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ladywhistleclown · 3 years

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Benedict Bridgerton x M!Reader: Valentines Fools

Summary: Benedict does something special. Word Count: 3334 A/N: I read this post about Valentines in Regency England, and found it so interesting that I had to write about it. of course, I made it gay. duh. Also, I wrote the ‘poem’ later myself, but its inspired by many LGBT poets/writers from history who wrote poems like it, about hope for future LGBT folks, just very simplified. This is some of my best work, and I don’t want it to get snubbed just because its not f/m, so like, give it a chance! MLM fic is also fun :) Enjoy! Warnings: Fluff, Drinking, Giggly men doing giggly men things (being stupid) -- Valentines Day, in your mind, was a rather dreadful event. Ladies and Lords spent days agonizing over hand-made letters, writing disgusting poetry about love, or rejection. You had never partaken in the act, partly because you had never had anyone to write to, and partly because even if you had, you had neither the patience nor skill to craft such detailed notes of devotion. You thought it best to leave such things to artists and ladies, of which you were neither. This year was only slightly different. After having met Benedict at Lord Granville's, striking up conversations about art, women, and your places in society, you had developed a rather strange relationship, one that you would almost call a courtship, if it wasn’t so clearly an impossibility. Benedict simply wanted to explore something new, something outside the realm of society and expectations, and you, lovesick fool that you were, happily obliged him. It was nothing more than attraction and curiosity. Second son or not, Benedict could never marry a man. Even if he wanted to.

At least you could drown yourself in booze at Lord Granville's. He was a good listener, with even better advice, and you knew that he understood exactly your pain. It was here you found yourself, a day before Valentines, throwing down your sixth beer and lamenting to Granville, who sat patiently by your side. “Society is not kind to those like us.” You sighed, running the tip of your index finger along the outer edge of your glass, staring blankly at it, as though if you drank enough, the answers would appear in the liquor. “No, it isn’t. But we are kind to each other, and ourselves.” He replied, looking over you with pity. You had never been much of a drinker, not for as long as Granville had known you, but your infatuation with Benedict had brought it out in you, and he wondered if it was a mistake to invite the Bridgerton boy here, if it caused an old friend to suffer in a way that was very familiar and personal to him. He knew the pain of impossible love too well, and saw himself reflected in your morose state. “Of course. You’re too kind to me, Granville. I talk your ear off about my foolish troubles with Bridgerton, but never think to ask of yours.” “I am not nearly as troubled as you are. And as I said, we must look out for each other, as the ton certainly will not.” he lifted up his own drink, pausing just before it reached his lips to glance at you, “Perhaps I should dis-invite Bridgerton from future events?” “Oh hell, Granville, don’t torture the man on my account. He enjoys the art and the company, and besides that, I’d rather him here than at some brothel.” you grimaced as soon as the words left your mouth, an embarrassing slip revealing just how deeply attached you were. “Apologies. The alcohol has loosened my tongue.” “No bother. I understand that jealousy quite well.” Granville said, his voice still light and amused, and you couldn't help but laugh as he took a sip, winking at you before putting his glass down. “What jealousy?” Came a loud voice from directly behind you. You jumped, Granville almost knocking his drink over in his shock. Of course, he would arrive now, when you were drunk and foolish. You breathed out quickly, praying that you would say nothing incriminating before turning to face Benedict. He looked confused, glancing from Granville's face to yours, before reiterating, “What jealousy, Granville?” “Merely of other artists. I’m sure you know it too.” He recovered, taking another drink before gesturing to the table, “Care to join us?” Benedict sat in the chair closest to you, and you shot Granville a look of pure spite. In your drunken haze, everything seemed too much. His voice was too smooth, his smile too large, and the way he draped an arm across your chair, caging you in, was entirely too casual. You promised to whatever God was listening that you would slaughter Granville for this. “Of course I do. You know better than anyone.” He agreed, sliding easily into the conversation. You remained silent, not trusting yourself in your inebriation to respond beyond a simple hum of agreement or a grunt of displeasure. If you allowed yourself to speak freely, no doubt you would be weeping in Benedict's arms like a little girl within minutes. “What do you think?” You started, retreating from your thoughts to find both Benedict and Granville looking at you. Benedict’s eyes shone with thinly veiled concern, tilting his head and gently shaking you by the shoulder, while Granville simply smiled in amusement. “I..was lost in thought. My apologies.” You said quickly, waving Benedict’s hands away and sitting up completely. You were drunker than you thought, and briefly you wondered if you would even be able to make it to your carriage without help. You figured if you couldn’t, you would force Granville to escort you. He certainly owed you, after pulling this little stunt. “You’re wasted. Perhaps you should head home.” Benedict said gently. You huffed, shaking your head. “Don’t concern yourself with me, I can take care of myself. Now. My opinion on what, exactly?” “Valentines,” Granville supplied, glancing into his empty cup, “we were talking about all the effort that goes into such cards and letters. Artistry, in a way. What do you think of it?” “I find the holiday wholly unnecessary. And it takes far too much time to make such delicate things. A canvas is much more secure.” you huffed. Benedict stiffened beside you, although in your semi-consciousness, you barely noticed, your eyes fluttering between shut and open. “So you wouldn’t make any?” Benedict asked. “No.” “Would you receive them?” “I suppose it would be rude to deny such labors of love. But I have never received one, and I doubt I will this year. Ladies don’t send cards to men like me.” you shrugged, drooping over the table. The longer you sat, the harder it was to hold yourself up. If you passed out, it would be a good escape from such intimate topics with Benedict, so you allowed yourself to slump on the table, sighing. “Alright, that's enough. I’ll help you home.” Benedict declared, standing up and taking you by the arm, heaving you up. You groaned in protest, but didn’t fight as he slung your arm over his shoulder and half dragged you away from the table, Granville following behind. “Apologies, Bridgerton. Next time I won’t allow him to indulge quite so much. You may end up getting more than 10 minutes with him that way.” He said cheerily. “I’m sober enough to know when I’m being mocked, Granville.” you opened your bleary eyes to glare at him, finding his eyes twinkling with amusement. He patted your shoulder. “It’s no trouble. I was about to head home, anyway.” Is all Benedict said as he helped you into the carriage, climbing in after you and seating himself on the same bench. Granville waved you both off as Benedict rapped his knuckles on the carriage, directing your footman to take you home. “Now you have me alone and vulnerable. Not very gentlemanly of you, Bridgerton. What would the ton think?” you teased, leaning lazily against the side of the carriage, away from him. You hoped it was subtle, that he thought you were just drunk and loose and tired. You couldn’t bear the thought of him finding out just how weak you were for him. Then he would leave, and you would be crushed. “They would think nothing, because we’re men.” He pointed out, leaning closer to you. You hummed, acknowledging his words, but didn’t reply beyond that. It was only then that you realized how precarious a situation you were in. Drunk, alone, with a man you loved, who seemed to be moving closer and closer by the minute, although maybe you were imagining that part. Anything was possible when you were this drunk. “They would be wrong, though.” Benedict finished softly. He reached over, brushing his fingers along your jaw, moving downward to loosen your cravat. You sighed, tilting your head back to allow him easier access, cursing yourself but unable to shove him away. You were such a fool. “Are you planning something?” You asked. He finally managed to pull your cravat away, revealing your neck to him. He laughed at your question. “With you this drunk? No. I only wanted you to be more comfortable.” He tossed the cloth onto the other bench, leaning safely away from you to stare out the window after. While you were partly disappointed, you were mostly relieved. You wouldn’t have been able to resist, and only would have brought yourself more shame and confusion in regards to him. But Benedict was a good man, and he would never take advantage of you in your current state. Your heart squeezed. Too good of a man. “I’m sorry to be such a burden tonight.” you blurted suddenly. Benedict looked at you, his head whipping away from the window so quickly it almost made you dizzy. “I shouldn’t have drank so much. It was foolish.” “You’re never a burden to me.” He said, his voice soft and indignant, almost as if he was offended by the mere idea that you had inconvenienced him. “You shouldn’t have to chaperone me home like a weak debutante.” “I’d rather you than a debutante. Trust me.” You chuckled, shaking your head and glancing out the carriage window. You could see the square, and your home, fast approaching. It appeared as though your time with Benedict was over for tonight. Relieved and downtrodden, you sat up and attempted to right your swirling vision as the carriage came to a stop. Benedict stood, helping you up and out of the carriage. After explaining the situation to your housekeeper, he hauled you all the way into your home and bedroom, even being kind enough to help you out of your boots as you lay back in your bed, arm over your eyes, trying to stop the room from spinning. “I’ll be going, then.” He said quietly, standing up and brushing his hands together. You lifted your arm, making certain you weren’t going to puke before crooking one finger, beckoning him closer. “Come here.” You breathed. He obeyed, moving dutifully to your side, remaining silent despite the question in his eyes. You sat up slowly, ignoring your dizziness. Placing a hand on the back of his neck, you pulled him closer. Benedict, realizing what you were after, leaned down and forward, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips. You flopped back into your bed after he pulled away, grinning, although you couldn’t see it, having already rolled over and buried your face in the covers. “Goodnight. I hope you enjoy tomorrow.” He said ominously, the clicking of his heels against the marble floor the only indication you had that he had left. Before you could even think of the meaning of his strange farewell, you were dragged into rest. -- The first thing you registered after waking was the pounding behind your eyes. Moaning in pain, you lifted your arm over your face, blocking out the light that your butler had let in through the curtains. “My apologies, My Lord. Should we have a cure made?” He asked politely, noticing your haggard state. “Quickly.” You begged. He nodded, bowing before swiftly leaving the room to procure you a bit of relief. Sitting up, you turned away from the windows completely, opting to try and find your balance. After a moment, you were able to make your way to your wardrobe, pulling on your breeches and doublet. Today you had no need to dress formally. Valentines was a day you dedicated to staying completely shuttered away from the rest of the ton, tending to your estate and business ventures. It was easier than being bombarded with reminders of love, and much easier than running into any Bridgerton, although one, of course, you wanted to avoid above all else. It would only pain you to see him giving or receiving such intimate letters, especially with the women of the ton. Once your butler had delivered your cure, and you had thrown down the slimy, disgusting mixture, you were feeling much improved. You made your way to your study, smiling at your maids as they bowed before rushing off, no doubt in a hurry to finish their work and make off with their sweethearts for the day. You felt a twinge of jealousy, smiling sadly as you opened the door to your study. Oh. In your study sat piles and piles of cards, all handmade, some gilded with gold while others were trimmed with lace. You picked one up, in awe at its intricate gold-foil flowers, embossed on the front and lined with sharp swirls and embellishments, all clearly hand done with a calligraphy pen. You opened the card. The script inside was as lovely as the rest of the card, although it was the words that brought tears to your eyes. I sit and I look into your face And I see those before us, Who have loved as we do, And I see those after, And I pray that our impossibility Will become their reality. Yours. You choked on a sob, quickly closing the card and setting it down. The last thing you wanted was to ruin something so perfect with tears. It was not signed, and it didn’t have to be for you to know. Benedict. You looked around the room. There were at least 3 large piles of cards, enough to last an entire year, all handmade and intricate. You wondered how long this had taken him. It would take you days just to read them all. Surely, your servants thought you were either the biggest rake in the ton, with all these notes. You couldn’t care less. You gathered them all, handling them as gently as you would glass, slipping them into your desk cabinet and locking it. They were yours, no one else's. Benedict's words were just for you. Dazed, you leaned back into your office chair, holding the first card, running your fingers over the edges and rereading the lines over and over. It wasn't quite a poem, nor a letter, but a sentiment. A dream, a wish. You would be lying if you said that it wasn’t your dream too. A future where love like yours would be special, not sinful. Love. You jolted. And then laughed. How could you ever have doubted him? Surely, it was only love that would drive him to do this. Only love that would have him escort you home, make sure you were safe and comfortable. That would make him sit for what must have been weeks, if not months, working tirelessly on card after card just to take advantage of the one day where letters between unmarried men and women could be sent freely. Of course, he did so for a cover. But was that not also love? He wanted to protect you from ire, from harm, and so he delivered all the letters he felt he couldn’t today, just to keep from drawing unwanted eyes. Crying and laughing all at once, you pressed the note to your chest. How had you doubted his love for a second? His devotion? You truly were a fool, although not in the way you had expected. It took you half an hour to calm yourself, and by that time, your headache was back and worse than before, thanks to your emotional outburst. But another thing was back, too. Your butler, standing in the doorway with an impassive look on his face, glancing about the room, no doubt looking for the heaps of cards the servants had dropped off. “Do you know what card came from which maiden?” You asked, holding up the first card. It was the only card you had yet to put away, and though you were loathe to show it to him, you thought you should make it try and seem as though you had no idea who they had come from. “The cards were delivered mysteriously early this morning, My Lord. No names, no signatures.” “I see. Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter. None of them will be receiving a response.” You laughed, setting the card down. “What is it?” “A visitor, sir. The Second Bridgerton. Says he has something to discuss with you, about Lord Granville's gathering last night.” Your heart stuttered. “Send him up. No doubt he wants me to apologize for making such an ass of myself last night.” You joked, and he smiled back, giving a quick nod before rushing off to fetch Benedict. You quickly tucked the last letter into your desk drawer, pulling out a decanter of whiskey and pouring yourself a small glass. “No better cure for a hangover than more drink, right?” Benedict stepped into your study, shutting the door behind him even as he teased you. You laughed, pouring him a glass as well. He took it gratefully, sitting down in the chair across from yours, the desk between you two. “You may mock me if you wish, Benedict, but I am feeling positively delightful.” you said dramatically, lifting your cup in cheers. Benedict touched his glass to yours, and you took a sip. He did not. “Would that have anything to do with any deliveries?” He questioned, a secretive smile spreading across his face. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” “That’s why I asked.” You snorted, shaking your head quickly. “It would, if you must know.” Dropping all pretenses, he leaned forward, smiling even brighter now. “So you’ve got them. Do you like them?” “Of course I do,” you breathed, leaning in as well, dropping your voice to a whisper, “how long did they take you? They’re beautiful. True artistry.” “Much too long, as you said last night. But they were worth it, if you like them.” You nodded once. Smiling, he brought one hand to rest on your desk, palm up and spread open. You took it, intertwining your fingers. “Do you truly...love me? In that way?” you asked nervously, avoiding his gaze in favor of staring at your two hands. “No, I spent hours of my precious time making hand crafted love letters for a man I consider a friend.” He rolled his eyes. “If anyone would do such a thing, it would be you, Benedict.” “Certainly not. It would be Colin.” You laughed, and he grinned. Standing, he quickly rounded your desk and pulled you up by your still connected hands, pulling you against him and kissing you firmly. It was sudden, but not unpleasant, and you wrapped your arms around him, carding your fingers through his hair before resting your hands on the nape of his neck. After a long moment, he pulled away, eyes shining mischievously. “I do love you.” “And I you.” you said quickly, desperate to reciprocate. You had spent so long convinced that Benedict only saw you as good fun, that the revelation of love had left you reeling. But you would be damned if you passed up this opportunity to tell him of the affections you had kept secret since your first meeting. In response, he kissed your jaw once before pulling away, still smirking. “But you taste of garlic and egg. You truly should not have indulged so much. Now I can’t kiss you.” Groaning, you turned away from him, clamping your lips shut even as he wraps his arms around your middle, pressing kisses to your neck and cheek lovingly, cooing affections like a lovesick fool. You smiled at that passing thought, leaning into Benedict and returning his whispers in kind, leading him with purpose to your bed chamber. Perhaps you were both lovesick fools. You could live with that.

