dusty-cobweb

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controversial opinion but i don’t think benson ever had a plan to die that day

i think he knew it was an option. i think there was an eventuality to it, maybe months or years down the line. but not then. he was gonna pull Randy up by his bootstraps for however long he could get. he was gonna go to the ocean and shitty biker bars and smoke so much fuckin weed. he wasn’t gonna die that day.

but then Randy called the cops. made that decision for himself.

and benson could’ve lived with randy’s hatred and his protest and his anger, but he couldn’t live with his action. the moment randy confessed he was the one to make that call, benson’s mission was complete which left nothing for him but to walk out that diner and die

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gay people can never just go on normal dates they always gotta go on a walk together for seven hours and look at each other with a tender fondness or something 🙄

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i HATE when people make randy a dainty lil boy. NO MORE!! that man is lean !! he is toned !! he’s overhead pressing heavy boxes because no one in that GOD FORESAKEN restaurant is putting them away. he’s pushing a mop every day and that shit adds muscle. he’s hitting that protein goal with those shitty BBB burgers FUCK

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i basically do sniff the fic and i’m like yep this bad boy came from the deep red.

also!! this is in no way judging people who like leaning into the southernness of benson !! i quite like it myself; i think it’s hot as hell. give that man his cowboy hat

also, i would like to reiterate it that it’s not a bad thing that i can tell if you’re not from a red state. i love yalls fanfics and i covet them like a dragon does his treasure. please keep on making fics !!

this is in no way suppose to be mean but i can tell if you’re from a blue or red state depending on how you write your ranson fics LOL

[dusty-cobweb]

uh it’s in the way they depict gay people in red states. people from the south/midwest know that if they get caught doing half the shit that randy and benson are doing in public, they’re gonna get some trouble. there is no open groping, or kissing, hell even holding hands is risky.

people from red states usually account or acknowledge this in some aspect.

additionally, people from red states (which are generally the south and the midwest) write about the towns and the roads like a realistic love letter. like, they very obviously acknowledge the shortcomings of the towns: potholes, and drugs, the divide in town class, abandoned silos and rundown barns on the side of roads, lonely yet communal, freedom with grand societal pressure. alongside this there’s also a kind of love and familiarity they imbue within the story. they wouldn’t know that shit if they weren’t from a red state.

most of all, they don’t write it as a stereotype. this may seem weird but sometimes i feel like the southernness of benson is kind of fetishized? like he’s this big gruff southern man who does physical labor and he’s a hunter and a predator rahhh southern dom where is his cowboy hat and stirrups ?? it’s just so stereotypical and obvious to me as someone who has encountered people like benson.

okay hopefully this helps glip glorp

this is in no way suppose to be mean but i can tell if you’re from a blue or red state depending on how you write your ranson fics LOL

[dusty-cobweb]

this is in no way suppose to be mean but i can tell if you’re from a blue or red state depending on how you write your ranson fics LOL

[dusty-cobweb]

see, the only gripe i have with the Passenger ending is that it seems like Randy’s healing process was sped up exponentially. like he has friends plural? he’s teaching tessa the game that concluded his life for like 14 years? in 3 months? it just all seems so fast, especially with all the added on trauma of benson. of course, there are callbacks to this with the drawing, and the sling, and the plushies, which was awesome to me. i just felt like the movie moved on from the first trauma too quickly

however, i do love the idea that he’s healing. i think this movie needs to show healing after trauma, especially when it showed how not healing can result in super uncool things. that benson accomplished at least one thing he set out to do in life after having it all stubbed out of him like one of his cigarettes

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this edit makes me so sad but reminds me of just how much i love the movie

it was always the same old dream

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The Passenger (2023) is still on the brain, and so are it’s insane parallels to The Hitcher (1986)

(Also this is the first edit I’ve made in almost two months so be kind, it’s very rusty🧎🏻)

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My daddy’s got a gun

[Hayloft by Mother Mother]

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i need to write werewolf benson…

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dream a little dream of me by the mamas and the papas ranson edit :)

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Used to be one of the wretched ones and I liked you for that Now you're all gone, got your make-up on and you're not coming back Can't you come back?

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when supernatural goes to your town

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yeah politics are rough but think about all the great art that’s gonna start coming out

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ranson is so cigarette daydreams by cage the elephant

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i wouldn’t mind it if it were nonsexual.

if all we did was hold calloused hand in calloused hand

stand in the kitchen in our boxers, pressing sweet kisses to the other’s jaw. the smell of burnt bacon, long forgotten and filling the air.

i could place flowers behind your ear, call you a mighty *purdy* man with my accent that makes you laugh

could hold your hips, strong and square as we swayed to old folk songs in the living room

i wouldn’t mind it if we never touched at all

if it was just you and me, riding along in my shitty car with tires run bare

you brought a six pack with you, but i’m a lightweight so we end up splitting it 2 to 4 on the top of the hood

maybe you bring a blunt and i wrinkle my nose cause i don’t like the smell of weed but i like the smell of you.

could be how you hum songs under your breath, low and mourning

i don’t know what you’re missing; we don’t really talk about that kinda stuff, but i listen anyway and pretend that it helps

pretend that this bubble is not really a bubble. pretend it’s everything— your face in my hands— all encompassing and intuitive. it’s not, though, is it? we both know it isn’t.

but we can pretend. in this house we’re men. kissing, hugging, fingers trailing through the sweat of your spine, maybe not touching at all. never wearing shirts and flipping omelets, t-shots every tuesday. you outgrew your old shoes so they sit waiting by the door. no one will ever return for them though. impromptu tattoos with the gun we bought off amazon. you have a shark on your arm and i get a rolly polly on my wrist. crushed beer cans filling the recycling bin cause we’re thoughtful like that. hair clippings hiding underneath the bathroom mat, missed from the time you cut my hair a bit too short.

it’s soft and it’s loud, gentle and rough, a dichotomy of ourselves. women turned men. women who were never women. women who never had a name for the gaping hole in their hearts now filled with the words “tranny” and “faggot”.

it’s a dichotomy. contained inside a single home, nestled between two hearts. it don’t have to be sexual, doesn’t even need to touch. but its there nonetheless.