#character who is a minor

[deluxewhump]

Carlo’s Letters: Suzerain (unsent)

(from a collection of letters in Carlo’s handwriting. This one has no addressee or formal greeting, but the intended recipient is easily inferred)

CW: slave/pet whump, at times ambiguous master/pet relationship, Carlo is 20 writing this but referencing a time he was a minor (17), hand feeding, mention of violence and acid burning in the context of a movie, sexually charged looks in public from men, overall a reflective and tame piece)

April

Someone mentioned the tax season deadline and it brought up a memory I have of you, in that funny, mostly unrelated way memories have of coming up. Years ago, I think I was seventeen, we were trying to re-enter the country after a short trip. Something had gone wrong with our tickets. They were flagged, and we had to visit the consulate before flying.

The girl at the counter had hair the color of fake buttercups in a ponytail tied with a navy ribbon. She looked like an old-timey stewardess I’d seen in magazine illustrations. She said you had to pay a new fee to bring back a pet. No, not a new pet, just any pet. A one-time re-entry fee for those traveling internationally with their pets. You checked the time on your watch and asked when this came about. I got a chill from the subdued, civil curiosity you possess that makes people more nervous than a raised voice. The girl winced when she said last week, like she’d been getting pushback on it since then.

I glanced from her face to yours. The set of your mouth is easier to read than your eyes sometimes, especially when you’re talking to strangers. My eyes drifted down the pressed lines of your sleeve, the neat black lines of the coat folded over your arm. She turned her screen toward you, the policy pulled up and ready. I noticed the official US seal on the top, that sharp eyed, pitiless eagle and borders of navy blue. Knowing this was about me made me lightheaded, and I ran my pinky along the scratchy fabric of your coat like I could tether myself to you that way, focusing on the friction of fabric and skin. I took a deep breath slowly, so no one would notice.

You read her screen and hummed in amusement. The girl laughed nervously with you, unsure if you were about to give her a hard time. But you just paid the fee for my re-entry, and we went back to the taxi and rode to the airport. It was four thousand dollars. My stomach churned at the number.

The security checkpoint was busy. I stayed close to you amidst the throngs of people winding through the stanchions. They had dogs out today, and made us walk past them two by two. An agent with a belt full of gear and black boots made eye contact with me. His eyes were a transparent blue. I looked at the dog instead, its tail wagging softly and his head bent low, sniffing for contraband, thrilled to serve its master.

With two hours until our flight we sat in a dimly lit restaurant booth, all dark wood and polished brass rails at the bar that gave the impression we had stepped out of the sterile, white halls of the airport into another decade. The wall behind the bartender was mirrored. I watched us in the reflection as you ordered two waters and a caprese salad. I said I wasn’t hungry, though when the server brought your penne primavera it smelled so good I had a brief pang of regret.

I drank the water you ordered for me, imagining it cooling me from the inside out and bringing back my equilibrium. How many Italian dinners would four thousand dollars buy? Why did you have to pay such a jaw-dropping fee to bring your own property back into your own home country?

You ate at a pace slower than leisurely and ordered dessert, which was unlike you. I realized it was for me when you scooped the first bite of chocolate mousse cake on a fresh fork and put it in front of my mouth. I must’ve looked miserable because you pulled it away.

“What?” you said gently.

“Why was it so much?”

“Why was what so much, angel?” There was no warning in your tone. Only patience.

“To bring me back?”

You sighed through your nose, finished your demitasse of espresso. “That was a King’s ransom, wasn't it? Just a clever way to drum up some extra revenue. They know most of us won't leave our pets at a consulate over four grand. Well. Some will."

"Can you get it back?"

"I need you to stop wringing your hands over a luxury tax, Carlo." You sounded amused now, which was better than annoyed but not a distant land to it, either. "What did you bring to read on the plane?"

"The Idiot?"

"That won't help,” you said.

I didn't know what you meant by that, but I was alright with being in the dark, or the butt of a joke, if gave you a moment of genuine pleasure. "...It just seems unfair," I shrugged.

You lowered your voice. “It’s got nothing to do with you, sweetheart. It’s no matter. I’d have paid whatever I needed to. It’s a mosquito bite.”

