Hi y'all, this is my little corner of tumblr. I'm an artist focused on the whump genre so most of my work contains NSFW. Please view at your own risk, as trigger warnings are listed by post.
Pantera
In 1993, the small Russian village of Kotsk is run by a matriarchal cult. Hundreds of kilometers from the closest city, where no prying eyes will look. Women have been in charge here for at least a hundred years. Men are seen as beasts, not to be taken seriously or trusted. Artyom Cheslav tries his best not to suffocate in the place he calls home.
Chapter 2: Outsider
TW verbal abuse / implied sexism / drug use
Taglist: @deerslayer14 @forbodium @suchprettypieces @tender-traps
Read on AO3 | Previous | Masterlist
Stella reached her thin fingers out across the bedside table, tapping every so often. Visible was the dim red light from a half-smoked cigarette. Her hand brushed a large piece of plastic. Deftly she gripped it and brought the box to her face. In the darkness of the early morning, she could barely make out the play button on her Walkman. Thin lips spread wide across a round face. She pressed a manicured nail against the triangle.Â
Music burst out as though it were being pushed through a woodchipper. The tape skipped every few lines. Stella didnât care. She still knew the words.Â
Mama and Tyoma were outside, feeding the cows before the sun came up. Neither would hear her music or her singing. She could smoke, dance, lay around, whatever she wanted in the solace of her bedroom.Â
As if pulled by an invisible string, Stella languidly slid out from under her bedsheets. Her long arms waved in an arch, back and forth to the rhythm of Fiodorovâs voice. She tapped her feet on the floor in time with the keyboard. âJust like during the festivals,â she thought to herself. Smoke wrapped itself around her. The smell of her cigarette and the pressure in her chest were the only two things letting her know she was awake.Â
She rolled the volume knob up with the edge of her thumb.Â
The crunch of the Walkmanâs speakers seemed to dissipate with every wave of her hand. She could feel the instruments against her palm, through her arm, into her ears. Her silk nightgown bunched up around her waist as she spun furiously, howling with laughter. This had to be the most fun sheâs had in forever.Â
Though she was sure whatever she smoked, it wasnât just a cigarette.Â
âÂ
Mamaâs heavy rubber work boots clunked against the side of the house. Mud flecked against the grass and her trousers. âTsk,â she clicked, brushing her leg with a wide palm. âArtyomka, take my boots and rinse them please. Be sure to rinse your own, too. I donât want to track mud through the house.âÂ
Artyom nodded his head and did as she asked. As he walked around the side of the house, he couldnât help but glance into Stellaâs window. Her tiny form bounced around the room. He could hear her singing off-key, words slurred. The air just outside the window stunk like cat piss. Artyom tried his best to stifle a laugh.
Stella did this periodically. Mama let her leave with the family car to gather things from bigger cities. Canned goods, farm tools, food for livestock. Of course, the car always came back with more than just that. In a hidden corner of Stellaâs bedroom, stashed away in an old suitcase, were her Western trophies. Lipstick, magazines, Pepsi, beer, cigarettes, and expensive lingerie. All things that she wasnât supposed to have.Â
As Artyom stood at the window, he watched his motherâs angry form burst into the room. On instinct he ducked down, careful to keep out of sight.Â
âWhere did you find this godawful thing?!â Mama demanded.Â
âItâs⊠I bought it at the market,â Stella murmured. Her mother barked a sharp laugh.Â
âDancing to music in your motherâs house, waltzing around like no one will see you. Youâre a woman, Stella. Act like it. You are lucky to live here. Do you know how miserable the rest of the world is? How good you have it?â
The other woman was silent.Â
âGive me all of this. Youâre to spend the weekend here, and you will talk to the matchmaker tomorrow. Your brother is going to be wed before you. Youâre the eldest, Stella. You could have your pick of anyone in Kotsk, yet youâd rather find some outsider. Do you want to be abused? Do you want to be treated like an object? That is what life is like for us out there.â
Artyom swallowed the lump in his throat. How bad was it everywhere else? He almost wanted to stand up and defend her from the window. Even he didnât want to be married. He let the feeling wash over him. The two were arguing louder now, and he wasnât sure he needed to hear any of it. His broad form crept under the windowsill, careful not to drag his trousers in the mud.Â
I see you now and my stomachâs balled up in a knot. I feel the cold knife blade of disgust in my gut like a shot ⊠Morning will come and youâll still be trapped here in your cage.
