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schottisreisetagebuch · 11 months

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Das Land des Che

Das Kapitol

Quer durch Kuba

Eine Reise über die Insel ist immer noch Abenteuer pur. Das beginnt in der Hauptstadt Havanna und seinen unüberschaubar verwirrenden Gassenlabyrinth, den Plätzen, Boulevards und Avenues. Karibisches Inseltreiben, großstädtischer Straßenverkehr und dörflicher Charakter, all das macht das (Über-) Leben hier unvergesslich. Kolonialpaläste und baufällige Häuser, Prachtvillen, Kasinos und triste Hinterhöfe, farbenfrohe Umzüge, Bars – und immer und überall Musik. Havanna ist eine tanzende Stadt, eine ewig feiernde Geliebte, eine pralle Schönheit der Superlative.

In den Gassen Havannas

Auch wenn die Machthaber Kubas immer Kubaner waren, standen sie doch stets unter fremdem Protektorat. Ob Estrada Palma (erster Staatspräsident) oder Fulgencio Battista, die Karibikinsel hing am Gängelband der Yankees. Auch die zu Beginn des zwanzigsten Jahrhunderts importierten Gangster Meyer Lansky, Al Capone oder Francis Albert „Frank“ Sinatra, genannt „Franky Boy“ machten sich im Selbstbedienungsladen Havannas breit – machten krumme Dinge und klauten, was nicht niet- und nagelfest war. Nachhaltig veränderte sich das Leben in Kuba erst 1959 mit Fidel Castro und Ernesto „Che“ Guevarra und ihren wagemutigen Freunden.

Gefangen in der Vergangenheit

Die neuen politischen Führer legten dem Land einen jahrzehntelangen Konfrontationskurs zur benachbarten Supermacht USA auf und gingen auf Kuschelkurs mit dem andern Ende der Welt, der Sowjetunion. Das Wettrüsten und der damit einhergehende Machtpoker zwischen Ost und West brachten im Oktober 1962 die Welt an den Rand des Abgrundes. Die Kuba-Krise wurde zum Sinnbild des Kalten Krieges. Nach dem Zerfall der UdSSR blieb Kuba zunächst sozialistisch, entschloss sich zum Überleben und schwenkte um zu einer sehr gemäßigten Privatwirtschaft. Raoul Castro, der Bruder des ehemaligen Revolutionsführers legte schlussendlich mit Präsident Obama den historischen Konflikt der Länder bei.

Das Überleben in Kuba ist seither mäßig fortschrittlich und ist den Auswirkungen des überlangen Wirtschaftsembargos, der Vertrauenskrise des Volkes zu seinen politischen Führern und den vielfach enttäuschten Erwartungen geschuldet. Dem Inselstaat geht es gut und – auch nicht. Man sollte das Land bereisen und Devisen im Land lassen, die letztlich der Bevölkerung zugutekommen: Privatunterkünfte, Familienrestaurants, landeseigene Autovermietungen, Einkaufen am Markt, kurz, lokale Gewerbetreibende unterstützen. Kuba hat alles, was ein Land reich macht. Aber es wurde ausgeblutet, von Kriminellen und falsch verstandenen „Ismen“. Letztlich war der Kommunismus dem Land wirtschaftlich ebenso abträglich wie es früher der Klassenfeind, der Kapitalismus war.

Che

Unterwegs in Havanna

El Capitolio – Offizielles Wahrzeichen Havannas, das an das Original in Washington erinnert. Diktator Machado weihte es unter amerikanischer Protektion ein. Es steht unter keinem guten Stern: Auf dem ehemaligen Sumpfgebiet wurden in alten Tagen Sklaven untergebracht!

La Habana vieja – Die Altstadt: Pittoreske Häuser, Plätze, Gassen. Südsee-Flair und Salsa Musik. Zigarren und Rum. Und: Jede Menge Bars… Man kann sich nicht satt sehen, trinken, tanzen!

El Malecon – An der überirdisch schönen Strandpromenade schlendern und die Welt eine gute sein lassen. Menschen, Trubel, Straßenmusikanten, und der wahrscheinlich spektakulärste Ausblick auf das berühmteste Abendrot der Karibik – das gibt’s hier mmer noch, und wohl lange noch. Hoffentlich!

The Partagas Cigar Factory – Die riesige Zigarrenfabrik liegt im Herzen Havannas und ist einen Besuch wert – auch für Nichtraucher!

Mit der Pferdekutsche durch das Gassengewirr entlang der Bahia de la Habana, im Chevie über die Boulevards. Die alte, karibische Dame hat mehr Leidenschaft und Sinnlichkeit zu bieten als so manch andere Weltstadt!

Musik

Und dann geht’s hinaus, durch Außenbezirke, über breite Ausfallstraßen, quer durch tropische Urwälder, malerische Flüsse, über abenteuerliche „Autopistas“, auf denen einem so ziemlich alles entgegenkommt, was Gott je erschaffen hat: Straßenkreuzer, Radfahrer, Pferdefuhrwerke, altersschwache LKW’s, Schulbusse, und, als wäre es nicht schon genug, jede Menge Fußgänger. In Kuba ist man wahrlich nicht alleine unterwegs. Der Verkehr gleicht hier einer Lotterie – man weiß nie, was kommt. Über die Insel zu fahren ist Abenteuer pur. Das beginnt schon bei der Orientierung. Am besten, man prägt sich die Topografie des Landes und die vier Himmelsrichtungen ein. Wer will’s schon alles wissen? „Keine Details, das Stück!“, lautet ein alter Theaterspruch. Die Bühnenkünstler müssen es wissen. Eine gute Straßenkarte würde bereits an der Straßenbeschriftung scheitern – denn die gibt es nicht. Man landet in jedem Fall in der Pampa. Was soll’s, die ist hier so schön, wie nirgendwo. Die effektivste Methode ans Ziel zu kommen, heißt hierzulande „Autostopp“. Das funktioniert. Und todsicherer als man denkt.

Die Revolution

Am Rand jeder Überlandstraße stehen Heerscharen von Reisenden. Man hat die Qual der Wahl - meist habe ich Mütter mit Kindern als Co-Passagiere gewählt. Man hält an, fragt wohin die Reise gehen soll, und schon ist man genau dorthin unterwegs. Es spielt es schon für eine Rolle, ob man zuerst ins Valle de Viñales, dem sagenhaft schönen Tal an der Westküste Kubas reist, oder doch in Richtung Trinidad, in die entgegengesetzte Richtung. Hauptsache man landet irgendwann, irgendwo. Und Quartier zu finden ist ein Kinderspiel, ob in „Casas Particulares“ (Privatquartiere) oder in altersschwachen Provinzhotels – beides probiert, beides zu empfehlen.

Das Haus der Väter

Unterwegs in Kuba

Pinar del Rio – Verschlafenes Nest in der Nähe des traumhaft schönen Vinales-Tales, der Tabak-Hochburg Kubas!

Cienfuegos – Koloniales Nest am karibischen Meer. Pferdekutschen, Meeresfrüchte, verträumte Märkte und… jede Menge tropischer Regengüsse!

Trinidad – Katzenkopfpflaster, Musik, zwei Museen und der wunderschöne Dorfplatz „Plaza Mayor“. Hier träumt man sich hin und weg!

Santa Clara – Die Stadt des Che Guevarra. Hier siegte die Revolution, der Weg der Guerillas nach Havanna öffnete sich. Kuba errichtete seinem großen Helden hier ein Mausoleum. Seither steht hier eine der größten Fremdenverkehrsattraktionen des Inselstaates: Das Grab des großen Che!

Santiago de Cuba – Die Seestadt ist eine der ältesten des Landes. Hier begann in den Fünfzigern die Revolution von Che, Fidel und den Anderen!

