tricks, the motion-controlled windows, the cold-reading, the crowd-working kid identifying obvious offworld marks, the "audience plant" stormtrooper playing along over the comm? Yeah, they're cheap tricks, but it's a SOPHISTICATED setup.

This guy is a straight-up conman. He really is every bit the sleazy grifter he appears to be.

That matters. That's important. Haja is not an angel. He's a mid-level fake psychic, callously cashing in on the Jedi's legacy to do, like, bullshit fortune-telling. It's--it's the way you can see this guy's whole backstory in a few minutes of screentime. Because we DO see him identify a Force-sensitive kid....and the escape he offers them is genuine.

So: Haja. And the story we can see in him at a glance.

He's a scam artist! He's dressing in knockoff porn-vid robes, waving his hands, and babbling half-remembered vague tropes before murmuring generic platitudes and sending rubes on their way. The Jedi are dead, right? It's not like they're around to be offended. He's not even really lying, right? He gets people what they want! The Jedi stuff just lets him upcharge! He's just skimming a little, a man's gotta make a living.

And then, one day, someone came to him who'd used all their hope just getting there. Someone with a Force-sensitive child, and the Empire on their heels, stumbled terrified into his little den of cheap tricks, because they'd heard a whisper of a rumor that there was still a Jedi alive on Daiyu.

And in that moment, Haja learned that he was a better person than he'd ever realized.

They must have staked everything on reaching him, and then they found him, and what they found was...Haja. Just some guy in a cheap costume. Just some guy, and not a particularly great one. How much is the bounty on a Force-sensitive youngling? Enough to retire on. Enough to set you up for life. And Haja is just some guy, who had just been slapped in the face with the reality of what he was capable of doing in the next five minutes.

There are moments when you learn who you really are, and sometimes you surprise yourself.

After all that time "acting like a Jedi," when given the opportunity--he chose to act like a Jedi.

Ultimately, the thesis statement of OWK is: There is a galaxy full of Hajas. And that's hope enough to keep going for.

[sixpounder]

tacos and troubles

wade wilson (deadpool) x f!reader

summary: in which wade wilson manages to charm you into a late-night taco run, one that ends with you in his lap and his lips proving that, for once, he’s willing to shut up… but only if it means kissing you.

warnings: mature content mdni (unprotected sex, creampie, masturbation m receiving, semi-public sex), strong language.

word count: 2.4k

lowercase intended

you had always known wade wilson was trouble. not the kind that set off alarms in your head or made you question your life choices, no, he was the kind of trouble that made your stomach flip and your heart race for all the right reasons. he was reckless, loud, and had a mouth that never quit, but somehow, that mouth had wormed its way under your skin.

tonight, like most nights, you found yourself willingly indulging in his chaos.

the bar was dimly lit, filled with the scent of beer, sweat, and bad decisions. you leaned against the counter, sipping your drink as you watched wade toy with a group of overconfident frat boys. he was playing darts, but you knew the real game was the one he was playing with them. hustling them effortlessly, drawing them in with that cocky smirk and easy charm before completely dismantling their egos.

it was a beautiful thing to watch.

he landed another bullseye, feigning surprise as the guys groaned in frustration.

“wow, again? i swear, i must have been a professional dart player in a past life” he mused, turning to wink at you. “what do you think, sweetheart? was i some sort of pub champion in 1876? or maybe a smooth-talking conman who seduced wealthy widows out of their fortunes?”

you smirked. “i’m leaning toward conman. you do have that whole charming-but-shouldn’t-be-trusted vibe.”

he clutched his chest dramatically. “ouch. right to the heart. i’m wounded.”

“you’ll live.”

“only if you promise to nurse me back to health.” he sauntered over to you, grabbing two beers off the bar and handing you one. “come on, admit it. you like that i’m a little bit of a disaster.”

you took a slow sip, holding his gaze. “it is entertaining watching you talk your way into, and out of, trouble.”

“you know what else is entertaining?” he leaned in, voice dropping just slightly. “the way you’ve been staring at my lips for the past thirty seconds.”

you huffed a laugh, shaking your head. “you are so full of yourself.”

he smirked, lifting his own bottle to his lips. “you got me there.”

the warmth in his gaze lingered a second too long, and for a moment, the rest of the bar faded into the background. it was always like this with wade: flirting, teasing, toeing the line between something casual and something much more dangerous. you weren’t sure if it was the alcohol buzzing through your veins or just him, but tonight, that line felt thinner than ever.

“you know” he continued, setting his beer down, “i was thinking. maybe after i finish humiliating these guys, you and i could engage in some friendly, totally platonic, not at all romantic activities.”

you arched a brow. “oh yeah? like what?”

“like…” wade pretended to think. “breaking into an abandoned amusement park? reenacting our favorite fight scenes from movies? or, hear me out, seeing who can eat more tacos before puking.”

you chuckled, shaking your head. “you’re ridiculous.”

“and yet, you’re still here” he pointed out, leaning closer.

you opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, one of the frat guys wade had been hustling stormed over, looking less than pleased.

before you could respond, one of the frat guys, clearly pissed off from losing, stormed over. he shoved wade’s shoulder, a mistake, really.

“you’re cheating” the guy snapped.

wade barely even blinked. he just tilted his head, giving him that lazy, amused look that meant he was seconds away from doing something stupid.

