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#ofc no context is an excuse
tosahobi-if · 7 days
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yeri i love you but you scare me. why's there a manipulation tag for ???
oh no, how'd that get in there?
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ppl will be explaining how a difference is a difference & not a Deviation from a Superior state, & people who are the ones considered Default Normal (superior) will be like "okay....to be polite....i Might say i consider Some aspects of Some people's existence mere 'difference' & not being less than me...." as like hey i'm a Benevolent god. i still actually get to consider you worse & don't have to "humor" anything that challenges my superiority. if you only want everything to fit into the norm then it will all come back to upholding the norm. thinking of people's analysis of their own realities as equally legimate as being like Obscure, Irrelevant, Superficial & then using that reasoning to justify dismissing them. same as worrying that the [Different Lessers (Others(tm))] as Everywhere = a manifestation of the awareness that, yeah, respecting them as equals Does threaten your norm which is smothering everything everywhere. ppl who need to lock in the idea of Borders around personhood like um Yes they're all delineated separate Identities outside any hierarchy & so i think it's relevant to for some reason push back against "ohh so now Everyone's queer" like why not. why couldn't they be. what if they were. what if queerness was everywhere b/c it's ideological not a cordoned off Alternative Identity that is accommodated by focusing on Love(tm) as the new border around whose existence we might begrudgingly accept at arm's length (i.e. being otherwise "normal"! just imagine swapping out the binary gender (or, deep breath, presumed Private Parts) of one partner in an exclusive romantic lifelong nuclear family marriage, & that is Gay / Trans Rights. still gross but maybe we can do it, as long as they don't talk about it or shove it in our faces or even exist for more than one encounter w/us in our lives b/c what are the odds). evergreen laughing at someone suggesting ableist logic might be embedded in language of past & present b/c it's just So little to ask for that it's irrelevant but it's also So much to ask for that of course i'm not gonna do anything more than pass it along like "this is why i don't take ableism seriously" like yeah it's the disabled randos like it's the individual cringe teens(tm) ruining [the cishets would take Gender seriously otherwise!!!] & that's why you won't think about it or do anything about it & continue being comfortable with the norm & resent that actually their Difference is Less & disability is something worse that ppl "excuse" & all these ways that people are & all these things that they do are funny & weird & inexplicable & etc & one can't possibly be cruising along perpetuating a hierarchy with a sense that you're reasonable, well meaning, kind, etc etc & thus Justified, systemic oppression definitely wants to maximize how uncomfortable & arduous it feels to everyone rather than push to make it more streamlined & rewarding to embrace, or at least accept, whatever superiority over others you're afforded
#circled around to lovelessness as a lens there. so long as one was loving. so long as one wasn't consciously malicious#really just mask off about keeping the same perspective of Superiority when conflating disability & ppl ''making excuses''#same as like e.g. that ppl consider everything an autistic person does as being Bad / Wrong / Worse. (this includes ''unskilled''!!!)#(crushing the Social Skills(tm) framework in talking abt allistic difference in my fist)#such that they think sm1 saying Autistic!! is then something they might be unfairly Beholden to to Put Up With their Wrongness#at special times in special scenarios....rather than like in some contexts you are no more ''right'' than the other party#different groups & cultures whose Norms Standards & Expectations could render You presumed rude thoughtless pushy etc#obvious overlaps to consider re: the Norms of like english speaking as ''universal'' someone noticeably speaking it as nth language?#time to Presume their ideas & contributions are Less. if they had the good brain like you their fluency would render their linguistic#Wrongness in having a diff 1st language invisible thus irrelevant. like the ''ideal'' for disability! as the ''ideal'' for anyone Passing#in any way! queer ppl surely all want to be as proximate to cishet ideals (just as cishet ppl should!) nonwhite ppl to Ideal White#women's rights = Proving they're As Good As men. ladies you're using too many exclamation points!! be Confident be Pushier!!#but ofc nobody actually wants the Others(tm) to be Equal. they're just saying ''it's your innate Wrongness that means you Aren't''#the ableism logic in everything. men just Are better at xyz. oh we Can abuse autists...into being as proximate to allistic as possible!!#just actually means ''oh we Can abuse autists.'' the ''correctness'' is your Difference ''intruding'' less into allistic existence#force you to be harmed & diminished all day then save your meltdowns for when you're alone & out of the way#ppl's tweets like ''when ppl say 'omg too sensitive ofc i wasn't talking abt disabled ppl!' like yeah no shit b/c you never think of#disabled ppl'' like yeah most people idk aren't making their life's agenda to stop everyone from saying Stupid#but like believe me people organically sense the Vintage R words when you get called Idiot in exactly the same spirit & purpose#i mean that's so rworded as in that's so gay!! cmon!! & it's fine if you don't say either to gay ppl or. or. [insert the office quote]#oh i don't call um 20th c disabled ppl morons it's bad taste!! but b/c i use it Figuratively in the present it's fine it's so Different#fr i can't remember like. an article w/1 matter of fact sentence from a doctor using a [now Just a childish insult!!] as Diagnostic Label#for someone's disability & it still registered like ice water in the face. presumably no ''especial'' Malice just matter of fact!#it wasn't ''idiot'' it may have been ''moron'' fr. the vintage ''factual'' r word is There plain as day#like yeah ofc the ableism gets channeled into alternate language. & then complaints abt that is like UGH CMON!!!#like idk shouldn't you be fine using the R word then too? not really sweating this issue thee most all thee time either but like#it's not sooo funny even if someone seems pressed extensively abt it. not that hard to in fact just not use all these words all the time#ppl will be throwing out their ableism w/o Any labels talking about how Weird Offputting Etc someone acts so you can Tell they're bad....#and yeah you should think abt that. anytime. the [difference used to categorize ''other'' is Just difference] Is Everywhere All The Time#the idea it can & should be ''contained'' for especial limited specific occasions (when you're feeling Nice!) = upholding the status quo
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finalrestingplace · 2 years
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ok people who speak the language of Adulting. i got this one for ya.
does this sound bitchy? not okay? how can i make it sound less terrible if it is?
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nicnacsnonsense · 2 years
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The perennial tumblr question: is it really an unpopular opinion that I have or did I just do a bad job curating my experience?
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selamat-linting · 10 months
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its not my job desk but i'll do it but dont be mad when i can't do it properly lol.
#weaponized incompetence strikes again#context : my boss have been understaffing people#esp in the customer service division so we have to cover for them occasionally#i do it for my coworker so she'd get a break with reasonable hours#but im aware how it excuse my boss from not hiring more ppl#i've been thinking of a way to deal with this but#guess what?#today the owner came for a session and since im not the customer service my treatment of him is not#up to standards#he requested for a towel and i genuinely dont know where it is#i was looking it up but then when i came up with nothing they have left#ofc i call the CS on break asking where the towels are so i can give it to them like some lowly servant#and then a few mins the cs came and gave me the key but ofc i asked her. okay cool where's the place i can get them#turns out only the janitor knows. and theyre nowhere in sight since theyre a new hire and is the only one in our shift today#adding another couple more minutes in the towel drama#so now the owner is mad and is taking it out on the manager#honestly it could be anything that set him ofd#he wants to buy a drink? oh yeah sorry. you need to give me the exact amount because im not allowed to touch the register#you want a spesific locker room? yeah im not trained to remember which one's where#he wants a system read? yeah haha im technically not allowed to do it#but yeah the manager came. and i explain the situation in the way that put me in the best light possible#and he just. sighed in resignation and go#okay. why dont you just come sit down in your desk#he cant even be mad at me lmaooo#if he did get mad at me though. he has no right to. im just a substitute who is given a task i dont even have the clearance for#posts about my life#can you believe this is one of the best workplaces im in#at my previous job i was given the keys to open a store all by myself on my second day#i pissed in a bag once because we were sooo fucking understaffed that i have to be alone running an entire store from 9 am to 3pm#at least this job has regular parties lmao
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killinfate · 5 months
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Hey :) , if your request are still open, i would like to request, but feel free to do this or not, so i would like to request an imagine (female reader) with carmen berzatto with some jealousy, where he's like possessive and all and maybe with some angst, for the context and everything it's your choice, please?
Thank you for your time, have a nice day/night :)
yes ofc! thank you sm for the carmy request can’t wait for season 3!!
BELIEVE ME.
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CARMY BERZATTO X FEM!READER
— GOOD THINGS NEVER CAME TO CARMEN, SO WHEN THEY DID HE SAVOURED THEM A LITTLE TOO MUCH.
Carmen usually picked you up from work.
6:00pm.
That was always the time.
He sat in his car, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel as he waited outside. It’d been a long day and he was grateful he’d get to spend the evening with you now. However you were taking a little longer. He tried seeing if he could see you through the glass window; he could.
There you were, at the counter looking down at a slip of paper and a pen in your hand. Carmen’s eyes averted to the man stood beside you. Marc was his name? Ever since Carmen had got with you he began to see the man in a different light.
Carmen rubbed his chin, feeling his jaw tense.
Eventually you came out, a little later than usual. That was fine, right?
Carmen wasn’t going to let his thoughts intervene with his evening with you, yet it lingered in his mind. He was quieter in the drive back to his apartment but you figured he’d had a difficult day.
Finally you get there, the both of you throwing on some random movie. You had dinner and lay against him on the couch. He seemed touchier than usual, clingier..
You looked to the television screen, the light illuminating the room. Carmen kissed your forehead, eventually it coming more frequent. You laughed and looked up, about to ask him a question before he kissed your lips.
The kiss was deep, intimate. You weren’t complaining.
When he finally broke the kiss you decided to ask, looking to him. “Where’s this coming from?” You inquired with a smile. “I mean, I like it but you’ve never been like this before.”
Carmen leaned in and kissed your lips once more, his arms around your waist and skimming gently past your shirt. “Marc.” He murmured absentmindedly against your lips.
“Wait, Marc? Why Marc?” You laughed a little. At first you simply found it funny but you soon grew curious. What did he mean?
He continued to press kisses to your lips, his lips trailing down to your neck. “I don’t know.” He mumbled, not thinking about his words.
You were though.
Your brows furrowed. “Carm why Marc?” You ask. “I don’t know.” He mumbled once more.
“Thought he was kind of…close that’s all.” Carmen murmurs. You move your head back a little, looking to him confused.
“Carmen.” You said looking to him.
“What?” He asked, laughing a little.
“Nothing is going on with me and Marc.” You tell him, crossing your arms. You were clearly a little annoyed. Carmen moved back, running a hand through his hair.
“So I’m just seeing stuff?” He says a little defensively.
“Yes, you are because we were just talking and—“ Carmen cuts you off with a laugh. “Just talking.” He says mockingly.
“We were sorting out what shifts to take!” You told him. He didn’t respond and there was that look on his face, that slight smile, that told you he wasn’t taking this seriously.
“Believe me Carmen.” You spoke firmly.
“I don’t know if I should.” He tells you. Carmen had no trust in you right now.
You were his. Not Marc’s. His.
“Excuse me?” You asked as if you didn’t hear him correctly. Never once had Carmen doubted your trust.
“I said I don’t know if I should.” He says with a slight hint of remorse.
You scoff and he watches you get up and leave the room, slamming the bedroom door shut.
Carmen had never been jealous before like this, so naturally he wasn’t sure how to act. He just wanted you, to know you were close and weren’t about to leave him.
He was definitely sleeping on the couch tonight.
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dracoxmalereader · 4 months
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Summer Sun
Draco x Male Reader
Context: A continuation of All at Once and Windowsill, but ofc you don't have to read those to read this. Reader is a ravenclaw a year above Draco. <3 And Draco can play the organ because I said so.
Summary: The train rides home on the last day of school always drag on endlessly. Unless, of course, you just so happen to be sharing a less than spacious cabin with the ravenclaw you're obsessed with like Draco is.
