#between brothers

[nyonismywife]

This is just how families are sometimes

Bone us

[space-blue]

And there are these moments when the fear comes out of nowhere and my heart... feels like it stopped.

I have dreams...

And I just know when I wake up... I've lost something. I'm failing in my sleep.

It's all I ever done. It's fail her. Again and again.

I have to leave her. Joel... I mean that's why you took off on me right? To make up for the things we did.

Well here's your chance... to bring your kid into a better world. You're younger than me you're still strong. You said it yourself, you'll come back. You have to take her.

[dwellordream]

“…In the Middle Ages, for example, scholars have analyzed the masculinities of craftsmen, university students, monks and priests, kings, and knights, all of which carried variations of greater or lesser degree from each other. Even within a particular version of masculinity, there were contradictions and tensions. For example, the masculinity of martial elites involved establishing dominance over other men, but also supporting them when oaths and honor demanded it. Secular men proved their virility—their manliness—through sexual conquests, but masculinity also involved moderation and self-mastery.

One element that masculinity writ large seems to hold in common, in medieval Europe and beyond, is a propensity for violence. For example, the keystone of chivalry was prowess, a complex of strength, endurance, and martial skill. It was, in other words, “expertise in the use of violence.” This prowess was “of necessity done unto others,” earned and maintained through armed competition with other men. Even churchmen appropriated the language, and sometimes the behavior, of violence as a way of demonstrating their masculinity.

Through competitions for dominance, men gained honor, another central feature of late medieval masculinity. Honor involved trustworthiness and good reputation as well as prowess and good manners, and required a ready defense against any threat of shame. An honorable man was a manly man, and the opposite also was true. Ruth Mazo Karras asserts that, although men did not gain honor solely through violence, “the successful use of violence was a sine qua non, and violence was the ultimate means of maintaining it,” which returns us to the tie between masculinity and violence.

Significantly, the qualities of honor, prowess, and competition feature in another paradigm bearing on the lives of the warrior elite, that of chivalry. Like masculinity, chivalry remains a difficult concept to pin down, primarily because medieval authors did not fully agree about what chivalry was or should be. However, there do seem to have been some core qualities. Craig Taylor identifies “the central pillars of the key martial qualities” for the later Middle Ages: honor, prowess and loyalty, courage, mercy, wisdom and prudence. His focus on the martial character of chivalry echoes that of Maurice Keen, for whom prowess also was a key feature.

In addition to loyalty, hardihood, honor, courage, and self-control in battle, David Crouch points to largesse and what he calls the Davidic ethic, which amounted to ideals of good rulership that involved protecting the weak (including the Church), respecting widows and orphans, and endeavoring against injustice. Although reluctant to offer a list of chivalry’s characteristics, Richard Kaeuper argues that prowess was “a key element of knighthood,” “one of the chief chivalric qualities,” and “The primary constituent in chivalry.”

Chivalry also required a good reputation, which, in circular fashion, was both an effect of honor and a constituent element. Ill repute, on the other hand, caused and was caused by shame, the opposite of honor and the enemy of chivalry. Honor could be earned or demonstrated and had to be maintained, both in the proactive sense of performing worthy actions and in the reactive, defensive sense. Thus, “chivalric honour was fundamentally bound up with physical violence, as knights and men-at-arms were encouraged to win respect through demonstrations of prowess and courage, and also to defend themselves against shame and humiliation.”

Honor and good reputation, along with prowess, “the defining quality of the ideal knight in chivalric culture,” thus were primary elements of the complex of chivalry. With prowess and its attendant quality of courage, a man could win honor and gain a good reputation. He would sustain these through courtly behavior, loyalty to his fellow knights and lord, trustworthiness, the vigorous pursuit of opportunities to show his mettle, and protection of the weak and defenseless.