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tf2-hoe · 4 years

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For the self harm request you did, I was wondering if you could do the rest of the mercs. I totally understand if you feel uncomfortable writing it

Offensive and Defensive Headcanons - Self Harm Scars

Part 1

Hey, I am going to assume the link I posted is what you’re referring to, if not, then PM me and I will write up a new one!

Scout

He had her in his lap, hands around her waist

She tasted like sugary candy, and he just couldn’t get enough of the taste

He wanted more

His hands grazed her sides, inviting, but not invading

Or so he thought

Her hands flew to his chest, allowing her to launch away from him

“Babe?!”

“DON’T TOUCH ME!”

She sounded petrified, and Scout was worried to death that he had just made a fatal mistake

“Hey, you gotta tell me what’s goin’ on.”

“They’re disgusting and I hate them!”

“What do you hate?”

“THIS!”

She rips off her shirt to reveal circular indents covering her hips like moon craters

Scout’s silence was deafening

How was he supposed to react to this?

“Do you have any idea how disgusting these are?! How horrible I am for doing this? How many cigarettes I went through to do this? I hate it! I hate myself! I am-”

His arms held her far too tightly for her comfort, but it was all he could do to keep himself from screaming

“Disgusting? Horrible? What are you talking about? That bull you went through doesn’t mean anything to who you are now. If you want it to, then fine, but you clearly don’t sound happy about it, so I’m assuming you didn’t like what you did to yourself. That doesn’t mean anything! All that matters that you’re here and alive. I want you alive, I want you here with me. Please, never feel ashamed like this again. I love you.”

Heavy

Heavy holds her close to his body, practically absorbing her warmth

This was all he ever wanted, and it felt like a good time to initiate something more intimate than just holding each other

At first he started kissing her neck and smiling when she started to giggle

His hands held her thighs just a touch firmer to keep her close to him

"Do you want to be closer?"

"We are close."

"No, as close as two humans can be with each other."

Her entire body went rigid, and it took all of her willpower to not peel away from him right there

"You do not have to! I was only suggesting."

"...I want to, Misha, but there's a few things you need to know about me first."

"I trust you, and whatever you tell me, I will not blame you."

She stands up slowly, turning to him with a subtle shiver that, for her sake, Misha did not point out

"I'm not a pretty woman, Misha, far from it. I'm dirty, broken, and I'm in a lot of pain all the time."

His eyes were wide with panic, trying to decipher entirely what she's getting at

Was he translating something wrong? Surely this doesn't mean what he thinks it means!

"A long time ago, I figured out a way to help myself."

A false hope grew before shattering like glass as her shirt lifted up to hide just under her breasts

Pinpoint scars scattered her hips, and even her stomach, like stars to the sky

He felt horrified

How does someone react to this?

"A-And I know it's not what you wanted, and I know somebody with mental problems is just going to be a burden to you. I-I didn't want to stab myself, but I couldn't stop."

Her tears broke his heart, and he raced to scoop her up like a child

"Shame is nothing. Why let it control you after all this time? After everything you've been through, it cannot rule your life any longer. I am not angry, nor sad, nor upset. I am scared for you, not for those scars or how they came about. I am worried about you because you're all that matters, not those scars!"

He rocks her softly in his arms, prepping himself to help her recover from a lifetime's worth of pain

Demo

He just couldn’t resist the woman he had before him

Delicate, kind and absolutely gorgeous

Why would he ever try to deny what he feels for her?

So why not push it a little? Take some risks?

He learned very soon why communication is important

The second he held her hips so he could kiss her, her hands peeled them off in a panic

She threw herself away from him, disturbed at the sensation of his hands on them

“Dear? What is it?”

“Y-You aren’t supposed to see it. The hammer, the marks, the bruising, the scars... You can’t see what I did.”

“Did what? What is it?”

His heart only pounded harder when she hesitated with her words

“I don’t want you to see them.”

“I’m not going to judge you, beautiful. Show them or not, I won’t judge you.”

“Promise.”

“I swear on my Scrumpy.”

The heartfelt words got a chuckle out of her, allowing them both to ease a little

“Alright, just... give me a second.”

Demo looked away to give her some space and only turned back when she gave the word

Her pants and shirt were lying on the floor in a neat, neglected pile, but his attention was not on her body

Pink, splotchy bubbles connect and cover her delicate hips like a thick spiderweb

“There’s a reason I don’t like being around Pyro.”

“Why would you ever...?!”

“I look disgusting, huh?”

“No, no! I’m just scared, dear. I think I’m allowed to be, after all.”

He winces at the wet stains forming on her face

“I’m worthless.”

“Stop.”

“I hate myself.”

“Please.”

“I’m just-”

“STOP IT!”

He doesn’t mean to scare her, or to make her upset, but her pain is eating him alive

“Is that what you felt? That pain? That agony? No wonder you’d turn to something so violent...”

He gently offers his arms to her, in which she gladly hides herself in them

“There isn’t something I can say to make the pain go away, or something I can do to make these scars go away. I don’t know what you want me to say about them, or what you want me to do about them. All I can say is that I promise to be here for you, for better or worse.”

Pyro

There were few times they would ever let themself get as vulnerable as they are now

They felt her hands roaming their body, causing them to gasp at the sensitive sensations

They almost wanted to protest at the strange touch, but they instead grasped her waist

“P-Please, don’t.”

The fear caused them to remove their hands and question her

“It’s bad, you’re not going to like it.”

Pyro shakes their head, pressing their head to hers

“...You’re too sweet, Py.

She sighs, looking at how willing they are

“Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Upon removing her shirt and averting her eyes, Pyro sees small strips of scars covering her soft skin

“I had an obsession with my body... It was too much for me, and I figured it’d be easier to just... peel it away. Gross, huh?”

Her nonchalant tone fails to hide the shame in her eyes

A person of no words, they simply hold their S/O close to their chest

Sometimes their hands will graze over the sensitive marks on her body, but only to show that those scars are her skin, and therefore are her

Soldier

He had her against a wall with her legs around his waist

She had the sweetest smile as she pressed her head to his chest

“You look beautiful, you know that?”

She felt something wrong when he said that

And just like that, her illusion was shattered

She wants her lye and her knife

She can’t breathe, all she can do is claw at her sides to destroy the uneven markings

All Soldier could do was hold her hands until she could calm down enough to get her to Medic

He felt frozen and unable to react for the first time in his life

“Jane, please.”

“What? What do you want me to do?”

“Make it stop.”

“Make what stop? You have to tell me, cupcake.”

“I need to fix my body. I need these ugly marks to go.”

“What marks?”

“THE SCARS!”

Her deafening voice caused him to back away

It was here that Soldier could get a good look at her body, allowing him to take in the old, acidic scars covering her hips

“I was made the wrong size, Jane. I had to fix it somehow... Now I’ve made it worse... The skin is even worse, now.”

“Wrong size?”

He’s trying to take this one step at a time, but all of this information makes him feel like he’s falling down a flight of stairs

“I was 110 pounds, I wasn’t skinny enough. I’m still not skinny!”

“Why does your weight matter so much?”

“Why does it matter?! The skinnier you are, the prettier you are, that’s how it works!”

“No, it isn’t. In ancient Greece, a woman with more weight than average was considered beautiful because she had access to food, which was considered a luxury.”

“What does that have to do anything?”

“You would be a goddess to them, is what I’m saying.”

He gently takes her into his arms, feeling her shivering, nervous body

“The only reason people think skinny is better than anything else is because during World War II, women took up jobs that men couldn’t. Even though more weight was beautiful, the standard shifted because it was thought that the less weight a woman had, the more capable she was of replacing a man. In the end, all it takes is a big change to get everybody to bandwagon and pick a side. That’s all any “opinion” really is, is just a bunch of people gathering up and deciding what’s going to be the new trend.”

“...so what you’re telling me, is that you being a historian nut has a purpose?”

Soldier grins a little as he hears her relaxed tone

“When has it not?”

Engineer

”You really want this, honeybee?”

“Yes...”

“You don’t sound confident. Are you sure you want this?”

“I do, I’m just a little nervous.”

“Don’t feel pressured, hon. I’ll wait as long as you want, and if you don’t ever want to go that far, I understand. This is a choice from two people that requires the consent of us both.”

“Can you help me with something?”

“Anything.”

“I want to get close to you, but there’s something that I’ve been hiding from you.”

Engineer backs up to give her space

“I won’t be mad, darling. I just need you to help me understand.”

“I have skin missing from my body, and it’s unpleasant to look at.”

“Do you want to show me, or would you rather we wait, instead?”

Her shirt being tossed across the room was his answer

The missing chunks of skin around her waist mapped out strange, thick caverns in her thighs

He couldn’t help but touch them before asking if he even could

“What...?”

“I found a chisel when I was a kid... I didn’t really think about the consequences then, or what it would do to me. All I could think about was that chisels mean carving, and carving means getting the perfect body type.”

“Perfect body type?”

“...I lost 20 pounds just by removing what I didn’t want.”

Engie felt sick as he held her, and his eyes stayed away from the scars

“Was it weight?”

“I don’t know... I just liked hurting.”

“If you ever feel like that again, you got to tell me. If not me, then Medic, not him, then someone. Don’t go through this alone, you deserve better than that. I want to help you, I want to keep you safe and happy. This must have been so hard for you to tell me, and I’m so proud of you... Please, let me take care of you, and let me get you some help. I can’t promise to make the pain go away, and I can’t say that it will go away, all I can do is try, darling. Just give me a chance, sweetpea.”

HEAVEN HAVE MERCY THIS TOOK FOREVER! This is officially the longest request I’ve done, and also one of the reasons why I can’t accept requests this long again. They can be far longer than I anticipate, and it takes up more time than I have, which leads to requests being delayed or ignored. But nevertheless, the new method I’m using with max three at a time seems to be working well!

Thank you for the submission, and I hope you’re doing well.

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flowercrown-bucky · 4 years

Text

Dream A Little Dream Of Me

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Modern!Loki x Reader, Modern!Thor x Reader, Loki x Wanda

Series Warnings: Cheating, affairs, swearing, legal alcohol consumption, smut later on, mention of smoking

Summary: What do you do when you fall in love? Embark on a clandestine affair with their brother, of course.

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two

Chapter Three - Regarding the events in the restaurant and everything that followed on the roof.

——

TAG LIST: OPEN (PLEASE COMMENT OR MESSAGE ME IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED!)

The apartment you shared with Thor was small, but you thought it was perfect. Nothing spectacular, a modest two-bed, bath-and-ensuite in Hackney, overlooking Clissord Park. If you leant out of the front window, you could see the vast green expanse, littered with trees, the manor house poking through the trees in the distance.

Your bedroom was light and airy, thanks to the enormous north-facing window, the space dominated by your bed. A chest of draws sat to its left, decorated with your memories, framed and immortalised. At the bottom of the bed sat a large floor length mirror, and it was this mirror you were currently staring into.

You fiddled with the slightly too tight straps of your dress, silently willing your boyfriend to hurry up and get out of the shower. Frigga had arranged a family dinner in a restaurant in the city, and by your count, you would already be ten minutes late when you eventually arrived. And Thor wasn't even out of the shower yet.

Your gaze turned to the photos strung up next to the mirror. Thor and his friends, you and your friends, Thor and you on a trip to Thailand earlier that year. You and your sister, you and Frigga, Thor and Loki with their mother, Thor and Loki as boys.

Thor, Loki and you in Italy.

You could barely bring yourself to look at it, shame clouding your vision as the memories of that night flooded your mind. That single moment of vulnerability had haunted you for the past few months.

"Why the long face?" Thor's soft voice filled your ears, his hand gently caressing your shoulder.

You turned to face him, his blue eyes staring straight into yours. He stood before you, half dressed in a dark pair of jeans. The muscles in his back rippled as he rifled through his side of the wardrobe, searching for a shirt to wear.

"Nothing." You replied, getting to your feet. "It was nothing."

Thor smiled, turning back to face you as he shrugged on a pale blue dress shirt, running a towel through his wet hair.

"I'm glad." He kissed your head softly. "I don't like seeing you unhappy."

"I'm fine, honestly." You looped your arms around his neck. "But we are going to be very, very late."

He looked down at the steak sat half eaten on his plate. Somehow it no longer looked appetising.

He glanced across at you. You, also, were pushing your risotto around your plate, seemingly struck by a sudden lack of appetite.

He watched you inquisitively, making polite conversation with his aunt, your lips delicately stained by the pinot you were steadily making your way through. You listened as Thor re-enacted a vaguely amusing anecdote regarding you and the blender. Oddly, he'd noticed that in his brother's stories, you were always the butt of the joke, always the supporting cast, and your smile never quite reached your eyes.

He wondered for a moment, if you'd smile on his arm.

"Hey, you okay?" He felt a hand on his forearm. The big green eyes of his girlfriend stared back into his own.

"Yeah." He murmured, smiling softly at her. "I'm just great."

She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

In the five months Loki had been dating Wanda, you had never met her before.

As you looked at her, you could not for the life of you understand why. With green eyes set into a creamy complexion, framed by long, dark hair, she didn't exactly conjure up the image of a bunny boiler, and the short conversation you'd had led you to believe she was a pleasant, sweet young woman.

She'd greeted you with a warm, friendly hug. Loki had not.

You'd awkwardly hugged, your lips barely brushing skin as you'd kissed each other's cheeks. Things had been fine between the two of you, more distant than before, but fine. The two of you would be fine.

"Can I have everyone's attention please?" Thor clinked his spoon against his wine glass. "Before we finish our meal, I'd like to make a toast to my beautiful girlfriend. To Y/N!"

The vivid flush of your cheeks brought a smile to Loki's face, but the short, sweet kiss you and Thor shared he could not bear to watch.

"You're sweet, you're clever, you're kind." Thor took your chin between his fingers, lifting your head. "You're funny, you're caring, and I'm so lucky to call you mine."

The scraping of his chair as he rose to his feet was the only noise to be heard in the now uncomfortably quiet room.

Panic rose in Loki's chest as his brother fumbled in his pocket, slowly dropping to the floor. He felt as if he might be sick.