Word Count: 1107
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The wheels of the Hogwarts Express rumbled steadily against the tracks, chugging along its monotonous route. The cars had long since fallen to relative quiet, chatter having died down in place of fatigue from a year well-attended. Most students present were either lazily gazing out a window at the familiar scenery or asleep altogether, well ready to snooze through the journey home.
Draco leaned against his hand, shifting his weight every so often to stave off the aches that came with sitting still. Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy had gone silent, leaving Draco alone with his thoughts. He huffed, pushing himself out of his seat and mumbling some excuse about going to get air and trailing away through the cars of the train in hopes to ease his boredom. 
He was clammy, the warmth and humidity of an approaching July seeping into the air. He tugged at the collar of his shirt in discomfort, damp skin tacky against the fabric. He mosied on, hoping to run into the snack cart or maybe even Potter and his posse to pick on. Instead, he stopped in his tracks when he caught sight of familiar hair through the heat-fogged window of one of the cabins.
The air caught in his throat. You looked as breathtaking as ever, book in hand as he found you usually were. He ducked into the doorway, hoping you wouldn’t comment on him sliding the door shut behind him. He slumped down onto the bench beside you, trying to ignore the racing of his pulse when you looked over at him in favor of acting as nonchalant as he could manage.
You were wearing casual clothes he’d never seen you in before, only having ever run into you during the school day. Something about the informality of it made Draco’s head spin, and he felt heat rising to his face as he imagined you looking as at-home and cozy in his family Manor. Suddenly the weather didn’t seem all that warm.
“Celebrating the end of the year alone?” The smile you gave him made his heart flutter. He was entirely too proud of himself for landing the joke, and he wanted nothing more than to make you laugh until your sides hurt.
“Hello to you, too, Draco.” Your eyes left him and returned to your book, still smiling. Draco was a professional at competing for attention, but right now he found the only competition that mattered was for yours, and he was not going to lose to a book. 
“What are you reading?” He leaned into your space, and his lungs lurched up his throat when you leaned into his, tilting the pages towards him. So close together, Draco swore he could smell your clothes, boyish and earthy and so distinctly you he’d shell out hundreds of galleons on Amortentia to get more of it, to be engulfed in it.
“It’s for Herbology, I’m reading ahead so I can sleep through class next year.” How admirable, Draco thought to himself, a little flustered at the fantastical image of you as a class-cutting bad boy. You flipped to a page you’d already read, one with a picture. “This is the chapter about Whomping Willows.”
“Like the nutty tree behind the school?” Draco asked, even though he knew already. He just wanted you to keep talking.
You nodded, “Exactly.” You straightened in your seat, shimmying to get comfortable again. Draco’s throat ached at the loss of closeness. 
“Violent thing, it is. Or so I’ve heard.” He made a point to sound open-ended, hoping you’d take it as a question rather than the statement it was. 
“Yeah,” You took the bait, and Draco didn’t fail to notice how you didn’t turn back to the page you were reading. “Some idiot in the year above me flew right past it on his broom once, almost got knocked all the way to Hogsmeade.”
“What kind of oaf would go flying past the Whomping Willow?”
“Beats me,” You huff out a laugh. “Sounds like something that thickheaded Potter would get himself into.”
Draco’s stomach churned in jealousy at the mention of his scar-headed enemy. He rolled his eyes, deciding that Potter’s name was the only thing that didn’t sound good in your mouth. You closed your book, tossing it haphazardly to the bench on the opposite side of the cabin. Pulling your legs up, you tugged your knees to your chest, now facing Draco. His eyes met yours and he felt like his tongue had melted, response dying in his mouth.
“You would totally survive.” You blinked at him, smiling. Too focused on your eyelashes, he found that the object of conversation had slipped his mind entirely. 
“Uh,” He choked out, lost in your unfaltering grin. “Survive what?”
“The Whomping Willow.” 
He cleared his throat, embarrassment creeping up his face. “Oh, right.”
“You’re a great seeker,” You continued. “So I think you’d be fine if you flew past it.”
His veins thrummed at the praise. An unfamiliar feeling of bashfulness filled him. He felt the overwhelming urge to go to quidditch practice, his mind feeding him images of you cheering him on at a game. 
He wanted to win every quidditch game for the rest of his time at Hogwarts just so you’d congratulate him, wanted to win the quidditch world cup and present the trophy to you as a courting gift.
“I’m only second best, you know.” He fought a smile, unable to feel sour at his words with you around. He hoped you’d say something nice about him to better it if he did, hoped you’d say something nice about him anyways. "After that thickheaded Potter."
“Second best is still on the podium. You’d probably be first if Dumbledork didn’t have the whole school giving Gryffindor special treatment, anyways.” In your eyes was a spark he couldn’t read, your expression even. Draco wanted to make you a Malfoy. 
From the nickname you’d given Dumbledore to the backhanded Potter slander, Draco Malfoy had made up his mind that he wanted you to leave this train at his stop and come live in the Manor with him and his parents. He wanted to watch you play with his father’s peacocks, wanted to teach you to play the organ, wanted to show you off to his mother and show her how well he’d done for himself bringing you home to them. 
He felt his ribs expand around the next shaky breath he took in, and he was thankful for the summer sun beating down over the sky so he had an excuse to be as red and clammy as he was sure he was.
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I started this at like 2am and now it's 5:11 I hope this is good. TT
Draco is well worth ruining my sleep schedule. <3
It's his fault anyways, I had a dream that we were in bloxburg and he was in my room because Hatsune Miku was trying to kill him and he broke my bedframe kicking it. Why was he kicking my bedframe? I let him hide from Miku in my room, that ungrateful brat. I was so mad I woke up.
Tags: @gayaristocrat @nowayisthistakenyet @dracoshusband
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roxtron · 24 days
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Day 5: Rabbit, Reclaim
AGJGDFJF FINALLY IT'S DAY 5 SO I CAN POST THIS
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For some reason everytime i draw him he looks so young because i'm accidentally overcorrecting since i'm used to drawing older characters. So unfortunately he looks way younger than i meant him to lol, whoops.
But wait there's more- AHAHAHA
While I did initially plan this for GGY week I eventually got the idea to use this as an excuse to draw other GGY designs, soo..
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(Not sure why tumblr formatted it that way with 1 of them big but it doesn't matter lol)
I've been wanting to do this for a while, I put the tags of each person next to their design but ofc I'm still gonna tag them in the post itself so you can see their art for yourself if you haven't already. But I enjoyed each of these in their own ways so if you don't mind I think I'm gonna type a bit of text next to them..
@chipistrate This was one of the first I drew out of these, the design was pretty fun to draw but sorry if I messed up a few details, it was a bit difficult lol. The mask and goggles are really fun to draw and they make for a cool design, along with all the glowing blue. (and yes, I tried to subtly include the heelies lol)
@lunzi0 This was the first fursuit one I did lol. I adore the little stars in the design, they personalize it so well and make it really unique. I wanna try this design again since I feel like the other ones show my improvement a bit better, but I hope you can appreciate the effort I put in on my first attempt <3
@carouselrabbit This one was really fun to draw, I absolutely love the eye shape/lashes, it stands out and I always love drawing eyes with a bit of eyeliner lol, the daycare theme legwarmers is a cool nod to the balloon boy arcade machine being connected to them, and was just a fun addition in general lol, I like the style of legwarmers what can I say, fnaf changed my fashion sense a bit. also the subtle paraells to freddy's design is a nice way to connect a bit to gregory himself.
@puhpandas I can't remember if I talked about this design last time I drew it but, overall I'm really happy with how this came out, it's such an indicator of improvement since I started drawing this and I'm glad I was able to draw it better than last time lol. All the patchwork and similarities to Vanny's suit work really well, and the rabbit you chose to base it off of was a good fit, the colors make it a bit more difficult to shade for but i like detail lol, hope you like it too :)
@dykevanny I knew I wanted to do this since I started but I wasn't sure if I'd have time, and I'm glad I did! I hope you don't mind I combined aspects from the first design I saw and the second one you replied to my ask with, I liked the big purple sleeves lol. (I just realized after doing all the shading I forgot to include the oil splatter on his jacket, sorry!) It was definitely a bit difficult due to the head shape being so different but.. fluffy. i love drawing fluff. And the glowing swirl on the goggles, the shape of the ears, I love a lot about this design. :D
I have a hard time with writing compliments but I wanted to get some of those thoughts out, some of the things I like about these designs apply to multiple lol. I adore every one of these designs but I find it hard to put into words what I enjoy about them, hope the original creators are happy with these. <3
I also kept the ggys without as much lighting effects on a separate file, I felt like I should add them since they're a bit brighter lol, makes them look different.
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Okay now that I've gotten all that- Sorry this post is so long! I didn't think it'd end up taking up so much space lol. Buut.. working on this drawing and thinking about it and potential context behind it gave me an au idea for it, but I'll put it under the cut since I understand most people probably won't care and just wanna see the drawings lol.
Idk if I'm confident enough to write for it but I'll give a bit of a summary.. I'll keep it under the cut for people who aren't interested and just wanna see the art though lol.
After the main events of SB and Ruin, now that the mimic's been set free, Cassie's taken control of by what's left of Vanny, using her as a new host. But with Cassie being the only human left alive down there, after being reawakened, Dr. Rabbit has nowhere left to go but back to his old host.
Vanessa, Freddy, and Gregory hadn't gone back to the Pizzaplex after ruin, but they were trying to figure out a plan to get Cassie back safely. One night after Freddy and Gregory disappear, Vanessa leaves to go find them. As dangerous as the pizzaplex is, it's her best guess for where they might've gone. She doesn't want to think about what could've happened to them, in denial for the worst case scenario. She tries to keep herself calm by telling herself they probably just left to go back for Cassie, maybe they didn't want her stopping them.. but deep down she knows it can't be that simple. She knows something's off, even if she's not ready to admit it.
When returning to the pizzaplex, she brought along her own V.A.N.N.I. mask, though unlike the one Cassie used, it was clear of the mimic's influence. After all, she was going to need some way to travel through potential blocked routes.
By the time she found Gregory, she'd still been wearing the mask, seeing him down the end of a dark hallway. He looked confused, afraid, his mind was a wreck of conflicting emotions. She started rushing towards him, happy to see him okay, until he finally spoke.
"You need to get out of here."
She stepped back, taking off the mask, only to be faced with the worst case scenario.
It was a wreck, covered in stains and tears, but it was still recognizable. He was wearing that old suit again.
As he waved, she could see Freddy's claws peeking out from the doorway, as the two stepped closer towards her.
So, she did what he told her to do, and started running. She could hear a faint voice coming from the mask, and put it back on before finding somewhere she could hide.
It was his voice again, telling her which way to go.
I guess that was the dramatic way to summarize the main idea behind it, lol. Basically Gregory and Dr. Rabbit work the way Sun and Moon work in Ruin, whichever one is in control in the real world, the other is left behind in the AR world. Or at least that's my interpretation of how they worked, considering Sun was always in mask-on scenes and moon was mask-off. I'm not too sure where the plot might go from there, and maybe I'll consider writing for it, I dunno. I've never wrote fanfic before because I get deadly afraid of writing them out of character lol, but maybe?? I have ideas for scenes and premise and stuff but I don't know if I have the confidence to write it.