“buddy, i don’t cheat” he said easily. “i just happen to be naturally talented at everything.”

the guy wasn’t buying it. he grabbed a fistful of wade’s shirt, and before you could even process what was happening, wade had him in a headlock. his usual playful smirk flickered into something darker, something that sent a little thrill down your spine.

“see, i’d love to teach you some manners” wade murmured, “but my lovely not-yet-girlfriend here doesn’t like it when i get blood on my clothes.”

you sighed. “i really don’t.”

he let the guy go with a pat on the head, and the group quickly scattered, grumbling under their breath.

wade turned back to you with a triumphant grin. “so… tacos?”

you rolled your eyes, but the smile on your lips betrayed you. “fine. but if you puke in my car, i swear-”

“you’ll punish me?” he waggled his eyebrows. “kinky”

you scoffed, shoving him lightly as you both headed for the door.

the drive to the taco stand was typical wade: meaning, it was filled with absolute nonsense.

“hear me out” he said as you pulled into the parking lot, “what if we started a fight club for people who talk during movies? we could call it ‘shut the hell up or throw hands’”

“i think you just want an excuse to punch people.”

“i always want an excuse to punch people” he admitted. “but i’d make an exception for you.”

“oh? i’m special?”

he turned to you, smirking. “very.”

your stomach did that stupid little flip thing again, but you ignored it, focusing instead on the tacos.

twenty minutes later, wade was leaning back in the driver’s seat of his car, groaning dramatically.

“okay” he admitted, rubbing his stomach, “i may have slightly overestimated my ability to eat twelve tacos in one sitting.”

you smirked. “i warned you.”

“yeah, yeah.” he turned his head to look at you, expression softer now. “you know… i wasn’t kidding earlier.”

you raised a brow. “about what?”

“about liking you.”

your breath hitched, but you covered it with a teasing smile. “i figured. you’re not exactly subtle.”

he exhaled a laugh, but there was something else in his eyes now, something serious.

“can i do something really stupid?” he asked, voice lower now.

you swallowed. “depends on the kind of stupid.”

instead of answering, he reached over, fingers brushing against your jaw as he tilted your face toward him. he hesitated for just a second, just long enough for you to make the choice yourself.

you closed the distance.

the second your lips met, it was like something snapped.

wade kissed you like he’d been waiting for this forever, like he needed it. his hands found your waist, fingers digging in as he pulled you closer. the taste of beer and hot sauce lingered on his lips, but you didn’t care, not when he was kissing you like he wanted to memorize every inch of your mouth.

you barely registered the shift as he pulled you into his lap, hands sliding up your thighs, gripping you like he never wanted to let go. you let out a small gasp as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours in a way that had your whole body burning.

his hands found their way into your hair, tilting your head for better access as he kissed you like a man starved, intense, passionate, and yet somehow still playful. the way he bit your bottom lip gently made your heart race dangerously fast. "fuck..."

you decided to make a dangerous move, you started grinding against him slowly and playfully, just to see his reaction

a shudder ran through wade's body as you ground against him teasingly. his grip tightened on your thighs, fingers digging in pleasurably as he groaned low in his throat. "careful, sweetheart... keep moving like that and i might not be able to control myself."

“why would i want you to control yourself” you teased him with a playful smirk.

his eyes darkened, the playful glint replaced with a hungry intensity. He nipped at your neck, sucking gently as he whispered against your skin. "then keep going... see how long i can last before i fuck you senseless in this car seat."

you took that as a challenge. you started grinding against him more urgently, rolling you hips against his and letting out little moans and whimpers

“jesus christ..." his breathing became heavier, ragged even as he fought the urge to just tear your clothes off right there. one hand moved up to cup your face while the other slid down to grab your ass, pulling you harder against him. "either you stop that..."

“or what? you really want me to stop?”

"or i'm ripping your dress off and putting you on my lap properly" he growled, his voice low and dangerous. he looked up at you with those intense dark eyes, daring you to keep pushing his buttons.

“well i’ll take that as a promise” you whispered in his ear, before biting and sucking his neck gently.

his body tightened, his control slowly slipping. "goddamn it..." he hissed as you sucked on his neck. his hands spread your thighs wider so you could grind against him better. he was already painfully hard, his jeans suddenly feeling too tight. "you know you're killing me, right?"

“let me fix that” you said. you sat straddling his thighs and started undoing his jeans.

his breath hitched as your hands worked at his jeans, that playful smirk fading to pure desire. "fuck..." he murmured, helping you push his jeans and boxers down just enough, one hand sliding up your thigh while the other gripped your waist.

you took his cock in you hand and started working his shaft, slowly and teasingly.

"oh fuck, sweetheart..." his head fell back against the seat, a low groan rumbling in his chest as you touched him. his hips moved in small thrusts, fucking into your hand. "you're so fucking good at that..." he praised, his fingers digging into your hip. his intense dark eyes locked onto yours, filled with lust and a hint of challenge. he could see you were enjoying torturing him like this, the slow teasing touches driving him mad. "eyes on me..." he ordered, his voice hoarse.

you looked into his eyes for a few seconds before closing the distance and kissing him again. he deepened the kiss instantly, his arms wrapping around you to pull you closer as his hips bucked into your hand. he kissed you fiercely, hungrily, as if he could pull you closer through the kiss alone.

you moved away, just to take off your dress. his eyes widened slightly looking at you, his breath hitching at the sight of you in just your bra and panties. "holy shit..." he murmured, his voice thick with desire. his hands immediately went to your waist, pulling you back against him.

you started to grind against him again. he kissed you. he groaned into the kiss, his hands roaming your body, one cupping your breast while the other gripped your ass, pulling you harder against his cock. he could feel the heat through your panties, and it was driving him wild. "fucking hell..."