Im Oldtimer-Paradis

Manchmal lohnt es sich auch, männliche Passagiere einsteigen zu lassen. Weshalb? Ich bin gewiss schon unter so manch widriger Bedingungen durch ein fremdes Land gereist, nirgendwo aber hatte ich so viele Autopannen wie in Kuba. In einer Woche waren es gezählte vier (!) Platte, hervorgerufen durch eingefahrene Nägel. Warum ausgerechnet die Straßen, auf denen ich unterwegs war, gespickt mit rostigen Hindernissen waren, weiß ich nicht. Vielleicht handelte es sich um eine Art späte Rache am Weißen Mann? Meine autostoppenden Mitfahrer jedenfalls erwiesen sich allesamt als Kavaliere – bei nicht einem einzigen Reifenwechsel musste ich selbst Hand anlegen. Und da sage noch einer, Kuba sei kein sicheres Reiseland. Es wirft einem zwar jede Menge Hindernisse in den Weg, die Kubaner räumen sie aber auch eigenhändig wieder weg.

Sunset am Malecon

Noch ein paar Fotos aus Kuba

#michael schottenberg #schotti #schotti unterwegs #schotti to go #Kuba #Havanna #El Malecon #Pariagas Cigar Factory #Pinar del Rio #Che Guevarra #Revolution #La revolucion

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thedenofravenpuff · 1 year

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I don’t talk much about cigars anymore here on tumblr, as I sensed I don’t have the audience for it here. BUT I still do enjoy a good cigar on a weekly basis and felt this pic turned out pretty nicely, so I just wanted to share,

Mostly to show off my new fancy mugs. Did buy a cheap knockoff months ago but it didn’t survive the dishwasher despite the packaging claiming it should be able to. So I made use of the January sales to get the real thing and I love it. I just think this mug design is so neat!

Is just a nice way to chill with a good drink and a nice cigar.

Enjoy!

The Roan RPG Project ScreeCon Server on Discord Leave a Tip on Ko-Fi

#PuffBlog #Status #Update #Photo #Photography #Mug #Gin Has #Alcohol #CW Alcohol #Cigar #CW Tobacco #Factory Smoke

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robliness · 1 year

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today kind of a golden age for me to finally find out the tumblrs of people i follow on twitter. dash is full of good content! keep up the work

#why does it sound like im a factory manager yelling down at my employees while smoking a comically oversized cigar

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blindmanspuff · 1 month

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United Cigars Celebrates with La Gianna Havana 30th Anniversary Edition - Cigar News

United Cigars Celebrates with La Gianna Havana 30th Anniversary Edition - #Cigar News @UnitedCigars #cigars

United Cigars is marking a significant milestone with the release of the La Gianna Havana 30th Anniversary edition. This special edition cigar honors the 30th anniversary of the La Gianna Havana brand, which was first introduced in 1994 to celebrate the birth of David Garofalo’s daughter. Crafted at the Agroindustria Diadema Factory in Honduras, this limited edition is a tribute to United Cigars’…

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#Agroindustria Diadema Factory #David Garofalo #La Gianna #La Gianna Havana 30th Anniversary Edition #Oliver Nivaud #United Cigars

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tmrrwppl · 7 months

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re: Gabriel Luna gifs

#me: collecting Gabriel resources with no idea for a character yet I JUST THINK HE'S NEAT OKAY

please do it.

"Mrs. Tellemanca, after all these years, you have the audacity to reach out to me again after I already told you 'no'. When was that, 2000? Allow me to tell you what I found out in that time, I remember clear as day: Your daughter went missing as well. You buried an empty grave for her. Cheap. flat headstone, the pauper special. Or did you forget about her like you have her whole life?"

He knew exactly where the Tellemanca siblings were, and had for years. It was an open secret among their small group that Ultra had driven them both north, he had personally found the body of the man who accosted the little girl, half gator chowed in the reeds. Why it paid to be a paranormal private eye sometimes.

"You didn't deserve your daughter, and you sure as hell didn't deserve your son who had to raise her. I remember it all. I was so disgusted, that I'll never forget. Your husband wasn't your daughter's father. That's why you didn't care about her. Your children are both still alive, but they have no desire to see you. You have ruined their lives. I would go home and try and find remorse for your actions. Update your will to include the both of them. After you and your husband die, they might have reason to come back."

The Tellemancas had been one of the only ones to get out of the state. His group usually found the runaways fairly quick and took them in. Private Investigator firm definitely paid the bills and helped him keep eyes on Ultra while they were blissfully unaware of his people working in the shadows of Ybor city.

As the woman essentially scrambled from his office, Raymond Salgado leaned back in his chair and snorted.

That's a name I ain't heard in a while, how are those kids?

Good, I guess. Morgan reached out to me, apparently the girl is her step daughter for all purposes now.

Fancy that, not sure how that woman can deal with Price, but if it keeps him up there and outta our hair...

I couldn't do it, probs too many powered people would be making his dick feel small, Morgan's expectin', I'll send a card. And... I mean... dunno, Pops, wonder what it would be like to have someone Competent in the South Ultra branch instead of that dumb pendejo

Now now, don't say that Ray-Ray, we're lucky he's a moron. Keeps us legit, and they don't need to be involved in all that now. Make sure to sign my name on that card, or I'll put your fancy car in the Hillsburruh'

#not me having fully planned multiple Ultra locations because of *THE MAP* from episode one and making Tampa a prime location of South Ultra #and not me having a whole fucking backstory to the Florida Equivalent of the Lair Dwellers (except we ain't got no basements here let alone #subway tunnels so they make do being 'legit' and shit)#... and maybe taking some jobs from the Cuban Mafia XD #and they totes live in a repurposed cigar factory disguised as fancy loft style apartments #cause EXPOSED BRICKS.#yeah I've had this one sitting for a while anon please forgive me for this #m: Raymond Salgado #NPC: Raymond Salgado #TTP Lore

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smokemastercigars · 8 months

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Factory Smokes by Drew Estate Now Available! | Smoke Master Cigars

Drew Estate Factory Smokes' new offerings – the Maduro and Shade blends – are poised to redefine your expectations of affordable luxury. Crafted with the expertise that only Drew Estate can provide, these cigars promise an indulgent experience for your taste buds.

#factory smokes by drew estate #drew estate cigars #drew estate cigars canada #Cigar shop online

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popeyeotaku · 2 years

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mods asleep post the Cartels & Cutthroats guy

#cw smoking #cw giant old white dude in suit smoking a big cigar #cw physically hoarding his smog belching factories #cw as he grasps at bright green dollar bills falling from the sky

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btc-official · 5 months

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me: biusness is boomin baby haha its good to be da king

fleet of bulldozers: leveling a middle class neighborhood to make room for a Homunculous Factory so i can make living soyjak flesh caricatures of my various enemies

femboy secretary: um, miss boss lady~ the hoa president is on line 1, what do i doooo~ #196 #r/196 #196campfire

HALF LIGHT [Trivial: Success] - KILL HER KILL HER FUCKING KILL HER

me: okay tell her to fuck off. andthen put her thriugh anyway so ican also tell her tofuck off

giant lit cigar sitting on my desk, growing big cartoon lips: you better pick me up and gimme a kiss soon sugar… i’m burnin’ up over here and i can’t control myself much longer…

desk (sentient): whoah! is it getting HOT in here or is it just me?

“Objectum Nagito Komaeda”, my bit character that accidentally developed into a tulpa: it’s just my worthless opinion, but… i think you should fuck them both until they get pregnant!

D.A.R.E. lion appearing from the growing cloud of cigar smoke like mufasa: a-ok, dudette! put that ciggy out however you want, even if its with your splooge! cause it’s rad to be yourself, as long as yourself supports the war on drugs!

impact font meme caption over my head counting down to my death at all times: (starts going down really fast for some reason)

Realtor Kiryu (miles away in the comfort of his own home): eeyikes! i hope that strange woman from earlier Dame Da Knows the office i sold her is Baka Mi airTight!