But anyway! That was just more of a fun side-idea I came up with while working on this, if you read this far thanks, hope you enjoyed :)
here's some silly little lineless doodles as a reward for making it to the end hehe
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now that's what I call an art dump
@ggyweek2024
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whetstonefires · 1 year
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oh hang on so Oliver Twist as a book is largely about child labor, right.
like the commonality between the workhouse, the abusive apprenticeship, and the pickpocket gang is that Oliver is being exploited. for his labor. and Fagin's gang while crossing the line into illegality and therefore in some ways the most dangerous is also the most pleasant of the three.
and ofc which i have underconsidered until now, child labor was fully legal at the time and a major political issue--the 1833 Factory Act had only just recently outlawed employing under-nines on the factory floor, or working 9-13 year olds more than 9 hours a day, and 13-18 year olds more than 12.
it was a struggle to enforce and it was controversial.
so. Fagin's gang replicates that factory owner-child laborer relationship on a tiny, illicit scale, where the kids are taking all the risks and doing all the work and he's getting most of the profit, and it's not fair, but oh he's giving them food and a place to sleep and wouldn't they be worse off without him? (they would is the thing. but does that make it okay?)
with the goal of this being that next time Dickens' milquetoast middle-class readers encountered an argument for the benevolence of a guy employing child labor to maximize his profits they might go, hey! that's not true, he's just like that crook Fagin!
but of course this kind of political messaging works best when it can't be too readily clocked as such--if Fagin was obviously a stand-in for a respectable capitalist, a lot more of the readers would be comfortable excusing him.
which is why he's Jewish, and why the text belabors that point so obsessively--antisemitism is being used as a lever to discourage the public from identifying with Child Labor Exploiting Guy and to characterize his desire to accumulate wealth at the expense of others as greedy, selfish, and illegitimate.
i could never quite figure what the point of using that stock character in that context and so emphatically was. especially after learning that, having had it extensively explained that it was harmful to actual Jewish people to go so hard on this in such a popular novel, Dickens was like 'oh my bad' and walked it back a bit.
because in that case the antisemitism obviously wasn't an end in itself? but if it was incidental flavor, why so much?
but as a screen for his political agenda, it makes sense. using judaism to code an antagonist's profit motive as illegitimate had a long literary history already, but in this case Fagin was already manifestly a criminal so it was like. why.
anyway this isn't about justifying charles dickens' artistic choices that even he somewhat regretted. it's a bit about how easy it can be to fail to put together context even when you have all the pieces, especially at a remove from our own lived experience.
and a bit more about how the tools we use for political ends should be carefully inspected. no matter how ordinary and unremarkable they seem when we pick them up. because we might be missing different historical context due to being embedded in it.
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perotovar · 3 months
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ásjá - a winter solstice story
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Ásjá by Heilung (i highly recommend listening to this while reading)
Our second single release is a love song. Maria sings to the listener of love, recovery and prosperity, chasing away evil and welcoming love. The piece contains a quotation of some lines of “Hávamál”, combined with a selection of blessing words meant to provide help to the listener in a troubled time. Kai brought his vocal part of 'Asja' back to us after a month of isolation, fasting and meditation in nature. Only the spirits know the full meaning, but we do know that the context is love, prosperity and protection.
pairing: pero tovar/ofc!helga (but this is mostly a character study) rating: T word count: 7.4k (idk what happened here) warnings: minor swearing, google translated spanish (sorry), historical inaccuracies in favor of fantasy/magic, my american norse pagan perspective of these practices, if i missed anything else lemme know! dividers by @saradika-graphics beta and norwegian translations by the lovely @chloeangelic thank you, honey ♥
summary: Pero picks up a contract that leads him "somewhere up North", but what he finds instead is unlike anything he imagined for himself. Or, what would happen if Pero encountered the Vikings during their winter celebration?
this is apart of @hellishjoel's 12 days of pedro. thank you for including me, kylee, and make sure you all read the other presents!
god jól, everyone🌲❄️🌙🐺
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It was fucking cold.
With shaking hands and numb limbs, Pero made his way further up the hill. The wind picked up the further he went into the trees. 
The contract he’d taken up was for a man by the name of Ingvar. A strange name to Pero’s ears, but that hardly mattered to him. This Ingvar was to be taken care of, and Pero had to show proof. 
Not a problem.
The problem, at least for the moment, was the fucking weather and his own lack of foresight. He was told that Ingvar was “somewhere up North”, and that was it. He didn’t exactly plan for just how cold it would be. His fingers were going numb and red, and he saw every breath that left his lungs. If William were here, he’d tell Pero to quit his “bitching” and to make camp.
The camp, he could do. The bitching? Unlikely. 
Pero and William separated after the… events in China. They stayed together to do a few jobs together, but William decided to make his way back to China and meet up with Lin Mae again, possibly even settle down. Pero didn’t fancy seeing the people that had arrested and almost killed him, and black powder wasn’t worth the trouble anymore. At least not to him. He rather liked the uncertainty of his job. Found comfort in it, in fact. His future was set for him in this line of work. He would live doing the things he loved most; fighting, fucking, and drinking. And the ending was always the same. At least, that’s what he told himself.
A low whisper brought Pero out of his thoughts. He snapped his head towards the direction of the sound and furrowed his already heavy brow. The sound of a raven cawing caught his attention, making him hum skeptically to himself before deciding this was as good a spot as any for a fire. 
Once settled on a fallen tree and attempting to warm his hands with his meager fire, Pero dug into his travel pack. He grumbled at the pitiful excuse for food he had left. He grabbed a piece of thick, dry bread and started ripping off chunks and eating that. Perhaps he could hunt? Find a rabbit, or something a little bigger. He remembered to make a bow this time. Swallowing the last chunk of the bread, he picked up his bow and arrows, and threw his cloak-slash-blanket over his shoulders. It was going to be dark soon, and he didn’t like the idea of starving his first night in this frozen Northern hell.
Another whisper.
Pero’s body went taut. He looked between the tall trees and the endless sea of white ahead of him. Nothing. A rabbit hopped by, distracting him. Before he could think too hard, he knocked an arrow and let fly. The arrow landed in the snow just after the rabbit hopped away.
“Mierda,” he grumbled. (Shit.)
He crouched low and slowly followed after the rabbit. He made his way toward a small clearing, which seemed to be in the center of the forest, if his tracking skills were getting any better.
There was a large stone in the middle, towards the top of the clearing. There looked to be a large blood stain in the center of it. Pero raised a brow and grunted quietly. This was none of his business, clearly.
Suddenly, the rabbit made its way to the middle of the clearing, next to the large stone. Pero sighed and lined up a shot, hoping for the best. He released a breath at the same time that the arrow left his fingers, and another whisper passed through his ears.
He gasped quietly and time seemed to stop as the arrow traveled through the cold air. A shiver ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the weather. He closed his eyes and let out a heavy breath, trying to make himself as still as possible. 
The sound of the arrow piercing the rabbit startled him out of his frozen state. He blinked a few times, the white forest coming back into view as he looked down at the dead rabbit in the clearing. He exhaled and slowly stood, settling his bow on his shoulder. He looked around again, and when he saw nothing, slowly made his way down the hill and towards the center of the clearing.
He picked up the dead rabbit and removed the arrow, tucking it into his belt to clean and use again later. Standing in the center of the clearing, he looked over at the bloodstained stone and felt that shiver go down his spine again. He looked up at the gray sky and decided it was time to go back to his camp. He hooked the rabbit’s carcass onto his belt, pulled the cloak over his shoulders tighter, and shoved his hands inside the fabric.
“Maldita nieve,” he grumbled to himself. (Fucking snow.) As he climbed back up the hill, he felt a sharp pain in his foot and lost his balance, catching himself with his hands in the snow. He hissed loudly and looked down at his boot. A small spike was poking out through the top, meaning the sharp rock was piercing through his foot. He groaned and leaned against the hill, steadying his breathing. He counted to three in his head and yanked the rock from his foot. “Fuck,” he exhaled loudly, a few drops of his own blood covering his palm as he looked at the rock. A small symbol was carved into it, making him squint his eyes, trying to decipher what it was. Pero shook his head and sighed, pocketing the strange rock to inspect later.
On his way back to his little camp, limping the whole way to not put too much pressure on his foot, he grabbed some branches to make the fire last a little longer. Once the meager fire came into view, he swore he saw someone sitting on the log he was using before. He froze in place, heavy boots landing in the snow abruptly. He squinted his eyes and grew confused. An old man? What would he be doing out here? 
Pero looked around the frozen forest to see if there was anyone that could be with the old man. When he didn’t see anyone, he looked back at the campfire, and the old man was gone. He’d completely vanished. Pero grunted quietly and rubbed his eyes with frozen fingers. He shook his head to snap himself out of it and made his way over to the campfire.
After putting the rabbit on the spit and it started to cook, Pero made his bed for the night. He’d do his best to sleep, but didn’t have high hopes. Once the rabbit was cooked, he stabbed it with his knife and started eating it messily. He groaned at the taste of fresh, hot, cooked meat and enjoyed it, even if it was pretty bland. It warmed his bones a little and made him more comfortable, pulling the cloak tighter around his shoulders.
The sound of a branch snapping behind him went unnoticed by Pero’s ears, too focused on the food. He hadn’t eaten in days. The second snap, however, was heard, and it made him drop the rabbit onto the ground and grab his sword, brandishing it in front of him as he stood.
“¿Dónde estás, bastardo?” He grumbled under his breath, his heavy breaths puffing out into smoke. (Where are you, bastard?)
He sighed in frustration when he didn’t see anything. He was seriously starting to consider if this contract was even worth it. And if it wasn’t, would he be able to make it back without dying? Either from the cold, or whatever it was that was playing with him. He mumbled obscenities to himself and sat back down on his fallen tree.
He picked up the rabbit and groaned at the dirt now covering it. He blew off what he could and decided to continue eating it, dirt be damned. He was hungry.
Once full, he looked up at the moon in the sky, trying to figure out how late it was. He rubbed his hands over his arms to keep warm and added a branch or two to his fire. He grabbed a piece of spare cloth from his travel pack and quickly wrapped his foot. He laid down next to the fire and pulled the cloak up over his shoulders and shut his eyes. He didn’t feel tired, but he couldn’t help closing his eyes. He tried to fight it, to keep his guard up, but it was useless. 
He started to feel lightheaded and turned onto his back, looking up at the moon again. The moon and the stars, so bright he almost didn’t need the campfire, were swirling around and moving in close and further away. The trees surrounding him looked to be moving side to side. 
What was happening? Did the old man poison him somehow? Who was that old man?
His vision went blurry and he felt like he was spinning in place despite laying on the ground, completely still. He let out a weak groan and tried to move, reaching for his sword. 
The last thing he saw before his vision went black, was the silhouette of a large dog, or perhaps a wolf, in the distance hidden behind the trees.
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Warmth. He felt warm. And a pounding headache.
Pero slowly blinked awake and groaned at the light that hit his eyes. The smell of cooked meat and root vegetables hit his nostrils. His stomach whined in protest. 
“For en merkelig fyr…” An older male voice said, somewhere behind him. (He is a strange one…)
“Kjekk, da,” A younger, female voice replied. (Handsome, though.)
He didn’t understand any of it. It wasn’t a language he’d heard before. Eyelids fluttering, he slowly opened his eyes to a small gathering of people all looking down at him. He startled and reached for his knife, and grunted when he didn’t feel it.
“Vi har våpnene dine. De er trygge.” (We have your weapons. They’re safe.)
Pero turned his head in the direction of the voice and squinted his eyes at the woman. She looked to be in her 30s, with a baby attached to her breast and drinking.
“No entiendo,” he grumbled, voice hoarse from lack of use. “¿Dónde estoy?” (I do not understand. Where am I?)
He took in his surroundings, now sitting up, and saw that he looked to be in a small room cut off from a much larger group of people. He heard laughter and song outside the cloth separating the, assumed, larger hall from where he was now. He furrowed his brows. A celebration? What for?
“¿Dónde estoy?” He repeated, voice slightly harsher. (Where am I?)
