pekkt

[pekkt]

WANNA WRITE WITH SIGYN STILL? FIND HER ON @afvckton

[pekkt]

Putting all these copper ingots in my tight sumerian pussy

[pekkt]

“   i  can  relax  anywhere .   i  just  choose  not  to .   ”

his choice, his life, his aching neck and blessedly rigid spine. sigyn slumps lower, as if letting herself melt into that seat is on behalf of the poor bones of his body that won't feel the crackling joy of letting go.

"you wouldn't know relaxation if it bit you in the ass, pal."

[pekkt]

❝  when  people  get  desperate,   the  knives  come  out.  ❞

it's almost embarrassing, but shame looks at sigyn and whimpers like a shoo'd dog. she does not know it often and when it comes barking she is quick to drive it away. here it is now, slipping over her cheeks pink and hot, made of her blood and her hatred of being caught.

go away, she wills, so what if he's right?

desperation is a switchblade in her palm, flipped to the ready and her shame fleeing just as her desperation grows and grows and grows.

"i'll do it," she rasps. she tastes blood in her mouth. she tastes the thick of the air, coppery and tangy. "i fucking dare you"

@kxllerblond

[pekkt]

mmm thats about all i got in me lol.

[pekkt]

old man can't tell her what she ought to do, what she will do, but he has a way of convincing the dirt and the sky and her mountain of a father that has her pushed (quite literally) out of mother's nest anyhow.

there are feathers still poking out of her skin here and there, shedding like leaves from a fall tree as she stomps along grumpily. quiet isn't necessarily her thing these days but old man got her tongue good with this and she's been biting it since they set out, until her companion finally breaks the silence like a twig under a boot.

"could just turn around, isn't that the better answer?" she grumbles. a tuft of newborn fuzz feathers is pulled from the bare of her shoulder and she flicks it away. there's no way odin is gonna allow it. she wonders what kinda bird he is up in these trees, the nosy fuck.

sigyn eyes loki, sizes him up and scrunches her nose with a sniff and a drag of her finger under her nostrils.

"left. i guess. fuck it."

𝐈𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐍𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐊𝐈'𝐒 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄. not that he didn't already try enough as it was. more of a 𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 then truths. sadly , it seemed he had something planned out for his endearing friend.

( when the bear scrounged for honey , did it not find it's paws in hives that it didn't belong in ?? it was as if Odin spotted the bear along time ago , and was able to place what kindve breed it was. )

he felt as if the adventure that he was told to go on would be something of a BORE. but he wasn't alone , that was the troubling news.

@pekkt seemed easy enough. if easy was worded with minced garlic and plated meals. she wasnt exactly what he was expecting , but with ODIN he was never sure who to expect. he kept his tongue silenced until finally , " let's see --- left , or right path ?? " he asked as they came to a fork in the road, " I like to think either should bring us there. , but isn't that just the obvious answer ?? "

PLOTTED THREAD. ' A FORK IN THE ROAD '

[pekkt]

she's had beat up tomcats spit and hiss more than this and for less, so there's not a lick of worry painting her face pretty when he tucks into himself and shoots her words like a cocked gun.

well, it's a good question, she reasons. why is it her concern? what good does it do to give a shit about a broken thing like this making a mess behind scummy buildings that have seen worse in these alleyways? the asphalt sweats beneathe her boots, under the slick of his bleed out, on account of the humidity of the air seeping into it's cracks.

breathing feels like drowning in places with weather like this shit. what's it feel like for him, though?

"it isn't, i'm just nosy as fuck is all," and buzzing with a thick layer of who-gives-a-shit notion from the liquor still warm in her belly. nosy. curious, she means, but it doesn't translate to true concern right away.

sigyn stands up and with three bold steps comes close enough to corner him against the wall behind him and the pile of garbage to the left. for a moment all she does is lower her gaze and s t a r e.

then it's back to a crouch, one knee lowered carelessly into the mess of blood as she does so. sigyn lifts her hands, like a magician trying to convince the audience there is no real trick before the magic begins.