#if you say anything about co2 we're enemies now

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cursedwoman1859 · 9 months

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Arm Candy (Silco/F!Reader)

“I need someone who can look pretty on my arm and be trusted not to make off with the silverware from a topsider estate. That’s you.” Silco needs a plus-one for a fancy topsider party. You don't really have a choice but to agree.

AO3 Link

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Words: 5.8k

Content: Resolved sexual tension; semi-public sex; vaginal fingering; dirty talk; dubious business ethics

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It wasn’t often you got called into Silco’s office first thing in the morning. You were a paper-pusher, not one of the battle-hardened henchmen who usually hung around the Last Drop, and your work mostly kept you at your desk. Calculations came as naturally to you as breathing, and you could crunch numbers faster even than Silco himself. In the few months you’d been working for the Eye of Zaun, you’d made yourself indispensable. You helped keep track of the Shimmer shipments going to and from Zaun, you effortlessly slipped the profits from the drugs business into the earnings from the various factories and bars and properties that Silco owned, and once a week you’d spend the evening alone in the office with your stern, exacting boss while you went over that week’s financial reports. Silco needed someone to cook his books, and you prided yourself on being the best damn chef in the undercity. You kept to yourself, you prayed he never noticed your furtive glances up at him when he was absorbed in his work, and you did not cause trouble.

So it was only natural that your stomach twisted itself into knots as you stepped into his office, and that those knots tightened when he looked up from the paper he was reading, his bicoloured stare pinning you and making your walk to stand in front of his desk feel like miles instead of metres.

“You wanted to see me, sir?” you said when you were near, and the way his eyes flicked over you, almost too quickly for you to notice, did nothing to calm you.

“I did,” he said, his chair creaking as he leaned back in it. You’d definitely never wondered if it could hold two people. “What are you doing tomorrow night?”

You could swear that sentence made your brain fritz like a faulty wire. “I, um—” Absolutely nothing was the real answer, but for some reason you didn’t want to admit that. “I made plans with…Ran and Dustin,” you said, saying the first names that came to your mind even though you’d never shared more than small talk with either of them.

Silco’s eyebrow raised as if he could see right through your lie. Which he probably could, because it was completely transparent. “Then cancel them. I need your help at an event.”

“What kind of…event?” you said, your mind reeling with all the things Silco could be alluding to. Shakedowns, back-alley deals, assassinations…

“Don’t look so frightened,” Silco said, taking a cigar from his ashtray and lighting it. He took a deep drag, letting the smoke billow around him as he spoke. “Are you familiar with Ko Shosu?”

It took you a moment to remember the name from some of the background research you’d carried out on Silco’s competitors. “Doesn’t he own that factory that makes gears or something?”

“The very same. He’s hosting a party at his residence topside tomorrow night and unfortunately, I’ll need to make an appearance. Shosu seems to think we’re acquaintances. And on top of that, I happen to know that one of his associates has run into some financial trouble as of late. His factory makes components that are essential to the Shimmer-tanks we’re developing. Now isn’t that a stroke of luck?”

“You want to get to this associate so you can get him to work with you?”

“Exactly. His name is Rupert Torek and he’s run up gambling debts with some very unsavoury people. I’m sure he’ll be cooperative once he realises I can lend him enough money to get himself out of debt before his wife finds out.”

You decided not to ask how Silco could have information like that on someone he’d never even met. For your sanity’s sake, it was better not to know. “And why do you need me, sir?”

It might have just been your imagination, but you could swear Silco looked you up and down again. Slower this time. “I thought that would be obvious. I cannot exactly show up to something like this alone. I need someone who can distract Torek’s wife so I can get five minutes alone with him, and who can look pretty on my arm and be trusted not to make off with the silverware from a topsider estate. That’s you.”

“I, um—” you floundered for a minute – the words look pretty on my arm setting your heart racing, which was stupid, he’d literally just said he wanted you to be his arm candy for a night, it meant nothing – and Silco raised an eyebrow at your hesitation.

“You’ll be paid overtime for your trouble, of course,” he said.

“That wasn’t—thank you, sir,” you said quickly.

“Good,” he said, flicking through some of the papers on his desk, his focus already slipping back to his work. “Meet me outside Ko Shosu’s house at eight sharp. Wear something nice and do not be late.”

It was a struggle to focus on your work for the next two days. The figures that usually came so easily to you seemed to blur together until you had to triple-check your spreadsheets in case you’d made an error while your mind insisted on screeching Silco think’s I’m pretty over and over like a stuck record. You were sure he’d meant nothing by that offhanded comment, but that didn’t help anything.

It was almost a relief when the next evening rolled around just so you could focus on doing something.

But that relief didn’t last long when you realised you didn’t have the first clue what you should wear to a party at a topsider’s fancy estate. There wasn’t time to hit up the markets even if you could justify the expense, so you settled for a black dress that was simple, but showed off your figure without showing too much of anything else, as you could at least guess that anything shorter than the knee-length hem of your dress might not go over well among the stiff, buttoned-up topsiders. You’d had the dress a long time and had to stitch it once or twice, but surely nobody would notice a little thing like that.

You felt strangely buoyant as you made your way through the upper districts of Zaun, where at this time in the evening business was just starting to pick up. Lines were forming outside the nicer clubs, the street hawkers were packing up to make way for the crowds, and the air nearly sparkled with Shimmer residue as you passed the open doors of some of the edgier establishments, where topsiders went to get a taste of the undercity without actually having to venture below. You couldn’t even find it within yourself to be annoyed at the arrogant topsiders who came to Zaun to indulge in all the things they couldn’t in Piltover before returning to their cushy homes and easy lives. Tonight felt like an infiltration, and it was you who would be inserting yourself somewhere you could never belong.

You met up with Silco outside the gates of Ko Shosu’s estate. He’d gone straight there from a meeting with some topsider businessman, and he was dressed as elegantly as he always was. As you approached you glanced at the people milling around on the wide driveway, and you suddenly felt underdressed.

“You’re almost late,” Silco said by way of greeting, and the nervous knot in your stomach only tightened.

“Sorry, sir. Border guards held me up. You know how they are.” The Enforcer at the checkpoint on the bridge had made a huge fuss over your ID photo having a slightly different hairstyle than you did now, just being an asshole because he was an Enforcer and he could.

“Hm,” was all he said as his eyes raked over you, and your mind instantly went to those little stitches in your dress. You suddenly felt as if he could see every little flaw in you, and the feeling only worsened when a couple of women in glittering floor-length gowns swept past, arm-in-arm and laughing airily.

“Do I look all right?” you said just to break the tense silence. “This is the best I have.”

“You look perfectly acceptable,” Silco said, and that was almost worse than if he hadn’t said anything. Acceptable. You’d be lucky if you weren’t mistaken for a servant. “Shall we?” he said then, offering you his arm. When you hesitated, he rolled his eyes. “Take my arm. We have to at least appear as if we both want to be here.”

“Do you want to be here?” you said as you curled your hand around his elbow, trying to ignore the jolt you felt at touching him, even if he was wearing a coat.

He scoffed. “Of course I don’t. But needs must.”

As you made your way up the long driveway, you couldn’t help but gawk at your surroundings. You knew this wasn’t even close to being the grandest house in all of Piltover, but at that moment you could have believed it. There were at least four floors, the upper two ringed in balconies spilling over with hanging flowers and vines. The next closest house had to be at least a hundred metres away, and in the dark space between you could make out the open expanse of a lawn lit by a ring of ground-level lamps, and manicured trees on each side. You couldn’t imagine what the topsiders would do with such a space – you could probably fit a whole other house in there, even one as large as Shosu’s.