“Har ikke hørt det språket før,” one of the men said. (Haven’t heard that tongue before.) Pero looked up at him and squinted his eyes slightly. The man was large, with a full beard, and an even fuller middle. But there was no denying his strength; age hadn’t stopped this man from doing well in a fight, Pero assumed. Not that he couldn’t take him, of course. He looked at the man’s belt and saw a one-handed axe attached to his belt and thought better of it, especially without his own weapons. 
Suddenly a small sting came from his foot and he snapped his head down at the young woman tending to the wound he’d gotten on his way back from the clearing. He’d almost completely forgotten about it, too cold to even really feel it. The young woman startled and blushed, keeping her head down as she cleaned the cut. 
“Det er et vakkert språk, da, er det ikke?” The first younger woman’s voice came through, a slightly entranced tone to it. (It is a beautiful tongue, though, no?) He looked to his left and saw her batting her eyelashes at him. He huffed a breath in amusement. He’d had his fair share of women giving him looks like that, almost always with a payment in mind, but his thoughts were elsewhere, even if it did feel nice. And she was a tad too skinny for his own tastes.
Pero exhaled. This was clearly getting nowhere. Fine. “Where am I? You know English, yes?” He asked, exasperated, in the general direction of anyone who might be able to answer him. 
The shy girl cleaning his wound lifted her head and smiled softly at him. “I know a little,” she said quietly, her voice heavily accented.
“Finally,” he sighed. “What is going on?”
“A few of our men found you in the forest, passed out. Your lips were blue.” She won’t make eye contact with him, bur her brows furrowed like she was worried for him. “We have lost some of our own men in a similar way before. It is not pretty.”
Pero hummed softly and nodded his thanks. “Did any of them see an old man? In the woods?”
The girl tilted her head and asked the man next to him, the one with the axe in his belt, if any of them had seen such a man. The man raised a brow and shook his head, looking at Pero skeptically. 
“Ingvar says–”
“Yes, I understood, thank you–” Pero cut himself off and looked back at the man with the axe. This was Ingvar? Pero looked back at the girl and nodded his head as she bandaged his wound, his own cloth wrapped around his ankle. He would have to be careful if he was to carry out this contract. “Thank you,” he repeated, the words foreign on his tongue.
The girl nodded, cheeks pink, and stood to leave. As she left, the cloth covering them moved to show a large fire in the middle of the hall with an even larger feast around it. The girl came back with a tankard of something for him and he took it gratefully. As the sweet liquid hit his tongue, he coughed slightly.
“What is this?” He wheezed a little, looking at the cup like it slapped his mother.
The girl giggled before saying, “Mead. It is honey wine.”
Pero rolled the words around his tongue for a moment. “Interesante,” he hummed to himself. (Interesting.)
“Vel, han er våken. Tilby ham noe å spise, men hold øye på ham. Han ser ut som en leiesoldat, og jeg stoler ikke på ham,” Ingvar grunted, leaving the room and rejoining the festivities. (Well, he is up. Invite him to eat, but keep an eye on him. He looks like a mercenary and I do not trust him.)
Pero watched him closely as he left, and took another drink of his mead, eyes hard. 
“Would you like some food, mister-”
“Tovar,” Pero grunted. “Yes. I am very hungry.” He turned on the cot and got to his feet quickly, but quickly lost his balance, a couple of the women catching him as he stood on shaky legs. He sighed in frustration and stood on his own, shrugging off their help. The girl held her arm out to him, and didn’t seem too offended when he just stared at it.
“Tovar. This way,” she smiled, her face a little pinched. 
“What are you celebrating?” He asked, looking around at all the food. His stomach roared at the smells.
“It is the third night of Jól. You have heard of Jól?” She asked excitedly, turning to him as she found a place for him to sit. He slowly made his way down at a long table nearby where Ingvar sat at the head of the table. A leader. This contract was getting more difficult by the second.
“I have not,” he grumbled. “What is this… Yool?” 
The girl giggled again, this time at his attempt at the word. “Jól is the celebration that welcomes back the sun from the harsh Winter. Our crops start growing as the sun comes back, and the snow melts away.”
Pero hummed as he listened, nodding his thanks when she handed him a full plate of different meats, root vegetables, bread, and cheese. “You are farmers?”
The girl nods. “Most of us. Some are warriors.”
Pero hummed again, chewing on a piece of meat. “How did you learn English?”
The girl turned a little sad, but smiled anyway. “We used to have a man that came from… Eng-land? He died last year,” she sighed. “He taught me and a few of the children how to read and speak English. How did you learn?”
Pero frowned around his food and sighed.
“I am sorry, forget–” Pero held up a hand to stop her. “Apologies. I am… unused to kindness from strangers,” he grunted, not meeting her eyes. “A dear friend of mine is from Scotland. We have separated so he could be with his woman. He taught me.”
“Scotland?”
“It is near England.”
She nodded, slowly picking at her own food. The two of them grew quiet and just ate for a while. The celebrations continued around them, and it gave Pero a chance to take it all in.
In the center of the hall was a large hearth, with an even larger tree in the middle, lighting up the hall. It looked like the one he was using earlier as a bench, so they must have gotten it from the same forest. He can’t be too far from there, then. There were candles and flames everywhere, lighting up the hall brightly, but warmly.
He looked back at the girl and found her already staring at him. She startled, cheeks going pink again, and looked down at her food. He smirked a little, but hid it well. She was amusing.
“What is your name?” He asked.
“Sigrid,” she said softly.
“It sounds strong.”
“Yes. I am more drawn to medicine, so I suppose the name is ironic.”
Pero chuckled. “Hardly.”
Sigrid smiled up at him. “Thank you.”
A comfortable silence fell over the two of them again before Pero asked, “Who is Ingvar? He seems like a powerful man.”
“He is our Jarl. Our leader.”
“Is this like a king?” Pero furrowed his brows. He didn’t think this contract would be finished.
“Not exactly. But no less powerful.”
“I see,” Pero grunted. As if on cue, Ingvar stood from his seat at the head of the table, a large grin on his bearded face.
“Venner! Kvelden er ung, og festen er rik. Vær så snill, nyt, for mine gamle beindekk. Jeg ser dere alle i morgen tidlig.” Everyone raised their drinks and shouted… something, but Pero didn’t catch it. Sigrid leaned over and translated what Ingvar said for him. He nodded his thanks, but he was skeptical at best. Ingvar left through a door behind the throne that sat in the center of the hall. (Friends! The night is young, and the feast bountiful. Please, enjoy, for my old bones tire. I will see you all in the morning.)
“He cannot be that old, no?”
“He has been around much longer than I,” Sigrid shrugged. Pero laughed softly, eyes crinkling at the corners.
“You are a child, of course he has.”
Sigrid rolled her eyes, but didn’t deny it. “If seventeen winters makes me a child, then yes.”
Pero choked on his mead and hit his chest to keep from coughing too hard. “Yes, it does,” he wheezed, laughing quietly. Sigrid laughed, too, eating some bread and cheese. A small child ran up to Sigrid and asked her a question as he tugged on her dress. Sigrid looked back at Pero apologetically and he waved her off, eating some more meat.
This was hardly the setting he expected for himself when he took the contract, but he couldn’t deny it, it was a pleasant one. The food was good, and the people seemed friendly enough. He couldn’t help but be confused by the contract; who was dumb enough to put a hit out on a powerful leader like Ingvar?
Sigrid mentioned that some of them were warriors. That didn’t surprise him at all. Just by looking at the people around the table, men and women alike, he could’ve figured that out on his own.
He sighed to himself and chewed thoughtfully. Suddenly, he remembered the small stone that pierced his foot. He looked around at the people around him to be sure no one was watching before he felt around his pocket for the stone. When he didn’t feel anything, his body went taut and he froze. Shit. They probably found it when they grabbed his weapons. Where were his weapons?
Sigrid came up to his side with the small child from before holding her hand and looking at him from behind her. “Tovar?” She asked softly. He looked up at her, heavy brow still pulled down. She gave him a quick once-over before clearing her throat. “We have sleeping quarters for you, but Lord Ingvar wishes to speak with you first.”
Pero chuckled humorlessly around his food before putting it down on his plate. He grabbed the mead and took a drink, making a face at the taste. He wasn’t sure he’d get used to that anytime soon. “Of course he does,” he sighed. “You will translate for me?”
Sigrid nodded, braided blonde hair swinging with the movement, and looked like she was trying to steel herself. He admired her mettle.
Pero followed after her, keeping light pressure on his foot as they went through that door Ingvar went through before. It led down a short hallway and ended up in a large bedroom. Ingvar was sitting on the edge of the bed before standing tall and fixing Pero with a hard look. Pero grunted and rested a hand on his hip as he leaned on the uninjured foot, waiting to get this over with.
“Hva heter du?” Ingvar grunted. (What is your name?)
“He asked your name,” Sigrid said softly.
“Tovar,” Pero narrowed his eyes. 
“Hvorfor er du her?” (Why are you here?)
Sigrid translated quietly.
“Your people brought me here. I was wondering the same thing,” Pero shrugged with an attitude. Ingvar gave him a look, clearly unimpressed. Pero rolled his eyes.
Ingvar looked at Sigrid and she blushed, nodding. “He didn’t mean–”
“Yes, I know what he meant,” Pero sighed. “I had a contract. I came to fulfill that contract.”
Sigrid spoke quietly and Ingvar seemed tired as he nodded.
“Var navnet mitt på denne kontrakten?” Ingvar sighed. Pero gave Sigrid a look as she quickly translated. (Did this contract have my name on it?)
“It did…” Pero raised a brow, crossing his arms over his chest. Ingvar nodded again, but Pero spoke up before he could say anything. “I decided not to complete the contract when I saw your celebration and… status. I may be a mercenary, but I am no fool. I do not go after lords or kings.”
Ingvar raised a brow and chuckled quietly before letting out a loud, hearty laugh. “Jeg vet ikke om du er smart eller dum,” Ingvar smiled, cheeks flushed with mirth. “Jeg takker deg, men tilgi meg for at jeg ikke stoler på deg helt, Tovar.” (I do not know if you are smart or stupid. I thank you. But you will forgive me for not completely trusting you, Tovar.)
Pero nodded and shrugged. “I understand.”
Sigrid looked between the two of them, looking much less nervous. She quickly spoke to Ingvar quietly, asking him a question. Ingvar nodded, a small smile on his lips.
“Nyt festen, Tovar. Vi diskuterer hva vi skal gjøre med deg om morgenen.” (Enjoy the festivities, Tovar. We will discuss what to do with you in the morning.)
“I wish to leave,” Pero grunted, looking between Sigrid and the Jarl. Sigrid looked a little crestfallen, but took one more look at Ingvar before he waved them off. She pushed Pero out of the Jarl’s quarters and back out into the celebration. “Sigrid?” Pero asked, confused.
She sighed before looking up at him. “The Jarl wishes to keep you here until Jól ends. To keep an eye on you, make sure you keep your word.” She started wringing her hands together and bit her lip.
“How much longer is Yool?”
Sigrid went quiet.
“Sigrid.”
“Nine more days,” she sighed, looking down.
Pero’s eyes went wide before he shut them and sighed heavily. He looked up at the ceiling and mumbled, “Joder yo,” under his breath. (Fuck me.) “Fine. Nine more days and I will leave.”
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Over the course of the first four days, Pero was treated like he belonged with these people. He still didn’t quite know where he was. If someone were to give him a map, he couldn’t tell them, but he knew he was probably at the top somewhere. He was shocked at how much he liked it there despite the bitter cold.
He felt eyes on him the whole time and he didn’t like the feeling, but he understood it. 
He taught Sigrid and some of the children some Spanish words and in turn he was taught some words in their tongue. Norse, he was told.