Wether your heart or his was beating harder, it would be impossible to call.

"So, my beautiful girl," Thor smiled up at you. "Will you do me the honour of being mine forever and becoming my wife?"

The silence that settled over the room was unbearably uncomfortable. All of a sudden, every eye in the room was on you.

You bit back a gulp, words suddenly escaping you.

Loki was almost entirely certain he was going to be sick. He could almost feel his heart sitting in the back of his throat, his eyes stinging almost as if he was going to cry.

Oh god, he thought to himself. Please don't cry.

The bitten stubs of his nails dug into the soft flesh of his palms, anticipation building in his belly.

With one words, Loki's heart shattered into a thousand teeny, tiny pieces.

"Yes."

Often, when he was upset, Loki liked to watch over the city. It calmed him to watch the world go by beneath him.

His favourite place to watch the world go by was, of course, his balcony. A stressful day in the office, a day in the courtroom, would often end on his balcony. His tie would remain disregarded on the floor, his suit jacket on the arm of the sofa. Armed with a large Dillon's Rye, he would sit on the sole chair and light a cigarette. He was not a habitual smoker, so much so that he had never purchased an actual ashtray, opting instead to butt his cigarettes on the sole of his shoe and toss them into the plant pot he'd bought but never used for any other purpose, but he always had a box of Marlboro Lites hidden inside a saucepan. He'd quietly observe the world below him until his mood had subsided or he simply became too cold.

The bar in shoreditch, with its electric heaters and ivy shrouded columns, was not a bad substitute.

He leant down on his forearms, rubbing his face.

He shouldn't be bothered by you getting engaged.

He shouldn't be bothered by the idea of you giving love to another man.

He shouldn't be so bothered by the intimate, tender kiss you'd shared with his brother.

He had Wanda.

Wanda was beautiful, kind, sweet. Wanda made him forget.

But she wasn't you.

Every moment with you made him completely lose himself. With you, he felt out of body, out of mind.

And you would make his brother feel that way for the rest of your forever.

On the rooftop, out of the corner of your eye, you could see a tall, dark figure.

He'd been crisply cut in his expensive suit at dinner, but from where you could see him now, his dark jacket hung on the railing next to him, leaving him in a linen shirt with rolled up sleeves and a silk tie that looked to be coming undone, almost as if someone had tugged on it. A few glossy strands of hair had escaped from his ponytail, and fir a second, you were overcome by the urge to release it from the elastic and run your fingers through his dark tresses.

He started as you approached him, the heels of your shoes giving you away. You smiled, holding out the martini you'd brought for him.

"What do you know about the origin of love, Loki?" Your voice was soft, your gaze trained on the sky above you.

"You followed me." His voice cracked, his question hanging unspoken in the air. Why?

"It's been said that early humanity was like two men or two women squished together." You ignored his statement. "But that we grew too strong, so Zeus split all of mankind into two halves. Modern humans spend their lives looking for their once other halves, and the pain of being split has become familiar, and we've called it love. When we find them, we make love because we're trying to put ourselves back together."

He sat for a moment, pondering your story. What were you trying to say? Were you trying to tell him Thor was your other half? Or... Was he?

He thought about that moment of hesitation. Short, but still, you hesitated.

Were you looking for a way out?

"Why did you leave, Loki?" Your voice was soft.

"I felt queasy. Needed some air." He replied, not able to bring himself to look at you. "Why did you follow me?"

"You looked queasy, like you needed some air." He could almost hear the smile in your voice, and could not help but crack a similar grin himself.

"I'm glad you're ok, Loki." You squeezed his hand gently, before turning to walk away.

His heart leapt. You were slipping through his fingers like sand. Could he let you go like that?

"Wait." A desperate plea left his lips, his arm reaching out to grab your wrist almost instinctively. You turned to look at him, confusion in your eyes.

His mind blanked. What was he doing? What should he say? Was he out of his fucking mind?

"Don'tmarryhim." The words came out of his mouth before he was aware of what he was saying, sort of rushing out of his mouth and bashing into each other.

"What?" You asked. Loki wasn’t entirely sure whether you were clear on what he said or why he said it.

Loki wasn’t entirely sure wether he himself was clear on what he said or why he said it.

“Don’t marry him.” He took a deep breath, regretting the words as they left his mouth.

A deeply uncomfortable silence settled over you both.

“Loki, what are you trying to say?” Eventually you broke the silence. He shifted his weight uncomfortably from foot to foot. What was he trying to say? He wasn’t sure.

“I’m, I’m, I just..” He gnawed at his bottom lip uncomfortably. “I’m not saying marry- I’m saying marry- not me, him, not...”

He paused for a moment.

“Nothing. I’m saying nothing.” He rubbed at his forehead, screwing up his face.

You looked at him for a moment, something in the darks of your eyes that he couldn’t quite recognise. A soft hand came up to his face, your knuckles gently stroking his cheekbone as you stepped closer to him.

A little over six months later, he would see this look in your eyes again. Two things would instantaneously occur as he did; the first would be the dawning realisation of exactly what the unspoken words of your expression were.

The second?

The crushing feeling that would accompany the realisation that he had recognised this expression too late.

“Loki,” You whispered, looking up into his eyes. “I’m going to go back inside, and we never speak of this again.”

It wouldn’t be the first time, (Or the last, but more on that later) but without a word, he let you go.

Chapter Four - La Vie En Rose

——

SERIES TAGS:

@jessiejunebug @sherlockfan4life @soapbox-moments @amour-delicate @milea

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islamicrays · 5 years

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I was sitting on a park bench the other day, chatting with a friend of mine whose kids were playing with my kids on the playground. She's a boy mom too, with two sons around the ages of my older two.

During one part of our conversation about raising kids with values from a young age, she said, "I want to teach my sons to be good, so they grow up to be husbands who are kind and helpful to their future wives inshaAllah--basically, not to be abusers."

I agreed with her, then added, "I also sometimes worry about the converse happening, that my sons grow up to marry women who aren't good wives, who aren't kind or helpful--basically, women who are abusers."

She paused. Gave me a startled look for a second, before recovering and then nodding.

"I had never thought of that before," she said.

Never thought of it.

She had thought of the possibility of her sons, the babies that she has birthed and whom she is currently raising, who are currently laughing and squealing and running on the playground with childish wonder and carefree joy--being abusers of women.

But she'd never once thought about the possibility of her sons ever facing abuse from women.

It's fascinating to me to see how much society influences our thinking, the very ideas that even enter our minds at all. We are influenced by what we see and hear about. Our ideas are often a product of the messaging we encounter, the media we consume.

And the social messaging around us regarding domestic abuse or intimate partner violence only goes one way. "Men are inherently violent and tend to abuse women!" This is part of the social script. We are bombarded with it. But the reverse, the notion that "women can also abuse men" is not part of the social script.

Unfortunately, abuse happens in relationships and within marriage. It's always tragic to witness or hear about.

Certainly, men abuse women sometimes. Men can use their bigger bodies and superior strength to physically abuse women, who are smaller and weaker than them physically. They can also use their position of leadership as head of the household and wali in order to suppress their wives. This is terrible.

But also, women abuse men sometimes. Women can use their greater capacity for communication and higher emotional intelligence to abuse men. They can also use their status as dependents of the husband in order to manipulate him and gain far more than their due, all the while claiming victimhood for themselves. This is terrible, too.

It might be easier for most people to imagine that a woman could be capable of verbal and of emotional abuse toward a man. But most of us have a hard time believing that a woman could ever be physically abusive towards a man.

I know this because I used to think this myself. I'd just never seen or heard of any cases of physical abuse of a man by a woman. My own husband is twice my size and at least a foot taller than me, so the idea of a woman being able to physically hurt a man had sounded preposterous to me. Nowhere near as plausible to me as the idea that a man could physically hurt a woman.

But unfortunately, women committing physical abuse against men is a very real phenomenon.

"Why don't we ever hear about it, then?" You might ask. "We definitely hear about men physically abusing women! Why don't we ever hear of the opposite, if it really exists??"

The answer to this has to do with two main factors in my opinion: the inherent differences between the two genders, and societal expectations of each gender.

Typically speaking, men don't like to show weakness or broadcast vulnerability to anyone, if they can help it. Their sense of masculinity or pride forbids it, just by nature. Men are notorious for disliking to ask for help, because they'd rather just fix it themselves. So a man who is getting physically abused by a woman will not readily volunteer such information to others, because it only makes him feel worse and more of a failure to admit it. To voice the truth would only hurt him worse, so he stays quiet. So...nobody hears about it.

The second piece of it is the societal view of men vis-a-vis women. Most human societies, regardless of country or culture, have certain expectations of men, among them being the assumption that a man cannot be physically harmed by a small, pretty, delicate woman. So a man who goes against this assumption, and pipes up about any physical abuse he has suffered at the hands of a woman, is typically met with disbelief or discomfort. He's just mocked as a weak man who can be beat up by a woman, taunted and ridiculed for being so fragile that someone weaker than him is hurting him. So it's easy to see how most men would never admit publicly that this has ever happened to them. Public ridicule is not something they'd like to add to the existing physical abuse.

Another level I have also read about--google this if you don't believe me!--is sexual abuse and rape of men. By women.

There is a population of male rape victims whose rapist is a female--yet, again, very little is heard about these victims. Most people just can't imagine sexual abuse going the other way, with a female rapist and a male rape victim, because we have been so busy with the reverse scenario. Most men simply won't ever tell anyone about their rape, but the few who do try to seek help find almost none. Male rape victims who speak up about their female rapist are almost always laughed out of the room. The assumption is that men love sex so much that it's simply not possible for a woman to sexually violate a man. If a man has any sexual interaction with a woman, he must have enjoyed it. Otherwise his sense of manliness is questionable. The attitude seems to be: "Dude, you got laid! And you're complaining?? Come on!"

So in order to save themselves from the inevitable social backlash, shame, and public humiliation, male abuse victims stay silent.

And so the general population stays blissfully ignorant of the reality.

In Islam, we are taught to be unswerving in pursuit of the truth, unbiased in our quest for justice (القسط). No gender is more prone to violence than the other, more likely to be abusive, more often unjust. No gender is completely blameless or perfect or always and forever the victim.

Yusuf, alaihi assalam, was abused by first one woman and then later a whole group of her friends, and we find the story documented in great detail in the Quran.

We need to wake up to the full reality and be even-handed and fair enough to see both sides, without being swayed by old stereotypes or feminist myths. We have to pursue true justice as Allah commands us in the Quran, instead of being skewed by biased cultural trends such as #believeallwomen. Don't allow mainstream cultural programming from western secular liberal-feminist propaganda to steer you in a specific direction and blind you to the full spectrum of reality.

Especially for Muslim parents: We have to protect our children, our sons and our daughters equally, from all kinds of harm or abuse or injustice. May Allah protect us and our children, ameen.

Via Umm Khalid

#hope #relationship #islam #mentalhealth #selfimprovement #prayer #dua #parenting

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diarrheaworldstarhiphop · 5 years

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I Don't Wanna Grow Up (And Neither Can You)

You can't show women being hurt. You can't show child abuse. You can't show rape. You can't show incest. Pedophilia, self-harm, intimate partner abuse, necrophilia, violence against children; if you're going to so much as talk about any of these things you need to do so at a 5th-grade level and behind the dual firewalls of safe, pastel-colored animation and explicitly education-based presentation. The art has to show you in painstaking detail the exact way in which to behave. Even then there's no guarantee it won't provoke a public outcry, doxxing, death threats, and even campaigns to strip artists of their jobs and livelihoods.

The idea that by depicting an act an artist is endorsing that act seems baked into the minds of certain left-leaning sets of younger people, particularly teenagers and early twentysomethings. That they have such deep concern for the safety and social equality of their traumatized peers and the traumatized in their own ranks can only be admirable, but more often than not the form it takes is mass harassment and scapegoating targeting not institutions or major studios but independent creators, many of them marginalized themselves. If the whole thing sounds, with its zeal for censorship and its self-righteous hate campaigns against the disenfranchised, a little like the American Family Association with a glittery coat of paint, well, that's kind of what it is.

The usual arguments about internet anonymity and the horrible deformities it breeds in human interaction all apply here, and there's much to be said of the young age and unformed personalities of the people perpetrating the worst of it, but even older, more experienced art aficionados aren't immune to the fervor for purity in art. There seems to be a much deeper affection in these circles for corporate art -- for the Marvel cinematic universe and its bland, calculated inoffensiveness, say -- than there is for art made by artists. Movies like Wonder Woman and Captain America: Civil War are evaluated with a generosity of spirit that borders on delusion, cults of enthusiastic acclaim forming around actress Gal Gadot's onscreen thigh jiggle and the "subtle homo-eroticism" of Thor: Ragnarok.

Corporate art exists to please. It exists to reaffirm the status quo and to build affection for and loyalty to corporations. From the callous Islamophobia of the Iron Man movies to the US Air Force and CIA-approved wokeness of Captain Marvel and Black Panther, the whole enterprise is bent on saying as little as possible while looking as socially conscious as it can. Fandom's fixation on finding gay themes and subtext in these blockbuster juggernauts was more understandable when independent gay art was harder to find, but today you don't even have to brave a convention-- you can dig it up with a quick search on Etsy or Gumroad. When independent artists release material featuring actual deviant sexuality, though -- from gay content to incest -- the reaction from these same people is overwhelmingly prudish. There is little to no desire among them to interact with adult work created by adult gay and trans artists. That art -- small art, created for personal reasons -- is too dangerous to touch, too full of moral imperfections and frightening images.

But what's left in art once you scour away the things that make you uncomfortable? What's left for the people who make their living and/or maintain their sanity by approaching our own suffering from a place of skill, assurance, and safety? What's left for readers and viewers trying to grow as people, to find empathy for those they've been taught to despise, to understand their own sexual shame and fear? What's left for people struggling with the isolation of abuse who have no support and no words to help them name it? Art is the lifeblood of human connection and introspection. It is the foremost way in which we can confront our own weaknesses and failings. Sanitized and focused solely on the comfort and entertainment of its audience, it's no more meaningful than a halfhearted handjob from an indifferent lover.

The idea that depiction equates to endorsement has been pedaled in our society virtually since its inception. Its modern proponents range from anti-violent video game morality groups to the Westboro Baptist Church's unhinged campaigns to remove television with gay content from the airwaves. Imagine a world where Debbie Dreschler never made her autobiographical comic Daddy's Girl, one of the most scorching, hideous things ever committed to paper. How many people would never have seen their own experiences with parental incest reflected in her work, and thus felt able to finally break themselves open and process their deep pain? When a subject becomes taboo we lose our ability to process the pain surrounding it, to talk about it openly, to understand why it happens.

