Idk Im Rambling - Tumblr Posts
Honestly i think something missed in a lot of fan content that portrays belos and his abuse is his whole "Grandfatherly" vibe he presents and gives to the people and hunter.
Like yes, being cruel and mean ARE part of it, and he certainly tries less to come off that way the longer the show goes, but some of the biggest reasons hunter and the isles were not supposed to really identify how bad he really was had a lot to do with his ability to come off well meaning and sympathetic to those around him.
With hunter, it wasn't just constant shaming and physical abuse, he would smile and intrigue hunter with stories about the human realm, tell hunter he couldn't go on missions to keep him "safe", be incredibly playful about hunter watching him.
It's why hunter was more terrified to upset him, because belos was capable of coming off kind and sweet in his eyes, and that aspect made hunter want to make him happy just as much as want to prove himself. Not just out of fear, but because he had seen belos as a genuine loving uncle who actually did seem to care and needed his help.
Obviously even in these moments belos would still say stuff as bad as implying hunter was replaceable, but how it's being presented is not the same as just being outwardly and openly cruel.
Whether you think it was all lies and manipulation or there were moments were belos was genuine about how he felt (Or maybe an combo of both were his genuineness is used for manipulation), i think people get so wrapped up in his outward cruelness we've forgotten his ability to come off like a sweet and sympathetic father figure that got him here in the first place.
let the man SMILE.
I feel this immense pressure all the time to be like other versions of Black excellence all the time. Like I wanna be famous (it's a leo thing) but I don't want to JUST be famous, like I want my art and writing to mean something. I don't wanna JUST BE famous yknow?
"Yes, it's true: I was the type of young femme who managed the girls basketball team in high school, just to be able to take in the sight of all those butches parading their muscles up and down the court. I found Girl Scout camp to be femme heaven and reveled in being able to explore my athletic self and still maintain my femmeness. And, to my horror, I have to admit pushing Tina away from my breasts in the back seat of a Buick while attending Mount Saint Mary Seminary. And then there was feminism... Although I came out as a "gay" woman before reading The Feminine Mystique, the seventies brand of white feminism had me trimming my nails and cutting off my hair. Soon I was outfitted in farmer jeans and high tops. And still I was told by my "sisters" that I didn't "look like a dyke" (read: I didn't look butch). I began to lead two lives- one as an outrageous, skirted, lipsticked femme while I worked in and traveled with carnivals, and another as an imitation butch back home in the women's community. Eventually, I pulled the pieces of my being back together and proclaimed boldly, "I am a working-class lesbian femme." So I had maybe six years reveling in unleashing my seductive femme self when, as lives go, mine changed: slowly at first and then more dramatically. Recurring back pain and limited range of mobility were finally diagnosed. Soon after came decreased mobility. No more mountain climbing. No long mall walks in search of the perfect piece of sleaze. No more standing against kitchen walls being gloriously fucked by some handsome butch. I stopped using alcohol and drugs, became ill with what is now known as CFIDS (Chronic Fatigue Immune Dysfunction Syndrome), and began to use a three-wheeled power chair. The more disabled I became, the more I mourned the ways my sexual femme self had manifested through the nondisabled me: cruising at the local lezzie bar, picking up a dyke whose eyes refuse to stray from mine, dancing seductively, moving all of me for all of her. Cooking: love and suggestion neatly tucked into the folds of a broccoli quiche. Serving my date in varying, sleazy clothing, removing layers as the meal and our passion progressed. And making love... feeling only pleasure as my hips rose and fell under the weight of her. Accomplishment and pride smirked across my face as her wrists finally submitted to the pressure of strong persistent hands. There are the ways I knew to be femme, to be the essence of me.
It's been five years now since I began using my wheelchair. I am just awakening to a new reclamation of femme. Yes. I still grieve the way I was, am still often unsure how this femme with disabilities will act out her seduction scenes. I still marvel when women find passion amidst the chrome and rubber that is now a part of me.
There have been numerous dates, lovers, relationships, sexual partners, and fliterations along the way. Cindy, Jenny, Ellie, Emma, Diane, Dorothy, Gail, June, Clove, Lenny, Cherry, Diana, Sarah I, and Sarah II. You have all reminded me in your own subtle or overt, quit or wild ways that I am desirable, passionate, exciting, wanted.
Yes I am an incredibly sexual being. An outrageous, loud mouthed femme who's learning to dress, dance, cook, and seduce on wheels; finding new ways to be gloriously fucked by handsome butches and aggressive femmes. I hang out with more sexual outlaws now- you know, the motorcycle lesbians who see wheels and chrome between your legs as something exciting, the leather women whose vision of passion and sexuality doesn't exclude fat, disabled me.
Ableism tells us that lesbians with disability are asexual. (When was the last time you dated a dyke who uses a wheelchair?) Fat oppression insists that thin is in and round is repulsive. At times, these voices become very loud, and my femme, she hid quietly amidts the lists.
Now my femme is rising again. The time of doubt, fear, and retreat has passed. I have found my way out of the lies and oppression and have moved into a space of loving and honoring the new femme who has emerged. This lesbian femme with disabilities is wise, wild, wet, and wanting. Watch out.
-"Reclaiming femme... Yet again" Mary Francis Platt, The Persistent Desire (Edited by Joan Nestle) (1992)
just thinking about how domain expansions used to be somewhat chill and evolved into something lethal, going from sit down bitch we’re playing checkers by my technique’s rules to malevolent shrine
Look at them living their domestic life!
I love this dang game so much but I also have other things I might wanna post on here
I don’t wanna blaspheme this masterpiece of gameplay by putting other stuff in my KF themed blog. I might make a separate blog for my other fandoms/interests? Maybe?