âââââââ㠀㠀㠀㠀㠀㠀㠀㠀㠀" Human will is a mechanism.
㠀㠀㠀㠀㠀㠀㠀㠀All mechanisms can be adjusted. "
âââ ۶ৠâžâž IDENTITY
ïŒïŒ Leonore BLOME
Her first name, âLeonore,â means light, brilliance. For her parents, it was a direction, almost a requirement: she had to become a brilliant scientist.
The last name âBlomeâ is a regional variant of âBlume,â which means âflowerâ in German. Behind its simple sound lies a delicate image associated with nature, youth, and blossomingâa subtle contrast between the softness of the meaning and the severity of the name.
ïŒïŒ CODENAME: WHITELEAF
The CIA assigned her the codename âWhiteleafâ because it reflected the dual image they cultivated around her: outwardly pale, composed, and unthreatening like a blank page or a clean leaf â yet capable of concealing complex, classified work beneath that surface. The name also subtly echoed her surnameâs floral origin, tying her identity to something organic and delicate, while masking the calculated precision of her research.
ïŒïŒ DUAL CITIZENSHIP: GERMAN-AMERICAN
She is German-American: her parents, grandparents, and entire family are German. However, she acquired American citizenship when her parents moved to the United States for official professional reasons.
ïŒïŒ DATE AND PLACE OF BIRTH
She was born on January 18, 1937, in Bielefeld, Germany.
âââ ۶ৠâžâž AFFILIATION
ïŒïŒ OFFICIAL ORGANIZATION AND STATUS:
She works actively at the CIA, within the Directorate of Science & Technology, more specifically in the behavioral research section, attached to an unofficial unit specializing in the study and experimentation of psychoactive substances.
She holds a dual position: Psychopharmacologist and Chemist, designing, analyzing, and supervising the use of chemical compounds in classified programs.
ïŒïŒ SECURITY CLEARANCE LEVEL:
She has Top Secret/SCI clearance, giving her strictly compartmentalized access to MKULTRA sub projects and highly classified files related to behavioral research.
ïŒïŒ DIRECT SUPERIOR:
She reports directly to the head of the behavioral research section within the Directorate of Science & Technology, working closely with the Technical Services Division.
ïŒïŒ CONNECTION TO CANON CHARACTERS:
She maintains regular operational contact with Russell Adler, acting as a scientific advisor for psychopharmacological interrogation protocols and behavioral conditioning assessments. She participates in strategic briefings led by Jason Hudson when operations require expertise in cognitive manipulation or mental resistance.Her work has indirectly involved Alex Mason, particularly in the analysis of the effects of conditioning and memory triggers.
âââ ۶ৠâžâž ACADEMIC BACKGROUND
ïŒïŒ UNIVERSITY:
She first earned a bachelor's degree in chemistry and molecular biology from Georgetown University, where she distinguished herself through her work on neurochemical interactions. She then pursued a PhD in experimental psychopharmacology at George Washington University, devoting her thesis to the study of the effects of psychoactive substances on memory and suggestibility mechanisms.
After completing her PhD, she joined a postdoctoral program at the Institute for Advanced Behavioral Sciences, a federally funded semi-private research center specializing in the applied analysis of human behavior.
Leonore Blome was born on January 18, 1938, in Bielefeld, Germany, into a family already marked by science and ideology. She was the daughter of Kurt Blome, a physician and scientist associated with the Nazi regime. During World War II (1939â1945), she grew up in comfortable but unstable circumstances with her mother Eva Blome and her two brothers, Elijah, the eldest, and Felix, a few years older than her. The shadow of war shaped her childhood: rationing, bombings, and cautious silence at home.
In 1946, following the Doctors' Trial (the Nuremberg Doctors' Trial), her father was arrested and detained. Leonore was eight years old. For nearly two years, the family lived without him. This period marked a psychological turning point: she gradually discovered the charges against her father. Between 1946 and 1948, her perception changed dramatically. She developed a growing aversion to Nazism and everything associated with itâincluding the idealized image she had of her father.