Traditional clothing is worn at weddings, festivals, birthdays, and funerals. Most of the time people wear more casual clothing, albeit with the same restrictions in mind. Ex; Women being able to show off more of their body and the opposite for men. Explanation of diagrams under the cut :)
Female Diagram
A - Short hair is common among women, as it's more practical. When weather gets cold, fur hats or large insulated coat hoods are used for warmth.
B - Traditional clothing consists of a wrap top, thick embroidered belt, and accentuates her form. The waist, chest, and legs must be visible. The female body is something to be proud of, to be shown off.
C - Waist belt is made of a rug-like material, embroidered with a family pattern. Young children are gifted these at 3 or 4 years old. Belts stay the same width but are added to as a person ages. The oldest woman of the family weaves these belts together for her children and grandchildren.
D - Long wool socks with traditional embroidery around the top. The trousers are tied below the knee and also made from wool.
Male Diagram
A - A man's beauty is dependent on how little his maleness shows. Receding hairlines are covered as they show with a head covering. Usually these are silk scarves, but wool or cotton can be used as well for colder weather. Men are expected to grow their hair out long so that they can display their fertility. Facial hair is considered less desirable, but newer generations have less issue with it. This man's hair is tied back into a low ponytail.
B - The same waist belt given to him as a youth, though it is now used around the neck to cover his adam's apple. It is a coming-of-age tradition to make the switch from belt to scarf. In everyday wear, modern scarves can be any material or pattern. Some young men forgo them altogether and wear high-necked sweaters.
C - Clothing is baggy and conceals the physique of the wearer. Men should try to appear as small as possible or hide their strength. Their bodies should only be shown to their future wives.
D - A straw tie around the waist shows that a young man is ready for marriage. A matchmaker will pick his wife, to whom he will marry by the time he is 20 years old.
E - Cuffs around the wrist show the same family embroidery style.
Chapter 1: Pack Mule
TW physical abuse / verbal abuse / mild sexual assault (unwanted touching)
Taglist: @deerslayer14 @new-deerslayer @tender-traps
Read on AO3 | Masterlist | Next
Artyom Cheslav was 19 years old in the winter of 1993. Farm work was less hard this time of year, since the harvest wouldnât be for another few months. For now, mama was content to let him tend to the livestock. Their farm was modest, but active. Kotsk was too far north to be of any use when it came to warm-weather crops. Rye and barley were Kotskâs primary exports until the late 1970s, when deliveries by car could be made on a more regular basis.Â
The barn was just big enough to house a handful of cows and a horse. Every so often Artyom would check the roof for leaks, which gave him some alone time. Privacy was hard to come by, so even if it meant doing chores, he would take the opportunity. Artyom tied his blouse in a knot at his waist, making sure to roll his sleeves up. All it did was get in his way.Â
He took a moment to let his eyes adjust as he stepped through the threshold of the barn. The cows lazily turned their heads toward him, mooing in acknowledgment. Artyom mooed back as if to say hello. On rainy days like this one, it was easy to tell where the barn needed patching up. He scanned the room for wet places, making sure to give each cow a pat on the head as he walked by. The hay on the ground was dry, as was the earth beneath it. The wood heater crackled at the back of the room, where a few cattle lay sprawled in its warmth. Artyom couldnât help but stick his palms out towards the heat. It felt good. His hands were cracked and dry from the cold, callouses thick along the breadth of his fingers.Â