“i need you wade” you whispered into his ear.

his breath hitched at your whispered words, his heart pounding in his chest. he pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes blazing with desire. "you want my dick, sweetheart?" he growled, his hand slipping into your panties to feel just how wet you were.

you nodded eagerly. he cursed under his breath as his fingers slid through your slick folds, confirming exactly how badly you needed him. in one swift motion, he ripped your panties off, tossing them aside without a care. "fuck, you're soaked..." he groaned, lining himself up with your entrance.

“it’s your fault” you whispered playfully before sitting down on it, slowly taking his dick inside of you.

"christ..." his head fell back against the seat, a deep groan tearing from his throat as you slowly sank down onto him. his hands tightened on your hips, nails digging in slightly. "you feel fucking amazing..." he started guiding your movements, lifting his hips to meet each slow descent.

you were riding him, your arms on his broad shoulders to help yourself bounce, it felt too good. his dark eyes were locked onto yours, filled with pure lust as he watched you bounce on top of him. his hands roamed your body, squeezing your breasts, running down your sides, gripping your thighs to pull you down harder onto him. "damn it..."

“oh fuck” you cried out as soon as he did that, he helped you move faster and harder. his dick hitting that one spot instead of you

a wicked grin spread across his face as he felt your cries of pleasure surround him, knowing exactly what he was doing to you. his grip tightened, slamming you down onto him with increasing urgency, hitting that perfect spot inside you with each thrust. "that's it, sweetheart."

his breath came in short gasps as your pussy tightened around him, the feeling driving him absolutely wild. he leaned forward, capturing one of your hardened nipples in his mouth and sucking hard, his fingers digging into your flesh. "you're gonna make me come..."

those words and his actions made you closer to your orgasm. now you were crying out his name and moaning loudly.

"that's right, scream my fucking name..." he shifted his angle slightly, hitting that magical spot even harder and faster. one hand moved between your legs, rubbing your clit in tight circles as he fucked you. "come for me, baby"

and that’s when you came.“fuck yes wade!” you moaned during your release. he growled at your moans, watching your face contort in pleasure as your pussy convulsed around his length. and you kept going, determined to make him cum. he gripped your hips hard, driving up into you erratically as you came undone. "holy shit..." he panted. he was panting heavily now, his face contorted in pure ecstasy as you continued to bounce on him, taking him deeper than ever before. his hands roamed your body possessively, squeezing, kneading, pulling you closer as he chased his release. "damn it..."

his eyes squeezed shut, his jaw clenched and his entire body tensed as he finally let go. with a deep, guttural groan, he came inside you, his cum filling you completely. "fuck...!" he then collapsed back onto the seat, pulling you down onto his chest.

“holy shit” he muttered, voice rough.

you exhaled a laugh. “yeah.”

his fingers traced lazy circles on your hip as he grinned up at you. “so… does this mean i’m officially your totally platonic, not-at-all romantic taco buddy?”

you rolled your eyes, but your fingers were already threading into his hair again, tugging slightly just to hear the little groan he let out.

“shut up” you whispered, “and kiss me again.”

and he did.

a/n: let me know you liked it, and if you did, don’t be scared to like, comment or reblog, it would really help me since this blog is new. let me know if you have any kind of request, not just for deadpool, it can be of any marvel character or more, i’m happy to write them <3

[honeyflashbang]

My theory on Sampo's true identity...

(Minor Spoilers for 2.4) (also, I’m no expert in… anything, really, but these are just my ramblings).

So, this has probably been mentioned before, but I have a teeny-tiny theory about Sampo’s true identity, and it relates to Finnish mythology.

So, “Sampo” in and of itself doesn’t have a set meaning, but it has its roots in Finnish mythology, particularly the “Kalevala” which is a 19th-century compilation of epic poetry. In it, a blacksmith god by the name of Seppo Ilmari(nen) forges the mythical device known as “The Sampo”. It’s never quite explained what The Sampo really is; some versions depict it as a mill, others as a cornucopia from which bountiful creations flow from, and some even have it as being a world tree/world pillar, so what The Sampo really is, isn’t entirely known. But, what is known, is that it brought riches and good fortune to its holder (again, the same as the cornucopia from Greek mythology).

But why am I mentioning all of this? Why bring up the Kalevala? It could be that Hoyo just chose the name “Sampo” for some flavour—befitting of a character who magics up relics from seemingly thin air and is trying to create riches—and yeah, it’s a possibility…

Until I saw these two screenshots from the 2.4 story:

You know what this means, right? 

Kalevala is a real planet in Hoyo’s Star Rail universe, and I find it awfully coincidental that they would use this name for a planet and not have it related to a certain blue haired conman, especially since The Sampo is such a pivotal element in the plot of the Kalevala—there is no way this is a coincidence (I refuse to believe it).

This leads me to believe that Kalevala is Sampo’s real home world, and is where he originates from.