And when you entered the house itself, you actually gasped. “Someone lives here? It looks like a palace.”

Silco shot you a glare as you stared at your surroundings with wide eyes, barely even registering the doorman who came to take your coats. “Remember how I said you were the only one I could trust not to fill your pockets? Don’t make me regret it.”

But you were hardly listening as your eyes roved over the crowded ballroom. It was a sea of fine suits and jewel-toned gowns, with servants darting through the throngs like the quick little fish that lived in the shallows of the river, trays of drinks and tiny pastry-like things balanced on their fingertips. Music drifted from somewhere you couldn’t see, almost drowned out by the chatter, and diamonds glittered at fingers and throats – and even on the ceiling, you noticed as your eyes drifted upwards, or at least it seemed like the chandeliers were draped in strings of gemstones that scattered the lights in every direction.

“Concentrate, girl,” Silco muttered close to your ear, making you shiver. “Remember why we’re here. Torek is over there,” he said, though you couldn’t possibly guess which of the guests he was indicating. “Do you remember your task?”

You dragged your eyes away from the spectacle before you to meet his mismatched eyes. “Keep his wife distracted while you get him to consider working with you. I’ve got it.”

“Good. We won’t need to stay long – an hour at most, then you can go home and do whatever you’d like. Maybe you can even catch Ran and Dustin.” As he said this the corner of his mouth tilted up, and you realised with some shock that the Eye of Zaun was teasing you.

You shrugged in what you hoped was nonchalance. “It takes as long as it takes. You know I’m not one to rush a job.”

“I’m aware,” he said as you started to make your way through the crowd, weaving through the throng as if you weren’t aiming straight for your unfortunate target. Perhaps it was because people knew he was from the Undercity, or maybe whispers of the things his people did in dark alleys and dingy establishments travelled ahead of him, but the dense crowd of people seemed to loosen before him, as if people suddenly remembered they had other places to be when he approached. If it offended him, Silco gave no sign, but instead he leaned in to you again. “He is close now. Laugh like I’ve said something terribly clever, you look petrified.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, but you did as he asked anyway, and it seemed to help. The tension you had felt in the air around you receded a little, and before you knew it Silco was shaking hands with a tall, portly man. You barely heard as he introduced you as his guest for the night, your heart was pounding so loudly in your ears. Rupert Torek had an open, kind face, his eyes crinkling at the sides when he smiled, and he didn’t seem surprised that Silco had sought him out. You wondered if he had any idea how fucked he was.

“We haven’t met before! I’m Liana, Rupert’s wife,” a voice at your side said, making you start, though you quickly smoothed it over with a smile as you turned to the woman who had appeared next to you, introducing yourself and hoping you sounded like you knew you belonged here, just like she did.

Liana glanced between you and Silco, who had already captured her husband’s full attention. Her brows lowered slightly, and you wondered if she had suspicions about her husband’s gambling. “I didn’t know Silco had a partner,” she said carefully.

“Oh, we’re not…together,” you said, laughing airily. “I’m just accompanying him tonight.”

“I see,” Liana said, though now her smile seemed frozen in place, and you wondered if you’d offended her somehow. But nevertheless she called over a couple of her friends, whose names you quickly forgot, and for a moment you were very pleased with yourself. There was no chance Liana would try to join her husband’s conversation while you had her distracted like this.

It was at this point that things started to go wrong.

In hindsight, you should have realised what Liana thought you were implying when you’d said you were accompanying your boss, and what a topsider would think of that particular occupation. But you were a few minutes into a banal, vapid conversation with Liana and her friends about something that you weren’t really paying attention to before you realised that they all thought you were a whore he’d hired for the night, and apparently found this very offensive judging by the bladed smiles and barbed compliments that started heading your way. It didn’t help that you were inadvertently showing much more skin than any of them – and how you were supposed to know the current fashions topside, you had no idea. Pretty soon your fingers were itching to take off one of your high-heeled shoes and beat Liana’s face in with it, but you couldn’t exactly square up in the middle of a ballroom as if you were in a Zaunite dive bar.

So instead, you just played dumb.

You let the thinly-veiled insults, the insinuations that you didn’t belong among them, glance off you. Nobody spent their whole life in Zaun without growing their own kind of armour. Right now yours was keeping your smile frozen firmly on your face, and so Liana was too busy with you to notice that her husband was making a business deal with the Eye of Zaun himself, right under her powdered nose.

That thought made you glance over at Silco, and the second your eyes met his, you felt a strange sort of calm descend over you. Rupert Torek was still chatting away, not even a hint of discomfort on his round face. Silco gave you a minute, almost imperceptible nod, raising his glass of wine slightly.

It had actually worked.

You tried to keep your face blank. That only became harder when Silco turned his attention back to Torek and you realised that when you’d looked over at him, he’d already been watching you.

Soon after, you excused yourself to go to the ladies’ room. You were pretty sure Liana and her friends forgot all about you as soon as you were out of sight – or at least you hoped so. You didn’t want to know what they’d be saying about you as soon as you were out of earshot.

You didn’t head to the bathroom, though. Instead you went out the way you’d come in, not bothering to collect your coat from the doorman as you went down the stone steps as fast as you could without running.

As soon as you were outside, away from the glare of the house’s lights, you felt the tightness that had settled in your chest loosen. You hadn’t even noticed the anxiety creep under your skin with every barb Liana and her friends had thrown your way, but when it finally dissipated you wondered how you’d been able to breathe at all.

You should go back now that you’d got your fresh air. You couldn’t just disappear.

But one glance back at the shadowy figures moving through the ballroom windows had you moving away from the house, into the shadows of the grounds where nobody would notice the Zaunite girl who was hilariously out of place among them.

The pathways were lit by low electric lights, and there was nobody else out here. You chose a path along the edge of the grounds, shielded on one side by a high wall and on the other by a huge rosebush bordering the lawn. You weren’t sure whether you were really supposed to be out here, but nobody stopped you as you wandered further into the grounds.

Eventually you found a bench and you sat down, tipping your head back to watch the stars in the sky. You’d only ever seen them when Silco sent you up to Piltover on business, and on those nights there was never time to stop and really look at them. Down in the Undercity it was difficult to see the sky at all through the smog, let alone the dozens of stars that shimmered through the haze of Piltover’s lights.

For some reason you couldn’t name, tears sprang to your eyes unbidden, and you tried to blink them away without ruining your makeup.

Of course, that was the moment you heard footsteps approaching.

“Drinking alone already?”

Your head snapped up to see Silco strolling towards you, and it was then that you realised you still had your glass of wine in your hand. You sighed, taking a sip as your boss sat down next to you.

“Just needed some air,” you muttered as Silco slung his arm over the back of the bench. It didn’t escape you that if you leaned back, he would have his arm around you. “How did it go with Torek?”

“I expect we’ll be getting a visit from him or one of his associates in the near future. His wife wasn’t too much for you, I take it?”

“I handled it. But they’re all just so…ugh.”

Silco chuckled as he pulled a cigar from somewhere in his coat, and you tried not to let the sound startle you. You’d never heard Silco laugh before, not even a little, and the sound was surprisingly warm. “Don’t worry, we won’t have to do this again for a while.” You watched as he held the cigar between his crooked teeth as he flicked his lighter, the strange angle of the lights highlighting his sharp cheekbones as he took a long drag.

“You know, I don’t think we’re allowed to smoke out here.”

“I don’t care.” He blew a long puff of smoke out into the crisp night air, staining it with a rich scent of tobacco and spices. “Is something bothering you?”

You searched for words to explain the anger tightening your throat, but came up with nothing that made sense. You were a numbers girl. Words were Silco’s thing. You shrugged. “It’s stupid. It doesn’t matter.”