It was the competitive aspect of chivalry, however, that was key. Taylor observes that in chivalric culture, “honour, reputation and heroism were built above all upon success in violent struggle and competition.”Competition might be outwardly and obviously violent, as in the joust or warfare, but knights vied with one another at court as well, as they sought to outdo each other in their vows, their clothing and other expressions of courtliness, and their success with women. In all of these contests, the men were seeking to establish their dominance not just as knights but as men. Competition was fundamental not just to chivalry, honor, and reputation, but also to the very masculinity of medieval elite men.

Taylor remarks that a knight’s failure to address slights to his honor would have been viewed as “a failure of manhood.” The use of licit violence in martial feats was “the hallmark of manhood” and the chief means by which a man could prove himself. Taylor offers the example of Jean de Bueil’s fifteenth-century Le jouvencel, which emphasized the value of doing battle in an open field, without the protection of hedges or ditches. “In such circumstances,” Taylor writes, “one truly demonstrated heart and courage,” which were “the true measure of a man’s worth.”

The connection linking honor, chivalry, and masculinity also appears in the importance of trustworthiness and loyalty. Men took oaths to lords, kings, and each other, and more generally, knights depended on each other for support in various situations, military campaigns being the most obvious. The centrality of oaths and promises to medieval society required strong sanctions against those who broke them, which is why “Treachery and disloyalty were the antithesis of true knighthood.” They were also evidence of defective or absent masculinity; a man who could not keep his word risked allegations of effeminacy or childishness, since both women and children were seen as inconstant.

Because of the overlap between chivalry and the masculinity of the martial elites, I propose to use the term “chivalric masculinity” to describe the gendered paradigm that prevailed in the lives of the men who make up this dissertation. Although masculinity was present within chivalry, studies of chivalry have tended not to address it in a sustained way, and given the variety within medieval masculinity, it is necessary to be specific about what sort of masculinity one is discussing. Although there is some risk in combining two difficult concepts into a single, compound term, “chivalric masculinity” successfully conveys the competitive, cultural, and martial aspects of the masculinity of social elites.”

- Cameron Wade Bradley, “Masculinity, Chivalry, Chivalric Masculinity.” in Between Brothers: Brotherhood and Masculinity in the Later Middle Ages

[esuemmanuel]

Reír contigo, así... de la manera más natural, con los pulmones abiertos al aire y los labios cubiertos de ese gozo que sólo tú y yo podemos alcanzar. Amo esa felicidad derivada de nuestra complicidad, de esa conexión tan íntima que nadie más nos puede dar... y es que nacimos bajo la misma estrella, con el sol en los ojos y la luna en la cabeza.

— Esu Emmanuel©️, Laugh with you, like this... in the most natural way, with your lungs open to the air and your lips covered with that joy that only you and I can achieve. I love that happiness derived from our complicity, from that intimate connection that no one else can give us... and that is because we were born under the same star, with the sun in our eyes and the moon in our heads.

[dramionedaydream]

By Popular Demand, “Between Brothers” Dramione Story Epilogue Coming Soon

I ended this story at the end of 5th year, but it’s left a bunch of people hanging so I’m writing an epilogue. Hoping to have it ready in the next few days. Lots of time to catch up.

by diamonddaydream

Read on AO3 or FFN and now on Wattpad

[missjackil]

Why do I want Dean to kiss Sam’s neck so bad?

[born-under-a-black-moon]

Between Brothers | 10/17/1807

They’d schemed it up together. He couldn’t remember now which of them it was that had first suggested it. But to him, it had all seemed rather splendid; still did, no less. Of course, that it was a secret made it all the more delightful. A tremendous lark, and in the end, Mama would be terribly glad to see him——that was to say, Geoffrey Charles. More so, he thought, than even he would be, though it was hard to imagine. Of course, it wasn’t only for the lark of it that he’d wanted it all to stay under wraps. There was something about having his brother all to himself, if only for a little while, that very much appealed.

As he walked, a lazy smile crept across his lips; an instinctive one he’d worn off and on for most of the morning. Unfortunate as the thing might’ve been, there were certainly some upsides to Geoffrey Charles’s having to take medical leave, and there were times when he didn’t know whether to hope the thing prevented him ever going back or not. He supposed that if he was going to think in those terms, it would’ve been better simply to hope that the war ended before he was healed, rather than wish his brother a cripple for life in one hand.