In August 1947, Kurt Blome was acquitted. Shortly thereafter, he received support from the Joint Intelligence Objectives Agency (JIOA) and was integrated into Operation Paperclip, a program aimed at recruiting German scientists to the United States. In 1949, the family left Germany and moved to the United States, settling first in Maryland, near federal research centers.
After moving, Leonore's material circumstances improved significantly. She became a naturalized American citizen in the early 1950s. Her parents adopted a strict, conservative, and discreet lifestyle. Her father closely monitored her academic progress, determined to channel her intelligence toward a strategic future.
Between 1956 and 1960, she pursued graduate studies in chemistry and molecular biology at Georgetown University. She then went on to earn a PhD in experimental psychopharmacology at George Washington University in 1966. Her thesis, which focused on the interactions between psychoactive substances and memory impairment, attracted the attention of government circles.
From 1966 to 1968, she completed a postdoctoral fellowship at a behavioral research institute indirectly funded by federal funds. During this period, her father made numerous informal recommendations to scientific contacts linked to intelligence agencies.
In 1969, Leonore was officially recruited by the CIA. She joined the Directorate of Science & Technology, within the behavioral research section. Shortly after joining, she was assigned to a classified MKULTRA subproject, which was still active in various administrative forms despite internal restructuring in the early 1970s.
At Langley headquarters, she briefly encountered operational figures such as Russell Adler and Jason Hudson, mainly during technical briefings related to interrogation protocols and conditioning assessments.
In the late 1970s, when some MKULTRA-related activities were officially dissolved or reorganized, Leonore remained within the CIA's behavioral structures, enjoying compartmentalized access to archives and derivative projects.
Spoiler: she's going to be Russ' """""one-night""""" stand.
Dieter aparece na casa de Shosanna sem aviso, claramente bĂȘbado, algo completamente fora do padrĂŁo impecĂĄvel e controlado que ele costuma manter. Ele estĂĄ carente, falando demais e com uma confiança absurda, como se estivesse revelando verdades Ăłbvias demais.
( eles n namoram e o flerte entre os dois sempre foi uma guerra de negação e provocaçÔes )
I wanted to write this post to thank y'all for supporting my blog every day. We've reached 100 subscribers, which is a great birthday present for me tomorrow, February 8 <3
Imagine the soft glow of candlelight flickering across the room as you and Dieter lie entwined in the sheets, your bodies still warm from passion. The flames cast dancing shadows on the walls, painting his skin in amber and gold, while the air around you feels thick with the lingering heat of your union.
Imagine Dieter pulling you closer against his chest, his breath steady and reassuring against your skin. You can feel the rise and fall of his ribcage, the warmth radiating from his body seeping into yours, his muscular arms creating a safe cocoon around you that makes the rest of the world disappear.
Imagine your heart still racing, not just from intimacy, but from lingering self-doubt that makes you want to pull the sheet higher. Your skin feels hypersensitive, every brush of fabric a reminder of your vulnerability, every exposed inch making you acutely aware of imperfections only you seem to see.
Imagine Dieter noticing your subtle shift, his sharp eyes catching the hesitation in your movements, even as you hide it with a shy smile. His gaze travels over your face with an intensity that makes your breath hitch, reading every micro-expression like he's memorizing the poetry written in your uncertainty.
Imagine him propping himself up on one elbow, his fingers gently tracing your jaw, tilting your face to meet his gazeâunwavering, adoring. His touch is feather-light yet electric, leaving trails of tingling warmth wherever his fingertips wander, his thumb brushing over your lower lip with tender possession.
Imagine the quiet moment stretching between you as he whispers your name like a secret, his voice low and soothing, filling the silence with affection. The sound rumbles from deep in his chest, wrapping around you like velvet, each syllable drenched in devotion that makes your stomach flutter with butterflies.