“I’m asking, so I would say it does.” His voice had hardened, and you glanced over at him in alarm, though he didn’t look angry.

You didn’t want to push it, though, so you sighed and took a sip from your wine to buy a few seconds, feeling Silco’s mismatched gaze on you the whole time. “It’s just…all they did in there was bitch about things. What I was wearing, how I acted, their husbands, their lives. And yet…” you gestured vaguely at your surroundings. The gardens that must have needed a whole team of people to maintain. The lawn that sat empty when it could have grown enough food to feed a whole street of hungry Zaunites. The house. “They have all this, but it’s all they’ve ever had, so they can’t even see how privileged they really are. Meanwhile we have to scrape every penny just to put food on the table and some people in Zaun don’t even get that. If I lived up here I’d never complain about anything ever again,” you finished, and by now you were speaking into your wine glass, your eyes fixed on the ground.

Silco was quiet for a moment, and you didn’t dare glance up at him to see if you could gauge what he was really thinking. You’d never been so candid with your boss before, and you half expected him to leave and pretend tonight had never happened. The very last thing you expected him to say was, “What if I told you that tonight had been something of a test of your loyalties?”

Now you did look up, and he was watching you with that kind of calculated detachment he was so good at, though something in the hard lines of his face had softened. Or maybe it was just the moonlight.

“I don’t understand, sir.”

He took his time answering, taking another long drag of his cigar and releasing the smoke in a ring. “You’ve been with me a short while now, and you’re a very talented accountant. With your skills and some forged papers you could easily find work topside. Something with less risk and more pay.”

You flushed at his insinuation. “You pay me just fine.”

He rolled his eyes. “All wages are higher topside, you know that. You could have walked out of that house with a whole list of people who would pay you far more than I can for the same work, but you didn’t. Instead you stood there and allowed me to work on Torek while everyone in that room thought you were just some girl I’d hired for the night.”

You started to splutter a protest, but it died on your lips when you realised Silco was right. If you’d revealed your real job it would have raised Liana’s suspicions.

“It’s a long road ahead of us until Zaun is an independent nation. The topsiders won’t let us go without a fight,” he said, his voice dropping in case you weren’t alone in the gardens. “There will be times when you are tempted by offers of money, better jobs in better places, employers who won’t ask you to break the topsiders’ laws every day. I needed to know that you were true to the cause, that you would remain loyal to me even when you had the opportunity to make things easier for yourself.”

“You were giving me an out,” you said as it clicked into place. “Why now?”

“Because by now, you know exactly what you’re getting into by staying. Your choice to work for me is a genuine one.”

“So did I pass? Your test, I mean.”

“We would not be sitting here now if you had failed.”

You weren’t involved in the…bloodier side of Silco’s business, but you weren’t ignorant to it, either. You knew what he did to people he suspected of disloyalty. Would he really have let you go if you’d wanted? Or would you have disappeared into the shadows of the Lanes, never to be heard from again? You wouldn’t be the first. But then you realised that you’d never been afraid of that, because you would never give him a reason to doubt your loyalties. Zaun had to break free of Piltover, and he was the only one with the wits, the resources, and the sheer bloody-mindedness to finally cut the undercity free.

A sudden cold breeze blew in off the river, making the hedges surrounding you tremble, and you became acutely aware that you had left your coat inside. Before you could give yourself the chance to think better of it, you leaned back, and as you’d suspected, Silco didn’t move his arm. He didn’t quite put his arm around you, but he traced a circle on your bare shoulder with the back of his thumb, almost as if he was reluctant to touch you in case he scared you off.

“We can return to the party if you wish,” he said, and now he was near enough for his warm breath on your ear to send shivers along your skin that had nothing to do with the chilled night air.

“I prefer it out here.”

“As do I.” He held his cigar between his teeth as he reached into his coat and produced a small metal hip flask.

You couldn’t help but snort as he uncapped it and the smell of whiskey hit your nose. “You brought your own alcohol?”

He took a swig and then passed the flask to you. “Better than the swill they’re serving in there.”

“That swill is probably very expensive.”

“So is this. Drink.”

You took a small sip and were proud of yourself when you didn’t cough, even though the whiskey was strong enough to make your eyes water. A pleasant warm sensation spread out from your chest as you swallowed, though, and you shivered as you licked a drop off your lip. “Definitely tastes expensive.”

You looked up at him, and Silco’s eyes quickly snapped away from your mouth as he made a vague hum of agreement. For a while neither of you spoke, and you only passed the flask back and forth in companionable silence. The music that drifted towards you on the wind picked up in pace, and you heard the occasional drunken shout in the distance. Still nobody ventured into the dark grounds.

“Earlier I told you that you looked acceptable,” Silco said all of a sudden as he tapped out his half-smoked cigar and put it back in the tin. “I believe I should have told you that you look lovely instead.”

You felt a flush creep up your neck, and you risked a glance up at your boss – who had told you that you would look pretty on his arm, who had trusted you with this mission and had noticed when you slipped off to be alone. Nobody ever did that.

Maybe it was the whiskey. Maybe you were delusional or perhaps just stupid. You didn’t really know why you did it, but before you could think better of it, you leaned over and kissed him.

It was only a quick, chaste press of your lips against his, and you instantly regretted it when Silco stayed completely still against you. You jerked backwards, already apologising. “I’m so sorry sir, I shouldn’t—”

You didn’t get to finish your sentence. Silco’s hand was firm on the back of your neck as he pulled you towards him and kissed you. Properly this time. It was your turn to freeze in shock, but you quickly got over it as his tongue danced against yours and you tasted whiskey and smoke. You eagerly let him in as he deepened the kiss, shivering as his hand slid up your leg from your knee to your thigh, and for the first time that night you were glad of your too-short skirt.

You gasped in surprise as he pulled you onto his lap, barely breaking the kiss as he made you straddle him, your skirt riding up as your thighs spread. Feeling bold, you ran your hands through his soft hair, and he hummed in approval as you raked your nails through the short hair at the base of his neck. In response he gave your ass a firm squeeze, grinding you down onto his lap.

And onto the hard length beneath you.

You circled your hips against him as he moved down to your neck, holding you in place with a hand in your hair pulling just tight enough to hurt as he bit more than kissed you, leaving marks that would definitely be impossible to hide in this dress. You couldn’t give a shit. No way were you going back into that stupid party after this.

“Tell me how long you’ve wanted this,” Silco said, emphasising his point with a sharp snap of his hips up against you.

“I—” you started, but you could only focus on his hands creeping up your thighs again. Except this time, they didn’t stop.

“Go on,” he coaxed, as if you were supposed to focus on anything except his fingers hooking into the waistband of your panties. You hissed as he tugged them down and the cold night air hit your pussy, and it faded into a whimper as he trailed his fingers along your lips, pausing to circle your entrance in a way that made your back arch. “And don’t you dare try to lie to me, sweetheart, because you’re already wet for me.”

“Um…” you tried to focus on anything but the soft, barely-there brush of his fingers against your pussy. Every time you tried to grind against his hand he moved away, keeping his touch just a little too soft, the bastard. “I think – maybe…”

“A few weeks?” he prompted.

“Mm – no…”

He raised an eyebrow, but rewarded your answer by pressing his thumb against your clit, though he still refused to give you what you wanted. Needed.

“Months?”

“Longer. Since… I wanted this since my first day working for you.” Finally, Silco slid one long finger into you as his thumb drew an agonisingly slow circle over your clit, and your eyes fluttered closed in pleasure.

“Do you want to know a secret, my lovely?” he said, his fingers moving faster, obscene wet noises filling the air.

“M-hm.”

“I have you beat. I’ve wanted this since I interviewed you.”

