Another detail about the Harga that a few people mentioned is that there's this "rune" that keeps popping up in the film with the Harga, & it's actually a nonsense rune that nazis made up during WW2, & this rune has no historical evidence or attestations of having ever existed in either younger or elder futhark despite claims from nazis that it was "ancient". This nonsense rune was a redesign of the "O" rune (which is the REAL version & had no racist connotations originally), which is written like this ᛟ . But the changed Nazi rune adds "feet" to the ends, which is used by the Harga, & they arrange their eating tables this way. You also see this rune on the "love potion" mural here.
So the Harga claim they're just practicing their cultural practices, which is allegedly "ancient" but use a fake rune that has no historical basis pre-second world war, & was made up by Germans, not even vikings or historical Scandanavians themselves. Not only this, but they perform blood eagles & attestupa (senicide), both of which historicans today believe most likely did not actually exist. So this just shows that the Harga use "culture" to justify their white supremacy, but the cultural practices they do have no cultural or historical basis in reality, which proves they aren't actually concerned with either culture OR historical accuracy.
Just like their counterparts in real life.
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wip whatever
well it's that time of week (sorta) again, tagged by my beloved @poeti-kat to share a wip! sending tags out to my dears @florbelles @henbased @marivenah @blackreaches @heroofpenamstan @belorage @stacispratt @bluemojave @allthearchetypes @dihardys @beautiful-delirium @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @the-delicate-disaster @strafethesesinners @roofgeese
same thing it always is fucking wildfire chapter 15 spoilers below cut. maybe idk hoping i find a way to cut down this whole scene i literally cannot fucking stand them much longer.
“Hand over the fuckin’ gun you bastard,” she cursed, managing to pry one hand away from the stock and pull the body of the rifle parallel with her chest. But he repositioned and tightened his hands along the length the second she did, using the grip to give a quick, sharp jerk that brought the gun towards him and pulled her along with it.
She increased her own force, tugging the rifle back towards herself — before he suddenly loosened his hold, causing her to stumble back.
“By all means,” he said with abrupt nonchalance. He quickly closed the distance she’d fallen back, covering her hands with his and using the slack in her muscles from the loss of balance to take control of and reposition the gun — much to her surprise, turning it and shoving the butt of the rifle between her breasts, metal jabbing against her sternum just above the collar of her overalls. He pulled at her hands to guide them into firing positions, pressing one along the grip and one beneath the hand guard, keeping his own nearby to help support the weight of the gun but making no effort to point it away from him. “All yours, Deputy.”
Jessie flexed her arms, hurrying to move fingers into proper, more precise positions. She guided the muzzle to the bare skin of his chest, heaving forward to jab it at the dip at the center, just above the v of his vest.
“I don’t know what fuckin’ game you think you’re playing, but don’t think I won’t call your fucking bluff,” she growled, lunging forward over the length of the rifle and baring teeth. “I’ll end it, and you, right fucking now, and I’ll fucking enjoy it.”
“Then please, enjoy yourself,” he answered with a smile still dripping with infuriating self assuredness. “Go ahead and finish this off,” he offered with a nod down towards the gun.
“Would be my pleasure,” she spat, narrowing her eyes. It would, it really would, but…
She quickly flicked her eyes down to the radio at his waistband, then back up to meet his gaze.
It would be nice to get to humiliate him one last time, if it all did somehow all work out. And get to see in person how he reacted to the news for once.
He slowly trailed his fingers to reposition along the gun, his left hand sliding down along the barrel and shifting it until the muzzle rested atop his left breast, just above his heart, as if guiding her to just the right spot to ensure lethality.
“Come on,” he goaded, slight demanding whine slipping into his words as he slid his index over hers in place atop the trigger. He arched his chest out for good measure before applying pressure, mashing her finger down on the trigger — to nothing but the empty click of metal. He let out a playful defeated whimper and rolled his head to the side in synch with the dull clang, hanging it there for a moment before allowing smooth, velvety laughter to fill the air and opening his eyes to find hers again.
“What?” he asked, pushing out his bottom lip with feigned woundedness, so that its saliva slickened underside caught a glitter of moonlight. “Too premature? Or did you have your heart set on getting the job done yourself?” he asked before finally allowing the corners of his mouth to curl upward into a smug smile and lifting his head to recenter.
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