Imagine timidity rising to your cheeks, your hands instinctively moving to cover yourself, that old insecurity making you avert your eyes. The flush spreads down your neck, across your collarbone, betraying your vulnerability as you try to shield yourself from scrutiny, even from the man who loves you most.
Imagine Dieter shaking his head softly, a gentle smile on his lips as he reaches for your hands, intertwining his fingers with yours to stop you from hiding. His grip is firm but tender, his calloused palms pressing against your softer ones, anchoring you to this moment, to his unwavering acceptance.
Imagine him leaning in to press a feather-light kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lipsâeach one a promise that he's here, that he sees all of you. His lips linger on yours, tasting you slowly, savoring the sweetness of your mouth as if he has all the time in the world to worship you properly.
Imagine him murmuring against your skin, "You're beautiful"âwords simple yet profound, aimed straight at your self-consciousness. His breath ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, his words vibrating through you with a sincerity that makes your eyes prick with unexpected emotion.
Imagine whispering back, your voice timid, "But my breasts⊠they're not perfect," the admission slipping out in the vulnerability of the afterglow. The words taste bitter on your tongue, years of insecurity tumbling out in this unguarded moment, your voice barely above a whisper as you voice the fear you've carried for so long.
Imagine Dieter's eyes lighting up with love and determination, as if your words only fuel his desire to show you otherwise. A fire ignites in those depths, not of lust but of purposeâa mission to dismantle every doubt, to replace each criticism with reverence, to teach your body it deserves adoration.
Imagine him shifting slightly, his hand releasing yours to trail down your armâslow, deliberateâgiving you time to pull away. But you don't. His fingertips map a sensual path from your wrist to your shoulder, each touch intentional, each caress designed to make you feel cherished, desirable, utterly his.
Imagine the sheet slipping as he moves, exposing you more. Though your instinct is to cover up, his reassuring touch keeps you still. The cool air kisses your heated skin, a contrast that makes you hyperaware of every inch now revealed, yet his steady gaze gives you courage to remain bare before him.
Imagine Dieter's gaze falling to your breasts with pure reverenceânot lust, but deep, cherishing admiration that makes your breath catch. His eyes darken with emotion as they trace every curve, every contour, drinking you in like you're a masterpiece he's been waiting his whole life to behold, his lips parting slightly in awe.
Imagine him leaning down, his lips brushing the curve of one breast so softly it's like a whisper, sending a shiver through you despite the warmth. The sensation is exquisiteâbarely there yet overwhelming, his warm breath fanning across your sensitive skin, his mouth hovering with deliberate restraint that makes anticipation coil tight in your belly.
Imagine tensing a little, shyness bubbling up, but Dieter pauses, looking up at you with those intense eyes, waiting for your nod. His face rests against your chest, his stubble grazing your delicate skin, creating a delicious friction that makes your nerves sing. He waits, patient and present, giving you all the control in this vulnerable moment.
Imagine giving that small, hesitant permission, your self-doubt warring with the trust you have in him, in this bond as husband and wife. The nod is barely perceptible, but it's enoughâenough for him to continue his worship, enough to bridge the gap between your insecurity and his devotion, enough to let love win.
Imagine his mouth returning, placing tender kisses along the swellâeach one deliberate, like he's mapping out every inch with love. His lips are impossibly soft, pressing into your flesh with reverent attention, tracing the underside, the curve, the fullness with such focused dedication that each kiss feels like a confession of adoration.
Imagine him whispering between kisses, "These are perfect to me," his voice husky yet sincere, making your heart flutter. The words are punctuated by open-mouthed kisses that grow warmer, wetter, more insistent, his tongue darting out to taste your skin, to leave evidence of his worship on every inch he can reach.
Imagine your fingers threading through his hairâa timid encouragementâas he continues, his hands cupping you gently, thumbs brushing over your skin. You feel the weight of your breasts in his palms, supported and treasured, his thumbs sweeping across with maddening slowness, circling closer to your sensitive peaks but not quite touching, drawing out the anticipation until you're breathless.