Pero also found himself helping the warriors Sigrid mentioned before, called Vikingr. Their job was to sail to faraway lands, raid strangers of their belongings, and bring it back home. He didn’t judge. He’d done worse, and frankly, it sounded like something right up his alley. He mostly helped with keeping their longships cleaned for their next raid when the snow thawed.
And he ate. He ate a lot. There was so much food at the feasts in the evenings. He tried to eat as much as he could in the hopes that it would carry him on his journey home. Wherever that was. Every feast started with a chant and “offerings” to their Gods. Some of these “offerings” came in the form of the mead Pero had - reluctantly - grown to like, and other times it came in the form of one of the farmer’s poor goats. 
While he didn’t understand a lot of these people’s customs, he couldn’t deny it, they were a hearty people. 
He’d also caught the eye of some of the women there, too, but he mostly ignored them. They were all too young for him, and he was too busy not getting killed. He still wasn’t given back his weapons. Or the strange stone. His wound would take a while to heal yet, but he could put pressure on it again.
On the fifth day, he was helping chop wood for people’s homes. During the feast, everyone in the village congregated in the Jarl’s home to be surrounded by the fire given by the Jól Log and enjoy the food, but they all needed wood for their own homes as well.
He stopped to take a break and wiped the sweat from his brow as a cool chill blew past him. Pero looked to his left, the feeling of someone looking at him catching his attention. When he saw it wasn’t one of Ingvar’s men, he startled a little. It was a woman. Older than the ones that mostly watched him, and far more… Interesting. To him, at least. He raised a brow as she turned and left, clutching her basket closer to her body. He’d seen her around during his time there and she seemed to keep mostly to herself. She was unattached from what he could tell, and wondered why. She was beautiful. 
Pero snapped himself out of it and shook his head, going back to chopping the wood.
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On the sixth day, he saw her again. He’d asked Sigrid what her name was as he saw her making her way through the market, and she said it was Helga. 
Helga.
He liked the name.
Helga was a thread-weaver. She made blankets, scarves, anything to keep one warm and covered. Pero was given clothing that suited the temperature better, and he felt strange without his armor, but he was never given a scarf. He didn’t think he’d ever wanted one before now.
He asked Sigrid if she could ask Helga for him for a scarf, and the girl giggled, pushing him toward the woman. He sighed and walked over to her, looking at the weapons and tools surrounding them at the market. He tried not to make himself too obvious, and it mostly worked, he thought. He was genuinely impressed with the craftsmanship of the weapons.
Pero sidled up to Helga’s side, but before he could say anything, she stepped away from the stand and walked back to her house. He watched her go and frowned.
This was going to be tougher than he thought.
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The seventh day was much like the day before, but instead of chopping wood, Pero was asked to help around the Jarl’s home. He noticed a lot of the young women that stared at him worked there, so he tried to keep mostly to himself. He’d never cleaned linens or blankets before, but found it to be quite relaxing. There was a rhythm to it, and he could do it without much help.
“Tovar,” a young voice asked from his left. He looked up, finishing the fold of the blanket he was holding. He grunted in acknowledgement. “Jeg og noen av kvinnene har lurt på noe,” the girl was blushing hard up to her ears and biting her lip. (Some of the women and I have been wondering something.)
Pero smirked a little and nodded for her to continue. He picked up on the gist of what she was saying, thanks to Sigrid’s teachings of Norse.
“Hvor fikk du arret fra?” she asked meekly. (Where did you get your scar?)
Pero’s face pinched slightly and he shook his head. “I do not wish to talk about it.” The girl’s eyes went wide and she started scrambling out apologies, her hand pressed to her chest. A sad smile crossed his features before he shook his head. “It is okay,” he said quietly.
The girl frowned, cheeks bright red, but nodded as she turned and left. Pero exhaled quietly and looked down at the linens he was folding. 
“I do not believe she meant any harm,” a low, feminine voice said to his left. He hummed in acknowledgement before he froze, realizing that she spoke perfect English. He turned his head and nearly jumped out of his boots when he saw Helga standing there. She smiled and started helping him with the linens. “Tovar, yes?”
Pero huffed a laugh and nodded. 
“I have noticed you watching me.” She had a soft smile on her lips, brown hair pulled away from her face in a braid. She turned to look at him, blue eyes full of heat as she looked over his face and chest. 
Pero blinked, eyes slightly wider. He went to speak, but all that came out was a croak, making him cough. “Apologies,” he wheezed, the side of his fist pressed to his chest. “I am sorry for staring,” he mumbled, turning back to his own linens as his cheeks flushed. “I am still getting used to the customs here. There are two days left of your celebration, and I will be gone.”
Helga hummed noncommittally and pushed her small stack of folded linens toward him to add to his pile. “That would be a shame.”
Pero furrowed his brows and added her stack to his. He looked at her incredulously, but her head was faced down as she continued folding. He didn’t say anything and continued as well, his thoughts running a mile a minute.
“I thought only Sigrid and a few of the children spoke English,” he said after a few moments of silence.
“They are not the only ones.”
Pero snorted and shook his head. “Clearly not,” he hummed to himself. He cleared his throat and glanced at her before continuing. “When I arrived at this place, I was in the forest. I am not sure how far it is from here, but I saw an old man,” he started, keeping his eyes downward. “I was hoping I would see him here in the village, but I have not.”
Helga hummed a noise for him to continue. 
“He wore a cloak, the hood covering his head. He sat in front of my campfire, but I only saw one of his eyes,” Pero’s brows furrowed further, confusion filling his head. “I am not sure if he was missing one or if it was covered.”
Helga stopped folding and looked at him, a small smirk on her lips. “Did he have a long beard?”
Pero looked up and blinked. “Y-yes. You have seen this man?”
“Once or twice,” she said. “He is a wanderer. He does not stay in one place for very long.”
“Who is he?”
Helga bit her lip and shrugged. “He has many names. We cannot be certain which he likes best.”
Pero sighed in frustration. “Why was he at my camp?”
Helga smirked again and finished folding her linens. “Perhaps he was looking out for you,” she shrugged again, leaning over to pick up her basket of fabrics. “Enjoy the feast tonight.” She grinned and left the Jarl’s home, leaving Pero quiet and watching her retreating form.
Pero exhaled and looked up at the ceiling, shaking his head. When he looked down, there was a scarf folded on top of her pile of linens. 
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“Du får tingene dine i morgen, etter den siste festen,” Ingvar grumbled. (You will receive your belongings after tomorrow’s final feast.)
“Must I stay the whole time? I wish to return home,” Pero growled, crossing his arms over his chest. Not that he had a home to return to.
Ingvar rolled his eyes and waved him off. Sigrid grabbed his elbow and pulled him out of the Jarl’s bedroom. Pero grumbled obscenities in Spanish to himself until he was sat at a table in the hall. It was the eighth night, and he was getting tired of being watched constantly. He had no intention of hurting anyone here. He might if they didn’t give him his things, though. The people around him continued to have the same energy this night that they always seemed to. He supposed that came from actually understanding what you were celebrating, and not having to worry about death or arrest at every corner.
“You leave tomorrow evening, yes?”
Pero startled and looked to his right. Helga sat next to him, a plate of food in front of her. She smiled warmly at him and he softened. “How do you do that?” He huffed a laugh and shook his head before grabbing a piece of meat and eating it.
“You do not pay attention,” she said simply.
He squinted his eyes at her and grumbled around his food that he did too pay attention, thank you very much. She laughed softly and it made him bite his tongue. She had been nothing but kind to him while he was there and she didn’t deserve the frustration he felt to be forced on her.
“Where do you live?” Helga asked softly. “Where will you go?”
Pero bit his lip as he tore a piece of bread in two. “Nowhere. I am a mercenary. I go where the work is,” he shrugged, shoving the bread in his mouth. 
“You enjoy this?”
Pero raised a brow as he chewed. 
“You like not having anywhere to call home? You do not have to leave,” she hummed around her own food, taking a drink of some mead.
“What do you mean? Of course I do,” he scoffed. “Ingvar wants me dead. His men are constantly watching me.”
Helga rolled her eyes. “You really do not pay attention,” she sighed, setting down her cup and turning to face him. “You have not heard how people talk about you?”
“I am still learning the language,” he frowned, chewing messily and lips greasy.
“Why are you learning the language if you want to leave?”
Pero blinked and looked down at his plate. He frowned, thinking about it. Why was he learning the language? 
“Because you like it here, Tovar,” she said softly. “We like you.” It went unsaid, but he got the feeling that she liked him, too.
“Pero.”
“What?”
“My name is Pero.”
Helga smiled, pink dusting her cheeks. “I do not think you will have many people protesting if you stay. The children love you. And I think you would make an excellent Viking.”
Pero raised a brow and exhaled, thinking about it. Having a place to call his own would be nice. And he was familiar with the kind of work the warriors did, from what he’d heard. 
“You do not have long to think about it, Pero,” Helga hummed. She picked up her plate and stood before leaning over to kiss him on the cheek. “I would like it if you stayed,” she whispered into his ear. He looked up at her with soft eyes and she smiled down at him with her hand on his shoulder before turning and leaving.
Pero shut his eyes and exhaled once again, then looked in the direction of the Jarl’s personal quarters. 
Would it be such a terrible thing to stay?
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On the ninth day, Pero woke with a startle. He thought he’d heard a whisper next to his ear again. He’d been mostly dreamless while he was in the village. Last night, after his talk with Helga, he dreamt about the old man and the wolf in the woods. He didn’t understand any of it, and he barely remembered what the dream actually entailed, but he remembered the feeling. He felt… odd. Not bad or wrong. Just… different. Comforting. 
As he got dressed in the clothes that were given to him, he looked over at the scarf Helga gave him. It was a brown color and the material was rough, but also thick and soft. It kept his ears warm. He wrapped it around his neck before slipping his feet into his boots, making sure to be careful of his injured one. He made his way over to the Jarl’s quarters and knocked on the door.
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“Er du sikker?” (Are you sure?)
Pero nodded, arms crossed over his chest. “Yes.”
Ingvar sighed and crossed his arms, too. “Du forvirrer meg, Tovar. Men hvis dette virkelig er det du vil, tror jeg ikke at jeg ser noe problem med det.” He shrugged and looked at Sigrid’s smiling face. “Gå og hent tingene hans.” (You confuse me, Tovar. But if this is truly what you want, I don’t suppose I see a problem with it. Go get his things.)
Sigrid nodded happily and ran from the room. Pero and Ingvar awkwardly avoided eye contact. Even if neither of them were enemies, the circumstances of their acquaintanceship were less than ideal. When Sigrid returned, she was carrying Pero’s weapons in both arms and looked to be struggling to do so.
Pero furrowed his brows and gently took the weapons from her. She sighed in relief, but smiled shyly up at him. “I am happy you decided to stay,” she giggled.
Pero smiled down at her, then gave a grateful nod to Ingvar before leaving the room. Sigrid walked next to him while he attached his sword and hunting knife to his belt. He carried the armor under his left arm. “Me too,” he grunted awkwardly. “I am unsure how I will fit in, but…” He shrugged, scratching the back of his neck.
“I think you will be fine,” she nodded, sure of herself. One of the small children, a younger brother of hers he found out, came up to her and tugged on her dress. He mumbled something Pero didn’t quite catch. Sigrid tapped on his shoulder to get Pero’s attention, making him look down at the two of them, dark eyes intimidating, but soft. “She lives at the end of the village,” Sigrid winked, then took off with her younger brother.
Pero’s cheeks flushed, but he chuckled to himself. He made his way through the village, waving or nodding to people as he saw them. It was strange, being accepted as he was. He wasn’t the only gruff and hardened warrior here, and no one seemed scared of him for his scars or his accent. The feeling was so foreign to him.