Another core pillar of this movement is the expression of outrage toward sexual kinks based around transgression. Surviving rape, abuse, and other traumatic incidents is never an easy thing, and it's never clean. You'll carry the marks of it in your sex life, in your sense of safety, in your beliefs about the world until the day you die. In Nancy Friday's My Secret Garden, a 1975 collection of women's anonymously submitted sexual fantasies, multiple Jewish women who had survived the Holocaust wrote with deep shame of their need to sexualize that experience, to relive it with their partners in a safe and loving environment. It's a relatable sentiment for anyone whose sexuality has been shaped by trauma, which can force shame and need against one another until they grow together inextricably. A close friend of mine was attacked as a "vicious anti-semite" for quoting the book.

The same friend was attacked en masse for her erotic comics featuring gay and bisexual men, comics which depict those men with complexity, heart, and loving attention to detail. The argument was that as a straight woman it was fetishistic for her to portray sex between men, a position so mind-bogglingly dense that I'm hard pressed to find a way to fire back at it other than "really?" It's difficult to parse until you realize that the targets of these little brigades of loudmouths and scolds are always, always women. For all that they're marching under the banner of social justice, the people they feel most comfortable threatening with harm and emotionally brutalizing are women. Men both in the independent art scene and in the mainstream make violent, hateful art every day, but screaming at men doesn't satisfy the misogynistic impulses beaten into us by a culture that sees women as weak, stupid, and venally evil.

What you have in the end is a movement which in practice enforces a sort of neoliberal social conservatism, demanding the sanitization of art produced by women and labeling existing art degenerate with the same verve the Nazis displayed in putting the torch to centuries of Europe's artistic history. It's a small, impoverished way to understand the purpose of art and it's fueled by deep, repressed misogyny. If we pretend everything is good, if we act like Marvel will fix racism and sexism if we just give them another four production cycles, if we make our branded dollies kiss and claim it's because the movies portray them in a symbolically homo-erotic context, OBVIOUSLY, then we don't need to look at ourselves or see what we're doing to the people around us. We can close our eyes and slip into the lukewarm water of purposeful mediocrity.

There's nothing wrong with escapism. There's nothing wrong with not wanting to or not being able to engage with art about horrific things. The problem begins when you look at the people who can, who need to, and decide that they can't either, that they're going to have to bend to your worldview or you'll call them pedophiles and nazis and incest apologists and run them out of town. And what then? When you've crushed the hopes and dreams of every woman writing dark erotica or making beautiful, sensual comics about love and loss, what's left but staring at each other in a creative wasteland and waiting for one of your own to show the tiniest sign of weakness so you can recapture the thrill of moral outrage by ripping them apart. It's a cannibalistic cultural dead end where corporations are our friends and other human beings are the enemy.

I stand with sex workers, with pornographers, with artists of all kinds struggling to make something hot, something vulnerable, something raw and sickening and terrifying. If they fuck it up, well, at least they're a person, not some faceless sea of suits trying to get their arms down my throats to pull out my organs. Enjoy your popcorn movies, your Steven Universe and your X-Men comics, but ask yourself, what are you immersing yourself in by not reaching beyond those things? What is prolonged and overgrown childhood doing to your mind and to your moral sense of the world? Growing up is painful, yes, but if you want to learn to love, to open yourself up to others, to touch the deepest, rawest parts of your psyche and your sexuality, you're going to have to suffer.

From: https://www.patreon.com/posts/25994657

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filmmakersvision · 5 years

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Kumbalangi Nights - Character Analysis

Disclaimer: This article contains SPOILERS.

July 7, 2019

by Inakshi Chandra-Mohanty

Kumbalangi Nights, is a Malayalam film, released in 2019, about four brothers who share a complex relationship with each other, due to the absence of their parents, and how the presence of three women in their lives change them. Below is a detailed character analysis of each main character in the film.

Saji – Soubin Shahir

As the eldest brother in the family, Saji is expected to take care of his three younger brothers after his father passes away and his mother leaves to become a nun. However, when the film opens, we see a broken family. He is constantly fighting with Bobby, he is estranged from Bonny, and Franky is detached from him. His inability to take care of his brothers, makes him mentally disturbed, and he reaches his breaking point when out of rage he slaps Franky, and in response Bonny beats him up. Even though Bonny id not a blood relative of his as Bonny’s mother and Shammi’s father married after those two were already born, he and Bonny became inseparable within a few days of their parents’ marriage. So when Bonny beat him, Saji was completely broken.

Saji was a complete antithesis to Shammi. While Shammi was the representative of what it traditionally meant to be a man, Saji broke the norms, by showing that men have emotions and can express it as openly as women do. Despite being the eldest in the family, he wasn’t afraid in asking his youngest brother to take him to a psychiatrist, when he was feeling low. Normally, an elder brother would be like a parent, and would have to mask his emotions and hide his vulnerabilities from those that he was taking care of. But Saji opened up and that was what allowed Franky to connect with him.

Shammi – Fahadh Faasil

We know there is something wrong about Shammi, when he is first introduced. While in the bathroom shaping his “masculine” moustache, he notices a bindi stuck on the mirror and scrapes it off, washing it away in the sink. He then proceeds to look at himself in the mirror and repeat a dialogue from an advertisement in a deep, “manly”, voice. His character reeks of toxic masculinity from the first frame, as he is unable to bear even a small blemish of femininity on his idea of the perfect man. He has this need to control everything around him. Despite living as a “ghar jamai”, in his wife’s home, since he is the only man in the household, consisting of his wife, his mother-in-law, and his sister-in-law, he sees himself as the patriarch of the family. This is apparent in the scene where he sits down to have dinner with the whole family. He and his mother-in-law sit beside each other at the table, but before he begins eating, he makes an excuse that there isn’t enough light where he is sitting. He then goes on to slyly move his chair to the head of the table, establishing himself as the head of the family.

In the shocking climax, we finally see this toxic masculinity and need for control extend beyond just simple actions and turn into fully psychotic behavior. He is vehemently against his sister-in-law, Baby’s, relationship with Bobby makes it clear to her that they do not have a future together. However, when she refuses to break the relation, he becomes rude and controlling with her, leading to his wife, Simi, standing up for her sister. At this point, Shammi realizes that he has lost control over his wife and that puts him over the edge making him violent. As he is fighting with Bonny and Saji, after imprisoning his wife and her family, he consistently yells phrases like “I am the man” and makes it clear to the two brothers that they are fighting what he considers a “real man”. Finally, when he is captured, it marks the downfall of “toxic masculinity.”

Baby – Anna Ben

Baby is a strong independent woman, trying to live her life on her own terms. She guides her relationship with Bobby. Having had a crush on him in school, she is the one to initiate the relationship and take it forward. She even rebukes him for trying to come close to her, despite her repeated refusal. Her personality and her values are strong, which is why she is never afraid of saying what she feels, whether it is to Bobby or to Shammi, her brother-in-law. Unlike most girls, she doesn’t expect her boyfriend to be her savior and instead fights for herself against her family. She openly challenges her brother-in-law that she will elope with courage that very few characters in this film have.

She earns money through showing tourists around the village and also giving up her family guest house for rent to these tourists. Unlike her mother and sister, she isn’t fearful of her brother-in-law, Shammi, and in many instances stands up to him. For example, when Shammi throws out Nylah for allowing Bonny to stay with her overnight in the guest house, Baby questions him, despite her mother instructing her not to say a word. Even at the end, when Shammi tries to manipulate her into giving up on Bobby, she stands up to him and refuses to end her relationship with Bobby, even threatening to elope.

Bobby – Shane Nigam

Bobby is the most frustrated of the four brothers. He constantly fights with Saji and is angry at Bonny for abandoning them, leading him to seek refuge outside in Baby. Living in a house in an absence of any female figure, he initially doesn’t know how to behave with women. Early on in their relationship, he misbehaves with Baby, and tries to get intimate with her to which she refuses multiple times ultimately slapping him out of frustration. Unable to bear the humiliation, before leaving he says to her that he is the man. Surrounded by only men in his life, he has only learnt how to behave with women by watching movies, and clearly, Arjun Reddy, the film they are watching at the time of this incident, has an impact on his psyche. But eventually, after spending more time with Baby, and spending more time with women in general after the women enter his home, he begins to understand a different way of interacting with women and tries to identify with their perspective as well.

Franky – Mathew Thomas

The youngest of the four brothers and the first to be introduced in the narrative, Franky is mostly the silent observer as his brothers go through many tumultuous emotions. Seeing his brother’s constantly arguing with one another, and at the same time missing the presence of his mother, his home has now become a matter of shame for him. This leads him to lie to his friends that his family is ill, in order to prevent them from visiting his house. Out of his three brothers his only proper bonding is with Bonny, but Bonny spends most of his time away from home, so most of the time Franky is alone. Without a mother figure in his life, he feels lost and lonely. Therefore, when a female presence enters the house, he is rejuvenated.

Due to him being the youngest, his older brothers always keep him out of important matters. He is always seen as the “child” in the family. For example, when Bobby wants to speak to his brothers about keeping two women in the house, he refuses to speak in front of Franky and takes Bonny and Saji to another room to have a conversation. Soon, Franky begins to experience FOMO (Fear of Missing Out), and in the climax of the film follows his brothers as they go to check on Baby. Eventually his presence is what leads to Shammi being caught and defeated by the brothers.

Bonny – Sreenath Bhasi

Bonny represents an elder version of Franky. He is ashamed of his home and of his brothers, barring Franky, and rarely returns home, choosing to spend most of his time with a new gang of friends. Witnessing Bobby and Saji fight on a daily basis bothers him, and rather than trying to serve as a mediator, he instead decides to live in denial and avoid them whenever possible. With Franky, however, he has a very strong bonding. He serves as a guiding force for Franky, unlike the other two brothers who are too busy fighting with one another. The fact that he is unable to speak, doesn’t hinder him from opposing his brothers, and from later finding love in Nylah. Nylah, and his love for her, are what ultimately lead him back home. Having a female presence in the house makes the brothers cautious and gives Bonny the opportunity to reconnect with Saji and Bobby.

Sathi - Sheela Rajkumar

Sathi is the mother figure who comes into the lives of these four brothers as an angel. Despite Saji indirectly being the reason for her husband’s death, she doesn’t have any hard feelings against him, as she know how much her husband cared for him. She even goes along with him to his house as she needs help after giving birth to a baby. The scene where she and Saji arrive at his home on a boat is one of the most beautifully shot scenes in the film. Sathi, with her head wrapped in a scarf holding the baby in her arms, looks like a mother figure. Nylah is a female presence that these boys desparately need, but Sathi is representative of the guidance they need. Having a baby and two women, a mother and a foreigner, in the house, turns these four aimless boys into mature men.

Simi - Grace Antony

Married to a controlling man, Simi is expected to be the perfect caring wife, who quietly listens to her husband. She never objects to this position as she believes that it is her duty to be the submissive force in the relationship. Her husband is her god as he came as a savior to their family taking over the role of the patriarch of the family. She doesn’t dare to say a word against him and her mother also makes sure her two daughters don’t oppose her son-in-law. However, when the time comes need, Simi does raise her voice. When Shammi expresses his disapproval of Baby’s affair Simi doesn’t disagree and even lets him speak to Baby as an elder brother. But, when Baby refuses to listen, Shammi gets angry and begins to speak rudely to Baby, finally making Simi reach a breaking point. For the first time, she stands up to her husband, quietly but firmly. And this moment of feminine power is what ultimately leads to Shammi’s outburst of psychotic and violent behavior.

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femnet · 5 years

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I don't like being touched. I've never liked being touched. I think holding hands is an inconvenience and I give hugs because it's easier than explaining why I'd prefer not to. I've always been this way, even when I was growing up and my friends made it their mission to kiss and grope and eventually sleep with whoever they could. I channeled my energy into other things: books, my music, art, schoolwork... anything I could touch that wouldn't touch me back. It's a control thing, as most of my defining characteristics are. I experienced periods of my life where I was completely helpless so in controlling who has access to my body, I'm taking control of my surroundings by claiming body sovereignty. It also helps me limit who I let in. Not being touched, even in the slightest, means everyone is always at an arm's length - literally.

I used to think I was a late bloomer. I'm emotionally repressed, so it would only make sense that I was sexually repressed too. I was busy anyway and I didn't care about having sex. Anytime I was sexually active in any way it felt pressured (it was) and I hated myself for each and every encounter so it made sense that I avoided it when I could. I chalked it up to my poor choice in men; at the time I figured I wasn't asexual but demisexual - I just needed to find someone that actually respected me to want to have sex with them. My journey with my sexuality (or lackthereof) was nothing but rationalizations. I did everything to make myself feel normal and dealt with my aversion to sex the way I deal with everything else: by overthinking. Besides, anxiety and depression medications often cause your libido to drop so all of this felt medically normal anyway. Some days my mental health was so poor my only goal was to make it out of bed in the morning and back in bed at night. Life was about going through the motions, so something as frivolous as sex seemed silly to even consider. I rationalized this for years and years, questioning my sexuality and hating myself because I didn't crave the one thing every other person seemed to. Because as I grew up things like gender identity and sexuality were spoken of freely. Being asexual is recognized and acknowledged. Being sexually averse, still is not.

I talk about everything with my therapist. Everything. More than I've ever told any other human in existence. But we don't talk about sex. At least, we don't talk about me and sex. That's the thing with being sex-averse, it's not about hating sex. It's about hating the sex I have or don't have. It's about hating all physical forms of intimacy that involve myself. Oddly enough I'm actually extremely open about sex itself. Ask any of my friends and they will tell you how frank I am about everything from protection to positions to the actual physical anatomy involved. Writing this I am not bothered in the least. All of the sex I'm discussing is hypothetical. It is not my sex, it is just sex. Because again, being sex-averse goes back to control, or lackthereof. All the sex the world has or does not have rarely affects how much control I have over myself and my surroundings. Someone else’s nakedness does not make me vulnerable.

So what happens when I have sex or even try to be intimate with someone? Well, I don’t. Not anymore. But when I was young and used to think I didn’t have a choice? It’s a bit like a panic attack. I say “like” because I have panic attacks often and for some reason the ones I have related to my sex-aversion are always a bit different. When I’m having a standard panic attack there’s a lot of heaving and deep sighs because I’m trying to catch my breath. When I’m having a panic attack because I’m in a sexual situation or even thinking of a sexual situation in which I am involved (yes, this happens when I just think about sexual intimacy) there is no catching my breath - I just feel like I’m being choked and I can’t recover. It feels like all of the oxygen has escaped my lungs and there is no hope of it coming back. My chest feels tight and my face feels warm and usually I cry in the way that clouds your vision but does not stain your cheeks. It’s a lot of internal pressure and it’s there until I can distract myself from the sexual situation long enough to fixate on something else. Then, when the sense of panic is gone and I can breathe again, all that’s left is the self-loathing. I’m unsure of what causes it: the perfectionist in me upset over having a panic attack or the sense of dread that’s leftover from whatever thoughts caused the anxiety in the first place.