Imagine the room filled with soft soundsâkisses, murmurs, your quiet sighsâas he cherishes one breast, then the other, equally. The wet sounds of his devotion mingle with your increasingly unsteady breathing, your soft gasps when his mouth finds particularly sensitive spots, his low hums of appreciation that vibrate against your flesh and shoot pleasure straight to your core.
Imagine the tension in your body melting away, replaced by warmth that has nothing to do with earlier passion. This heat is differentâslower, deeper, building from his tender ministrations rather than urgent desire, a warmth that spreads through your chest and settles in your heart, convincing you with every kiss that you are, indeed, worthy of this kind of love.
Imagine Dieter pausing to look up, his expression pure devotion, his lips swollen and glistening from worshipping you. "I've dreamed of this, of you, just as you are." His eyes hold yours with such naked honesty that you can see the truth reflected thereâthis isn't flattery, it's revelation, his genuine desire for every part of you laid bare.
Imagine biting your lip, still self-conscious, but his words chipping away at the walls you've built around that insecurity. Each declaration is a hammer blow against your defenses, each kiss a gentle erosion of the barriers you've maintained for years, his persistent tenderness slowly convincing you that maybe, just maybe, you can see yourself through his eyes.
Imagine him shifting to lie beside you again, pulling you into his arms so your breasts press against his chestâskin to skin, no barriers. The contact is electric, your sensitive nipples brushing against the firm planes of his torso, the coarse hair on his chest creating delicious friction, your softness molding perfectly to his hardness as if you were created to fit together exactly this way.
Imagine the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours, a silent reassurance that he's not going anywhere, that this is real. You can feel it thundering beneath his ribs, strong and steady, a counterpoint to your own still-racing pulse, the two rhythms finding synchronicity as you breathe together, exist together in this perfect bubble of intimacy.
Imagine his hand stroking your back in slow circles while his other hand rests possessively yet tenderly over one breast, claiming it with love. His palm is warm and slightly rough, covering you completely, his touch both protective and proprietary, a silent declaration that this body, these breasts, all of you belong to him in the most beautiful sense of the word.
Imagine nestling closer, your shyness easing into comfort, whispering "Thank you," though the words feel inadequate. Your lips brush against the hollow of his throat as you speak, tasting the salt of his skin, breathing in his scentâsandalwood and something uniquely Dieterâthat surrounds you like a comforting embrace.
Imagine Dieter chuckling softly, the sound vibrating through you. "No thanks needed, my love. This is what husbands doâadore their wives." The rumble of his laughter resonates through your chest where you're pressed together, the vibration intimate and grounding, reminding you that this closeness, this vulnerability, is your new normalâsomething to embrace rather than fear.
Imagine the conversation drifting into lighter territory, his stories from the day making you laugh, all while his touch remains gentle on your skin. His fingers continue their lazy explorationâtracing your spine, cupping your breast, stroking your sideânever stopping, never losing interest, a constant tactile reminder of his presence and devotion even as words flow easily between you.
Imagine feeling bold enough to trace patterns on his chest in return, your timidity giving way to reciprocity in this intimate aftercare. Your fingertips map the landscape of his bodyâthe ridges of muscle, the dips and planes, the steady thrum of his pulse beneath your palmâlearning him the way he's learned you, claiming your right to explore and appreciate as freely as you've been appreciated.
Imagine him capturing your hand to kiss your knuckles, then guiding it back, encouraging your exploration as he continues lavishing attention on you. His lips are soft against your fingers, his tongue darting out to taste the sensitive skin between them before he places your hand back on his body, giving you permission, urging you to take what you want, to be as bold with him as he is with you.
Imagine the night deepening, neither of you rushing to sleep, content in this bubble of newlywed bliss. The candles burn lower, the wax pooling and dripping, the flames guttering and dancing, casting increasingly intimate shadows as the room grows darker and your world shrinks to just the two of you, skin against skin, breath mingling, hearts aligned.