"and i guess i'm pretty good in these sorts of matters. nursed worse wounds myself. you gonna tell me you don't want help? because i'm gonna tell you i don't really care that you don't want it, i'm giving it just the same. such is my lot in this life, as it were."

he’s this considerably pitiful heap, gaze occasionally lifting, darting around his surroundings, hypervigilant in sight and sound. bullet wounds are no strangers; plenty have been lovers to leave their marks behind on his skin. but this one stings as equally in his skull and the pit of his chest as much as it does at the site of the wound, itself.

the burn of disinfectant detracts from what simmers beneath the surface; he focuses on that, jaw clicking, and he swallows a minute amount of blood from the bite, watches as his wound bleeds, too, diluted with antiseptic, dripping a light red trail down clammy skin, onto an attachment component, down the prosthetic, onto the grit of pavement below.

the hell happened to you?

settled as he was on the sting, he’d nearly made the move to reach for a suture kit until a voice visibly winds up all of the tension in his body, steely eyes shooting too unsettlingly quickly in the direction from which it came. his breath catches in his throat; the glare’s in his eyes by default, but there’s a subtle edge of hesitation, there, caution that could be perceived if you look close enough.

he says nothing for a moment, breathing in such a way that she can catch the rise and fall of his chest, his shoulders.

“why is this your concern.” deadpan, hardly sounding like a question. he doesn’t move; he’s seated on the ground, but he does plant his boots in front of him, bent knees, scooting backward just a couple of inches, some wild animal retreating into a corner and ready to lash out at a moment’s notice. “why is this your concern,” he repeats again, challenging. it’s more a warning than it is a demand for an answer.

[pekkt]

DOES A HUNT THAT HAS NO VIOLENCE FEED ANYONE

[pekkt]

hmmm this cafe im at is pretty busy so ill try to get drafts done buuuut i might also need to find somewhere else to go lol.

[pekkt]

happle tea

[pekkt]

Thinking about trolls (+elves, huldufólk, others) in light of Eduardo Vivieros de Castro. I'm not willing to say that pre-Christian Scaninavians were perspectivists in Amazonian style, but I do think that looking at Norse religion and later Nordic folklore through that lens is productive.

I'm mostly using the word troll as kind of a catch-all (which is not unlike how Scandinavian folklore uses it, though Icelandic folklore does not).

There are two main fears concerning trolls: that they will eat you, and that they will marry and/or fuck you. In Levi-Strauss's time that might have been seen as symbolically reducible to the same fear, but I think we can learn more by examining them in their distinction.

I dunno that I can summarize Vivieros de Castro's points here, but I'm reading from Cosmological Perspectivism in Amazonia and Elsewhere: Four Lectures given in the Department of Social Anthropology, Cambridge University, February-March 1998.

In western ontology we humans are like animals in that we have bodies, but what distinguishes us is the soul (or the rational mind, or whatever, the details change over time but the point is something distinctive about our interiority), so that for, say, Christian missionaries, "because the spiritual is the locus of difference that conversion becomes necessary (the Europeans wanted to know whether Indians had souls in order to modify them)." Sverrir Jakobsson says that Icelanders bought so heavily into the [Christian : Heathen] distinction as the primary ordering principle of the peoples of the world that they had trouble recognizing, or even outright denied, that there was an East-West split in Christianity.

In perspectivist ontologies this is flipped, the locus of differentiation is the body, because the interiority of everything is the same, difference comes from inhabiting different bodies. If you could acquire the sight of a jaguar, you would look at a puddle of blood and see a nice cold beer (but you would also be dangerous to humans, because you would see them as game animals). The resulting anxiety is cannibalism. If everything is the same in underlying essence, it becomes necessary to engage in an active practice of differentiation to avoid eating something that is the same as you. Ritual specialists who can transform into animals are sometimes bad hunters because they are too deeply engaged in this paradox.

The fear of marrying a troll (or elf, whatever) is the fear of spiritual conversion. This is sometimes made explicit: "I don't want to live with elves; rather, I want to believe in my Christ" -- Ólafur Liljurós (note that while this ballad is related to similar ones all over Europe, many of them deal with the protaganist's impending marriage and/or infidelity in some way; this is absent from the Icelandic and it's a purely religious conflict). In Tungustapi, Sveinn doesn't just fuck elves, he also goes to their church (which is a sort of inverted Christian church). He's alienated from the [Christian/human] community. This corresponds to "western ontology."