The way I experience sexual aversion is not the way everyone will. It is similar to phobias and anxieties in that we all process them differently. Sexual aversion is often caused by childhood sexual abuse (or other similar traumatic events of the sexual nature) but not always. I don’t know what caused mine, meaning for me it’s particularly brutal to unpack. For some people the sexual aversion only happens with one partner, whereas for others (like myself) it is with everyone. For some people it is parts of sex they are averse to and for others they avoid any forms of the act altogether.

For some people it is temporary. For other people, like myself, it feels like it’ll last forever. A lot of it, I believe, comes down to how it’s viewed. Is sexual aversion a disorder or an identity? Can you successfully live in a world where sex and human intimacy seems to dictate everything around you? Can you ever really connect with someone if you don’t give yourself to them in these ways? These are absolutely thoughts that plague asexuals as well but with sexual aversion it’s a bit different. It’s not that I don’t want to have sex it’s that I’d legitimately rather die than let anyone touch me in that way. Identity is about self-governance and freedom but my sexual aversion feels like a prison sometimes, so maybe it is a disorder. Then comes the anxiety over being so inherently different from almost all humans at their core and this idea that the only way to fix this is to confront the very thing that makes me hate myself more than I ever have before.

It goes without saying that dating is difficult. I’m emotionally stunted too, so that helps in keeping any potential partners away anyway, but even if I did find someone I could let in, the conversation (like the one I’m having with you, the reader, now) is an odd one. The concept of not only not wanting to have sex but hating the very idea is so hard for people to grasp. For some people it’s like saying you’re against breathing. How do you live without it? As if I’m less of a person for not partaking. As if I didn’t feel bad enough about it already…

I know I’m not alone or at least that’s what I tell myself. When I initially identified as asexual I used to feel the same way but thankfully we live in an age where such a thing can be shared and embraced. Sexual aversion hasn’t quite caught on. A lot of it is where it is rooted (read: shame, usually) but also because it is so incredibly hard to discuss. For me, most days, it is impossible. It’s difficult to conquer a fear when you can’t even think about it.

If you know someone who is sex averse it may be best to leave it alone. Give them time to open up to you about it. Questions are often triggering and living in such a sex-obsessed world is hard enough without extra pressure from friends and family, i.e. the people who are meant to make you feel safe. Like anything, it’s about respect. We know that the society tells us sex is everything but for us it’s not. It’s okay if you don’t fully understand it - I can’t speak for everyone, but most days I don’t either.

#by elizabeth #sexuality #real life #adult life #love and sexuality #march 2019

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tatianareddington · 5 years

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Original Redarina theory

3-16-18

This is not edited properly, nor have I adequately noted specific episodes, scenes, dialogue to substantiate each. You may immediately know which one is referenced. I have way more ideas that I haven’t started writing about, ideas to substantiate or explain inconsistencies in the Redarina theory.

I’ve been thinking about this theory a lot. Well actually, I think obsessing is a more accurate word. I’ve actually figured out a reasonable way to explain Carla, Harold, Dom and several others although I have no answers for Red’s roommate nor can I adequately explain the fingerprints matching to his FBI records. (We could assume that either his prints were switched in evidence, more than plausible, or that in some way the prints were transferred to Redarina - I say this only because Red cut off the thumbs of the frozen man to get into the bank box, so that is an episode which shows how someone could use someone else’s body as identifiers - oh, also the episode in which Kaplan removes a man’s eye for retinal identification so that her hire can get into archived FBI files to get Red’s immunity agreement)

And it doesn’t explain the full extent of Red’s burns on his shoulder and back. However we only see Katarina’s injuries from the fire through Kaplan’s memories. I believe Kate says to Katarina, “You’re hurt” so it’s very possible the injuries were much worse than what we saw in Kaplan’s memories. Keep in mind that we have frequently heard that memories are evasive, fuzzy, incomplete (what was Red;s quote from last week’s episode?) And regarding Liz’s memories of the fire, at one point he dismisses them as the memories of a small child. So we know at face value that Kaplan says to Katarina, you are hurt and we know her sweater is torn, so it’s possible that in reality it was much worse.

Gender reassignment/Hiding in plain sight

I. Red’s relationship with Dom

Red acquiesces to Dom, who is grouchy and overbearing

Very close, knew each other from long ago, intimate

“Sorry I didn’t turn out to be the person you wanted me to be”

Intense anger on Dom’s part towards Red, why? ‘Selfish prick’

I think if we look at the Djinn we can see a sort of reverse parallel to Dom/Red. In the Djinn, the father forces the child/son to, I don’t remember exactly how Red said it, but something like mutilate his body against his will and forced to live that way. The father believes he is doing the right thing for his child. The child/son/daughter is beyond rageful that his own father would do such a thing.

I couldn’t figure out Dom’s deep anger at Red because although we see him treating Red as though he was a close relative, he’s very bitter toward Red. I think it’s a reverse of the Djinn: it is the parent who is ‘rageful’ against the child/son/daughter for ‘mutilating’ her body and becoming a completely different person, not the person, probably spy, Dom wanted Katarina to be, a woman.

We know Dom is Oleander so we can assume that Katarina worked with him and that would mean he knew she was a honey pot and, we assume, he was fine with that. What kind of father would be proud of this or want this for his daughter?

Red talks about being young and arrogant, to Dom, and how he royally screwed things up as a result. Reddington kidnapped the girl and bright her to the states, to a townhome. Katarina and some group of people (kgb, double agents? Dom?) Came to the house with a plan, probably a plan to get the girl, get the fulcrum, and somehow do away with Reddington. In their argument that night the man says to her (about the fulcrum) it’s the only thing keeping me alive. Those are the exact words Red/Redarina uses in Luther Braxton when he and Liz are in the boiler room trying to survive, he tells Liz of the fulcrum, it was the only thing that kept me alive (what he said to Katarina on fire night).

So Katarina is the most amazing spy around so much so that she’s considered to be a myth, not actually real, then she had some pretty big.expectations of her abilities. Her weakness? Reddington, and the child they conceived. Red tells Liz when Katarina became pregnant she thought about aborting it, but chose not to. Instead, the instant the baby was born she felt nothing less than that her child was a blessing.

Reddington was her assignment but she became ‘weak’ and fell in love with him. Well, maybe not love, she said to Kaplan it was frivolous. Still, it was not strictly an assignment. And she became pregnant with his child, a vulnerability. She thought about aborting it, that would be the ‘logical thing’ to do. But she was weak because of her feelings for him.

So when Reddington took Masha/Elizabeth, this was her weakest point. She had tried to break it off with him. His taking the child to the states meant she might be outed.

So she set up a plan and got her people gathered. She went after Reddington like she would have gone after anyone who crossed her in her work. Her plan was arrogant, she succeeded at everything. But this plan went wrong. Terribly wrong. And that was her shame. She had to sacrifice the woman to save the child. She had to kill herself because she was death to the child. She killed herself to become Reddington. It was a Hobson choice. “In a choice between ethics and life I always chose life” Red told Cooper.

Dom became bitterly disappointed in Katarina because of her failure. He ended up dragging himself to this place in the woods, alone, isolated, ‘you call this living?!” The comment Red makes about missing the C minor on the piano is about Sergei Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 2 in C minor. Most Americans recognize this concerto because Eric Carmen made it into a pop song in 1975 called “All by Myself”. Completely summarizes what Dom feels.

Since Katarina has determined she is death to her child, and she is highly resourceful, she decides to kill herself by changing her identity so she can live in plain sight. But it’s a Hobson’s choice, she must die to her self in order to save the child, thereby completely severing her relationship with her own daughter and denying her motherhood.

Red makes a remark (in recent episodes I think) about making a choice between ethics and life. Red immediately responds he would chose life each time. In this way, it supports further that Katarina would chose to suicide by changing her identity so that she can still life.

II. Red’s relationship with Carla

Red cares deeply about Carla

Carla is initially very bitter/angry at Red

Jennifer is her daughter

Carla: it’s more complicated, but I suspect that after Reddington died either at the fire or sometime during the following year up to December 1990. Carla probably knew about Katarina and Elizabeth. Raymond was away for long stretches so if Raymond did die in the fire, there was reason to believe he was away on a job. The FBI likely knew Reddington died in that fire, or he was severely injured. He was a liability either way because of the fulcrum and the FBI would have manipulated the story to their advantage. Why the 10 months? Maybe he was in a coma and hadn’t actually died but Katarina thought he had.

Here is where the episode, “The Harem” helps substantiate a theory that in the 10-12 months following the fire I believe Katarina was able to befriend Carla or earn her trust through the sisterhood of women to let her know what happened and how to keep her safe. Elizabeth was already safe with Sam.

In those 10 months the FBI came after Carla and tried to implicate her in the theft of the fulcrum, they froze her assets, they pursued her, it was awful. Until the FBI decided they needed to make a story as to why Reddington disappeared (so maybe they didn’t know he was dead) and within less than 24 hours, Carla and her daughter were places in WITSEC in Philly.

I believe Katarina approached Carla, told her of her plan, told her of Raymond’s death, promised to keep her safe. Carla agreed to keep silent about the relationship and silent about Elizabeth.

The harem, a sisterhood, a corollary for Carla and redarina interaction

Lord Baltimore - of Carla Red says to Frank, she’s more like a ??? Distanced? Sister to me….makes even more sense if it’s actually Katarina, are they actually sisters? That would be really weird, but I think it’s more like sisters of the sisterhood of women.

Red has an uncanny way of understanding women. Only a woman would understand women

KATARINA Russian nesting dolls, in time capsule, apartment, elsewhere.

Russian nesting dolls, like a mother giving birth to her daughter from a woman to a woman. And so in changing her identity she was able to break the cycle so that her daughter would not have to live like her, severed from love and true intimacy. Having a ‘normal’ life.

She wanted her daughter to be safe from being coerced into a life like hers using sex to achieve a goal rather than live.

Explains why Kate says, I loved you to Katarina, Dearie, to Red. I don’t think they were lovers, but I do believe Kate loved Katarina and maybe was ‘in love’ with her.

Explains 30 years employment, when you put her in my arms as a baby.

Quiet time between Christmas 1989 to Christmas 1990 Carla says they kept questioning her, froze her assets. She had a house, a dog.

Red has particular compassion for children and women, particularly those who are abused. These are typically female attributes. He has an uncanny sensitivity and awareness not usually attributed to men.Was she abused? Did Dom and other men hin her life abuse her? Push her into using her body for work?

Episode, Berlin corrolary of Liz’s relationship to Red as his child

Zoe rejects wants to get away from her father permanently and even when she is able to be reunited with him, she refiuses.

Prints, tatoos, it’s him, 1994 papers

Graduatied by 24

Floriana campos says “there is no work more meaningful than being a mother”

Red - “how does the devil in you contend with the angel? I would kicked her out years ago.” A man would have said, “I would have kicked him out years ago”

VANESSA CRUZ - prototype of Fire Night

A trip to Cruz’ mother’s house lays out the reasoning behind it all: Vanessa was married to a man named Fernando who was accused of insider trading and then jumped off the George Washington Bridge. But Vanessa always maintained his innocence, and the Post Office team figures out that Cruz is going after people who were involved in the insider trading that Fernando was accused of. When they go back to talk to Mr. Conway in prison, he reveals that there was a group of people who arranged the insider trade, and they all agreed to pin it on Fernando, and when Fernando figured out that they were framing him, he was killed. Everyone who had a part in framing Fernando has been taken care of by Vanessa except one…

Knowing that her jig is up, Vanessa is sitting in an airport, likely on her way to a life of no longer murdering people in bathtubs, when a dashing Mr. Kaplan sits down across from her. He tells Vanessa that her employer is a longtime admirer of her handiwork; she can either run and hide from her newly discovered trail of crimes, or she can accept help. These two seem like a dangerous combination.

“[Reddington] has a moral code. I don’t like it, but at least I know what it is, and it does not include lying to me.” Lizzie, what are you talking about?!

Theories on why Mr. Reddington, criminal mastermind, needs Ms. Cruz, a master framer of criminals, on his team?

Vanessa Cruz fakes her death then sets out to seek revenge for her husband’s death.

She couldn’t kill the woman she was having an affair with because she discovered she actually had feelings for her.

Vanessa Cruz’s sexuality is ‘fluid’. She clearly loved her husband and was committed to her heterosexual lifestyle. But when we see her, years after her beloved husband took his own life, she has developed a sexual relationship with a woman which is based on love. It isn’t her sexuality or her lesbian relationship which troubles her, it is her difficulty with emotional commitment, clearly a result of the pain of loss of her husband.

FORGIVENESS

Velov: Dear, I cannot help you. I would if I could, believe me. I, too, have daughter. The life I led, the things I had to do, she won’t talk to me. I try to explain, but there are some– some things which can never be forgiven.

Cooper: If it were up to me, I’d burn it. I’ve learned the hard way that some secrets are best kept in the dark.

Red: Mine certainly is.

Red: Harold, forgive Charlene. A friend told me recently that forgiveness won’t change the past but could very well change the future. Apparently, nothing is unforgivable.

Liz: My mother’s alive. You lied to me.

Red: Velov is the one who lied to you, Lizzy, not me. Katarina Rostova committed suicide in 1990.

Liz: Velov was the agent assigned to find her. He was getting close, she knew it. That’s why she allegedly walked into the ocean. She wanted the world to believe she drowned.

Red: But Velov knows differently.

Liz: He tracked her to a hotel in Prague. She had just left. But in such a hurry, she missed this… A photo of her little girl. Me.

Red: That could easily have been planted.

Liz: You said the name Masha Rostova had been lost to history until the manhunt. Now it’s out there, and someone’s looking for me. It’s my mother. Who else would care? Who? [ Sighs ] You were right. Some things can’t be forgiven.

The Djinn

3x16 the caretaker

Liz: Forgiveness can’t change the past, but I believe it can change the future.

Red: That’s a charming sentiment. But as far as I’m concerned, some things are unforgivable.

Nasim: Allah teaches us forgiveness, but some things– they’re unforgivable.

RED Bertolt Brecht uses the alienation effect to create emotional distance from the audience.

a pipe-smoking cream puff of a German named Gerta.

Bahram Bakhash (the djinn’s father): I did what I had to to keep you alive.

Red: I believe I will always do whatever I feel I have to do to keep you alive. (The Pilot)

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1I0dpBGoUmjh-O67CwDFvjcHDjjtga6fSbv4d3a4yOcM/edit?usp=sharing

#theblacklist

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professor-hiddles · 6 years

Text

Unspoken [bucky barnes]

pairing: bucky x reader (modern au??? but bucky still has the arm)

words: 2.6k

warnings: implied smut, some violence? also maybe just a little slut shaming (not from any of our faves i promise) uhhh some angst & swearing too

a/n: this might be kinda sucky but whatevs i just wanted to post something lol. also theres a vine reference in there for some comic relief :) enjoyyyyyyy

The two of you knew what you were getting into. It was a mutually beneficial relationship, but purely sexual. Something to release the tension. There were five rules you had set in place, rules that kept both of you safe.