Now, this is all well and good, knowing where “The Sampo” hails from, but I want to focus on its creator—Seppo Ilmari(nen)—and his parallels to a certain blue haired conman. For one, Ilmari(nen)’s name is quite interesting as the ‘Ilma’ part is Finnish for ‘air’ or ‘weather’, and as we know, Sampo’s element is that of ‘wind’ (And also the fact that Ilmari(nen) is credited as “Godlike smith-hero and creator of the sky”. I could go into a whole spiel about Ilmari(nen) and Qlipoth swinging their giant hammers in tandem together for all eternity (Go Sampard! Geppie is Qlipoth's true heir, you can't convince me otherwise!), but that’s for another conspiracy theory lol).

So, ‘Ilma’ means ‘air’, and Sampo wields ‘wind’.

Cool.

If the parallels ended there, I’d just say I was being crazy… but there’s more.

Sampo’s 4th (and arguably best) eidolon is called “The Deeper the Love, the Stronger the Hate”. Two out of his six eidolons refer to 'love', whilst the other 4 are to do with wealth and riches. The wealth and richest aspect leans towards The Sampo of mythology, whilst the ‘love’ aspect, well…

According to the story, Seppo Ilmari(nen) is the unluckiest bastard alive when it comes to love. Like, seriously. His whole storyline is that he can’t find a woman. For one, Seppo Ilmari(nen) is double crossed by his so called buddy, Väinämöinen, into creating The Sampo for the evil witch Louhi of Pohjola in exchange for her daughter’s hand in marriage (which, Ilmari didn’t even want in the beginning), but when the poor guy actually sees the daughter and falls in love with her (and subsequently creates the Sampo—after failing miserably a number of times, mind you—he creates a crossbow, a boat, a cow(wtf?) and a plough, all which are somehow either evil or flawed), she ups and just leaves him hanging! (in the original runes, however, he is successful in gaining a wife, as his ‘unlucky in love’ spiel was later added by Lönnrot in compiling the Kalevala).

As with any mythology and re-telling of it, there’s so many different versions of the same event. In “The Maiden of the North”, a 1898 opera written by Oskar Merikanto, both Ilmarinen and Väinämöinen compete for the chance to marry Louhi’s daughter, who is then mentioned as being “Ilmari(nen)’s first wife” and who later dies to Kullervo’s curse (apparently she was a bit of a bitch to Kullervo by taunting and tormenting the poor boy—who was a child slave mind you!). Distraught, Ilmari(nen) forges himself a wife of gold and silver, but he finds her to be too cold and callous—he forges her out of love but only finds hate—so he tries to gift her to Väinämöinen (who doesn’t want her either, lol), and suggests he cast her back into the furnace and to “forge from her a thousand trinkets”.

Here’s the accompanying poem:

Never, youths, however wretched,

Nor in future, upgrown heroes,

Whether you have large possessions,

Or are poor in your possessions,

In the course of all your lifetime,

While the golden moon is shining,

May you woo a golden woman,

Or distress yourselves for silver,

For the gleam of gold is freezing,

Only frost is breathed by silver.

It is apparently your standard Aesop’s fable of “money can’t buy happiness”, which is something else I see in our dear old Sampo Koski. During our time in Belobog, we see how different he acts with the Underworld and Overworlders. To the poor, he actually seems approachable (albeit a bit of a nuisance), going so far as to help the Underworlders (an example being the questline “Survival Wisdom” in which he and Peak set up a business together renting out his tools to help the miners make a decent wage to support their families). In contrast, we actively see Sampo being very hostile towards the Overworlders, scamming them and putting the nobles in their place or setting them up to be caught by the Silvermane Guards (an example being during the museum questline where you discover his identity as “Mr Cold Feet”. Sampo clearly states to who he thinks is his mark that ‘we are not friends’ in a very hostile manner, something which we’ve not seen from Sampo before as he is usually quite amicable). 

For all Sampo’s showboating and flashing his money around, he helps where it counts. He wants to make money, sure, but not at the detriment of the people who need it the most, only to those with excess.

Anyway, back to him being unlucky in love…

In another rune entitled “Kosinta”, Ilmari(nen) goes on a journey to compete for Hiisi’s daughter, and wins by completing various feats, one of them being “ploughing a field full of snakes”:

And as we know, Sampo is very heavy on the snake motifs (the head of the snake on his shoulders, the spine wrapped around him, the daggers are its fangs…etc.)

So that’s another interesting link between Seppo Ilmari(nen) and Sampo Koski.

So, why have I gone on this long winded tangent about Seppo Ilmari(nen) when I’m supposed to be talking about Sampo Koski?

Well, that’s because I think Sampo Koski’s real name is (or a variant of) Ilmarinen.

In the Hoyo universe, I believe Ilmarinen came from the planet Kalevala and ‘created’ the persona of Sampo Koski, much like how in the Kalevala, Seppo Ilmari(nen) forged The Sampo.

As I’ve listed above, there’s so many links between the two:

“Air” as a name and “Wind” as an element.

Seppo Ilmari(nen) ploughed a field of snakes to win Hiisi’s daughter’s hand in marriage, whilst Sampo Koski relies heavily on snake motifs for his attire.

Sampo’s two eidolon names that relate to love (which are completely different from the other 4 eidolon names), whilst Seppo Ilmari(nen) is known to be unlucky in love.