I dropped my eyes. You’d gone out of your way to reassure me, and it had made my face warm. Back then, if I could have changed anything about myself, it would have been the way I blush so easily, making every emotion visible and ten times more humiliating. You offered the fork again and I leaned forward to take the bite of rich, sweet cake. It was good. I was hungry. I wanted another bite. But I’d sit there with my mouth watering for another five minutes while you took a phone call rather than reach for something I hadn’t been handed.

My attention slid off to a woman who’d dropped her purse in her rush to her terminal. Her phone skittered all the way to the drinking fountain by the wall like a rock skipped on water. It seemed to me the real world was inside the restaurant, its fresh bread smells and dark polished wood, and the ant-like rush outside in the airport was an illusion, a large TV screen.

You scooped another bite onto the fork and fed it to me with your cellphone to your ear, looking at me absently as you did. “I thought that’s what you said,” you said to whoever was on the other line. “I agree. They need to vet these guys. The new software makes it a step by step process.” You fed me yet another bite. My teeth hurt from the sweetness, but I took it. Chewed, swallowed. “There shouldn’t be any more mistakes like that. They need to be held responsible.”

You weren’t talking to me, or about me, but your matter-of-fact, stern tone made my spine tingle anyway.

I noticed a broad-shouldered black man with a close, well oiled beard watching my master hand feed me. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, had only a carry on briefcase with him. His watch and cufflinks looked expensive. His leather shoes gleamed. He saw me return his gaze and looked away with profound disinterest.

Strange men in public often had that reaction. Either that, or they would smile at me. It was almost always men. Women sometimes looked, but I couldn’t read their intent as easily. The men who grinned and leered always felt like a violation. I knew most would be a hot breath on my neck and the smell of some grotesque cologne, but at least they were displaying interest. I knew they could not actually touch me. Being an object of envy or desire still made me feel safe in those days, even if I knew the desire was destructive.

If strangers with a penchant for youngish boys would look at me with such open interest in an airport, a cafe, a crowded street, then I must possess something that has value to my master, even though he doesn’t use me in that way. Beauty alone must be enough for him, and that must be the essence of his attachment to me. It was my currency and I knew it.

Once (not with you) I saw a movie in which pets often had their faces burned with acid either as a last-ditch kind of punishment or a form of vandalism by their master’s enemies. I had bad dreams about it for months afterward. I don’t think I had ever imagined violence with any kind of permanence or real malice behind it until that moment. Why would I have?

Men like this one, who looked away as if even curiosity about me was beneath them were harder to be sure of than ones who stared. Were they too polite for that? Were they abolitionists who imagined I’d like to be free of this man I was with? Or did they find me, my submission, my mouth on the proffered fork of man who was so clearly my master repulsive? Was it hate or indifference?

I don't receive those looks anymore. I don't look like a pet. I don't sit like one at the side man who looks like no relation to me, and like he'd own a pet. Max thinks I'm oblivious to the way girls look at me sometimes. I probably am. Sometimes when I look in the mirror I still imagine myself though your eyes. I don't cut my hair too short or let it grow too long. I wear things you taught me to like. I don't have to do any of this. Someone else might shave his head, wear things he knows you'd dislike.

Do I still not possess an ounce of rebellion when it comes to you? I'm like that dog at the airport. I don't understand emancipation or retirement. I am waiting for you to tell me to come home, or else give me permission to become someone else.

You're in prison. I imagine you like some incarcerated mob guy in the thirties, with your own dinner menu and LL Bean slippers and guys who respect a gun runner nodding at you in the yard and calling you boss. What's it really like?

If I send this, will you write me back? Would you write to Max instead, telling him to keep a better eye on my mental state because I'm writing to you in prison? That would be worse than no reply, I think. A hand-slap and a reprimand.

The possibility might keep me from sending it.

Not Yours,

Carlo Svenson

[lokittystuckinatree]

People exist who actually want the Master to be written out of the show? Even temporarily? They’re like…the only other reoccurring character. The only other active character that can be recasted. Almost as central and iconic to the show as Cybermen or Daleks. Infamous for coming back from the dead. The Doctor’s person.

[alexkablob]

Something about the inherent Lest/Maddie parallel that exists in Arcane S2—each of them the honeypot relaying the pillow talk of the clueless aristocrat they're sleeping with back to who they're really loyal to—and the way it reflects how Mel learned more from her mother than she likes admitting to herself (or than Ambessa ever gave her credit for until the very end) because, on the surface, they both use the same tactic to keep an eye on their potential rival.

