interests ; the passenger, american horror story, ethel cain, nicole dollanganger, hozier , literature , themes of perversion and sado-masochism . the grotesque . boys .
this is just a sideblog for me to repost things i am interested in and perhaps interact with some people . very new to tumblr, be gentle with me .
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aw whatโs wrong? you canโt handle my boot there? cโmon, itโs not like it hurts. oh, youโre just sensitive? baby, toughen up. youโre a big man, you can take it.
I love when ppl make randy Weird . off-putting . he smells kind of off, stale and a little dank like he did his laundry but waited too long to dry it . his shoelaces are just big knots, the heel crumpled from just squeezing his feet into them . he doesnt eat at work when he can avoid it, but you can catch him snacking on little bowls of chopped onion and sliced cheese - but he keeps a toothbrush in his locker and dental floss in his car don't worry (not a box, just loose precut string in a bag) . sometimes you can catch him on his break kneeled down staring at the starling thats been decomposing in the parking lot . hes been keeping tabs, thinks its interesting how its slowly wears away over time . hes gotten so used to assuming hes invisible, he talks to himself under his breath when he thinks no ones paying attention . hes not invisible, they notice . especially when hes planning a response or preparing to ask a question and they hear the little mouse version first
some people will disagree with this most likely, but i also write benson as someone with alcohol problems . as someone that's seen the movie 16 times and studied his living space over and over, the beer bottles might just be THERE but i would like to believe that nothing in movies means nothing .
im not saying benson drinks himself black out drunk, but i'm saying that 3-4 beers a day still count as alcoholism and that he struggles with it . brushes it off as work stress, as something to help him relax, help him sleep .
i'm not romanticizing it, i'm stating this as something that is a fact for how I, myself, portray him when writing him . :)
you will find that i am a great supporter of realism and realistic coping in my writings and that i have a knack for the gross and grotesque . yes , benson is hot, but i refuse to portray him as flawless or uncomplicated . he isn't .
he's a grown man with suicidal ideation, clear problems with alcohol and temper, low libido and most likely an ED from both the trauma and the alcohol, eats like shit and most of the time he's just a weird little bitch . and i love him! but i don't have to make him easily digestable to love him .
I go through phases of being fixated on benson and Randy. Itโs always either one or the other.
Sometimes, Iโm so fascinated (and ashamedly enticed) by Bensonโs violence and exploitation. His features and the way he walks and handles that rifle and grabs Randy by the scruff of his neck.
Other times, Iโm encapsulated by Randyโs pathetic nature. The constant quivering of his lip, his 2-sizes-too-big uniform shirt and how deer-like he is.
when I first watched The Passenger last year, I started off mostly thinking about randy . i spent a great deal of time trying to pluck him apart, trying to figure out what my version of him is . thought a lot about the alligator , and how his face dimmed when he looked at benson , the scene where he talked about his trauma and those 3 seconds where his face went from lit up to squinted and angry .
to me , randy is a very complicated person . not outward, but inward , and i think that what benson saw as fixable might have just been the parts of him that are , inherently, violent , too .
he's angry . he's fucking pissed โ at himself , and his ma , and probably everyone around him and he swallows it down and bottles it up and that is exactly why he turns himself into such a small flame , a flicker . he's a deer , alright, but he is just as much a canine .
benson, on the other hand , was very easy for me to grasp and latch onto . he's trauma as a person . he's violent and vile and over the top in the way he tries to shield himself from hurt . he's perverted without being outwardly sexual and he is such a sad , sad thing if you look at him under a microscope .
i'm not calling him easy . he isn't โ i even think that most people tend to narrow him down into too much of a flat character because they are so busy focusing on just his violence and what is seen, not the gaps and what there is to fill in .
so, yes , in very simple words i swing between them, too .
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Ur Ranson throwing up scene awoke something in me. I hate vomit and am borderline emetophobic but the picture of Randy curled over, gasping between retches, a hand on his stomach as the muscles convulse and contract with every gag?? I just wanna comfort him :-(
i didn't use to be a big fan of it either , but i've started realizing that there is something aesthetic or sensual in just about anything โ and that most of the time the things what would make someone want to comfort randy are also usually the things benson would exploit . in whatever way that may be .
throwing up is such a private , intimate thing and for benson to not even give him the grace of keeping that to himself , wanting to see randy spill all he is out to him even if .. quite literally .. there's something romantic about it . knowing someone is to know every part of them , after all .
and benson IS a care taker . at his core he is a provider . he took care of his ma, even if it clearly pissed him off . he still brought her breakfast, kissed her head, treated her with a remote kind of gentleness . i can only imagine him doing the same thing to randy . pampering him in ways that no one else would see as gentle or needed, even .
Always think of Randy when I hear dust bowl by Ethel Cain
I want him so bad can I say that???? Am I allowed to say that?????
i think about them to almost every ethel song .. tongue , crying during sex, thoroughfare ( of course ). a long, unfortunate while is very randy to me , too .
