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I know weâre all freaking out right now about episode 4 but am I the only one who thinks that the Sylvie and Loki thing is not so much about self-love as it is about self-acceptance?
Because during their scene on Lamentis-1 they are talking about Lokis being destined to lose, and Loki denies that. He calls them survivors and then goes on to talk about all the things Sylvie has achieved, as a child even, and makes it very clear that he admires her for that. He literally tells her that she is amazing - a word Iâm sure neither of them would ever use to describe themselves, at least not seriously. Yet here Loki is, validating her, telling her that she did good, no matter if she still lost in the end.
She then touches his arm and the nexus event starts, and I feel like Sylvie, for the first time in her life perhaps, feels seen. This is the moment they truly form a connection and start to understand each other. There are no more lies, no more masks, no more games - itâs just the two of them at the end of the world accepting their fate, and each other, and realizing they are no longer alone - a theme that gets picked up again later in the scenes with Lady Sif and Mobius.
Thereâs nothing romantic about this scene to me. When Sylvie touches Lokiâs arm, she simply reaches out to him, silently telling him that she sees him too. And when they hold hands after that, there is fear in their eyes and so much regret because they just found something good and know it wonât last. Itâs their only way to offer each other comfort and support before they die.
And then there is their final scene. They have just lost, again. Their big triumphant moment turned out to be just another lie, and Sylvie is crushed. âNot another pep talk, please.â
But itâs not a pep talk that Loki wants to offer her. Mobius told him that their connection created a nexus event, that their love for each other (something he has seen no prove of, by the way - heâs simply goading Loki in the interrogation scene when he brings it up) is strong enough to take down the TVA. And I believe thatâs what Loki was going to tell Sylvie. Him saying, âWeâll figure this out,â is immediately followed by her asking him how he knows that. And he starts to explain but canât find the words, so he says instead, âThis is new for me.â
And I donât think heâs talking about romantic feelings here.
Thereâs something terrifying in being known, in believing in yourself, in making yourself vulnerable and deliberately giving other people the power to hurt you. Lokiâs MO has always been to stab others first; betray them before they can betray you. But with Sylvie (and Mobius, to an extent) itâs different. The walls have come down until the only thing left is the bare truth, and thatâs whatâs new.
The lighting in this scene also reflects that. Look how blue he looks in the screenshot. The glamourâs gone, all his masks have been stripped away. He almost looks Jotun here - his truest form, a part of him heâs always rejected. This whole scene, this whole episode, is not about love, not in the romantic sense. Itâs about accepting yourself, and about letting others in and hoping they will stay even after theyâve seen the real you.
In the end, itâs about learning how to love the person you have always been, and realizing that a good person doesnât always need to be a hero.
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ok so I walked past road maintenance today and saw the broadest worker I've ever seen, like biceps bigger than my head and sleeve tattoos, like so beefy I choked and went jesus christ on a stick. thank god for masks bc my mouth was open like a fool.
basically here's an award đđ for your beautiful writing that's trained my brain to immediately think about beefy construction worker!Bucky
Imagine: Beefy construction worker Bucky asking you out.
You hated the noise outside your place. The constant drilling, banging, and the loud, obnoxious chatter from men across the street. Maybe if they shut up for five minutes, they could actually get some work done. At this rate, theyâre going to be here all summer.
Until a few days ago, you naively believed that construction men catcalling women was a joke, some stereotype blown out of proportion.
You were very mistaken.
The things they yelled at you as you crossed the street had you almost jogging to your car, your face burning from embarrassment. Hands shaking from anger. You wish you could say something but you're outnumbered.
Each day it happened, you could never get used to it. Dread filled your stomach like lead, and you started walking with your head down, avoiding eye contact.
You were hastily making your way to your car when you bumped into a brick wall. A warm, breathing brick wall. You stumbled back, losing your balance. The wall grasped your arm, keeping you from falling back into the dew covered grass.
âSorry about that, I wasnât paying attention.â
âItâs okay.â Your voice trails off when you connect with a pair of stunning blue eyes. His dark, damp hair hanging in clumps over his forehead.
You turn back man in front of you. Looking past his tan tattooed biceps, you see the familiar set of construction pants. He's one of them. You're upset and mortified, picturing them having a laugh at your expense later.
âNo, itâs my fault-â You apologize, losing yourself in his kind eyes. The spell broken when you hear a low whistle and a vulgar insult is lobbed at you from an older balding man across the street. He's one of the worst, the sound of his grating voice makes you feel nauseated.
"Why can't you guys just leave me alone? Yanking your arm out of his loose grip, you flee to your car.Â
âWait! Hold up, whatâs wrong?â He asks, stopping when he hears the jeers from across the street. He watches your hands tremble as you turn the steering wheel.
The next day, you steel yourself to face another round of insults but when you pass the site, a whole new crew is working.Â
Thatâs...interesting.Â
Mostly new. You spot a large familiar figure leaning against a pile of wood, tossing his hard hat between his hands, stopping every few seconds to look around the street.Â
He combed his hair back today, you like it. You blink at that thought, mentally shaking it off.
Youâre almost in your car when you hear the sounds of boots hitting the pavement. A rush of nerves swoops through you and you almost drop your keys when you hear his deep, smooth voice.
âGood morning.âÂ
âMorning.â You reply curtly, your tone sharper than you intended. If he notices, he doesnât react.Â
âI want to apologize for those idiots if I had known, I would have put an end to it weeks ago.â He apologizes, his eyes never leaving your face.
Bucky had lost his shit yesterday when he found out what they had been saying to and about you.