Your eyes flew open at his admission just as he sank another finger into you without warning. Later. You could think about what he’d said later. For now you just let yourself enjoy the curl of his long fingers inside you, the expert ministrations of his thumb on your clit that sent waves of warm pleasure up your spine.

Until the bastard stopped.

He withdrew his hand from you, and his fingers glistened in the moonlight from your wetness. Your eyes widened as he licked them clean, then he motioned for you to stand. “Get up. Go and stand at the end of the bench.”

You followed his directions on shaky legs, and Silco followed, casually strolling around to stand behind you. You had a good idea of what he intended. He trailed his fingers up your bare arms, then fisted one hand in your hair while the other held your bicep in a bruising grip. “If you want this to stop,” he purred in your ear, “say the word now.”

You only pushed back against him, feeling his hard length behind you.

“I thought not.” Then he bent you over the arm of the bench, the ornate steel armrest digging into your hips as he lifted your skirt and pulled your panties down to your knees. You weren’t sure if you shivered with the cool breeze or the anticipation as you heard him unbutton his pants, his hand still in your hair. Then you hissed as you felt the press of his cock against your centre, arched your back as he slid it through your wetness before finally sinking into you as his free hand started playing with your clit once more.

Your voice rose in a high, keening cry as he sheathed himself inside you, easing the ache of his entry with his fingers on your clit. He stopped abruptly, pulling you up by your hair. “Hush now,” he hissed in your ear as he let go of your hair and shoved his fingers in your mouth. You could taste the echo of yourself on his skin. “You don’t want them to think you really are my whore, do you?”

You choked around his fingers for a moment before you relaxed your throat enough that you could shake your head and make a garbled nuh-uh sound, which earned you a low chuckle.

“I didn’t quite catch that, sweetheart,” he said as he started to move, setting a quick, urgent pace that reminded you that anybody could come around the corner and see you bent over a bench with the most powerful man in the Undercity driving into you from behind as you gagged on his fingers. Every thrust of his hips ground yours against the metal armrest, and you knew you’d surely have bruises in the morning. “I wish we were somewhere I could fuck you properly. Take you apart piece by piece until you’re nothing more than a writhing, crying mess in my bed. But perhaps you do like the idea of someone seeing you, seeing how well you’re taking me. How wet you are.” His breathing was becoming shallow as he fucked you, but that didn’t stop the stream of filth from his mouth. “I don’t know about you, but I would kill to see the look on Ko Shosu’s face when he realises we used his party to lure his friend into our web and then defiled his rose garden right under his nose.”

He said something else after that too, but you’d stopped listening to his words and let the low, rough cadence of his voice be the final push you needed over that peak you’d been approaching, once interrupted and now higher than ever. Even Silco’s fingers in your mouth weren’t enough to muffle your cries as you came, your thighs shaking from the strain of standing while your walls clamped down on Silco’s cock, over and over again in waves of agonising bliss. He followed soon after, and you felt a warm rush as he spilled himself inside you with a groan he muffled in your neck.

For a moment you both stood there, catching your breath. You sighed in relief as Silco removed his fingers from your mouth, and after tucking himself away he cleaned you up with a handkerchief before pulling your panties back up for you. “You felt just as good as I’d imagined you would,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to your abused scalp.

“Is that something you imagined often, sir?” you said teasingly.

“Most nights,” he murmured into your hair. “And perhaps some days, too.”

Well, damn. You had no idea what to say to that, other than, “Me too.” Maybe you had actually drank too much. “Take me home,” you said, leaning back against his chest as he straightened out your skirts. You felt him smile against your hair.

“It would be my absolute pleasure.”

#arcane x reader #silco x reader #silco x you #arcane x you #arcane x female reader #cursedfanfic #ive been dipping in and out of this for months and now im sick of looking at it so here you go lol

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lady-z-writes · 11 months

Text

(Jealous Karl x reader. "You're mine" smut)

Swear I thought I posted this, but here you go:

(ETA: ...I'd posted it in 2021, apparently. 🫣)

He'd made the decision to bring you, despite his best efforts to avoid this type of thing.

As soon as Alcina found out about you, she'd been urging him to join her little charade where she pretends to be a good oversized hostess.

She just wanted to get a taste of you, he was sure; lock eyes with you and hope to seduce you, steal you away from him.

Who knew the fucking caterer was going to be yet another threat.

The way he's staring at you makes Heisenberg notice. Sipping his whiskey, he keeps an eye on things as you chat kindly, probably unknowingly.

The smile on your face, the way you look in that outfit tonight - it's too much. He barely let you leave the factory without a mark on you; just in case someone got close enough to see the bite marks on your inner thigh.

You knew you were his. But with some alcohol in you, he wasn't so sure you'd behave yourself. Clearly, you hadn't started this interaction. Of course Heisenberg had been staring since you got up from the table; always an eye on things. He'd rather silently watch you than play socialite at Alcina's ridiculously over-the-top gala.

You'd been good, he just didn't trust the rest of these fuckers.

And the longer he stares, the more heated he's getting.

You'd noticed Heisenberg's staring. It was hard not to. He'd been grinding his teeth when he wasn't taking a sip of that almost-empty whiskey glass.

Speaking of, you knew you were meant to get the bottle from the server.

The caterer is nice enough but if he doesn't watch it, Heisenberg is going to make him into a mechanical plaything.

As you say goodbye, the caterer takes your hand and kisses the back of it. Totally flabbergasted, you shake your head at him.

"You need to stop," you say.

"Stop? We were having such a lovely chat. Perhaps we could have a drink under moonlight."

You glance over your shoulder, but Heisenberg isn't there.

Fuck.

"No, thank you," quickly, you back away toward the serving plater with the whiskey he likes.

It's gone.

Eyes wide, you gaze around the room to see if it's on anyone's table. If you come back without that bottle...-

Suddenly a familiar smell of cigar smoke overwhelms your senses. Glancing to your left, you notice Heisenberg's gaze fixed on you from a few feet away; whiskey bottle in hand.

"Come with me," he demands, shoving the bottle into your arms as he passes.

Before long, you're in a loading bay area, wrapping your arms around yourself from how cold you are suddenly.

"Karl, I-"

"Take your clothes off."

"What?"

He exhales smoke in your face as he shoves you against a crate.

"Now," he hisses.

Shivering, you follow orders, hand him the bottle of whiskey, watch him take a hefty gulp as he stares at your nakedness. As he hands you the bottle back, his eyes linger on the bite marks on your thigh.

You sip the booze in hopes it'll warm you up. Heisenberg takes pity on you - or maybe it's an act of ownership - but he gives you his coat and you're greedy for the warmth.

Not wasting time, he hoists you up, shoves you completely back on the oversized crate. It's freezing and hard but you don't sit up. You set down the booze before you spill it. Heisenberg pulls himself up, crawls over your body with a deep growl that exhales smoke around the cigar in his mouth. When he's eye-to-eye with you, he pops it out of his mouth, ashes it near you, uses his gloved fingers to uncover your right nipple from beneath his jacket. And then the left.

His eyes scan hungrily as he takes another inhale. You can feel him hard against your body and to be honest you're not surprised. It feels good to be this wanted.

He nods down at you and you know what he wants so wordlessly you undo his pants and belt. When his cock springs out, you guide it toward your naked pussy and let him shove himself inside you.

Arching your back, you moan out for him, knowing he wants you to be loud and the pressure of his thick cock is tender without any prep. But he wants it like this. It's a punishment of sorts.

"See you made a friend tonight," he grunts as he puts his cigar out beside your shoulder.

When he's completely in, you feel like you can finally speak. "N-no, that's not it at all. Karl, I-"

There isn't a second of hesitation: he starts pounding into you at such a pace, you can't help but grip his shoulders and whimper.