Rule 1

No physical contact outside of your bedroom sessions. Since you shared a friend group, it was common to be seen out in public together, but this was your own rule. No touching. You could talk, make jokes, and even flirt, but no skin to skin contact.

Rule 2

Don’t stay away from potential relationships at the expense of the other. If an opportunity for a relationship presented itself, don’t stay away to protect feelings, and don’t try to keep the other person away from someone with potential.

Rule 3

Keep emotions or pillow talk to a minimum. You’re not building an intimate relationship, but rather just having fun and enjoying one another physically. Only engage in emotional conversations if absolutely necessary. This was a rule broken rather often, as the both of you were usually under intense stress.

Rule 4

No dates. No meeting for coffee, no going out to dinner. If you were gonna hang out, it would be with your friends.

***

Something changed around two months into your agreement. Bucky was getting more sensual with you, being incredibly gentle and making sure that you were completely comfortable before he did anything. This was unusual, as he was typically a bit rough and fast. It was certainly different, but you weren’t complaining.

“Buck, is there a reason as to why you’re being so gentle with me?” you asked, gently tugging on his hair. His mouth left your body for a moment, eyes meeting yours.

“No reason, why? Are you uncomfortable?” he asked, his metal hand drawing circles on your thigh. He got back to work, pleasure coming over you in waves.

“No—not at all. Just wondering,” you said before arching your back off the mattress. Damn, he was talented with his mouth.

He hummed in response, the vibration going through your whole body. His hands held your hips, keeping your body firmly planted on the bed. Your heart was racing, the euphoria coursing through you.

Bucky crawled up next to you, laying on his back. You rolled onto your stomach to face him. Your hands met his hair, twirling it around your finger.

“I think we should stop this, Buck,” you whispered, avoiding eye contact. His head turned toward yours, his smile dropping.

“Why? I thought we were having fun, Y/N,” he said, his hand grabbing the one that was intertwined in his hair.

“We are—were, but I met someone.”

Rule 2.

He could feel his heart break a little. All he could think of was someone else touching you in the ways that he did.

“Oh. Do I know him?” he asked, his voice as low as yours.

You nodded, “Brock Rumlow, I think he goes to your gym.”

Fucking Brock, Bucky thought, Of course he would rob me of the one good thing in my life.

Bucky didn’t respond, instead just closing his eyes. You knew he heard you, and you knew he was hurt. You didn’t push the topic, so you let sleep wash over you.

You woke up to an empty bed, the sheets next to you were cold. A frown formed on your face, but you knew what this meant.

You knocked your head back onto your pillow, letting a groan escape. A part of you felt empty, but a part of you felt enlightened, free to explore what other men have to offer.

Bucky returned to his apartment, dreading the loneliness that was bound to ensue. He had fallen for you, hard. He hated the idea of someone else holding your heart, someone else taking part in your life.

He knew he wasn’t supposed to fall for you, but love works in mysterious ways. He loved your laugh, how you got a bit embarrassed when it was too loud. He loved the way you said his name. He loved the way you joke with each other, more sarcasm than he’d ever experienced. He liked that you weren’t afraid of him, metal arm and all. That usually drives people off, but not you. He loved that you bear your feelings to him, your vulnerabilities.

He longed to hold your hand. He wanted nothing more than to kiss your cheek and tell you how beautiful you are. Truly stunning. He longed to kiss you in front of your friends, call you his once and for all. He longed to be the one you come to after a long day, just for comfort.

He felt miserable. The one thing that actually meant something to him had been taken. He knew this day would come. He just never pictured it would be so soon.

He should have told you how he felt. He still should.

Bucky pulled himself together, put on a happy face and made his way to the gym. He walked in, eyes scanning the area for Brock. He hoped that he wasn’t there, but nothing ever goes the way you want it to. He decided it might be good to talk to him at least.

His eyes landed on the man in question. Bucky took a deep breath and walked over to the weights he was using.

“Need a spot, Brock?” he asked, hoping that he would say yes. Brock looked at him, realizing who was asking.

A cocky smile grew on Brock’s face, “Hey, man. If you don’t mind, that’d be great.”

Bucky forced a smile on his face, he stepped behind the bench press. Half of him wanted to drop the barbell on the man, but the other half wanted to grill him about you. He decided on the latter.

“So, uh, you and Y/N, huh? How long has that been going on?” Bucky said, trying to casually slip questions into the light conversation.

A smug look crossed his face, “Around two weeks or so, she’s a cool girl. Surprised one of you didn’t pick her up already.”

You and me both, buddy, Bucky thought, gritting his teeth. “Yeah, she’s the best. Treat her good, man.”

A short laugh left Brock’s mouth. “To be honest with you, I think this’ll be more of a hit it and quit it kind of thing, you know? She’s stupid hot, but not really girlfriend material. Seems like a bit of a whore. I heard she fucks every dude in your friend group.”

Bucky scoffed. It was taking everything he had in him not to punch the man’s teeth in.

“Who fed you that bullshit lie? You’re lucky she even considered you, dipshit,” Bucky growled. He couldn’t just stand idly by anymore, he took the bar out of the man’s hands and pulled him up by the collar of his shirt, “If you even think about hurting her, I’ll hunt you down and fucking kill you.”

Brock looked genuinely scared for a moment, before a smile appeared on his face. “My god, you’re in love with the whore! Let me guess, you’re fucking her too?”

“Alright, thats it. You asked for it, you piece of shit!” Bucky yelled, before charging at Brock. Several punches were thrown before Bucky felt someone pulling him off of the man.

Steve had a strong grip on the man, guiding him toward the exit. “Dude, what the hell? I know he’s a douche, but you can’t lunge at him in the middle of the gym! What was it even about?”

Bucky’s hand curled into a fist, “He was calling Y/N a whore, and saying he was only with her for sex. I just couldn’t help myself. I hate when assholes like him get such wonderful women and then drop them like they’re nothing. She deserves someone better than that, Steve. She deserves someone who’ll listen to her, and keep her happy, and take care of her in all the best ways.”

A small smile worked its way onto Steve’s face, “Someone like you?”

Bucky nodded his head, “Yes! Wait—how did you know I meant me?” he looked at the man, clearly puzzled. You two were careful to hide your relationship, you were sure none of your friends knew.

“Dude, you think no one notices how you stare at her? You get this little sparkle in your eyes every time you talk to her, its almost sickening how cute it is,” Steve said, patting his friend on the shoulder.

“She doesn’t feel the same, anyway, so what does it matter? I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with her, Steve.” Bucky said, his eyes glued to the pavement.

Steve sighed, “What do you mean ‘you weren’t supposed to fall in love with her,’? Why not?”

Bucky’s breath hitched in his throat, “Uh, never mind. No reason.”

Steve didn’t look convinced, but he let the topic go. “You might not have noticed, Buck, but she definitely does. When you aren’t there, all she does is talk about you.”

His eyes flicked up to meet Steve’s, his cheeks flushed. Bucky could barely get out a coherent sentence.

“No, I—that can't be,” he mumbled, but all evidence of doubt was erased when he saw the look on Steve’s face, “Really? But she’s so beautiful and kind and downright great; and I’m me.”

Steve nodded, “Yeah man, but she wont like you for long if you don’t explain your side of what just happened in there. For all we know, Rumlow could be telling her that you attacked him for no reason.”

Bucky’s eyes went wide for a moment, before running a hand through his hair. He let out a shaky breath before pulling out his phone.

“Shit, ok, I’m gonna ask her to meet me at the bar later. Hopefully I can lay everything out and we’ll be on the same page, but if not, be prepared to nurse my broken heart.”

Steve gave a short nod before clapping him on the back, “Good luck, Buck. You’ll do great, I know it.”

After a shower and a quick bite to eat, Bucky walked down the sidewalk, trying to figure out what he would say to you. Would he apologize for putting Brock in his place? Hell no. Would he apologize for letting it get that out of hand? Possibly. Would he tell you how he felt and accept your answer, good or bad? Absolutely.

He took a seat at the bar, ordering a whiskey, neat. His eyes darted around the bar, his nerves making him a bit jumpy. The door to the establishment opened once more with the ring of a bell, your senses taking in the familiar sights and sound that the bar has to offer.

You heard shot glasses hit the bar counter; the sharp sound of a cue ball being hit. Your gaze almost immediately caught the glimmer of the metal arm, a smile crawling up your face. Your heels clicked on the floor below you, the sound catching Bucky’s attention.

He stood up, arms enveloping you in a hug. Rule 1, you remembered, but maybe I can let it slide just this once. Your arms slid around his waist, returning the embrace. Bucky pulled away first, his hands resting on your shoulders.

“Y/N, sit, please,” he said, pulling the bar chair out for you. You took the seat, still wondering what you were doing here. “I know you said you want to end things because you found someone, and I respect that decision, but please, just hear me out for a moment.”

You sighed, but stayed silent, signaling him to go on.

“Okay, this might come out the wrong way, but please understand that I mean absolutely no disrespect to you,” your eyes widened slightly, but still you let him continue. “Brock isn’t the guy for you, you should cut things off with him.”

A short, dry laugh left your lips, “Why? Who told you that this was your decision to make?”

Hurt flashed across his eyes, but he stayed calm. “Y/N, he called you a whore. He also said that he’s only going out with you to get in your pants. He doesn’t want the real you, he only wants the idea of you. I know its not my decision to make, but I really think that this is whats best for you.”

“No, you’re lying. How do you know that? Last I checked you weren’t all buddy buddy with him,” you said, shaking your head. “How do you know whats good for me?”

He ran a hand through his hair, “Thats my opinion, Y/N. I’m sorry if it’s not what you want to hear, but it needed to be said. If I can save you from this guy, then best believe I’ll put everything on the line to do so.”

“Please, you think I need saving? I’m perfectly capable of handling this on my own, thank you very much,” you said, close to tears.

“I know you can, but I’m worried that your feelings might blind you from whats actually going on!” he yelled, but you stormed out. Bucky was quick to follow, lightly gripping your arm.

You spun around to face him, anger clear on your face, “Why? Why do you care so damn much?”

Both of your hearts picked up, nearly beating out of your chests. Bucky’s eyes looked glassy, he didn’t mean to upset you. All he wanted was to warn you, and tell you how he felt.

“You wanna know why? Because I‘m fucking in love with you, Y/N! I know I wasn’t supposed to, but you made it damn hard to resist. When you told me about Brock, my heart nearly cracked in two. I didn’t even want to think about him having what I hold dearest to my heart. I’m in love with you for you, not your body, or the idea of you. I love that you listen to me, and confide your feelings in me. I love how much you care for those around you, and the kindness that’s so clearly within your heart. I love the way your eyes light up when you talk about something you love, and the smile that makes my heart jump. I didn’t want to fall in love with you, but I’ll be damned if I tell you I regret it, because I absolutely don’t,” his chest was heaving now, and you couldn’t tell if the wetness on his face was the pouring rain around you or tears.

You stared at him, the weight of his words weighing on your shoulders. You wanted to cry, punch him and kiss him all in the same moment.

He looked like he was going to speak up again, but you cut him off by pressing your lips to his. It wasn’t at all rushed like your past ones, but more passionate and loving. His arms were protectively wrapped around you, your bodies pressed close.

You pulled away, resting your forehead on his, “Buck, we broke rule five.”

A smile was on his face, “I think we broke all of the rules, but fuck ‘em, especially rule five.”

Rule five wasn’t a rule you talked about often, because it was understood by all parties. Technically, the ‘unspoken’ rule.

Rule 5

Do not, under any circumstances, fall in love with the other.

#bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky x you #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #Avengers #MCU #marvel #steve rogers #captain america #chris evans #tws #the winter soldier

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artbylmj · 5 years

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summer project review

On our last day of term we have been set a summer project. In the brief we were told we needed to visit the work in person. Then research everything on the list, all relating to the original piece of work. I had decided to study Valerie Exports Genital Panic, Action Pants. I’d visited the work before but was interested in the other research points. Looking at it again in person reminded me of the importance of the piece, what it represented. To me it felt that as society we are afraid of women, we are afraid of vaginas. That someone holding a gun is less frightening than a woman’s body. After my visit to the Tate Modern I worked my way through each of them, admittedly not feeling much inspiration beyond my already instilled feminist beliefs.

Until I researched Dash Snow and found myself intrigued by his use of photography, the reality of it. It’s disillusion of portrait photography. How it offered an insight into intimate, unglamourous life. I loved the idea of peeping through a window into other people’s lives, personal moments. Not in a voyeuristic sense but as confirmation that I’m not the only one experiencing life, that the human experience is far more than mine but that everyone everywhere feels and lives similarly.

I then went on to read the Scum Manifesto by Valerie Solanas which was very extreme feminism, it didn’t align with my beliefs at all. However some of her points did stem from truth, things that had been proven through psychological studies. However Valerie Solanas had taken them so far, to the point they become distorted and barely recognisable. I wondered what had made her that way, what had caused such intense misandry. I decided to do some research on her. A quick google told me she had been abused as a child by her father and grandfather. Although I didn’t agree with her, I understood why she felt the way she did. This made me think of my own relationships with men, platonic and romantic. I realised that out of the dozens I had throughout my short life only a handful were positive. Which was a sad fact in itself but the more I thought about it, the more frustrated I became. Why were the mean in my life that way, was it my fault or was I just a victim?

I then tried to look at the other research points because Solanas was just giving me an existential crisis mingled with developing misandry to the point of cutting all my ties with men so not to risk being the victim of any more abuse. (I am deeply dramatic and emotional) So I decided to try to research some other sources from the list. I didn’t find many of them stimulating or inspirational. Admittedly I allowed myself to be swept up in what was a very busy, enjoyable summer for the most part. However I didn’t neglect my project for too long.

I decided to look into Nan Goldin because her name sounded familiar, I could’ve sworn I heard my friend talk about her last year in the studios. I googled her and looked into her work. I was most struck by her pieces ‘Nan One Month After Being Battered’ and ‘The Ballads of Sexual Dependency’. Having spent over a decade in a domestically abusive household, then going on to have two domestically abusive partners, its safe to say her word struck a chord with me. Seeing her face reminded me of my mothers after her partner broke into our house and punched her in the face, dislocating her jaw and bruising her. Despite my best efforts I couldn’t stop myself from circling back to the feelings the Scum manifesto gave me, only this time they were mixed with memories I’d long since repressed.