The other side of this is fear of being eaten. At risk of overthinking things, because being afraid of a scary monster eating you doesn't really seem to need a lot of explanation, I think there are religious/cosmological implications here.

The fear of being eaten by a troll is different from the fear of being eaten by a bear or a boar, because humans also eat bears and boars, we are on the same level with them. You can't eat a troll (we also don't eat wolves, and wolves are trolls' domestic animals, although I guess you could eat a wolf). A semi-human semi-Euhemerized jötunn/troll is associated with cannibalism in Orms þáttr Stórólfssonar. I've written before about the likely etymological derivation of jötunn from a word meaning 'to eat'; previously I said that while *etaną 'to eat' and *etunaz 'jötunn' have a clear etymological relationship, that might not be so a few hundred years later when they have become eta and jǫtunn, but maybe this relationship should be reconsidered.

Eduardo Kohn was once told to always sleep on his back in the jungle, because if a jaguar comes it will see his face and recognize him as a person, but if it sees his back it will see him as prey. To avoid being eaten by a troll you have to get the troll to see you as a person and not as food, you can do this by giving a gift (and initiating a relationship of reciprocity), or else by being more troll-like yourself (maybe even by preestablished kinship with trolls like Egill Skallagrímsson). It's a widely-acknowledge attribute of trolls, at least in Iceland, that if you do manage to get them on your side they are loyal, hence the word trölltryggur 'trustworthy as a troll [=extremely trustworthy].'

The alternate way to avoid being eaten is, of course, to pray to [Thor/St. Olav] to come destroy them with his [hammer/axe]. I don't think this throws off what I'm saying here though, because "extreme violence" is also an option for dealing with humans in a reciprocation-exchange relationship too.

Anyway, my point is that the responses to the two different fears are the exact opposite of each other. You respond to the fear of conversion by never associating with trolls, never falling for the deceit that they are persons like you. You respond to the fear of being eaten by trolls by establishing mutual recognition of each others' personhood.

Contrary to popular belief (which says to never accept any gift from the fey under any circumstances), both of these are represented in folklore. Ólafur Liljurós even presents both of them at the same time, and says it's better to be killed than convert.

There's a big gap in this, which is magical creatures that don't want to eat you but which are still dangerous. e.g., an elf is not going to eat you but you still don't want to piss him off because he'll shoot you with a disease-transmitting arrow. But I think this can get filed along with the fear of being eaten, it's just that because the Eduardos (Vivieros de Castro and Kohn) are themselves talking about cosmological food chains, and I'm working from their material, there's better opportunity for examining trolls that eat people.

[pekkt]

[pekkt]

i appreciate everyone who lets me take my time doing memes and replies! this week has been hell at work and i have to go in tmrw and thursday so thats about all i got in me for now.

[pekkt]

❛ men die. it’s practically what they’re for. ❜ - zadkiel lmfao

"and sometimes they look SO good doing it. it's like, wow, you were born to bleed out all over the ground you disgusting, wretched, beautiful man."

"but i don't want THIS one to die, it's just not pretty enough. so can you just... do me a solid, babe?"

[pekkt]

❛ i am what i am. you cannot be angry with a stove for heating the house. ❜ - void?

"and a hunt without violence feeds no one, yadda yadda yadda," oh all realms above and below, ARE THEY THERE YET?

"hold that thought- ah.. ah.."

"choo," she squeaks a sneeze, rubs her nose with the back of her hand then squints at him, "i'm so sorry, i'm allergic to bullshit. you must know my allergies were awful during most of my marriage. so what happens when you want to be what you want to be?"

[pekkt]

“Wow.” Pete laughs it off, hands on his hips. “Cold. And yet … it burns. Like gripping a block of dry ice.”

"it's said my grandfather was licked from ice, so i suppose it runs in the family."

okay, okay, so he at least gets the jaws jackin' and the mouth slipping into a smile as easily as changing into laundry-fresh panties still warm on the ass. he's not particular hilarious, not in her book, but her humor isn't always a belly laugh that makes your abdomen ache after.

her humor is stealing this precious bit of cargo from a nearby starliner and hearing over the radio the pilot's boss rip him a new one.

sucks to suck.

"you miss me, i take it? or you miss being able to miss me?"

[pekkt]

@foundcarcosa inspirational