As he walked up a small hill toward the end of the village, he heard a quiet thud against the grass. He looked down and saw the strange stone from the forest laying there. Right, he’d completely forgotten. It must’ve fallen from his belongings. He picked it up and looked at it, thumbs running over the strange markings. It was almost shaped like a fork, but with three prongs. Maybe Helga would know what it meant.
When he made his way in front of the door of the last house in the village, he hesitated before knocking. The sun was slowly setting and it was getting a tad colder, so he eventually knocked. 
“Et øyeblikk!” (One moment!)
Pero smiled to himself as he heard her voice behind the door. Once the door opened, he raised his head and smiled sheepishly, the shape on his face still foreign to him.
Helga’s face softened as she saw him and rested a hand on her hip. “Well, come on in, then,” she grinned, opening the door wider for him. He nodded gratefully and stepped inside her home, the smells of burnt leaves and the feeling of a warm fire engulfing his body. 
“I will find my own home, you need not keep me here if–”
“Hush,” she chuckled softly, taking his armor from his arms and putting it in her bedroom for cleaning later. “You are more than welcome to stay here,” she looked up at him with a bit of shyness. The first time she’d ever looked at him like that. “If you want to, that is.”
Pero took two steps closer to her until his face was mere inches from her own. “I want nothing more,” he said softly, rubbing the knuckle of his index finger against her cheek. She shut her eyes and exhaled softly, nodding. 
“I was just getting ready to go to the feast,” Helga smiled, looking up at him. “Would you like to join me?”
Pero’s lips quirked up into a soft smile of his own before he remembered the stone he was holding. “Yes, but first,” his brows furrowed in thought. “It is silly, but… I found this strange stone while I was in the forest.”
Helga hummed and tilted her head to the side, letting him continue.
“It has a marking I have never seen before. Do you know what it means?” He asked, showing her the stone lying in the palm of his hand. She picked it up and rubbed her thumb over the marking like he had before.
“Where did you find this?” Helga asked, face pinched in confusion.
“In the forest. There was a small clearing with a bloodstained stone, and–”
“The ritual site,” she smiled up at him, clutching the stone in her hand. “We sacrificed one of the cows on the first day of Jól there.”
Pero blinked down at her, hands holding her arms and rubbing softly. “I see…”
Helga laughed softly. “You’ll get used to it,” she winked. “This is one of the runes. It seems we forgot one.”
“What does it mean?” He hummed, cupping her face in his large hand. He rubbed his thumb against her cheek.
“Protection,” she said softly. She looked at his lips, then looked back up at his eyes. He did the same and leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to her lips. They stayed there for a few moments before he released her and pressed his forehead against hers. 
“Surely the feast can wait a few moments,” he growled into her neck, kissing against the soft skin there. Helga bit her lip and smiled, fingers tangling into the thick curls at the back of his head.
“It can,” she gasped, startled by the small nip he left against her shoulder. Pero slowly walked them toward her bedroom and laid her on top of the bed. The curtains in front of the window were drawn. Something caught his eye in the window and he looked out, hovering over Helga’s body. 
In the distance, on top of a hill, was a large black wolf. It seemed to make eye contact with him before it turned and left.
A chill ran down Pero’s spine.
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a/n: if you're at all curious, here's a decent idea of what i imagined the stone to look like 🥰
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find someone who gives you this look when you’re being a theatrical little menace and whenever it’s their turn being that way you hit them with the :l
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am i the asshole for leading a guy on an low-key manipulating his feelings? (🐺 so i can find it later)
trigger warnings for mental health issues, family death, and suicide mentions.
title is kiiinda dramatic, i know. and i should be clear that i know that what i did was definitely wrong to a degree, but idk how messed up it was.
for context: i (19 f) was freshly seventeen and had just returned to in person school for my senior year after doing my junior year online at home. the majority of my best and only friend had forgotten me almost entirely and abandoned me despite our texting throughout my online year. new social circles had formed in my absence and i had a very difficult time readjusting, especially because i had come out of isolation with worsened anxiety, depression, and lowkey suicidal idealization. to top it all off, my grandfather who i adored had just died. i was desperately lonely and at the lowest i had ever been mentally in my entire life. i say this all not to excuse my actions but to provide some context as to why i acted the way i did.
so i meet this guy (i think like 15-16?) who we'll call finn. finn is a year below me but we share an elective class. we were initially drawn to each other bc we were both the only alt/geeky kids in the room and hit it off really well. and at first things are going pretty good; we eat lunch together every day, share music, talk about our interests etc. normal friend stuff.
but here's the part where i'm probably ta: finn had told me earlier on that he's the type to catch feelings super easy, so i guess i should've expected it, but he tells me that he has a crush on me. not directly though--he starts talking about this girl that he has feelings for but doesn't have the courage to confess to. and the first time he brought it up i didn't realize it was me and ofc tried to hype him up so he could confess and all that. but by the second conversation we have about it, it dawns on me that he's definitely talking about me. and i'm like "ah fuck," because the last person i wanted it to be was me--i'm mostly into girls, and also saw finn as a little brother more than anything else. but i keep hyping him up anyways saying stuff like "oh c'mon the worst she can do is say no! and even then you can at least move on with closure!"
so he takes my advice and confesses to me over text. i turn him down as politely as i can. which is where this whole thing should've ended tbh. but it didn't. his confession (even though it was over text) really endeared me and made me feel appreciated and beautiful in a way i never had been before. i'm not conventionally attractive + a plus size girl, and had never had anyone confess to me before, let alone say something as sincere and sweet as finn did to me. i was always the girl guys dared each other to ask out as a joke, yknow? it felt nice to know that someone saw me as desirable. again, this doesn't excuse my actions or justify them. just context.
so i decide that even though i know i'm not going to pursue anything with finn, i don't want him to lose interest in me either. so i start acting like i might be into him. tell him certain outfits make him look cute, go on and on about how much i love his hair (he really did have nice hair tbh), lean in a little closer when we talked, and constantly reassure him that he'd get a gf soon because good-looking, sweet and funny guys like him don't stay single for long.
he definitely notices bc he (again over text) asks if it's ok to be more physical when we interact. like can he hold my hand if we walk down the hall or whatever. this is definitely where i should've stopped, but i didn't. i kept up the pseudo-flirting bullshit.
and then he confesses (you guessed it! over text) for a second time, insisting that he really thinks that i like him back now. i tell him i don't know what he's talking about but that i'm happy to keep being friends with him. again, i don't stop the flirting-that's-not-quite-flirting.
this continues all the way until the end of the year. he tells me before i graduate that he really cares for me and doesn't want to lose touch after i leave. i promise him we won't. at this point i'd realized the gravity of my actions and had come to regret the way i treated finn, and decided the best course of action was to let our friendship fizzle out after i graduate. so i stop responding as frequently to him, he eventually stops reaching out until finally we lost contact and i delete his number.
i know that what happened was kinda fucked up, but how bad of a fuck up was this tumblr?
(secondary question: is this something that would've had a lasting impact on him and his view of relationships? i hope it isn't. i hope he forgot about me quickly. i hope he's doing better and has found someone who actually likes him.)
What are these acronyms?
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sharpen-your-blade · 11 months
Text
every rhys defense post that addresses his actions towards feyre utm utterly disgusts me because they always, always diminish feyre’s trauma for the sake of uplifting rhys’.
when you’re posting that “context matters!” to defend what rhys did to feyre, you’re actively declaring that it doesn’t matter how feyre felt in those scenes, it doesn’t matter that she was violated and sickened and didn’t even want to think about what was being done to her body because of how deeply traumatic rhys’ actions were—because rhys had some kind of comprehensive reasoning for drugging, groping, kissing, and humiliating feyre in front of everyone utm, for dressing her demeaningly and painting her body to ensure they all knew only rhys could touch her, that makes his abuse understandable and reasonable. because his sexual exploitation of her “saves” feyre from further harm, the harm she did suffer at rhys’ hands is nullified. the ends justify the means and all that. “but he was a victim too!” yes, he was, but does that mean rhys can’t abuse others just because he was abused? ofc not???
if you’re one of the people that holds these kinds of ideologies, you sicken me fr. how can you stand there and say you like feyre when you would invalidate her trauma, which she described to us in depth, which we had an uncomfortable front row seat to for multiple chapters, just to excuse all of rhys’ horrendous behavior? how can you say that you support her when you would defend her abuser over what she told us—that he humiliated her, hurt her, and made her a victim?
feyre will live as a victim of rhys’ abuse for the rest of her life. she will live with that trauma for the rest of her life. it doesn’t fucking matter that he felt he was protecting her, he still abused her. her pain is not nothing. it cannot be brushed off for the sake of redeeming rhys. if the only way you can defend him is by dismissing feyre’s feelings and experiences entirely (because let’s be so real right now, that is the only way), then you should not call yourself a supporter of feyre. you’re not. you’re just like sjm and all the other characters who think that feyre’s wellbeing should always come second to rhys’ whims.
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zcorners120 · 2 years
Note
the bracelet was so good ! i was wondering if you were going to make a pt 2 maybe with some drivers reactions ?
ty! ofc i will <;3 PART ONE MASTER LIST
arthur leclerc x fem!reader
The bracelet {two}
synopsis; Arthur's lucky bracelet was found on his sworn enemy's wrist after her extreme crash, what do people think?
warnings; 18+ S M U T, edging, unprotected sex, oral!male receiving, swearing, orgasm denial!male
Buried in the mountain of comforters, pillows, blankets and duvets, you felt your mum's hand brush your face softly.
"Mama, I promise you I'm fine." You whined, getting hot and feeling sticky against the layers.
"No Y/N, you are not fine mijn lieveling. I saw you come out of the fire so you need to rest." Her Dutch accent prominent, as she turns around to see Max and your dad walk in.
"Sophie, she's fine. The champ walked out without harm." Your dad beamed proudly, much to your mother's tutting dismay.
You looked down onto your phone and checked the F3 group chat as you haven't been on there since the crash.
F3 FUCKERS
Bearman
UHM Y/N WEARING ARTH'S BRACELET!?
Colapinto
Holy shit !?
Saucy
Congrats Arth, u did it bud
The messages didn't end from everyone talking and sending clips of the crash, as well as the paparazzi pictures of the bracelet. You decided to send a message for peace of mind.
F3 FUCKERS
Yes, you're all correct to worship me because
of my cool crash.
{Y/N has sent an attachment.}
You sent a picture of the bracelet on your wrist just to stir things up, you liked the overreactions from them. As you slowly saw all of them open the picture, the notifications wouldn't stop rolling in as you smile at your phone.
"Well since she's fine I guess I can ask the question of; why the hell is Arthur Leclerc's bracelet on your wrist?" Max butts in, getting increasingly mad at the end of his question.
Your eyes widened as he carefully takes your wrist, analysing the bracelet.
"He gave it to me. So I wouldn't get into another accident." You said blankly, not to arouse suspicion.
"That's very kind of him sweetie." Sophie said politely, exiting the room with Jos behind her.
They were more focused on Max's career, with him being in F1 they found to prioritise him more. You didn't mind it, as you didn't have as much pressure with their peery eyes, and they didn't recognise apprehensive things like you and Arthur.
"Even though mama and pa don't know how weird this is, I do as I pay attention to who you're with in paddocks. You and Arthur hate each other, why has he given you his beloved bracelet?" Max conspired, sitting down next to you on your bed.
"Did you see the article about Arthur punching a reporter?" You spoke, watching as Max slowly nodded his head. "He did it for me, there's a video somewhere of him asking me creepy questions and he helped me."
"So he's doing my job of protecting you?" He shot, taking offense.
"Max, I'm 19. And us hating each other was a huge misunderstanding, he explained that he actually likes me but the same reporter spread lies about me to him." You explained, rambling on.
"Wait, wait. He likes you? Snoepje, there is no way that's happening." He ignored the vital context behind the potential relationship and took the affirmative role of the over protective older brother.