Imagine Dieter whispering praises againâspecific now, about the softness, the shape, the way they fit perfectly in his handsâeach word a balm to your self-doubt. "I love how soft you are here," he murmurs, his palm skimming the underside. "The weight of you, the warmth, the way you respond to my touchâit's intoxicating. You're intoxicating." His words paint pictures of beauty where you once saw only flaws.
Imagine protesting weakly, still shy. "You're just saying that." But the sincerity in his eyes tells you otherwise. There's no deception in those depths, no polite lies or empty flatteryâonly raw, honest desire and appreciation that burns so brightly you can almost feel its heat, warming you from the inside out, melting the last remnants of your resistance.
Imagine him demonstrating further, his lips returning to worshipâslow, unhurriedâturning aftercare into an art form. This time his kisses are open-mouthed, wetter, his tongue tracing patterns on your skin that make you gasp, his teeth grazing gently in contrast to the soft suction of his lips, creating a symphony of sensations that prove beyond words how much he cherishes every inch of you.
Imagine your breaths mingling as he pulls back, foreheads touching, sharing a look that speaks volumes without words. The intimacy of this momentâeyes locked, breathing the same air, existing in the tiny space between your bodiesâfeels more profound than the physical passion that preceded it, a soul-deep connection that transcends flesh and reminds you why you chose this man, this life, this love.
Imagine the vulnerability fading, replaced by growing confidence sparked by his unwavering adoration. Each kiss has been a building block, each word of praise a brick in the foundation of your new self-image, and now you can feel itâa tentative but real shift in how you perceive yourself, seeing glimpses of the beautiful woman he sees when he looks at you.
Imagine wrapping your arms around him, pulling him close, your breasts no longer a source of worry but of connection. You press yourself against him deliberately this time, not hiding but offering, feeling the way your softness yields to his hardness, the way you fit together, the way this physical union mirrors the emotional one you've forged in the sacred space of this bed.
Imagine Dieter sighing contentedly, his enthusiasm tempered by this mature tenderness he's discovered with you. His hands continue their gentle exploration, no longer urgent but contemplative, savoring, his touch speaking of long-term devotion rather than temporary passion, promising a lifetime of nights like thisâtender, intimate, real.
Imagine the two of you drifting into peaceful quiet, bodies relaxed, hearts aligned in the aftermath. The silence is comfortable now, filled with the soft sounds of synchronized breathing, the occasional rustle of sheets, the distant flicker of dying candles, everything else fading away until there's only warmth, safety, love, and the certain knowledge that you are cherished exactly as you are.
Imagine waking slightly later, still in his arms, finding his hand still gently cupping youâa subconscious act of cherishing. Even in sleep, he holds you close, his palm warm against your breast, his body curved protectively around yours, his sleeping face peaceful and beautiful in the low light, proving that his devotion isn't performance but instinct.
Imagine smiling to yourself, the self-consciousness not entirely gone, but diminished, thanks to his devoted care. The doubts still whisper at the edges of your mind, old habits die hard, but they're quieter now, drowned out by the memory of his words, his kisses, his reverent touch, by the undeniable evidence that you are wanted, desired, lovedâimperfections and all.
Imagine him stirring, pulling you closer, murmuring sleepily, "Mine to love, always." His voice is rough with sleep, but the possessiveness in his tone sends a shiver of pleasure down your spine, the promise in those simple words wrapping around your heart and squeezing gently, reminding you that thisâthis love, this acceptance, this devotionâis yours to keep, now and forever.
Imagine replying with a soft kiss to his shoulder, your timidity softened into affection, ready for whatever comes next in your shared life. Your lips linger on his warm skin, tasting him one more time before sleep reclaims you both, feeling grateful, cherished, and perhaps for the first time in your life, truly beautiful in all the ways that matterânot because your body changed, but because love taught you to see it differently.
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