And yet! Mel's compassionate treatment of Lest (a trans woman sex worker who she considers a genuine friend, is protective of and willing to accept criticism from, and who she refuses to consider expendable) contrasted to Ambessa's contingency plan with Maddie (a radicalized fascist who she converted into an asset by convincing her she was a more effective leader than Caitlyn and who was, in the end, eminently expendable) is one of the starkest illustrations of just how different Mel is, and how much better a leader of the Medarda clan she's going to be.

[carolinanadeau]

"this female character is underdeveloped" TO YOU. I can read subtext and I know all about her backstory and her rich inner life. also she told me personally

[winepresswrath]

one thing I like about tazmuir as an author is that at any given time she will be like "here is a character," and I will think "that's nice, but I don't care. please return me to my beautiful Gideon" and then she'll be like "no. look at this other character under a microscope. they are so fucked up and full of love in such specific ways. probably they are bad at sex also." and I make a shocked face and welcome them into the pantheon in my heart, still waiting to hear from my beautiful gideon, at which point tazmuir will show me another character. and then.

[giantchasm]

I hope in the next Legends game they isekai one of the Sordward/Shielbert duo so I can see people writing angst and saying stuff like “they separated him from his other half 😭” “he misses his brother 🥺” about the guys who look like this.

[bixels]

I'm not explaining why re-imagining characters as POC is not the same as white-washing, here of all places should fucking understand.

[sonknuxadow]

its kinda funny that the chaotix are like the only characters who mention having to pay rent or buy food or whatever and theyll take any job that pays because theyre desperate for money but none of the other characters are struggling in this department at all even though most of them dont seem to have jobs. its like the concept of needing money to live exists for no one in the sonic universe EXCEPT for vector espio and charmy

[twinge-of-cosmicangst]

Ricky September went to the Sally Sparrow school of best companions we never had

[spookberry]

the first time I drew these two(when I was 12) they were functionally the Color Guardian's version of Jessie and James,,,

[stagshipping]

i wish the tiktok proship community was more like the tumblr proship community, bc on tiktok it's all 13 year olds trying to be as edgy as possible. im so sick of every post being "bandit 🍇s bluey but she likes it" like i doubt that you even ship that you're just trying to post the most vile "headcanons" you can come up with. proship just means "ship and let ship", it doesn't mean you HAVE to post dark headcanons about children's media. also the fact that most tiktok proshippers are around 13- there's no space for adults? as far as ive seen anyway.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

M'lady, doth this harlot bother thee?

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[fabled-lady-twilla]

How it feels being a ShigaDeku shipper in this fandom. Why is everyone so mean? 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[cogneartive]

“i dont like drawing barok van zieks hes hard to draw” unfortunately for me i am a true castlevania geezer

[ahollowgrave]

PIGEON’S GPOSE WRAPPED 2024

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve

Gpose Wrapped 2023

WHEW! Here it is! My favorite shots from over the year, one for each month (or... close enough!) I love putting these together it's such a fun way to look back and I'm always stunned at what I was up to at the start of the year. Odette started the year surrounded by friends and she ended the year surrounded by friends! How lucky is she. I almost had enough Skeleton shots for the first six months of the year, but then I got to March and actually gasped when I remembered how we all played Mermaids together! That was such a fun time!! Man, I have so much fun taking my little screenshots!!! It has led me to some of my favorite people!! I'm so grateful I still love this hobby and screenshots.

Thank you guys for being here, thanks for making stuff, and thanks for sharing it!

(down here is a second, secret gpose wrapped)

one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven / twelve / thirteen / fourteen

This year I had more than enough shots to do a second Gpose Wrapped (and then some) featuring my friends' OCs! That's wild!! These aren't in any particular order and one of them never made it to Tumblr. But I had so much fun making these and sharing them with my friends!! Thank you to the people who reached out and traded with me! Next year I want to be brave enough to do more shots with friends. Brave enough to ask, brave enough to brainstorm them, braver!!! There are people I gotta catch up with, too!

[anonymouscheeses]

So i did the thing!

All three of my biggest kinnies in a car! They lost their way and are going insane because of how insufferable they are together 😔

(Oh also i wanted to try out this new brush i got... it has changed my life. Forever.)