"You're mine," he growls. "You got that?"

"Yes."

"Say it," he grunts, biting your neck.

"I'm yours."

"Again."

"Karl, I'm yours!"

"Mmm, that's right. You are. You're mine to bite and to fuck. You're mine to make a scene about."

He's putting so much pressure on you, you're consumed by him and it's such an overwhelming feeling you can't help but love it.

"This cunt is mine to fill," he chuckles. "Oh? You're close, aren't you?" a deep laugh. "Bad girls don't get to cum."

You whine and grip him tighter. "No, I'm good. I promise."

"Oh, are you now?" he teases. You nod. "You look good...my jacket falling off your body like some centerfold...tits with my bitemarks on them, little marks from my facial hair...heh, it's like you're my little plaything."

"I'm yours," you whisper out, nodding against his chest as you feel your orgasm nearing. "Please, Karl, please."

He hums as if thinking it over. "One condition, doll."

"Anything."

"You sit in my lap and ride my cock while you cum."

You nod quickly and shift positions, staring in awe at him. This new position gives you so much pleasure. Your mouth is on his shoulder then kissing at his neck, moaning and crying out his name as you ride out your orgasm.

"Good girl," he laughs. "Ah, that's it, kitten...getting me so close."

After you've come down, your heartbeat in your ears, you kiss his neck again, open your eyes, throw your head back a second to stare at the ceiling as he pounds up into you.

It's only when you look straight ahead of you that you notice the door is open.

"Karl," you whisper, tapping him on the arm, trying to pull back.

It's too late. He's got an iron grip on your hips as he's moaning and pumping into you.

All while the caterer stands there in shock next to his crates of pastries.

"Get a good enough show there, bucko?" Heisenberg pants a yell over his shoulder where you're still staring in shock.

No response, just the sound of footsteps retreating.

You smack him on the bicep.

"You knew he was there."

He laughs loudly. "Of course I did!"

"Heisenberg!" you hiss.

"No harm. I didn't even kill him. Besides, look at that entire crate of pastries he left...just for us to sneak back to the factory."

You groan, hiding your face in his chest out of pure embarrassment.

"What? You're a sight when you're cumming. Probably gave that guy plenty to think about..."

"Can we go now?"

"Depends. Learned your lesson about talking to strangers?"

You roll your eyes.

"Yes, sir."

#karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x reader #heisenberg x reader #karl heisenberg x you #heisenberg x you

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haggishlyhagging · 11 months

Text

“By 1900 child mortality was already declining—not because of anything the medical profession had accomplished, but because of general improvements in sanitation and nutrition. Meanwhile the birthrate had dropped to an average of about three and a half; women expected each baby to live and were already taking measures to prevent more than the desired number of pregnancies. From a strictly biological standpoint then, children were beginning to come into their own.

Economic changes too pushed the child into sudden prominence at the turn of the century. Those fabled, pre-industrial children who were "seen, but not heard," were, most of the time, hard at work—weeding, sewing, fetching water and kindling, feeding the animals, watching the baby. Today, a four-year-old who can tie his or her own shoes is impressive. In colonial times, four-year-old girls knitted stockings and mittens and could produce intricate embroidery; at age six they spun wool. A good, industrious little girl was called "Mrs." instead of "Miss" in appreciation of her contribution to the family economy: she was not, strictly speaking, a child.

But when production left the houschold, sweeping away the dozens of chores which had filled the child's day, childhood began to stand out as a distinct and fascinating phase of life. It was as if the late Victorian imagination, still unsettled by Darwin's apes, suddenly looked down and discovered, right at knee-level, the evolutionary missing link. Here was the pristine innocence which adult men romanticized, and of course, here, in miniature, was the future which today's adult men could not hope to enter in person. In the child lay the key to the control of human evolution. Its habits, its pastimes, its companions were no longer trivial matters, but issues of gravest importance to the entire species.

This sudden fascination with the child came at a time in American history when child abuse—in the most literal and physical sense—was becoming an institutional feature of the expanding industrial economy. Near the turn of the century, an estimated 2,250,000 American children under fifteen were full-time laborers—in coal mines, glass factories, textile mills, canning factories, in the cigar industry, and in the homes of the wealthy—in short, wherever cheap and docile labor could be used. There can be no comparison between the conditions of work for a farm child (who was also in most cases a beloved family member) and the conditions of work for industrial child laborers. Four-year-olds worked sixteen-hour days sorting beads or rolling cigars in New York City tenements; five-year-old girls worked the night shift in southern cotton mills.

So long as enough girls can be kept working, and only a few of them faint, the mills are kept going; but when faintings are so many and so frequent that it does not pay to keep going, the mills are closed.

These children grew up hunched and rickety, sometimes blinded by fine work or the intense heat of furnaces, lungs ruined by coal dust or cotton dust—when they grew up at all. Not for them the "century of the child," or childhood in any form:

The golf links lie so near the mill

That almost every day

The laboring children can look out

And see the men at play.

Child labor had its ideological defenders: educational philosophers who extolled the lessons of factory discipline, the Catholic hierarchy which argued that it was a father's patriarchal right to dispose of his children's labor, and of course the mill owners themselves. But for the reform-oriented, middle-class citizen the spectacle of machines tearing at baby flesh, of factories sucking in files of hunched-over children each morning, inspired not only public indignation, but a kind of personal horror. Here was the ultimate "rationalization" contained in the logic of the Market: all members of the family reduced alike to wage slavery, all human relations, including the most ancient and intimate, dissolved in the cash nexus. Who could refute the logic of it? There was no rationale (within the terms of the Market) for supporting idle, dependent children. There were no ties of economic self-interest to preserve the family. Child labor represented a long step toward that ultimate "anti-utopia" which always seemed to be germinating in capitalist development: a world engorged by the Market, a world without love.”

-Barbara Ehrenreich and Deirdre English, For Her Own Good: 150 Years of the Experts’ Advice to Women

#barbara ehrenreich #Deirdre English #child labor #capitalism #patriarchy #amerika #industrial revolution

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rosesloveletters · 5 months

Text

braids like a pattern.

Pairing: 1971 Willy Wonka x Reader

Word Count: 2,176

Warnings: none

Summary: Reader asks Wonka to braid their hair.

Author's Note: If it wasn't clear, I want him to braid my hair for me so that's why this fic exists. I hope you enjoy <3

Edited.

divider created by @/saradika on Tumblr.

Willy Wonka sat at his desk inside his office. It was late and he was filling out some invoices, billing payments and other various paperwork. This, unlike what took place in the heart of the factory, wasn’t fantastical in the slightest, but as company founder and the only human employee of Wonka Industries it was his responsibility to have it completed.

He silently puffed on a cigar while he wrote. He knew you were not a fan of the pungent smell of cigar smoke, so he only would only light one when you were not around.

He had a feeling you’d be making an appearance sooner rather than later to check on him and pull him to bed for the night, so he was prepared to extinguish the cigar at a moment’s notice.

Willy was used to his own bizarre schedule.

He spent most of his workday in the inventing room and the business side, the ‘less fun’ side, was neglected.

He wasn’t a businessman; he was a creator. An inventor. An artist.

He did have to remind himself on occasion that half of running a successful business was maintaining said business through work done inside of an office. Otherwise, even though he had a solid business model and products that the public wanted to buy, he’d be harming his bottom line by not keeping up with payments, schedules, invoicing and other various clerical details and, ultimately, his business would fail due to his negligence.

So, he cut everything inside his office in half.

Everything.

It was a way to remind himself, if nothing else, that half of this business’s success was on his shoulders alone.

The Oompa Loompas helped him as much as possible and he was eternally grateful for their learned expertise, but they did not handle this side of his business. He had to hold himself accountable and would drag himself into his office late at night to focus on nothing but paperwork.