"Well isn't it good for you that we don't live together anymore, and I'm an adult." You teased, sticking your tongue out to annoy him.
"I can stay here as long as necessary, maybe even live here part time whilst we're both in race season and I can-" He drawls, finding an excuse to split you two apart, as you tune his voice out.
The notification buzzed against your arm, like a victory tune to escape Max.
Arthur Leclerc
Still on for tonight? :)
You smiled in the spotlight of your phone screen, thinking of how to reply before the phone gets snatched out of your grasp.
"You're going out with him?" He dramatically gasps, as he starts frolicking around your room in shock.
"Give me back my phone!" You shout, jumping up from the bed to chase him.
"Ahhh! Mama she's hurting me!" He shrieks, instantly giving you memories from when you used to live together as kids and constantly bicker.
You managed to corner him and snatch the phone back, smiling victorious. He prances off to tell Mama and Pa that you were meeting him, telling on you like an 8 year old would.
Arthur Leclerc
Still on for tonight? :)
Yep! Where we going?
You anxiously wait for a response, as you hear the echoes of Max complaining to Mama and Pa.
Arthur Leclerc
Still on for tonight? :)
Yep! Where we going?
Le Louis XV-Alain Ducasse, I'll pick you up at 7.
'Holy shit. That's one of the fanciest restaurants in Monaco, and he's taking me there for a first date?' You thought to yourself, how rich is he?
Arthur Leclerc
See you then. ;)
It was already 4, so you headed straight into the shower and started getting ready for the night.
You decided to wearing a stunning silk gown in which the bodice was a corset. It wasn't too casual, but not too much for a first date which you found perfect.
Clipping the backing of your earring, you hear the doorbell ring to which your mother immediately jumps at.
"Ms Kumpen, it's a pleasure to see you." You heard Arthur's deep voice say from the other room, probably followed with a handful of hugs.
You walk out into the living room just as Pa was introducing himself.
"Good evening Cherie." Arthur greets, taking your hand and kissing the top of it gracefully as you blush.
"Good evening." You hushed, smiling like a schoolgirl.
"I got flowers for you and your mother." He said before turning around, and gracing the both of you with two huge bouquets from the best florist in Monte Carlo.
"Thank you so much Arth." You praised, you and your mother pulling him into a hug.
"Alright, Leclerc too much touching." Max says, bursting in from some room.
"Max, pleas-" You tried to stop him, embarrassed.
"No. You hurt her Leclerc, I swear to God you better start prayi-" He threatened, mean whilst Arthur looked unphased.
You clung onto Arthur's arm, backing him into the apartment hallway.
"Alright, we're gonna go, bye!" You rushed, making a beeline to elevator.
"Okay, we're going back to the hotel! Have fun!" Mama called out.
You made some polite small talk as you walk into the grand reception of your apartment complex, the large chandelier casting great mood lighting before you walk out into the swarm of paparazzi flashes.
"Y/N, are you and Arthur dating now?"
"What happened to hating each other?"
You managed to escape the questions right as Arthur opened his car door for you and driving off.
"You look beautiful, mon ange." He admits, resting his large hand on your thigh.
"You look pretty handsome yourself." You laugh, watching as his other hand calmly steers alone.
His thumb slowly circled your thigh, watching as you bit your lip in anticipation.
"Don't bite your lip. That's my job." He spoke, winking as he watched your cheeks blush a deep red.
'So, this is the mood for the night? No problem.' You thought to yourself, conjuring up lots of different plans on how he'll be yours by the end of the night.
"Yeah? Will I get to see you do that job?" You tease, watching as he lost focus of the road ahead, and looked you straight in the eyes.
"A true gentleman never says." He met your level, still looking at you as he gradually sped up on the road.
His suit fit him perfectly, his shirt hiding his perfectly sculpted abs as you could see the veins that were adorning his hand gliding up and down your thigh.
"Eyes on the road, playboy." You broke eye contact, looking ahead of you to see some oncoming traffic.
"Do you not trust me?" His accent stated, low and powerful.
"I do, but not when you're not looking at the road." You said, looking at him to realise he never stopped analysing you.
He swerved the car in front of him perfectly, as your breath hitches. You grabbed the hand that was resting on your thigh, as he looked back onto the road to ease your worries.
"Is that how you impress all the girls that come into your car?" You giggled, wondering if you were right or not.
"No. They don't get treated like you do, you're different than them and I can feel that." He confessed, right as he pulled up to the valet, leaving you speechless.
He opened the door for you and held your hand out, muttering an incoherent word of gratitude for the man taking the keys.
"Good evening sir, do you have a reservation with us?" The woman behind the desk spoke, pushing her chest forward as she played with her hair.
"Leclerc. 7 o'clock." He said stiffly, looking at his watch for the time.
"Okay Mr Leclerc, I'll be with you in a second to bring you to your table." She got up slowly, winking at him, completely dismissing that you were next to him.
Her attempt at seducing him was pathetic, swinging her hips as she went to the waiter. You shot her a glance that could kill, as Arthur laughs.
"Jealous there, Amor?" He smiled proudly, snaking a hand around your waist as he pulled you in close.
"Nope." You denied, remaining stubborn as the receptionist came back and asked the two of you to follow her.
"Your waiter will be with you shortly, enjoy." She put a hand on Arthur's shoulder before walking off.
You scoff, thinking it's unbelievable to do such a thing in front of you.
The waiter eventually came as you both ordered some wine, to which Arthur argued and got one of the most expensive bottles in the restaurant.
"Should I start expecting a second date here Mr Leclerc?" You joked, swirling the wine glass with the magical alcohol.
"You should start expecting hundreds more." He laughed, drinking some wine out of his glass, as you both waited for your meals.
"I'll have to thank you some way for this then." You teased, taking the risk as you glide your foot onto his leg, watching his breath hitch.
"I think you've already got your own idea hm?" He breathed out, struggling to concentrate under your touch.
"I can think of a couple ways." You said seductively, as you both began to play footsies under the table like 15 year olds.
Your meals arrived, expensive and of course tiny, but you didn't mind if you were getting into some funny business later.
"Arth?" You grab his attention as you both finish your dinner, taking a sip of wine.
"Hmm?" He hums, looking at you with adoration in his eyes.
"How about we skip dessert here, and you can have it at your apartment?" You suggest cautiously, holding his hand to make sure your insinuations have gotten across clearly.
You watched as his eyes nearly bulged out of his head, his cheeks become a cute wine stain as his freckles stood out amongst it.
"Oh shit, absolutely. Can I get the cheque?" You giggled as he hurries the waiter over and pays straight away, despite you wanting to split it.
"No time for splitting when we have something more important to attend to." He rushed, calmly getting you inside the car and hopped over to get the keys from the valet.
He once again had his protective hand on your thigh whilst speeding down the Monegasque highway. You watched as his hand slowly got higher and higher, before you put a stop to it.
"Oh, sorry. Are you sure you want to do this?" He immediately recoils, thinking he did something wrong.
You just hum a hushed 'mhm', before putting a hand directly on the growing tent in his trousers.
He gulped loudly, letting you slowly unzip his trousers and pulling down the waistband of his boxers to reveal his hard cock, standing tall.
He smirks as he feels you stop in shock, his ego definitely getting a boost. To stop him from getting the confidence up even more, you run your thumb over his slit, immediately hearing him gasp slightly.
His cock pulsated as you took it in your mouth, leaning over the console area of the car. You took all that you could of him in your mouth, using your hand to satisfy whatever left as you slightly gagged.
Pulling back up, you spat on his cock, working your hand up and down, feeling the veins flex against your palm. You go back down, feeling him take a hand in your softly and guide you.
"Merde, tu vas si bien mon amour." You heard him whimper, as he carried on murmuring sweet nothings in French.
"Je suis si proche putain.." He started loosing attention on the road as you were pleasuring him so well, that you decided to pull up.
He was close, and made it abundantly clear as his tip started leaking small drops of precum. You leaned back into your seat, and straightened your dress, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.
"I was close Amor, why tease me like this?" He complained, looking at his throbbing cock in desperation.
"You can wait till we're home." You teased, loving the control.
"That's pretty unfair, no? Just you wait to see how I'll handle you." He said lowly, and that got you pretty excited as he zipped himself back up.
Arriving at the apartment he opened the door for you into the living room, immediately picking you up into the bedroom.
"Arth, put me down!" You laughed, him carrying you like a piece of paper.
"We'll see who's whimpering now." Dropping you gently on the bed, he took off your heels and starting kissing his way around your body, finishing by kissing you directly.
Unzipping your dress, he revealed an amazing set of red lace lingerie you put on just in case, as you internally thanked yourself.
"Even got my colour on for me huh?" He licked his lips, taking his shirt off and flexing his delicious muscles. As he took off his clothes and was left in his boxers, he sat on the bed and pulled you directly on top of him.
He pulled you in for a kiss, your tongues battling for dominance as he won, with you moaning into his mouth, only getting him more excited.
You grinded against his erection, as he pulled away from your mouth and attacked your neck, finding your sweet spot straight away as he started marking his girl. Sucking and biting, he left a nice bruise just to show everyone who's you were.
He flipped you over, caging you in with his veiny arms as he kissed your breasts, sucking on your nipples as he went further and further down.
"You want this right ange?" He asked again, making sure you completely approved.
"Mhm, so shut up and fuck me." You were desperate, watching as he immediately ripped off your panties, chucking them away as they were in shreds.
"Arthhh, they cost so much!" You whimpered, watching as he looked at you with a blank expression.
"It was worth it for this view. I'll buy you every lingerie store in Monte Carlo for all I care." He blurted, leaning over to his wallet.
You watched confused, wondering what he was doing, until he pulled out a silver packet and his debit card.
"Pin is 2957." He snarled, slotting the card into your bra as he opens the condom packet.
You looked at him shocked, but your mouth truly dropped when he quickly inserted his thick and lengthy cock directly into you, without warning. You both moan out at the stretch, feeling every inch slowly go in.
"Ohh shit." You moan out, as he slams back into you, watching as his eyes shut.
"Tu es si serré." He groaned out, as he flipped you over into doggy, smacking your ass before he set a steady pace with his cock slamming into your wet cunt.
He started going harder and harder as you couldn't keep your moaning under control, hearing the headboard slam against his wall.
"I'm so close Arth." You squealed out, as his balls smacked against you fast and hard.
You felt his hand snake around your stomach with his long fingers rub your clit in just the right way. You felt yourself let go, as your legs shook uncontrollably, gracing you with the best orgasm you'd ever had.
"Let it go, ma belle." He said, fucking into you faster than imaginable.
Squeezing your eyes shut you could see stars, as you could feel his thrusts becoming sloppier. Your hole pulsated against his cock, as you turned around and let him cum in your mouth.
His cum splattered on your tongue in sporadic bursts, as he moaned your name. Looking at you on your knees with his cum in your mouth, he couldn't control himself.
You licked it all up with your one finger, making eye contact with him as you lay back against his bed. He got up and got a towel and cleaned both of you up immediately.
"Shit, that was so good Cherie." He praised you, as he passed you one of his tops before getting under the duvet.
"I could say the same Artie." You hushed out, your eyes getting heavy as he pulls you in to spoon you.
He hugs you from behind and doesn't let his arm move from where he's draped it over your stomach, protectively.
A/N; i havent checked this over so hopefully it's alright lmao, don't think ive written the smut too well but if you want me to change anything or add something on then message me!