I’m pretty damn sure Sampo creates his own bombs and tinkers with the old relics to bring them back to life, whereas Seppo Ilmari(nen) is a smith who created the dome of the sky! They’re both artificers!

And now the revelation that a planet by the name of “Kalevala” exists is no mere coincidence.

So, either Sampo is Ilmari(nen) - or! - Sampo is a puppet (like Herta) created by someone called Ilmari(nen). 

(I would love if his 5* version is him with this name).

Right, I’m finished rambling. Gonna go huff some copium...

[dj-triumph]

fuck it i'm posting a poto essay.

Okay so listen I know I do a lot of shitposting about The Phantom of the Opera, and this more like...Advanced Shitposting Literary Critique from a former English major who prefers to do analyses in serious shits and giggles format. So, here goes:

In true Austenian fashion, for a moment I would like us to consider Christine’s marriage prospects from the SEXIEST possible angle. That is, from the perspective of marriage as a financial proposition.

Because what is a single man in possession of a good fortune in want of? Why, a wife, of course!

As we know, marriage as a financial proposition certainly comes up in the story, namely when Philippe is trying to convince Raoul not to marry Christine. Philippe knows it would be exceedingly beneficial to Christine if she does exactly what he is afraid she’s doing: marry up. Find a rich husband and then have a kid to seal the deal.

This is because our girl Christine is as poor as a church mouse. She’s a ballet dancer who just got promoted to opera singer. Both of these are synonyms for “fancy prostitute” as far as society is concerned. And of course, she's an orphan.

Christine MAYBE stands to inherit whatever Madame Valerius leaves behind because I don’t think she has any heirs. The Valeriuses "treated Christine like a daughter," but who knows what’s in Prof. Valerius's will. If there is no will or she's not in it, and it goes to probate, Christine is fucked. Her dad refused to take any money for their busking together and they were nomads, so he left her with exactly nothing. 

On the other hand, Raoul has money, but like both of his sisters, he's entrusted Philippe with the entire estate and from this Raoul receives an allowance. It’s probably a comfortable sum, and he’s in the navy and lives in the family home when he’s not away doing navy stuff, so probably his portion is continuing to grow (idk, hopefully Philippe is a good investor, his siblings certainly think he’s doing it fine). 

Meanwhile, Erik, a hermit who hasn’t had a real job since the Populaire opened like 15 years ago, is coasting on his extortion checks that must FAR exceed the monthly pin money of the fourth child of even one of the oldest French estates. Like, I would be willing to bet that what Erik pulls in a month is equal to or more than what Raoul makes in a year.

Erik is…well. Many of us in the phandom think he’s a catch, in a sense, because we are Built DifferentTM, but career-wise he’s an architect conman etc.

As far as husbands go, Christine could do better, and she could do worse. Financially speaking! There are very few ways she could do worse in the broader sense of a marriage. I AM SO SORRY, I LOVE ERIK TOO, BUT IT HAS TO BE SAID. And I’m not including his looks in the equation! As we know, Erik does enough to self-sabotage without his face even being part of the conversation.

Those who know me know that I ship Erik/Christine, and every time I talk about Raoul I end up making fun of him. HOWEVER I also know, objectively, Raoul is the better choice. (Erik also knows this; he had to hold a barely metaphorical gun to Christine’s head about it.) I ship Erik/Christine in my heart, spiritually, but lord if I wasn’t praying for his downfall throughout that entire book.

“I’ll be as gentle as a lamb” he says. INCORRECT BUZZER. YOU TIED HER UP, ERIK. Y’ALL HAVE BEEN IN FISTICUFFS BEFORE.

“I’ll make you laugh every day” he says. Y’all the way I almost threw the book across the room when he started doing his ventriloquist act for her. I couldn’t take it.

“I’ve invented a mask that makes me look like everybody else and we will live in a normal apartment and go for walks in the park” Now I’m just making myself sad.

So, you know, Erik is a “catch” in his own right but Christine is not the world’s best fisherman.

But financially….Erik is making the modern equivalent of $3.1M USD each year in today’s money. Dude is LOADED. (Side note but I do not know how the Populaire afforded this? One might theorize that a big reason why Poligny retired is because he was tired of fundraising.)

Okay now WHAT do I mean by all of this. Stay with me.

If we are balancing the scales, looking at this love triangle situation in its entirety, Leroux gives him the biggest conceivable advantage in marriage for the time and place in history, but does Erik anytime reference this in conversations with Christine about their impending marriage? OF COURSE NOT. At least not directly and not as far as we ever see. There are a few reasons for this. First of all, Erik and Christine are romantics. They care about music, about love, about eternally divinely entwined souls, etc. 

Also Erik and Christine are Catholic so probably they wouldn’t get divorced over finances like everyone in the modern era in a place where no-fault divorce is a thing. He’s certainly not worried! He’s going to build them matching coffins!

For all the grand promises Erik makes throughout this book (Empress Giry, anyone?), he only promises Christine an apartment and music. That's literally it. Meanwhile he is making, once again, THREE MILLION UNITED STATES DOLLARS A YEAR and has been doing so for years! He wants to have a normal life, he's tired of living in a house with a torture chamber and a false bottom, but is he equally as tired of having more money than god??