It was rather boring stuff, but it was necessary and if he wanted to keep making and selling his creations to the masses, then he would do it, plain as that.

He had already spent hours poring over pages upon pages of documents that needed his attention. He had a lot to catch up on that he’d been purposely putting off until the last minute and he wanted to do better, to bebetter, but when inspiration struck, he found himself inside the inventing room and nothing and no one else could pull him away.

Except maybe, you.

It was when his thoughts inevitably drifted to you did he finally hear his office door creak open.

A smile crept onto his face, brightening his soft features as he anticipated you crossing the room to get to him, your delicate hand upon his shoulder to gently get his attention without disrupting his work and the tender smile you’d give him as you checked up on him and asked him to bed.

He was getting tired, after all, and it would be nice to crawl into bed now that it wasn’t just a cold mattress waiting for him. Now, it was you who warmed his sheets and waited for him into the wee hours of the morning until he was ready to call it a night.

He owed you for that and, if you were counting, which he doubted, he suspected he’d always come up short.

As predicted, he could hear your quiet footsteps moving toward him and then, once they’d stopped, your warm hand landed on his shoulder.

He quickly put out his cigar in the ashtray and turned, unable to pretend to still be working, and grinned up at you, “Hello, my dear. Couldn’t sleep?”

You were already wearing your pajamas and your long hair hung elegantly down your back.

Willy admired the sight of you in such a relaxed state as your eyes traveled from him to the thin cloud of smoke wreathing up from the recently extinguished cigar in the tray. His expression turned apologetic when he realized you had noticed he’d been smoking; he was appreciative that you did not address it.

His gaze traveled down to what you had in your hands: a wooden comb and brush set.

You shrugged a bit at his question, “I haven’t tried to sleep yet,” you responded as you held out the comb and brush, wanting him to take them, “I was wondering if…you would please brush and braid my hair for me tonight?”

Willy’s smile grew as you asked the question and he nodded eagerly, delighted to help you with such a tender and domestic task.

He stood up and reached for the extra chair he’d brought in for you if you wanted a place to sit when you joined him in his office. Of course, it had to be sliced in half like his own, but that was nothing of consequence.

He brought the chair around his desk and had you sit on it sideways so that the chair back wouldn’t be in his way.

You quietly passed him the comb and brush before you sat down.

You were aware that Willy did not love the administrative aspect of running a business and that might have influenced your decision to ask him for help with your hair. He had been working diligently on paperwork for several hours and he was owed a break.

You did feel a bit guilty for asking this of him, only because it was late and he must have been tired.

Sometimes Willy seemed like less of a man and more of a dream, but in an odd moment you saw the raw humanity in him, the deeply ingrained mortality that governed all his decisions.

You’d sink or swim in those clear blue eyes of his, pools of liquid starlight that could drown you with a single glace. He had every bit of imagination on his side to make him seem too good to be true and perhaps he was.

He cared for you and nothing would stop him from staying up late to have a bit more time with you, not even sleep.

He gently dragged the comb through your hair, admiring the silken shine to it as he pulled the comb from your scalp down to the ends.

He was slightly regretful that his own hair could not be cared for in the same way and therefore your reciprocation was more for the simple aspect of reciprocation than actual haircare.

His frizzy strawberry blonde curls were wild and unruly and behaved as if they had a mind of their own. He styled his hair the best that he could (he knew better than to brush it) and contained it, albeit poorly, with his hat.

Willy’s hair was the physical manifestation of his good-natured zaniness and idiosyncratic behavior while yours represented your level head and mild-mannered way of thinking.

He smiled to himself as he combed through your hair, “Thank you for coming down here.”

“You’re welcome,” you replied as you relaxed into the gentle caress of his fingers pulling the comb through your hair, “I wanted to check on you. It seems like you get busier and busier each day.”

Willy chuckled lightly at the comment, “respectfully, I’d say that is true. However, what is disrespectful is that work has gotten in the way of my spending time with you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up, “you haven’t got to spend every second with me, Willy,” you reminded him in a playful tone of voice.

“Of course not,” he agreed, mild-mannered as always, “but you wouldn’t begrudge me the effort to try.”

The seriousness with which he said that made you laugh. You chose not to respond as he switched out the comb for your brush. His movements were more direct, a heavier hand to make sure the bristles penetrated your thick hair and brushed evenly, smoothing out the finer strands.

Willy lost himself in the way he took care of you. He treated you with the utmost respect, handling you as though you were made of glass.

He reasoned that you should feel safe in the hands of a lover and he wanted to provide you with that sanctity if he could help it. Otherwise, what was all of this for? There was no point in working as he did if there was no one to reap the benefits with him. He had thought he’d found solace in solitude, but he didn’t feel as if he had given anything up to have you.

He hadn’t had to change himself or become a better version of himself, you’d taken him as he was. You elevated him, enlightened him and molded yourself to fit into his world. The very least he could do was find ways to give you the same courtesy.

He wanted you to feel like he was as much a part of your life as you were of his.

He set the brush down on his desk next to your comb and began sectioning your hair to split it into two braids.

You focused on the movement of his hands as his fingers carded through your locks.

Every pull of his fingers was tender and done so gently as to not cause any pain.

You thrived on his touch, the tender way he seemed almost hesitant to put his hands on you. At certain points, you had to wonder if he was still there because he was being so careful that you could hardly feel what he was doing.

You let out a soft groan as his index finger caught a knot in one of your strands and pulled.

“Sorry, darling,” he mumbled, then leaned in and kissed the back of your head in apology.

Your chest swelled with giddiness at his affection and you wanted to turn around and pull him in for a cuddle, but you didn’t want to mess up his rhythm. You could feel his nimble fingers weaving one section of hair into a braid and trying to turn around in this position might end with him accidentally pulling on it a bit too tight.

You would wait for your chance to hug him, which would come, you knew all too well.

You pulled one of your black scrunchies off your wrist and passed it back to him over your shoulder. He took it wordlessly and secured the ends of your braid with it.

Following the same pattern, he switched to the other section of hair and began braiding it. You were ready and waiting for him to finish as you passed him the other scrunchie to secure your second braid.

How many times you had had him braid your hair for you were you uncertain, but it had been enough for him to learn to do it quickly.

Willy was good with his hands, in more ways than one.

“All done, little dear,” he grinned as you moved on the chair so you were face to face with him.

You pulled both braids over your shoulders and felt them for comfort, “thank you.”

“You’re very welcome,” he responded, his eyes following your movements closely as he leaned in to watch you.

You glanced up and met his gaze, making him smile when you caught him looking.

Your love for him enveloped you, blanketed you with every ounce of your devotion and now your wants were satisfied because he had finished with your hair and you were free to scoop him into your arms.

You reached for him, forearms sliding over his shoulders and around the back of his neck as you sat up in your chair and hugged him.

He knew what you wanted as his arms encircled your waist.

He didn’t want you to fall off your chair in your haste to get to him and he steadied you, holding on tight as you practically sank in against his solid body.

His own exhaustion had been forgotten up until this point and as he held you against him, he let his eyes slip closed. Suddenly, the harsh lighting was getting to him. His chair was too hard on his lower back. His feet were aching, his head swimming and his eyes were red. He needed sleep and the caress of a lover.

He inhaled your sweet scent and drew you in close. His lips attached to your neck as he delivered several kisses and loving nips to your delicate skin.

“Willy, come to bed with me.”

You didn’t have to ask him twice.

He was out of his chair fast enough to make your head spin. After you grabbed your comb and brush, he flicked off the lights and took you by the hand, guiding you out of his office.

His bed called to him; sleep was a siren’s song.

His paperwork would be there waiting for him come morning.

The only thing he had on his mind was falling into bed as hard and as fast as he fell in love with you.

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