For a moment he stayed like that, eyes closed and arms outstretched as if he were in prayer. The sinewy muscle in his forearms loosened little by little. He wiggled his fingers and watched as the tendons jumped under his skin. Gross.Â
Behind him, the door to the barn opened. A woman in a large fur coat stood at the doorway. âArtyomka,â she said, hand in her coat pocket. Immediately he scrambled to untie his blouse, desperately pulling at the fabric in an attempt to return it to normal. âMama, I didnât expect-âÂ
She cut him off abruptly. âAnna needs your help taking a deer home. She just finished hunting.â Her eyes combed over Artyomâs bulky form. âWhat have you done to your clothes?â
He stood ramrod straight. âTheyâre too much, they get in the way when I work. I didnât mean for anyone to see,â Artyom stumbled over his words as he spoke. âIâm sorry, Iâll fix it.âÂ
They stood in silence for longer than heâd like.Â
âYouâre too big, Tyoma. Girls donât like big men. You donât want to be too big, do you?â Mama asked, disappointment in her voice. âAnna likes you. Donât ruin this for your family.â
Bile rose in his throat. âYes, I understand. Iâll do better.âÂ
She nodded wordlessly before stepping off. The door hung open, framing the outside world like a painting. Tears pricked at the edge of Artyomâs eyes. Who cares what Anna wants? He didnât even like her. She was cruel, heartless. Heâs seen how she treats her men. Bruised and battered boyfriends who couldnât escape her iron grip.Â
Anna Tereshko was fifteen years his senior. The next in line to become matriarch of the Tereshko family. She was short and stocky. Her fists landed like blocks of lead and her words cut deep. There was no way Anna âliked himâ, because she didnât like anyone. For all Mamaâs wishful thinking, Artyom didnât get any kindness from her.Â
He fixed his sleeves, making sure the cuffs fell at his wrists. With a huff, he brushed a hand through his freshly cropped hair. Alone time was over.Â
â
The woods at the outskirts of town were dense. Light could hardly reach the forest floor, even in summer. Anna leaned against the cab of her truck, rifle slung over her left shoulder. When Artyom came into her line of sight, her dark eyes narrowed. âTook you long enough, Tyoma.â She groaned, pushing off the truck. âCome on, itâs pretty far back in there. Big buck. I couldnât have brought it back myself.âÂ
She walked ahead without waiting, expecting Artyom to follow at her heels. Her footfalls were heavy, boots colliding with the ground in a resounding thump. The rifle bounced against her muscled back, sling rough with wear. The air was freezing, Artyom reflexively brought his scarf farther up around his chin.Â
Anna cast a glance over her shoulder. âYour hair is shorter than when I last saw you. Did you cut it?â She asked, a glimmer of malice in her eyes. He nervously tucked a strand of brown hair behind his ear. âI did, yeah. It gets in the way sometimes and itâs too hot.â
âYou look silly with it like that. If you started balding youâd have to wear a headscarf, you know. Look like all those other ugly old bastards walking around town,â Anna chuckled sharply. âYouâre too big. Youâre lucky your face is handsome. Otherwise, none of the girls would touch you.â A blush bloomed across his wind-chafed face.Â
âDo they touch you?â She said it like she already knew the answer. Artyomâs cheeks burned. âNo, they donât. I havenât even asked anyone to,â he grumbled.