Bucky wipes his forehead off with his arm, you notice the black and white trees inked into bicep. An army tattoo across his forearm.
Heâs panting from the jog across the street, dog tags visible under his thin white cotton shirt sticking to his chest.
âI was thinking that maybe I could take you out sometime?âÂ
 His hopeful blue eyes are warm and inviting. Still. Youâre wary and he could be playing you. . And you refuse to get hurt again.
 âI donât go out with strangers.â You retort, ignoring the pang in your heart when his face drops.
âOh, okay.â Disappointment clear in his softening tone, the corner of his lip lifting briefly.
You drive away, watching him walk back to his crew, his steps slower, his head bowed.Â
The next morning, he greets you from across the street. âDo you go out with people you do know?â
âI- Maybe.â
âMy name is James Buchanan Barnes, everyone calls me Bucky. You can call me whatever you like-.â
Slamming your door shut, you see him clutch his hand to his chest. âIâll try again tomorrow.â He shouts before you turn the corner.Â
Each morning, he tells you a new fact about himself. Occasionally one or two of his crew chimes in with embarrassing stories that have Bucky grumbling under his breath with a quaint blush on his cheeks.Â
Youâre really trying to not fall for this man.Â
But heâs not playing fair.Â
A few days later.
âI read a lot, Iâm not great with computers, and I can play-â You pretend that youâre looking for something in your glove box but crack your window to hear him talk about the rest of his interests.Â
He calls out, âI know you can hear me, what else do you want to know? Oh câmon-â You pulled out, tires screeching. He waves at you as you turn the corner.Â
The next morning.
âI have a cat named Alpine.â Bucky holds up his phone, showing off dozens of pictures of his cat. Most of them of the fluffy white fur ball sleeping. Your resolve almost breaks then and there.Â
One cloudy afternoon.
âI can cook.â He turned at the scoffing behind him. Hissing shut up before veering back to you. âI can cook two things but I do it so good youâll never want to eat anything else.âÂ
Two days later.
âOne date.â You turned him down so quickly, his friends laughed, the one Steve you think heâs called almost choked on his turkey club.
âHalf a date.â He never explained what half a date was, you were close to asking, but you held back.
A week later.
âA coffee, you like coffee?â You shrugged, and he pumped his fist, muttering progess.Â
âHow about I put a cup of coffee on your car, I sit all the way over here and we talk?â You didnât respond, pulling your seatbelt over your chest. âIs that a maybe?â
The next day.
The street is eerily quiet, the men all staring at you. Itâs unnerving and you duck your head.
A cup of coffee with a poorly drawn heart sat on the roof of your car, wisps of steam floating from the top. You wipe your hand down your face in a bid to hide your smile.
You pivot on your heel, arms folded across your chest. Buckyâs standing on the corner with a matching cup in his hand.Â
âLook, one chance and if you really donât like me, Iâll leave you alone.âÂ
âOne date.â You break into giggles when the men cheer, shouting finally and about damn time in between clapping Bucky on the back.Â
Buckys face glows, his smile making your heart flutter. "You won't regret this. I swear."
If you like it, order your steak well done. Get your bagel toasted with jam and butter. Put ice in your scotch and ketchup on your hotdog. Get red wine with fish and white with steak. Who cares?
If you want to, listen to pop music. Watch blockbuster popcorn flicks. Read dime store novels. Enjoy them.
Dye your hair or cut it off. Paint your fingernails blue. Wear whatever the fuck you want on your own time (ie, when not at a job or school or whatever where you can get penalized for breaking rules) as long as you arenât like welding or shoveling snow.
Anyone who tries to tell you youâre wrong? Say âokayâ and go back to what you were doing. Youâre not hurting them by enjoying yourself or having things the way you like them.
There are no caveats or addendums to this. No âbut what about x?â Nah. Youâre allowed the things you like. You donât have to justify your taste or apologize for it if itâs not hurting anyone.
And likewise, let other people live their lives. Weâre all dead in the long run, so tend your own garden before you become fertilizer in it.
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I have a head canon that the Dora Milage used to bully Bucky.
Like, he's supposed to be a big deal assassin but he's so soft and confused and grumpy. They just mess with him all the time and kinda adopt him.
Ayo: Look at this boy, can't even wrangle a goat...
Okoye: It's so sad.
Bucky: *incoherent screaming that's joined by the goat* Why are you all so mean?!
Ayo: Sad.
Okoye: So sad.
T'Challa: *is happy not to be picked on for once* Very sad.
*this was partially inspired by episode 3 when Bucky's first instinct is to look up for an attack. These women probably ambushed his ass from above until he learned to always look up first*
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I believe this is Hvaldimir, who, get this, is believed to be a defected Russian spy. Literally.
He showed up in Norway in April 2019 wearing a camera harness labeled "equipment of St. Petersburg", has tried pulling ropes on boats, is obviously very familiar with people and prefers to hang with people. While we know Russia has marine mammal government programs (the US does too, but it's bottlenose dolphins and California sea lions), the extent of their programs is not declassified like the US Navy's are.
He likes to play fetch and be scratched around the blowhole.
He has taken a diver's knife out of the scabbard, played with underwater drones, stolen a go pro from a kayaker, and other mischief. Notably, it has been said by the Murmansk Marine Biology Institute, who may have been who trained Hvaldimir, that seals are better equipped to be polar military animals, as they have high professionalism that belugas lack.
Anyhow, enjoy Hvaldimir (the name combines the Norwegian word for whale, Hval, with Vladimir, as in Putin), the defected Russian spy whale.
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