I was angry, I was angry for the way my mother had been treated, the way I had been treated. How my sisters, family, friends and many women are treated by abusive men. How I am still dealing with the effects of it, how I’ll always have to live with the consequences of what was done to me, the results of their actions. I found myself inspired to make art for the first time in a while. I set about drawing, I hadn’t draw in what felt like forever. It was strange at first, familiarizing myself with the materials and process. I’d managed two rough drawings, in a style I’d never done before. I used text within the piece, writing my thoughts, confessionally, in a font similar to the drawings to depict anger and raw emotion. I liked them for what they were, a starting point, a venting of feelings and concept. I knew they needed refining though.

I decided to try another media I hadn’t really used before and experimented with watercolour, doing a few samples of colour mixing and fading on scraps of paper. I had used text in my previous sketches but I didn’t like the way the text merged with the image. I decided to challenge myself, to keep my text as the titles and try to illustrate what they meant in a painting. This did push me to think of visuals relating to the image and then to execute them as recognizable images. I liked the works, they were very honest and vulnerable. However I felt that they were lacking something, I wasn’t sure what. So I decided on pushing the idea of the title being the story behind the work. Making my images a little more abstract and not quite so on the nose.

I felt really pleased with the pieces I made using this method. I was proud that I’d pushed myself out of my comfort zone. I could see the process of refinement throughout each piece I had made. I felt that the end result still encapsulated the raw feelings of my earlier piece, with the titles being imperative to the piece itself. I found myself being excited to show my peers my work. Although nervous to explain the backstory behind my pieces. Although I know it wasn’t my fault, there’s still this inherent shame at experiencing domestic abuse. I didn’t want peoples pity, I wanted them to appreciate my art for what it was, a confession. A reminder that although we all experience pain, sometimes it’s not normal, even though we become conditioned to think so. That I experienced domestic abuse as a child and as an adolescent and am still dealing with the aftermath. I’m excited for the next brief so I can start to develop my practice more.

#fine art #art student #summer project

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trulyhumblenarcissist · 7 years

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Hannibal or Hannigram

Well.. Unfortunately this amusing journey has come to an end. Yesterday I watched Hannibal's last episode and I am still hooked on it.

I'm not a quiet media consumer, I literally devour everything I like (lol), the faster the better. However I wish I was more disciplined and patient this time around, since Hannibal is such a deep and complex work you can't just binge watch it. If you're too hasty you'll end up missing some key points, affecting the whole experience. Every single line the main characters share is full of double meanings, layers on layers of lies and half truths that force you to constantly question your level of understanding.

The light is rarefied, usually diffuse rather than direct, the colors are cool-toned, never loud, with the exception of some intense flashes of red and orange. This contributes to create a deliberately somnolent, dreamlike atmosphere that accompanies the spectator through a meticulous, yet poetic inspection of the human unconscious.

The main subject of analysis is Will Graham, a man so skilled in understanding others the he usually loses himself. His "pure emphaty" is both a gift and a burden, something that makes him probably the most innocent being on hearth, a compassionate and merciful human mirror incapable of really condemn anyone, because he's too prone to wear other skins, even if they belong to serial killers.

On the other hand we have Hannibal Lecter, an extremely conscious and self aware man that uses his strong personality as a defense and attack tool. He secludes his real self into a fake human suit, impervious to any intrusion. This perfect camufflage that acts like a solid shield allows him to undermine other people without being affected. Hannibal is basically the crafty puppet master always in control, while Will needs to be "contaminated" by humanity in order to better comprehend it. Apart from this fundamental difference, however, Will and Hannibal are tremendously similar. Both intelligent and condemned by an overly lucid vision of reality, they "feel things" deeply and can read the minds of other people as printed books. Many common traits attract these two men in a way that seems almost fatal.

Hannibal is soon interested in Will, although initially it is a simple professional curiosity: Will's mind and his peculiar functioning are a frequent topic of conversation in psychiatric circles. Doctors and psychologists wonder whether Will is a genius or a psychopath. Hannibal's approach is completely different. He doesn't seek a demarcation line between madness and sanity, he doesn't believe in psychotherapy either, or at least, he refuses the concept of a treatment that makes people more willing to be subjected to social conventions and morality. Hannibal is definitely a master manipulator, but I don't think he has ever wanted to "shape" his patients. He aims for their darkest fantasies and fuels them, trying to bring them to light. His therapy is like wearing a pair of corrective lenses: you put them on and you see things you originally didn't notice because you couldn't focus well. Things that had ALWAYS been there, in your deepest core, denied and soffocated by fear and shame. Hannibal's velvety voice is never imperative, it drives without force, it creates a sort of psychological malleability that allows you to find your true self, no matter how ugly it is, and leads to catharsis, unlimited freedom and inevitable destruction.

Without any moral qualms everything becomes possible and God himself turns from Judge to loving ally.

On a metaphorical bed of twisted personalities, the troubled relationship between Will and Hannibal develops harshly. It can be considered the true and only protagonist of the story. A LOVEstory in all respects, filled with courtship, burning passion, fear and desire for the other, tenderness, betrayal, redemption... Death.

Honestly I was pretty surprised by how much this mad love between Hannibal and Will seemed "right" to me. There is nothing canonically healthy in their relationship, yet they both find their own safe place in the other. At the end of the day, shouldn't love be just like that? Ideally, love should allow us to acknowledge our most intimate nature, through the expression of desires that we would never reveal to anyone else. Love should make us feel safe and confident thanks to the reassuring awareness of being perfectly understood and accepted for what we are, no filters, no shame. In reality, however, we keep some barriers to protect ourselves and our loved ones. Boundaries makes life apparently easier, creating a comfort zone where we can recognize our intact individuality and protect it from contamination and excessive exposure. Humanity is just as coward as that... But wouldn't it be nice to leave everything behind, every defense, every fiction, every useless embellishment? Wouldn't it be nice to competely surrender to the other (desire becomes surrender and surrender becomes power)? Will's answer to this question is yes, but only after a very rough path.

The first season is characterized by a strong relational asymmetry. Will is completely succube, he is sick and vulnerable, so he is eventually imprisoned for crimes committed by Hannibal. With the second season reality begins to be completely blurred. We are kept in anxious waiting, trying to find out if Will has truly become a killer without remorse, but in reality the most radical transformation is Hannibal's. Such a huge metamorphosis projects itself subtly under our eyes and we're too focused on other things to effectively catch it.

Hannibal lets himself being fooled by Will's farce, he dangerously lowers his defenses and, as it happens to any "common" human being, he falls in love. He falls in love so deeply he begins to project a future with Will, far away from everything and everyone, the two of them caught in an everlasting artistic battle against this vulgar world. Actually the romantic family portrait in Hannibal's fantasies involves two fathers (murderous husbands as Freddie Lounds would say) and a daughter to protect and educate. Abigail represents communion, affection and heredity. All of this comes to a cruel end when Hannibal discovers Will's true intentions. Well, technically Will himself tells Hannibal to run away, but this is not nearly enough to what Hannibal wished for. He was laying bare in front of Will and Will ignored his feelings, or at least he violated his trust.

The third season leads us to a full closure. After a short period of separation Will and Hannibal meet again. They try to get rid of the yoke that binds them through different and useless attempts to kill each other. At some point the end up escaping death together and Will, full of doubts and consumed by a deep discomfort, allows Hannibal to flee. He asks Hannibal never to look for him again and assures that he would do the same. This is Hannibal's equivalent to a terrible defeat, another painful rejection that drives him to a drastic decision: he lets himself being captured so that Will will always know where to find him.

The yoke is still there, around their throats, more lush but equally heavy.

Will tries his best to lead a normal life, he marries a nice woman and even takes the role of the perfect foster parent, but after three years of relative tranquility, the great red dragon makes its appearance and the fragile veil of stability is torn from its sharp claws. The great red dragon is a formidable catalyst: it symbolizes passion and raw nature, eroticism, primordial impulses that express themselves freely, away from the inquisitive eye of the Christian God.

Francis Dolarhyde physically drags Will to a point of no return, he forces Will to decide who should be saved and Will chooses: the last fig leaf rushes to the ground leaving him completely naked and finally free. Will kills the great red dragon that was an almost perfect work of personality construction and by doing so, he acquires enough power to finally abandon the "idea of duty", the preconceived dimension of right and wrong. He embraces both Hannibal and himself at the same time, he forgives and fully understans the indomabile force of his feelings for Hannibal: by loving him he truly loves himself.

"It's beautiful": Will whispers full of emotion, soaked in blood, dark like the night, clinging to freedom and new awareness. He finds his peace after a terrible journey, he finds it in Hannibal and in the stormy waters of the Atlantic Ocean.

I don't think it's possible to write a more poetic death for this two fatal lovers... Hannibal finally reaches Will with the power of his endless, loving stare and Will accepts it as an anchor of salvation that drags him into a place of absolute spontaneity and security, the true paradise on earth.

#Hannibal #hannibal tv #hannibal lecter #will graham #mads mikkelsen #hugh dancy

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dent-de-leon · 7 years

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shiro is vld's damsel in distress and keith is his knight in shining armor

Ok so I know I joke about Keith saving Shiro like a princess, but actually, this is honestly how their dynamic is portrayed?? Keith is always shown as the first one at Shiro’s side when he’s in danger, always running to his rescue. If he has to choose between the mission and Shiro, he’ll take Shiro every time. But now, let’s talk about this idea he’s a knight for a minute. Because it’s very much a purposefully drawn comparison. In the comics, when the paladins are all likened to pieces on a chessboard, Keith is delegated to this role. The narrative literally refers to him as a knight by name.

The imagery of Keith’s bayard also serves to reinforce this. Instead of a more sci-fi weapon like a laser gun or some advanced alien tech, Keith’s weapon of choice is a classic sword. Nothing evokes the image of a knight more than a sword and shield (which the paladin suit has). Keith’s belief system also feeds into this archetype. Time and again, he’s singled out as the most dedicated to the mission. He is a paladin first and foremost. When Pidge wants to leave to find her family, Keith is the one who lashes out and lectures her about how they need to defend the universe and make sacrifices for the greater good. When Allura is captured, Keith again notes that their duty as paladins must come first. Keith leaves the castle when he believes his presence will do more harm than good. And the paladin guidebook even lists his most important value as honor–a clear reference to knightly chivalry.

Keith’s initial role in Voltron is also a clear indicator of his character. If the head of Voltron is a leader whose men will follow without question, if they’re like a “King,” then as Voltron’s “right-hand man” Keith is a loyal knight. And just like any good knight, Keith will call out rulers for failing to serve the people and treating their subjects unjustly. The way Keith reacts so strongly to Lubos is a good example of this. Again, nobility and honor are distinctly important to him.

Another trope with a knight and damsel you often see in fantasy is that, like a typical knight, the protagonist highly values chivalry and champions a noble cause. But ultimately, that means learning to sacrifice their own selfish desires for the sake of the greater good. So their love interest is often seen as a distraction from the hero’s quest. They can’t afford to indulge in their feelings because the mission must come first. And often times, this culminates in a decision where the knight must choose to sacrifice the person they care about most–a representation of their own desires–because their duty demands it.

And in his trial, who is it that’s sent to tempt the hero and divert him from his quest, who is it that Keith longs for most, the person he “desperately wants to see”? Who is the one person that Keith can afford to be selfish for, the one who he’ll throw away everything–including his obligations as a paladin–just to be with?

And we know that this is an archetype VLD is very much aware of and acknowledges in their narrative. After all, heroes who fail to give up their own wants and needs, chasing after their love and abandoning their duty–they’re often cast down, vilified, characterized as foolish and selfish and bringing about disaster for their arrogance. And Zarkon is the literal embodiment of this character. He’s a glimpse at what Keith’s future could look like if he continues down the same path and chooses Shiro over the universe. Just like how Zarkon chose his love over everything else.

So when I mention all the sheith and zaggar parallels, I really do believe it’s wholly intentional. Especially given all the foreshadow that Keith will eventually reach the same crossroads where he’ll have to decide whether or not to sacrifice Shiro for the sake of the universe. But being that Keith doesn’t believe in things being so “black and white” and also the trope that a successor will surpass their predecessor, I believe Keith will figure out an alternative answer that will allow for both Shiro and the the others he defends to stay safe.

Now, as for Shiro’s role as a “princess,” the notion is pretty interesting. Obviously, it’s a clear subversion of gender. But there’s never any shame or weakness to it. Quite the contrary, actually. Shiro is established as the strongest and most formidable member of Team Voltron. He’s their brave leader, their fearless protector, their unshakable rock. But he is so often idolized, seen as impossibly perfect and infallible, and this inevitably takes its toll. The fact that he allows himself to be vulnerable with Keith, to let Keith help him and take care of him, is never shown as a point of pathetic inability or weakness.

Rather, Voltron portrays it as okay to admit that you aren’t strong enough, that you’re not okay, that asking for help is perfectly alright and there’s nothing wrong with admitting you can’t shoulder the weight of the world on your own. Shiro asking Keith to come save him is important because he never asks the others for help. He puts up a facade and tries to keep everything together in front of them. And when Keith says things like Shiro really changed his life, you can infer that, before this, Shiro was probably always the one taking care of him. So Keith always being the first to defend Shiro in turn reads as You were always the one protecting me, now let me stand by your side and protect you.

This concept of sheith’s dynamic resembling a knight and princess is also established immediately. Their very first scene together is Keith saving Shiro, and it really feels like knight rescuing their lost love. Right away you associate these two characters with one another, see just how intimately familiar they are with each other. Keith fights fiercely on Shiro’s behalf but softens up when he looks at him, leans it closer and tenderly reaches out to him. And I’ve talked about this a lot before, but the way Keith mourns Shiro is distinctly reminescent of someone grieving a lover.

The way he’s inconsollible and claims to be the only one who really cares about Shiro, the way he searches relentlessly and needs to be told time and again that it’s time to move on, the way his voice breaks when Black accepts him and he pleads, “Please, no.” Keith really loves Shiro. And his devotion to him, including leading Voltron in honor of his last wish as well as vowing to never give up on him, Keith’s desperation to be with him, this notion that he’d be all alone without him--yes, he loves Shiro. But it’s a love that’s passionate and intense and possessive and desperate in a way that platonic or familial love just isn’t.

I think Kuron’s rescue and recovery in season 3 is also very remenescent of this whole damsel in distress theme. For one thing, Keith is established as Shiro’s sole rescuer, and the “reunion” scene is an intimate moment between just the two of them. Kuron’s hero is here to save him, and they can both finally be at ease. The start of the next episode is very interesting because it just seems like business as usual. The paladins are all off on a mission, but Kuron is nowhere to be seen. He’s taken out of the action. Instead, this is the first time we get to see Allura use her bayard. And she makes for a fearsome opponent. It’s a distinct reversal of how you’d usually see a knight go off on their quest while the princess waits back at the castle for their safe return. Here, Kuron takes on that position. And the way we see Keith dutifully caring for him at his bedside afterwards reinforces this idea. And it’s okay for Kuron to rest and take as much times as he needs. It’s okay because Keith will still lead in the meantime and he’ll always be there to check in on Kuron and help him through his recovery.