Besides, his being unable to return to the field of battle due to the injury he’d sustained seemed unlikely——at least, with what had been described him. Though he supposed that GC might’ve been inclined to take an optimistic view of the thing. If there was a chance of his being maimed for life, he wasn’t likely to want it acknowledged by anyone——least of all himself. Perhaps, then, it might be for the best if he was left only a little lame. Enough where fighting with his own two hands would have to become a thing of the past, but not so much as to hinder his life day to day. That, or the war ending; he thought, with some humor, that he would content himself with either.

The sun was out——wet and watery, as it always was in Cornwall——and the day was warm. He was smartly dressed, in a dark green cutaway coat with darker trim, breeches to match and a charcoal gray waistcoat, as well as boots since he’d been riding. He’d stabled his horse at a nearby inn; GC, of course, would have to rent one. No hat——he’d left that back at the inn as well. He’d never liked hats. Not on himself, anyway. The way they felt, and the way they flattened his hair, on which they never seemed to want to properly sit. Of course, he endeavored to be well-dressed on all occasions, and this was no exception. After all, why should he not look good for his brother?

He walked with a little spring in his step, of which he was only partly conscious. He wasn’t all that well known here. Falmouth was far out of the way, and he never found himself with much reason to come; and for once, he was enjoying his anonymity. Perhaps, he thought, because he had too much else on his mind to be bored by it. And perhaps because, knowing what he knew of himself, and being that he was so notorious elsewhere, he felt as though he was carrying in him some manner of great, well-concealed secret. Rationally, of course, he knew this to be attributed more to the ignorance of the people around him——which was to be expected, it wasn’t as if they had any reason to know who he was——than any skill on his part. Of course, it was good for a lark just the same.

Seeing all of the ships and the water always fascinated him. All of the shouting and the chatter and the noises of the port, and the people coming and going——it was the sort of thing that he’d never seen a lot of, and he suspected that was where the draw for him lay. Though, in truth, it felt somewhat more fundamental. Of course, the smells were less than pleasant——the fish, the refuse, the stale water, magnifying all of the existing foul odors——but the the smell of the sea, which could never be entirely stifled by anything, was another matter. He loved that smell; it was familiar and invigorating and inviting. The sea, he suspected, would always maintain his interest, no matter how much of it he saw.

He’d reached the harbor, and having done this, took a moment to look around with eyes alight. The Lady Katherine——that was the ship he was looking for. It was a cargo vessel, though supposedly, a very nice one. GC had assured him of this, as though he might get the wrong idea and look down his nose upon the treatment the redcoats were giving him——and God forbid anyone entertain so much as an ill thought about them. Of course, this hadn’t stopped him. Privately, he thought that it seemed not only unjust, but also uncouth to ship any soldier worth his weight——particularly one who had sustained injury in service of his country——back to his homeland with a load of cargo for company. Save that for the ones that crawled into the underbrush to hide at the first sound of gunfire. Then again, when he thought it over more rationally——as he’d had some time to do, it having been over a week since he’d first received word of his brother’s accommodations——he supposed that there wasn’t necessarily a better alternative. It wasn’t as though they would ever have enough sick or injured men at once——or living in the same area——to send a boat solely for the purpose of delivering them. Ah, well.

He’d often wondered what his brother would look like------though he wasn’t at all afraid that he wouldn’t be able to recognize him. First of all, because of his injury, and secondly, because it seemed likely he would be in uniform (Because that was his pride, wasn’t it? Also, he wasn’t altogether certain that, after all this time, he would own any other clothes). And thirdly, because it was his brother. They were bound by blood——or a mother, anyway, and that was the most important link——and had more or less grown up together. He would know him on sight; he was sure that he would.

Still, he imagined he would look quite different. He’d only been——well, as old as he was at present when last they’d seen one another. Now, he would be well into his twenties, and he would’ve grown up hard. Seen a lot——done a lot. He imagined that one couldn’t very well concern oneself with being pretty out among the enemy Frenchies, crawling on one’s belly in the dead of night, or in the early hours of the morning. He wondered how GC had survived it; he’d been quite the dandy, last he recalled.