Many a fandom scholar has asked this, but literally WHAT are the 20k francs per month for? Like I know he just wants to inflict pain, cause chaos, wreck havoc, etc, but dude can't even figure out how to enjoy his spoils properly! Erik doesn’t eat or drink, and he has all his mom’s horrible furniture. I personally think he stole all the bouquets of flowers from upstairs, so those were free, too. Nice paper, red ink, enough candles to light all of Paris, and a few romantic moonlit carriage rides can be expensive…for people making normal amounts of money. His bribe to Madame Giry is a box of chocolates and a little cash here and there. This man isn’t even paying property taxes. Erik more than likely has more money than he knows what to do with by a lot.

Other than pregnancy, “I’m ugly and horrible but I’m rich” is like THE most classic marriage trap there is, and that has literally zero effect on the story. Leroux gives Erik this huge W that he doesn’t cash in on. He makes his blorbo richer than the vicomte, writes about it as the entire B plot with the managers, but in terms of the A plot, it means NOTHING TO NOBODY.

Leroux even cuts off Raoul at the kneecaps for a while when Philippe threatens to cut him off from his inheritance. A navy man’s salary is nowhere near the cash Erik is bringing in! But what does that matter to any of them. (Of course, Raoul will get his money when Philippe dies, so Leroux brings it all back around to a…happy…ending of sorts.)

Really, the truth of the matter is that not a single character in this book is a practical person. Maybe the managers but they’re also idiots. Maybe Philippe. But they're not even impractical in the Pride & Prejudice sense. It's an entirely gothic romantic point of view to have this ghost-turned-romantic lead with a grossly extorted fortune just for shits and giggles. Just because fuck you and what about it. God, I love this frustrating novel so much.

From a character pov, I find it so interesting that Erik cannot for the life of him figure out how to try to make this shit work in his own favor. He has actually seen too many operas at this point and of course we know he’s not exactly living in a shared reality with anyone else, but he wanted to have more money than god because he could and so he did, and he ends up giving it away in the end as this sort of symbolic do-good thing. Or at least, he gives away 40k francs of it. Who knows what happened to the rest.

Why all this fuss, with the murders and the pranks? Was it fun, do you think, just to hoard the way rich people do? More fun than telling your gf she's about to become the wealthiest woman in Paris??? Would Christine have even cared a little bit if that was true???? Probably not! Her dad taught her that shit didn't matter, although surely by now she knows that's not true.

Obviously in either marriage she would’ve been just fine (again, financially, as long as Raoul retains his inheritance) but it is so funny to me that Erik is soooo much richer than everybody else for no reason. An outlandishly competitive suitor and for what.

This is just like him, though, isn’t it? To be so desirable, so full of potential and everything this woman could want, yet to be so unattractive, so unwanted? And further, to be re-imposing society’s burdens upon himself.

Anyway, poor Erik, poor everybody, even the rich ones, and most of all, poor Christine. Hope you and your hubby figured out the inheritance stuff for the de Chagny estate before you fucked off to Scandinavia!

[hexarcana]

**What kind of partner would she be if she didn’t treat beta-reading Stan’s fan novel like it’s her goddamn job???

[ddagent]

"A Bond Tested"

Matching March Day 03

The Guardian [October 7th 2003] The body of a woman who was found in the Thames two days ago has been identified as Russian national Irina Morozova. Enquiries are still ongoing, although the Metropolitan Police have said that they are considering her death as suspicious.

Transcript of interview with Margo Madison and Met Police, October 8th 2003. Present at Margo Madison, CEO of Midnight Aerospace, her solicitor Ellen Waverly, and Detective Sergeant Eric Bradley.

Detective Sergeant Bradley: Ms Madison, thank you for coming in to talk to us today.

Margo Madison: I don't know how much I'll be able to help you.

DSB: I think you'll be more help than you realise. Do you know this woman? For the tape, I am presenting Ms Madison with a photograph.

MM: Her name is Irina Morozova. I met her a few months ago in St. James' Park. We were...friends.

DSB: Were?

MM: Well, she's dead, Detective. At least that's what the newspapers say.

DSB: Of course. And what did your friendship involve?

MM: Normal things. We met up for coffee. She came by the house once or twice. She worked at an auction house; she found me some jazz albums I had wanted to add to my collection. [EW clears her throat] I'm sorry that she's dead. We weren't...close but it was still a shock to hear.

DSB: Let's talk about your husband. Did he know Ms Morozova?

MM: No.

DSB: Are you sure about that?

MM: I am. He was never at the house when she came by. We never went out as a group.

DSB: Are you sure they didn't know each other? They're both Russian nationals.

MM: Russia is a big country, DS Bradley.

DSB: I see. So, you met your husband in '83, correct?

MM: I did.

DSB: Quite the romance. For the tape, I am showing Ms Madison a few headlines from 1983. Forbes, Time. National Enquirer. Margo Madison, CEO of Midnight Aerospace. The Virgin CEO. A little harsh, don't you think?

EW: Is there a point to this? What does this even have to do with Irina Morozova?

MM: I was called a lot of things by my competitors because I didn't want to fuck them, DS Bradley. I didn't take it personally and neither should you.

DSB: Sure. And, Ms Waverly, I'll get to my point very soon. You met your husband in London, right? At a gala, correct? That's you two there?

MM: It is.

DSB: Midnight Aerospace CEO Margo Madison with engineer Sergei Bezukhov. Nice. Only his name isn't Bezukhov. It's Nikulov. But you knew that already.