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vampirepunks · 5 days
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May we also mention she is perfectly fine with leaving Higgs in solitary confinement for a year and since time moves differently on The Beach it has been longer for him and she is willing to sacrifice B.Bs in the name of progress and Sam was going to be one of them if Cliff didn’t do something
Extremely valid points! Amelie showed no concern whatsoever for Higgs' safety after he was stranded, no remorse for the human sacrifice that went into constructing the chiral network (which ofc other characters are also complicit in), and took very little accountability for cursing Sam with immortality and presumably eternity on the Beach once he finally perma-dies, as his soul is seemingly unable to cross into the afterlife... It was a selfish decision of her that, per the novel, "made the world scream."
It's worth acknowledging that Bridget and Amelie seemed to make decisions somewhat separately from one another, and Bridget's lack of a soul made her act without the moral and emotional sentiments that we'd expect, but in dealing with the aftermath, Amelie still made the choice to break the world and damn Sam to permanent disconnection from the natural cycle of life and death. Also, we can only assume from context that Amelie was fine with stealing Sam from his family and making him into a sacrificial lamb. Amelie must have agreed with Bridget's course of action up to that point. This theme is similar to Coffin saying "so many sacrifices, I prayed that one would be the last" about Peter, as the somewhat more justifiable parallel--and that's only because Coffin was earnestly trying to save children, openly took responsibility for the harm she did, and genuinely, dearly loved Peter like he was her own flesh and blood son.
I see a lot of misogyny regarding Amelie (not cool) in the DS fandom, especially on reddit, and conversely, a lot of apologism and radfem-adjacent sentiments that imply or state she's somehow above criticism. It's not misogynistic to critique a fictional woman for harmful and abusive actions. It's not misogynistic to call out behavior separate of identity.
Overall, I think Amelie is a downright fascinating character with myriad layers of tragedy and nuance, and she's a core part of the story that can't be dismissed or downplayed. She has redeeming qualities and she's a powerful figure. She makes a purely selfless decision in the end and goes out as a hero redeemed (partially, in my mind but I digress). It's good writing! I get why some people like her and I respect that! However, I can't get down with excusing or minimizing her actions, especially by hurling accusations at people who point these things out. Amelie's emotional and psychological abuse of Higgs and Sam resonates heavily with my own experience of having an abusive mother--among other female family members--and I see a lot of my past religious abuse in what she did to Higgs. It's personal for me.
If the gender dynamics were reversed, if Higgs were a woman and Amelie a man, I guarantee you people would not hesitate to call it abuse.
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yutaleks · 13 days
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i have a genuine question, this is just pure curiosity, no judgement lol
what's the appeal behind incest? :o also i'm assuming it's specific kind of incest, like sibling x sibling, and not parent x child??
i mean i know it's a kink so maybe there's no explanation, i'm just curious xD it's totally fine if you (or others) don't wanna answer ofc!!
well your assumption is incorrect LMAO I’ve written and read parent/child incest fics just as often as sibling/sibling. Familial relationships have different contexts and implications, not limited to just sibling/sibling.
I don’t necessarily think any kind of kink has to be appealing in order to have the right to exist, so I don’t think trying to justify it will actually mean anything or give it any kind of standing that it doesn’t already have. If that makes sense. Like you don’t necessarily have to understand it to make it any more or less of a valid thing to read or write about.
That aside, I can tell you personally what I feel gives it appeal to me:
Sibling/sibling:
It is a balance of a relationship that is inherently taboo but the characters feeling so much for each other that they overcome that hesitation and go for it anyway. Like a “despite all odds” taken to an extreme. A level of devotion and kinship that not only transcends physicality (the two characters are blood related, made from the same flesh and bone. So to speak) but also morality (despite inherently how “wrong” it is for them both to be together, they don’t care).
Taking away the “incest” and looking at it strictly from those two reasons (a character who is cut from the same cloth, who loves me above all and against all odds) I think it is psychologically some form of self-love and acceptance that you cannot achieve by thinking of the character as a random stranger. I’m not a psychologist so idk if that makes sense, but I think to me it fulfills this basic desire: two people who are made of the same flesh finding themselves desirable.
Like irl i hate myself right. But like. Someone who came from the same flesh as me. Who lives the same life as me. They are lovable. And they love me. Does that make sense? I’m saying this as love not as something sexual btw. I’ll touch more on this later.
And I have to tack on that even in the cases of step-siblings/adopted siblings or “pseudocest” as some people call it, I still think the same logic applies. It’s still incestuous. Blood or not, you’re still in the same familial “role” in which you are designated to be siblings. The “kink” still exists in the very same fashion, in which you treat each other as siblings or are raised as siblings. The same makings of a blood-related siblings fic exist in a “psuedocest” fic so if you’re running circles trying to make up some difference between the two, you perhaps are just making excuses to yourself lol. Because the fics are exactly the same, minus the “they aren’t actually related” disclaimer. lol
A sibling/sibling relationship (blood or “pseudo”), if done in a manner which is more closely paired to real life instances of incest, will probably feature abusive or abhorrent situations for the involved characters. That is the nature of incestuous relationships in real life. It is probably a different topic entirely on the appeal of fiction which depicts abusive or traumatic incidents but thats for another post I think. Just as with incest itself I don’t think anyone needs a reason to justify why they would want to read traumatic/horrific situations in fiction and I don’t think there is any correlation between this and personal morals/values but yeah. Anyway
Parent/child:
I think in the case of parent/child usually that kind of relationship is paired with an insane amount of trauma. Something like that would not occur without either something terrible happening, or abuse happening. And again I don’t think anyone needs to justify why they enjoy those tropes in fiction.
I do think there is more of an element of gender roles in a parent/child incest fic vs a sibling/sibling scenario. A fic which is father/daughter is going to be entirely different from father/son or mother/son, mother/daughter. Each one of those has different psychological implications, I feel like. Because the role of “mother” “father” “son” “daughter” all have ingrained societal roles that we are typically expected to follow.
I think when you read a fic which features parent/child incest, there’s a LOT happening psychologically between the characters. It’s usually subversive of what typical nuclear family roles are, in ways that inspire disgust in readers. Like the role of “son” typically has such a barrier from the role of “father” than when the son steps in and takes the role of father (being his mothers sexual or romantic partner) it typically makes people very uncomfortable. And even within the fic one party of the relationship may be uncomfortable.
Some readers perhaps find appeal in that exact feeling of being uncomfortable—the same way you squirm in your seat at a horror movie or when things are unnatural to you. Do you ask people why they enjoy horror movies or why they enjoy murder mysteries? The things that happen there are unnatural as well, and inspire feelings of disgust, but it is because incest is an affront to nature and the gender/familiar roles that are so ingrained in us? Is it because the thought of your father or mother taking on the role of your lover disgusts you? Why? I’m not saying they shouldn’t, but I’m asking you to think about why they do?
Like I’ve written personally many fics of the sibling/sibling variety. But I’ve only ever once written mother/son and once have written father/daughter. And I find it intresting how different the responses are to those. People are very disgusted by parent/child incest in ways that they are not disgusted by sibling/sibling incest. And I wonder why. Deep down they are all immoral. What is it about parent/child that pulls out the most abhorrent disgust from readers? Anyway. I find that reaction just as intresting as the trope itself. Like what does it say about the human psyche that we have such reverence of the relationship to our parents. Is it because I personally do not have such strong feelings about my parents that I don’t feel particularly strongly about parent/child vs sibling/sibling?
I don’t think I know enough about psychology to offer an answer to that question. But I find all aspects of the parent/child topic fascinating. I think maybe because I particularly feel very unloved by my parents that I also find a scenario in which parents feel so strongly for their children to be different to me. I personally grew up in an environment where my mother openly told me many times how much she hated me and how I ruined her life. And my father never said anything to me at all to really indicate that he felt differently. So in particular when I come across fics in which parents want to have a relationship with their child it feels very foreign to me. I think I approach it wanting to understand it or wanting to feel wanted? Not the sexual aspect of it obviously (put down the keyboard, morality police). I think there is a difference between reading a fic with the desire of being wanted as a person vs reading for sexual gratification. NOT THAT ONE IS ABOVE THE OTHER. It’s perfectly fine to feel sexual gratification from reading immoral fiction. But I don’t actually get sexual gratification from reading smut fics, it (For Me) is about being desirable above morals and above what is acceptable in real life.
I think there is an entire different conversation to be had about why people cannot see the distinction between love and sexual desire. I know what you’re thinking reading this: but aleks, the incest fics you read and write have sex in them, so wtf are you talking about? Well. When I read a fanfic that feature incest I usually do not care for “porn without plot” fics. I think incest fiction and pwp do not go together very well. Like I said earlier, incest is usually the product of trauma or abusive scenarios, or unhealthy/unestablished familial roles. These things take time to build up in a fic, and require backstory. In order for an incest fic to reach the point where the two characters will engage in romance, there will have to be backstory to justify why they love or want each other. And this comes before the sexual part. I think, for me, that is where the appeal of an incest fic lies. In that part of the story where they take a “bad” relationship (estranged relatives, or abusive situations, or traumatic situations) and then sort of “fill it” with love/nurturing/etc in the culmination or romantic feelings/feeling of admiration. Idk if I’m getting my point across. But the base need of “fixing” a bad situation with romantic love is what I’m talking about here, not about “fixing” the bad relationship with sex. To me sex is the product of a romantic relationship or feelings of desire, not the product of the damaged relationship itself. Does that make sense?
Anyway. In my mind the smut is not the cause of the incestuous relationship, but the feelings of attraction/desire are.
Incest kink in situations where they aren’t actually related:
This does not pop up as often in fiction explicitly. but I think this version of the incest kink is actually hands down the most intresting to me. I think it is hard to do in a fic so it is not done often. But I think someone who is a stranger doing a roleplay, or taking on functionally the role of a relative, I think that is like… a dynamic I want to study under a microscope. Something about being nurtured and loved by a stranger in a way that you were missing from a relative or on purpose to enact a sexually gratifying taboo… phew.
I haven’t posted it yet but I do have one part of the series I’m working on where the character will choose to pretend to take on the role of your brother. And there’s a reason for that, given earlier in the story. It is to fill in a role that you find lacking. I think it’s intresting to think about…
I think this may in some ways link to more popular kinks like mommy kinks or daddy kinks (WHEN THEY ARE DONE WITH NUANCE/when it is less about the spoken “mommy” or “daddy” and more about the ROLE of “mommy” or “daddy”) because that is a person taking on a role that may have not been done “correctly” the first time. What I mean by that is, putting it simply, like when someone says they have “daddy issues” so they look towards a fatherly partner who, unspokenly, or maybe even spokenly and more obviously, takes on a fatherly role in their personal life (does things for them that are typically reserved for the familial role of a father). Same for someone with “mommy issues” who looks towards a nurturing partner who “mothers” them. This is probably not what you think of when you think of incest kink, but I think in some ways the tropes are the same. I think a lot of this is to fill a role that was not done correctly during the child-rearing portion of your life, and you look to self-soothing through these dynamics in adulthood. Or something to that effect. (This is my own thinking of it and not psychological advice or fact LOL)
Anyway.
TLDR: I think for me a lot of these incestuous dynamics fulfill a need for me that I did not have as a result of various traumatic circumstances that don’t need explanation. I personally have never really found sexual gratification in fanfiction (aka I don’t “get off” to it, but more like, it stimulates/fulfills this inherent desire to be wanted). Aka I should seek therapy but instead read fanfiction to cope with self loathing. 😁
But as a general rule of thumb I do not believe that people inherently need to experience trauma to find these things either appealing or at the very least intresting, or sexually gratifying. People have always been attracted to something taboo, the same way people enjoy horror or people rubberneck on the highway. Things that are “wrong” are just intresting because they are different. The mind is stimulated by things that are different to us. I don’t think it has to be any deeper than that… though in many cases it is. But it doesn’t matter. People don’t have to have a reason! Enjoy your taboo fiction or don’t if you don’t like it! Every kink is valid even if it’s not for you in particular. 😊
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