Thinking about sweet Randy Bradley jerking off to the bruises that Benson left on him <333 heโs so depraved and pretty and he thinks those bruises give him the purpose he so wants
absoluttteeeely . .
the bruises are spread out across his body in washes of watercolor โ sagey greens and dark reds that look like rotten apples . splotches of blue and purple that better match the colors of his veins .
even without looking, he knows where each and every single one resides . the tiny ones , at the crook of his elbow where fingers have dug into his skin too often . the ones at his knees from stumbling, tumbling . larger ones that grow across his stomach like blooming flowers โ the remains of boney knuckles driving into the soft parts of him .
they ache in a hollow sort of way .
not the sharp sort, not the way they felt when he first received them , but they linger . dull, like the ghost of benson's touch has made it's home underneath his skin, fragments of his violence caught under tissue like shards of bullet and glass .
randy should despise them โ- remember that every single one of them is a punishment, a testament to the fact that benson is trying to break him down and build him back up all by himself , make him into something moldable . clay , pulled up into the shape of something and squashed back down when the edges and curves aren't quite right yet .
it has the opposite effect on him .
he touches at each of them gingergly at first . tiny , feather light brushes along the washed out outline of them , feels for the hardened knots he can feel sittinf just underneath the surface where vessels have popped , feel abused . the presses get harder soon, dimpling the flesh underneath the pads of his fingers until he feels like he can almost reach in and claw those parts of benson back out .
palms smoothe over them, flatten all that's *denim blue eyes and smoke scented curls of hair, the busted shape of his knuckles and the rouge that sprung forth like from a well , fuzzy yellow beat up work shoes scuffing against the asphalt* back into place .
the heat in his chest has wormed it's way down south before he even notices it , sparking in his belly . it's a sudden burst that would make him think of the sparklers at birthday parties , new years , if anything about this was innocent . so it fizzes and sparks in the hollow of his belly until it catches on โ hardening what should not become hard for any of this .
it still feels so , so good when slim digits slide underneath his waistband , underneath his boxers to find an ache that is sharper than any of those bruises could ever be.
when free fingers press down on his stomach , there is no way to deny the twitch that comes in response , the siren call that let's it be known that that is exactly what got him there in the first place .
by the time randy is sweaty , hair tousled from writhing and whining, singing his sweet melody into the pillow that smells like smoke and cheap shampoo , the bruises are sorer than they had been before and he feels good about it .
&& if the day most of those have faded, randy gets cranky and spews something at benson that might be considered an insult , then it's only to welcome the feeling of hands pressing colors into him again .
the best part of being a hardcore sex-repulsed benson believer is that it means all the weird shit he does in relation to randy is not at all sexually motivated and he's just.....Like That
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another thing . . how come no one ever talks about the scene where randy starts talking about his trauma . he begins by talking about mrs beard, how great she is , how much he loved her โ and even if Benson is out of frame , you can tell he is tense .
'cause he thinks he's about to hear something that'll make him sick to his stomach all over again, that he'll have to accept that randy is more like him that he'd ever want him to be or admit he is .
and i do think that benson's outburst of a laugh is partly just relief && a sort of ingrained reaction to every single time anything reminds him of his own abuse . he can't handle it, so he emotes excessively โ whether that is with a violent outburst or laughter .
there isn't enough talk about the burger scene and the possibilities of it .
after the shooting, the entire place smells like iron , the air is thick with the heat expelling from bodies . it's pressing โ no air conditioner in sight , the grills already turned on to preheat, friers already making the oil gurgle .
randy feels sick from that already , but the taste of rot lingers in his mouth and clings to the backs of his teeth like a velvety, fuzzy blanket . no matter how often his tongue dances across the same spots, it always feels like there is something stuck there, still .
the sickness builds slow , and before he knows it โ before Benson even gets to raise his hand to count up to ten โ he can feel himself gagging, wretching . an instant burn at the back of his throat, a wash of acid , but nothing wants to come out .
when randy does move, it's not towards benson but rather the bathroom . he's stumbling like an ill deer , swaying on his feet , trembling hand with the crescent shaped marks of his nails clutched across his mouth .
benson understands the sickness , understands what randy just saw โ but he's pumped up on adrenaline and the high of a predator so when randy seemingly runs , he follows. slots himself into that small employee's bathroom with him . watches him gag three , four times and get out nothing but spit and snot and salty tears . randy is white knuckling the toilet like his life depends on it, forehead shiny with sweat.
there is no hair to hold back, but benson fits his palm against that patch of skin and brushes back those mousy blond strands , tries to soothe him with the repetitive circling of his thumb .
after the tenth gag and nothing coming out, randy not moving but only whimpering like an abused thing , he finally cups him underneath his jaw . pries his mouth wide open with the other hand โ feeling his teeth first, the wet wriggle of his tongue โ before he plunges digits further inside . the boy writhes like an eel, claws those nails into his wrist and benson thinks the next thing he's gotta do is declaw him .
first, though . . he is pumping those fingers into his mouth in terribly slow strokes , pressing against the back of his throat until the wretching becomes more violent , full body ripples that make randy curl together and over the bowl .
good boy, good boy ,
when he finally manages to get it out , bent over like a devotee and still connected to benson's fingertips with a string of spit .
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