Of course, more than anything, he just wanted to see and be in the company of his brother. The excitement in him was almost childlike——or at least, he fancied that it was. It was certainly among the more pure and unadulterated sensations he could recollect having felt for a long time. He supposed that GC wouldn’t recognize him; no amount of shared blood in the world could offset the fact that he’d been only nine or ten when last they’d met. He’d wondered if he ought to take advantage of this fact when he greeted the other. There was a part of him that wanted to be bothered with none of it, to throw it all to the winds and run and hug his brother when first he laid eyes on him——or, hopefully it would be him. He supposed there was always the possibility, however slim, that he would get it wrong, and it would turn out to be some other fellow. And that would be bloody awkward——though, he supposed, good enough for a laugh, and a story to recount in future.

Still, that manner of approach seemed something of a waste. Certainly, it would have been more fun to pretend to be someone else, and harass his brother about the war and his time spent abroad. Of course, that might get him hit——and he imagined it would be none too enjoyable to be hit by a soldier. Even a crippled one. Even so, he flattered himself that he might have been quick enough to avoid it, or shout out his true identity at the last moment and escape punishment. At least, he assumed that would prompt GC to spare him.

Whatever the case, it all seemed very amusing; that said, he was no closer to making up his mind as to what he was actually going to do when the time came. Perhaps it was no good trying to sort it all out. Perhaps he would do better to wait and see how the moment struck him once it arrived. For all that he knew, the man would be badly seasick from his voyage, in which case he wouldn’t have much choice but to go to him as he was and lend a helping hand. It wouldn’t be nearly so exciting, but he supposed he couldn’t begrudge him that. He seated himself on a crate near to the water, which looked down the line of ships anchored there at present. He wasn’t sure precisely where this one would put in at, but he could see all of the port from here, so fancied he could make do. Of course, he might’ve asked someone——but somehow, that seemed as though it would kill part of the enjoyment.

He rubbed absently at his front tooth, looking around him, kicking at the ground with his boot. After a moment, he pulled his watch——a slim, gold one that his father had given him for his birthday two years before——from his fob pocket, checking the time. It was almost noon, and if all was going according to plan, that was when The Lady Katherine would make port. By rights, that meant he should’ve been able to see her close by already. Instinctively, he craned his neck to look about again——though realized very quickly that he would not be able to make out anything from this point of vantage, with all of the other ships and buildings obscuring the ocean and sky. Unperturbed, he settled back down, dropping the watch back into his pocket.

The excitement was welling more forcibly now in the pit of his stomach——though he found it mixing oddly with some nerves. Oddly, because he could think of no reason why he should be feeling anxious, except that maybe it was the natural thing to feel when you had not seen someone close to you for a very long time, and wanted to very badly, and were about to have that wish granted you. On an impulse——a nervous, and suddenly impatient one——he got up off the crate, fingers clasping instinctively behind his back. He began to pace, his hands clammy and shaking. His mouth was dry, and the urge to smile——to laugh, even, or to shout——was almost overpowering. This was partly brought on by his joy and excitement, and partly by the flood of nerves. And the nerves in him in turn squeezed it out, making it in the same moment impossible. He felt very near on the verge of tears——not with any one clear thought in his mind, except that he was about to see his brother, whom through their correspondence he felt he had grown to love and adore, for the first time in years.

Apart from some natural excitement——a few butterflies in his stomach when he’d first woken up that morning, knowing it was the day of——he’d been reasonably calm throughout it all. That was, until now, and he’d not struggled to be. It had come to him easily enough. Though, had it not, he supposed he would have had to try his best anyway, lest he give away something of the scheme they’d concocted. As far as his mother knew, he was out to Truro and to pay some calls, though he’d been careful not to say upon whom specifically, in case she had some reason to want to track him down, which would in turn have evinced his dishonesty.