MM: My husband's name is Sergei Bezukhov. Your information is...incorrect.

DSB: It's not, Ms Madison. Your husband is not an engineer. He's a conman. He was hired by Ms Morozova to seduce you. To steal your fortune and then run off into the night.

EW: Jesus Christ.

MM: [laughs] Do you write fiction, DS Bradley? Because that is one hell of a story.

DSB: I don't. But it is quite a story. A lonely American CEO attends a gala in London and meets a handsome man who says he's an engineer. She hires him and they spend a few years flirting until he proposes. Now, the plan is to get her to sign over all her money. Run off with the cash. Maybe even kill her. But your lawyers are good. And Sergei Nikulov can't get the payout he wants. You married in, what, 1992?

MM: [long pause] Yes.

DSB: At that point you're worth twice as much as you were in 1983. What's a Russian conman to do? He fucks over his partner. Leaves Morozova in the dust. And he takes the stipend you give him in exchange for fucking you on the first of every month—

EW: —I'm sorry, are you insane? Is this bullshit why you dragged my client down here in the middle of the night?

MM: It's fine, Ellen.

EW: No, it's not. My client came here to assist your investigation with what little she knows, not to be insulted and have her sex life speculated upon.

DSB: I intend to do more than speculate on Ms Madison's sex life. I'm even going to go as far as accuse her of murder.

EW: Oh my God.

DSB: You found out, didn't you, Ms Madison? That you'd been married to a con man. Irina told you. Not the first time. Maybe not even the second or third. But she wanted her cut. And you were angry. Angry at being manipulated. Angry at being lied to. Angry at being used. And so you snapped.

MM: I didn't kill Irina Morozova.

DSB: That's not what your husband says.

MM: [laughs] I'm sorry?

DSB: We've got Nikulov next door. He's told us everything. How he lied. How he fucked you for a nice car and a nice watch and an even nicer house. How Irina came to him first and he told her to fuck off. How she came to you and you snapped. [pause] Nikulov sold you out for a reduced sentence on his fraud charges. So you might as well admit it.

MM: [a long pause. the a laugh.] Did you honestly expect that to work?

EW: We are done here. My client will not be answering any further questions. She's made it clear that she had nothing to do with Irina Morozova's death. And if you had anything other than some 80s cop show bullshit, you would be charging her. So, until you do, we'll be leaving.

[Interview terminated at 11:59 pm]

Margo went home, after the police interview. Went back to their house in Greenwich and up to their study, where she looked through their telescope at the Moon and the stars and where Mars should be until she heard the front door open. This was supposed to be a new life for them, in London. New offices, leaving Aleida to run the flagship in Houston. An opportunity for them to start winding down as they thought about retirement. That had been the plan, of course, until Irina Morozova had shared her newspaper with Margo in St. James Park.

"Are you alright?"

Her gaze fell from the telescope as she turned towards her husband. Sergei Nikulov seemed even older than his years as he took his familiar seat on the other side of their study. He shrugged. "They accused me of being a conman. Of whoring myself out to my rich wife. They accused me of planning to kill you. They accused me of actually killing Irina." He sighed. "They said you had told them everything. That you were angry; that you had discovered the truth and wanted me to suffer."

Margo stared at him. "Did you believe it?"

"Not for a moment. If you had wanted to do that, you would not have paid the ransom money all those years ago."

"No. I wouldn't have."

It was the hardest decision she had ever made. Ellen and Molly had argued with her, saying it was ridiculous to fork over that amount of cash to the Russian mob or the KGB or some con artist – to save a man who, admittedly, had been lying to her for the nine years of their acquaintance. But Margo had known three things. Sergei Nikulov loved her. He was brilliant at math. And he was a terrible liar. He had never been a conman. Just a sweet Russian engineer offered a job in America with strings he had never realised were there until they wrapped around his throat and pulled.

"They pulled the same stunt with me. Saying that you'd thrown me under the bus for a reduced sentence."

Sergei shook his head, chuckling darkly. "And you knew, yes? Knew I would never tell them this?"

"I did. I do." Margo smiled at her husband. Her husband of eleven years. It fell, slightly, as she thought of the woman who had tried to ruin that. Who had come into this house having earned Margo's friendship, her trust, and had tried to manipulate them against each other. The lies. The missing items. The cameras. Margo suddenly crossed the room and took Sergei's hand in hers. "But I need you to promise me something, Sergei. If it comes down to it. If the cops get their heads out of their asses and actually find some evidence, you will tell them it was me. Promise?" She squeezed his hand. "Promise me you won't tell them a damn thing about Aleida.

His grip on her hands tightened. "Not a word."

[best-nun-tournament]

Grand Final

Krauss, Eva, Rudolf and Rosa Ushiromiya (Umineko) vs Cersei, Jaime and Tyrion Lannister (A Song of Ice and Fire)

Propaganda under break

Krauss, Eva, Rudolf and Rosa Ushiromiya

The four children of billionaire Kinzo Ushiromiya. Every year, they return home to Rokkenjima Island for a family conference. With Kinzo's health declining, to the point where he hardly ever leaves his room, the only topic on their minds is how to carve up his fortune.

Krauss is the eldest, and Kinzo's successor. Even if he's not the smartest of the siblings, his position as heir and imposing physique let him push them around. He even used to beat his younger siblings. Now, they suspect him of abusing his position as Kinzo's caregiver to embezzle their rightful share of the family fortune.