Of course, there’s more than one way to save someone, and I think it’s important to make that distinction with Shiro and Keith’s relationship. Because it’s not Keith carrying all of Shiro’s weight for him and taking care of everything. It’s about Keith really supporting Shiro and reaffirming that he is a good and worthy paladin–“You mean, your bayard.” It’s the way that Shiro has already given himself up for dead but Keith looks him in the eye and tells him that he’ll be alright, that he can make it. It’s the fact that Shiro struggles with his trauma and still believes that he’s a monster, that he’s undeserving of the title “paladin” and that there’s no way he can stand against the empire and survive. Keith asserts time and again that Shiro is their leader, that Shiro is strong and kind and loving, that Shiro isn’t broken, that he deserves to live. It’s that Keith gives him hope, and Shiro is able to stand by his side and push forward because of it.

Ultimately, I think the best way to describe this dynamic is by just quoting what Josh said at wondercon about his favorite scene: “Shiro is in really bad shape and he’s waiting to pretty much get rescued by Keith. I love this clip because you really see the weak side of Shiro, you really see Keith’s determination to find him. And it was just really exciting for me to watch it. Because it really looks dire, and it really looks like he’s not gonna make it in time. And then–a hero comes through and saves the day with the lion.” Keith is really Shiro’s hero. And just like he’s promised, he’ll always be there to save Shiro–as many times as it takes.

#keith #sheith #shiro #voltron #kuron #meta #long post #anonymous

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surflove808 · 7 years

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All things “queerbait”, “so gay”, cranky shippers, etc ad infinitum. Here’s my long-ass essay on why I think it’s destructive to this show and fandom mentality in general. Part 1 :D

This is going to be sooo long. Because I am sooo fed up with the bullshit I keep seeing on here. So, I am going to break this into 2 parts. Part 1 deals with the show and its FICTIONAL characters. Part 2 will deal with the actual actors involved in making this show. I'm pissed because what could have just been supposition and discussion among fans took a wrong turn somewhere, and turned into a forum for bullying and scandalizing the actors/show. And seeing that even when they try to have a sense of humor about it, or be ingratiating to the fans about it, it always backfires on them....and ultimately, something that should be harmless (a ship) has become a toxic force of nature.

I'm going to give my 2 cents on the most annoyingly common misconceptions that I've seen being used as more can(n)on fodder because if I post and get this reblogged enough, maybe, just maybe... more people can be exposed to a more balanced interpretation.

My problem is not with the possibility of Dean being gay/bi. My problem is not with Dean and Cas possibly exploring a romantic relationship. Not at all. My problem is with the dedicated and rabid group of people that have gone over the top with their harassment on public forums regarding these characters sexuality, and linking it to the real, live human beings that portray them. Both crossing and blurring lines in a very destructive way, on Tumblr, Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, you name it... This show has so many incredible themes and messages regarding friendship, love, loyalty, trust, perseverance and family and THAT'S your takeaway? An unhealthy obsession with Dean's sexual preference??

Dean, by virtue of his looks, charisma and personality, has chemistry with almost EVERYONE. Have you noticed?? The character of Dean is written and portrayed as a naturally charismatic, flirtatious and sensual person. He wholeheartedly dives into anything that he enjoys. Eating, hunting, fucking, drinking. He doesn't seem to really appreciate boundaries or restrictions. So, what's stopping him from exploring his sexuality with men?

As far as I can see, the character of Dean as originally conceptualized and executed brilliantly by his frigging creator, Eric Kripke, was then, as you see him now, many things. But also hetero. He's also accepting, scarred, goofy, resilient, co-dependent, loving, protective, the list goes on and on.

But what he is NOT and has NEVER been written as, is gay or bi. And if you have a problem with that, that’s not a flaw in the program you’re watching. That’s your problem. If he undergoes character development that radically redefines not only how he sees himself, but how the viewer sees him, after 12 years? That's a delicate task that I don't envy the writers having to undertake, considering, the only reason they would do that so late in the game, is because they caved to pressure from the "fandom". And I use quotation marks there because, if you want an iconic character to represent your views? Write them yourself. Create them. But don't try to bully your way into another persons creation. Here's the kicker. Out of 264 episodes that have aired so far, and countless canon instances of Dean being hetero.... here are the handful of examples that certain people have latched onto as gospel:

1. Dean and the Siren, season 4, episode 14, Sex and Violence: I can't tell you how many times I've seen some Jr. detective go "A-HA! Deans siren was a MAN! Therefore, he is GAY!" If you use just a smidge of deductive reasoning and pay attention to the season leading up to this episode, and the description of a siren that was helpfully included in the episode, you could easily and reasonably deduce that because a siren's powers of seduction come from the ability to be ANYTHING to ANYONE and be that persons greatest desire.... that it makes sense for the siren to take the form of a cool, non-judgemental, trustworthy younger brother-type who has the same taste in and love for music that Dean has. Someone he can relate to. A peer.

What do you get the man who can have almost any woman that he wants?

Not a stripper, folks.

And what does Dean really want? At this point, he wants a brother who trusts his experience and instincts. A brother that he can trust. A brother who doesn't feel like a complete stranger. A friend, for fucks sake. It's not implied. It's not a theory. It's literally written and discussed IN THE EPISODE, people. Move on.

2. Dean and Gunnar Lawless, season 11, episode 15, Beyond the Mat: If you know any guys who are into sports or bands, and have never seen them go batshit fanboy over one of their sports or music heroes...then you just haven't spent enough time with them on their turf.

3. Deans "gay thing", season 8, episode 13, Everybody Hates Hitler: If you've never been hit on when you weren't expecting it, especially by someone you weren't expecting it from, I could see why you couldn't comprehend his behavior. If you HAVE, you were probably flustered by it. Probably didn't react as smoothly as you thought you would, amiright? I know I haven’t.

It seemed he was flattered, but didn't know what to do with himself. If he were bi/gay, and attracted to the possibility of a no-strings hookup with a willing and anonymous stranger... a blow-and-go in the mens room, for example... I think Dean could/would have easily pursued it, based on his hit rate thus far. The one area in which he has 100% confidence and zero shame, is sexual conquests. Sam wasn't around. There was nothing holding him back. So, aside from being uncertain of how to extricate himself from an awkward situation, and being flustered, I got nothin’.

4. Dean and Dr. Sexy, season 5, episode 8, Changing Channels: Not much to say here. Dean clearly had a man crush on Dr. Sexy. Would he have boned him if given the chance? Maybe. Maybe not. Ask a guy friend who idolizes Aaron Rogers or Eddie Vedder (for example) if he'd let them stick it in his pooper based on principle alone. Chances are, that guy friend would probably say "Hall pass!" If the situation actually presented itself though? He might just gush over the guy and call it a day. Who knows? WE don't.

5. Dean and Crowley: Again, ask a guy friend if he would share a room and triplets with a buddy if there were no consequences (girlfriend, things getting "weird, etc), and see what he says. The answer may surprise you. Maybe I just know a lot of uninhibited, sexy bastards!

6. Dean and Benny: Brothers in arms who go through intense combat together can and more often than not, DO form close bonds. There was nothing in this friendship that even intimated at these two having any sexual or romantic designs on each other, yet.... people still try to make it work. Bless their hearts.

7. The Big One: Dean and Cas: Dean has had countless opportunities over the years to make a move. And I DO believe he loves Cas, very much. Cas clearly loves and admires Dean. They have been through some serious shit together since day one, that neither Sam nor anyone else can compete with. But some very good advice I heard once, applies here (and this is why the 10-year crush turning into romance in rom-coms is such bullshit): If someone likes you - you WILL know. They will make a move. Or you will. And neither of you will take 10 + years to do it if there are no barriers (significant other). And if a move is made and not reciprocated? It's not because they or you is holding something back. That's just a lie we tell ourselves. SOMEONE is just not interested.

Though I love their dynamic, I'm not a Destiel shipper, but I'm willing to go either way with this one. I will say, I don't by any stretch of the imagination think the writers, actors or directors are 'queerbaiting", though. That's like accusing a crush of leading you on when it was really in your head the whole time. Their chemistry is incredible. But from what I've seen with my eyes, in the actual episodes, his relationship with Cas does not say unrequited love, sexual attraction or romance. However, if I went by the slowed-down, out-of-context gifs that are prevalent on Tumblr, I could see where people get the idea. And because these are two men who love, admire and respect each other and sometimes bicker like an old married couple, I suppose that makes them different than us and our best friends, somehow? This makes me sad, because this is a unique show, in that it deeply explores mens relationships with one another (because they're human beings too), and they just can't do that without a group of immature people giggling behind their backs in the hallways because intimacy is so intimidating that it must be mitigated by making fun of it or spreading nonsensical theories about it. Right?

Small wonder that heteronormative men, as a general rule, have so much social conditioning and shame to wade through when it comes to expressing love and care for their same-sex friends and family. (Yes, men have problems too. Not as many as us, by a long shot. But this is one of them)

You see, menfolk are expected to behave in a manfolk way, and if their behavior isn’t within the traditional and narrowly defined parameters as “hetero male”, they face the perceived stigma that accompanies “coming out”, which involves the very real fears of supposition, persecution, politicizing, backlash, gossip, undermining. etc.

This show has taken many chances. And they’re not afraid to write for and represent LGBTQ characters. But Chuck forbid that emotionally resonant, well-written, vulnerable and emotional male characters exist AND allow them to be straight. Unthinkable! And that snarky, gossipy, “tee-hee” mentality is just what enforces rigid gender roles on men and women in the 1st place. Every post I see that giggles about Cas and Dean being gay for each other because....gifs...just throws us back 50 years. Your words do have meaning, people.

If you want to know what you can do to pave the way for LGBTQ representation in entertainment and the world at large? Take the small step of acknowledging that same sex characters can feel the same range of emotions that you do for your same sex friends. Can have sustained eye contact. Can love one another, and can tenderly care for one another without you sexualizing it, fantasizing about it and policing it. I’m asking you to think about this, because this way of thinking affects everyone. Gay, straight, etc.

Season 1 Sam and Dean: Hetero. Sam in an LTR at beginning, Dean with potential to re-enter his relationship with Cassie.

This show was marketed towards males in the 18-24 demographic, but curiously, more women are interested in these boys and their story. Because they’re allowed to care without judgement. Ahem.

*As seasons go by...* Clearly, judging by the polls and hate mail...neither brother can ever have or sustain a romantic relationship with a woman. EVER again!* And it as been widely acknowledged by the cast and producers that the fans don’t want to see the Winchesters spend too much time with what they deem as a threatening female.

Why do you think Castiel was even allowed to make it this far? Sure, he’s an amazing character. But if it were Anna who dragged Dean from Hell and ultimately stuck around? Yeah, no. That was never gonna happen.

Basically, these fuckers can’t win. If they’re hetero and stay hetero, that’s a bad thing. If their characters do a 180 to please the most vocal (unfortunately) fans - then they’re caving in to pressure.

Either way, I think it's safe to say, us fans are ultimately invested (I hope) in these characters achieving happiness, wherever they find it. And personally, I'll be happy either way. But seeing this hyperbolic, over the top bullshit online that this crew are queerbaiting, etc...and that "If Destiel isn't made canon, I'm gonna do X,Y,Z..." is disgusting to me.

The musings, wishful thinking and conspiracy theories are one thing. And that's perfectly fine. I’ve got nothin but love for fanficiton writers! But drawing parallels and conclusions from some of the flimsiest crumbs available, and using that limited intel to cajole, threaten, bash and attempt to shame the actors, the crew, and the producers who work their asses off to bring us this amazing show, is pretty fucking shitty in my opinion.

These aren't public servants, guys. We're not paying them to make this show. If you want to know how a show on the CW gets funded and made - google it. If you want to know how much of a time crunch/pressure cooker situation the writers are working in, not to mention the entire team in order to produce 23 episodes per season....again, google it. And then tell me how they're able to not only craft compelling episodes and cram so much storyline, exposition, dialogue, character development, arc support, scheduling, casting, art direction, stunt coordination, set design, etc ad infinitum into each and every week, and STILL have time to drop easter eggs, and "queerbait"....

Just. To. Fuck. With. You. And undermine LGBTQ efforts at representation? They are very kind and loyal to their fans. And we DON'T OWN THEM. If you don't like what you're seeing, don't watch. But for fucks sake - do the fandom and yourselves a favor and direct your crusade towards ACTUAL threats to LBGTQ freedoms and rights.

Here's a list of places to lend support (to name a few): Family Equality Council Human Rights Campaign GLAD PFLAG Transgender Law Center Your local congressman, FFS

Rant over. If you made it this far, thank you. I owe you a fruit basket! And feel free to engage, put me on blast if you want. Let's have a discussion. But if you agree with me at all, please reblog this.... just to give some folks another point of view.

Blanket statement for those who are offended and have already called me an “asshole”, etc on their own tags:

1. This is NOT by any stretch of the imagination an anti-shipper or anti-Destiel post. I clearly stated that I don't have a problem with either. And if it happened organically in the show, as opposed to under pressure? More power to them. And I do adore Castiel.

2. This is NOT an anti-LGBTQ post. Again, clearly stated throughout the post.

3. This is NOT and never was anti-headcanon post. We all have headcanons to some degree. And If anyone wants to step up and tell me not to support an organization that's doing good work, just because I sunk their battleship... they can suck it. I also belong to some of these organizations, and I'm pretty sure they're not as invested in your headcanon as you are. And thejabberwock, I still admire your insights and posts, but am bummed that you missed the damn point of mine entirely. Per your request, I have removed your association from the original post.

4. This IS an anti-harassment post, directed at individuals who have taken this ship so far, that they've tainted the word and the concept for almost everyone else with their shitty, pushy behavior. If this describes you? I'm happy to have offended you.

5. This IS an anti-ignorance post, directed at individuals who are presented with facts and reliable data from the writers, the actors and the episodes themselves, yet refuse to acknowledge anything out of their own headcanon. Who insist on "knowing the truth" and using that arrogance to try to *Out* the characters, *Out* the actors and use threats and insults towards anyone who disagrees. If you thought I was talking to you directly, after reading that? I probably was.

6. This IS an anti-misinformation campaign post aimed at clearing up some common misconceptions.

Lastly, reading comprehension is really crucial here. I know it was a lot to read, I apologize for that. But if you're skimming through and picking and choosing something to be offended over, and continuing to feel personally persecuted regardless of whether or not that's the reality... rather than reading and understanding the entire message? Well, there's nothing more I can say or do.

#destiel #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #castiel #crowley #supernatural #spnfamily #spnfandom #Jensen Ackles #Misha Collins #fedthefuckup #queerbaiting #fuckingwafflehouseidontcare #wafflehouse?#cockles #imcomingforyounext

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