Another boat had tied in——having been absorbed in his emotions and his contemplations, he’d not immediately noticed it. It might’ve been there for some moments, and he started a little when he saw it. It was early yet, but he wondered if this might not have been the one. It was near enough time——though there was another boat put in in front of it, and he could not make out the name past it from where he stood. There was some bustle around the newly landed vessel——people coming to and from it. His heart lurched in him, and suddenly, his mind was in a fog. He stood, rooted to the spot, his heart beating faster——feeling nothing at all for a moment, and then, everything all at once. His brother; for the first time in over six years, he was going to see his brother. There welled up in him then so much feeling that it nearly brought tears to his eyes over again, pulling upwards at the corners of his mouth so much that it ached, but never formed a smile properly. His bottom lip quivered, and his lungs seized up------instinctively, he reached up to wipe his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

And when he drew his arm away——there. That was him. That was his brother, come into view now. He was sure of it. He sucked in a sharp, shallow breath, stifling a little noise of excitement as it threatened to escape him. He recognized the other at once, even from this distance——uniform aside, and of course, he was wearing it. He looked older——a darker blonde than he had been, though still brightly blue-eyed, and as handsome as ever. His face was more angular, and he fancied that some of the lines on it might’ve been scars. But it was hard to tell from the distance they were at; it might’ve been a trick of the light and nothing more. His hair was longer, loose, not tied back like he remembered. Looked as though he hadn’t washed it in a week or more. There was something in all of this that he found very exhilarating——very, very endearing.

Of course, the initial impulse in him was one he’d anticipated——to simply run at the other, and jump into his arms. But his head was clearing a little now, the first rush having gone. And he’d be damned if he was going to miss this opportunity; it was once in a lifetime, and he knew that he’d regret failing to seize it. He did his best to wipe the feeling off his face——the tears, and the half-grin that had formed on his lips. This was something he was usually very good at, and he managed it now, but found himself struggling to in that moment more than usual.

He half stumbled a few feet towards the other, in nerves and in excitement, doing his best to subdue the spring in his step. Then, regaining some of his composure, he dropped back against a few crates stacked to the right of him. He’d wait for GC to come to him. He didn’t want to walk too much in view of him, lest his step give him away. His breathing was a little heavy——though he scarcely noticed.

When the other came close enough——almost ready to pass by him——he said, without making eye contact, “Afternoon, sir. Slay many Frenchies abroad, have you?” His voice was smooth, indicating none of his intended mischief. He raised one of his hands, gloved in gray suede, near to his eye level and examined it. He’d always found it surprisingly easy to keep a straight face during times such as these so long as he didn’t make eye contact. So, he kept his eyes——seemingly in all nonchalance——averted, to stop himself spoiling the act. His brother was awfully serious when it came to the defense of his cause, and therefore, he supposed, would be very good fun to tease.

“——s’all an awful waste, if you ask me. No one will thank you for it when it’s over.” It was part nervous excitement that kept him talking——his heart was beating in his ears very loudly——and of course, the lark of it. “The way I see it, the only draw is the women. I’ll say, old love——have you had many French women?” His brother had fairly upright views of women so far as he could gather------so, he wasn’t likely to appreciate that. The irony of it all being that he hadn’t been in France, of course. But it was tremendously amusing to put forth as so uninformed, and he expected it would madden GC all the more.

He paused——though not overlong, as he wasn’t yet through——before adding, somewhat more slyly, “Or, for that matter, French men? You know in the way I mean.” No man——or certainly, none with whom he was acquainted——was likely to appreciate that. There; he thought that he’d hit up all of the obvious points of attack. And not half badly, considering that he’d made it all up as he’d gone along. He was dying to see the look on his brother’s face, but was reluctant to lift his eyes for fear of losing his composure. Also, because there was a small part of him that did fear the wrath he’d very likely——and hopefully——incurred.

[ofnightandlight]

They don’t know ‘bout who we are They don’t know ‘bout you and I They ain’t know 'bout the stars of your eyes

Never run down You’re holding your light above me now Never run down Never run down