She barked out a laugh, cold and cruel. âOf course not. You know better.â
They fell into an uncomfortable silence, walking for what felt like forever. Artyom wanted to be alone. Hell, he wanted to be anywhere as long as Anna wasnât around. He pulled at his scarf to try and hide more of his face from her prying eyes.Â
Midway into the forest, there lay a deer in a clearing. A buck with antlers like an expensive chandelier, too many points to count. If Anna lay on her side next to it, it would be twice her size. Of course she couldnât carry it back alone. Even if she wanted to, she knew she could drag Artyom out to do it instead.Â
âCome on, my little pack mule. Throw it over your shoulder and letâs get it home,â Anna sighed, adjusting the rifle slightly. âThis is about the only thing you men are good for anyway. Besides fucking. You know how to do that, donât you?â
The tips of his ears reddened. He turned his back to her in an attempt to focus on the task at hand. She prodded him with the toe of her boot, expecting an answer. He didnât give her one. With a grunt he heaved the deer over his shoulders, grabbing the legs to hold its belly against the back of his neck.Â
Annaâs cold hand pushed itself under his blouse, palming his hairy stomach. He flinched against her touch. âWhat the hell are you doing?â He choked, almost losing hold of the deer. âI can teach you, Tyoma. Youâll learn to do it right. Please a woman how she ought to be pleased.âÂ
He couldnât stop his face from pinching in disgust. She caught the expression as soon as he made it. Her hand came out from under his shirt. âYouâre going to marry me, you know. Better get used to the idea now before itâs too late.âÂ
With that, she turned on her heel and began to walk out of the woods. He stood there long enough to put some distance between them. Neither said a word the rest of the trip.
I'd like to think that Kotsk would be where modern-day Nadym is in Russia. Towards the north of the Ural region. About 80 miles from the nearest small town and over 100 to the nearest big city. It isn't often that outsiders make it to such a rural area, making it the perfect place for a "hidden city". They can avoid Western influence and keep the men in their metaphorical cages.
Artyom Valerianovich Cheslav, 19 year old son of 42 year old Valeriyana Cheslav. He works as a butcher in a small town deep in Northern Russia. It's 1993 and his village has been under the control of a matriarchal cult for over a hundred years. They are far enough away from the nearest town that it takes nearly an hour by car. He is not very popular among the local women, as he doesn't wear traditional clothing often. (Modesty is very important to men native to the area).
Matriarchal cult in rural 1990s RussiaâŠ. Men are seen as âbrutishâ and âbeast likeâ due to their excess testosterone. Most perform farm labor, build structures, drag home hunted game. Men who are not strong are reserved for crop harvesting or similar labor. Any male strength is never used for hunting or the battlefield. Men are seen as witless animals and assumed to be unintelligent. (And therefore unsuited to tasks that require complex skills) By proxy, women who are interested in hard labor, too hairy, or too âmannishâ are treated poorly. A sorry excuse for a woman. Men are constantly monitored by a female family head.
Women are seen as smarter, making them the diplomats, leaders, hunters, and more prone to higher-class. Men fight for female attention by concealing their figures. A massive amount of muscle on a man makes him more beast like. Women seek after men who are weaker than them and therefore more capable of rational thought. While physical strength would be sought after by either gender, women are âaboveâ manual labor. They improve their physical prowess to best other women and to control their men.
That said, the males arenât slaves. They can choose to go against these roles, but it never ends well. They become social pariahs.
Whumpee who is going to be promised to a family friend, Whumper. Sheâs the matriarchal head of one of the other families. Famously cruel and misandrist. Whumpee is really visibly strong so she treats him like an idiot. Beats the hell out of him with anything she can get her hands on.
Bro fr when are people going to stop bitching about sex or sexuality in media đđ If you hate it so much then thereâs a skip/block button??? Hello??? âThis sex joke takes away from the rest of the work!! These two donât NEED to have sex!â Ok understood⊠watch/read/draw something else then. Strangers on the internet do not need to swallow themselves for YOU to be comfortable. Block button is free brother.
I know everyone has been hating on it but⊠I love Chainsmoker Cat. As someone with a highly addictive personality I feel for her. Iâve had problems with alcohol and whatnot in the past so I understand the feeling of being trapped. Especially when your life is at a standstill and youâre dealing with mental illness. Thank you minimum wage addiction catgirl for making me feel seen <3