Eva is the second child, and incredibly resentful about it. She despises the fact that despite being so much more intelligent than Krauss, he's always above her just because he's older and a man. She's devoted her whole life to usurping Krauss' position, and then devoted her son's life to becoming the next heir instead of Krauss' daughter. When not scheming against her brother, she loves finding ways to torment and cruelly provoke her siblings, sister-in-law, and the servants.

Rudolf is the third, and with little hope of becoming heir, became a conman and a playboy (though he eventually settled down as a married man and white-collar criminal). Suffering from his sibling's bullying, he turned all their physical and emotional abuse on his sister Rosa. Though unlike Eva, he's stopped being cruel to her as an adult.

Rosa is the youngest sibling, and she's had a terrible life. Even as an adult, she's still terrified of Eva and acts dumb around her for fear of provoking her. But if she was given the opportunity, she could easily make them pay for what she's suffered.

Cersei, Jaime, and Tyrion Lannister

Cersei HATES Tyrion. Hes not a big fan of her either on account of her absolutely hating him. Cersei (and her twin Jaime, who is actually a good brother to Tyrion) were born a few years earlier than Tyrion, and blames him for "killing their mother," because she died in childbirth. Everyone in their family (except Jaime) hates Tyrion because he has dwarfism, but Cersei hates him more than anyone else and has wanted him dead since childhood. (spoilers beyond this point for the books and show both) When Cersei's son is killed, her immediate instinct is to blame Tyrion and throw him in jail. She does everything in her power to have him killed.

------

The incest for starters. The fact that Cersei doesn’t see Tyrion as human. All the backstabbing. And that they made their own family problems everyone else’s tragic backstory and present out of their own lust for power

------

here's a quote from one of tyrion's chapters: "When your sister cries, you were supposed to comfort her... but this was Cersei."

[justinspoliticalcorner]

The choice for president has seldom been starker. On one side is Donald Trump, a felonious and twice-impeached conman, raring to finish off the job of dismantling American democracy. On the other is Kamala Harris, a capable and experienced leader who stands for traditional democratic principles. Nevertheless – and shockingly – the Los Angeles Times and the Washington Post have decided to sit this one out. Both major news organizations, each owned by a billionaire, announced this week that their editorial boards would not make a presidential endorsement, despite their decades-long traditions of doing so. There’s no other way to see this other than as an appalling display of cowardice and a dereliction of their public duty. At the Los Angeles Times, the decision rests clearly with Patrick Soon-Shiong, who bought the ailing paper in 2018, raising great hopes of a resurgence there. At the Post (where I was the media columnist from 2016 to 2022), the editorial page editor David Shipley said he owned the decision, but it clearly came from above – specifically from the publisher, Will Lewis, the veteran of Rupert Murdoch’s media properties, hand-picked last year by the paper’s owner, Jeff Bezos. Was Bezos himself the author of this abhorrent decision? Maybe not, but it could not have come as a surprise. All of this may look like nonpartisan neutrality, or be intended to, but it’s far from that. For one thing, it’s a shameful smackdown of both papers’ reporting and opinion-writing staffs who have done important work exposing Trump’s dangers for many years. It’s also a strong statement of preference. The papers’ leaders have made it clear that they either want Trump (who is, after all, a boon to large personal fortunes) or that they don’t wish to risk the ex-president’s wrath and retribution if he wins. If the latter was a factor, it’s based on a shortsighted judgment, since Trump has been a hazard to press rights and would only be emboldened in a second term. [...] Some news organizations upheld their duty and remained true to their mission. The New York Times endorsed Harris last month, calling her “the only patriotic choice for president”, and writing that Trump “has proved himself morally unfit for an office that asks its occupant to put the good of the nation above self-interest”. The Guardian, too, strongly endorsed Harris, saying she would “unlock democracy’s potential, not give in to its flaws”, and calling Trump a “transactional and corrupting politician”.

Margaret Sullivan at The Guardian on the cowardly abdication of the Washington Post and Los Angeles Times by refusing to endorse a Presidential candidate (10.25.2024).

The egregious and cowardly actions done by both the Washington Post and Los Angeles Times deciding to sit out the Presidential endorsements process this election is craven and cowardly, as both papers were set to endorse Kamala Harris (D). Even the New York Times, for all their faults, got it right by endorsing Kamala Harris.

[d0llsart]

mystery twins design WIP for one of my gravity falls AUs based on my culture and its folklore!

since alex hirsch himself posted a video on twitter of a caklempong gravity falls cover i was like YEAHHH NAW I GOTTA MAKE AN AU TO REP MY CULTURE

my context: im mixed indigenous and malay+indonesian and always grew up hearing stories and reading books about folklore from the malay archipelago — so what if i just *snap🫰🏼* malayified the pines twins

based on this tweet i made a few days ago

basically the nujum pak belalang folklore is that pak belalang is a conman (in this case of my AU it's stanley) and his child belalang (in my AU the mystery twins) helps him out with his plans to become a famous fortune teller for the raja (king)

there's so many more folklores i could add maybe even design pages of ford's journals to be pages of actual creatures from my culture such as orang bunian (essentially elves) and so much more

LIKE CHAT LEMME COOK ,,,, ?!?!