#fuck decorum and social norms

[whining-ylthin]

Also telling the "trusted adults" either does nothing, makes the bullying worse in retaliation or has them turn against you and take the side of the bullies because they also think you're a "problematic weirdo" or get pressured by the bullies' parents to stand up for their "precious little innocent child being slandered".

Nothing like the teachers, guardians and even psychologists treating you like a hot potato to juggle, or a "broken thing" that has to be cobbled together with ductape because addressing the deeper issues would require listening to you and digging deeper into the situation, and that takes too much time, effort and also why would you listen to the dumb problematic child/adolescent if you can just psychologically beat them into superficial "normalcy" and fearful compliance - or write them off as societal lost cause otherwise.

no piece of teen media has ever accurately depicted the quiet psychological warfare of bullying. bullies on TV are always dumb brutes and not the evil geniuses of emotional manipulation that they are in real life. being given a wedgie and having your lunch money stolen is nothing in comparison to a classmate quietly creating a taboo against speaking to you that they intend to enforce against all the other kids. it’s nothing like continuous cutting comments from people you thought were being nice to you. that way that the work of one kid can make you feel like every person on earth silently hates you and that you are dirty, disgusting, worthless, creepy and useless. that you can have friends but many of them will not speak to you at school for fear of the social consequences on their end. how that damage lasts in any social setting for the rest of your life

[yaltghoul]

I'm about as unhinged as Colin Bridgerton about this

I just rewatched s3pt1.

The number of times Colin is like, out and about in polite society without a cravat is insane.

Do you know how improper it would have been for an aristocratic man to appear in public or attend any event without wearing a cravat?

We're going to ignore how historically inaccurate the wardrobe and hair choices are in the entire show, because until season 3, Colin has always dressed the part of "well bred English gentry".

During the Regency period, the standards for dress code were strictly adhered to, especially among the aristocracy. The cravat was an essential component of a gentleman's outfit and showed that the wearer belonged to the upper echelons of society. Wearing a cravat was a mark of a proper and respectable upbringing.

For formal events, or really any social gathering, wearing a cravat was non-negotiable. Even in less formal settings, an aristocratic man was expected to maintain a certain level of decorum.

Not wearing a cravat would have been seen as a blatant disregard for fashion norms, and possibly (definitely) seen as a sign of rebellion at best, and ill-refined manners at worst.

So Mr. Colin "I'm gonna fit into society and be the man everyone expects me to be" Bridgerton not wearing a cravat 24/7 would have shown he did not care about the society he was desperately trying to squeeze himself into.

Yet, he does so much to try and make himself seen as the man society expects him to be. Even though part of that act is to pretend to be cavalier about society, his "friends" are never seen without their cravats. Only Colin.

It's almost as though it's symbolic of his innate desire to say fuck it to societal expectations and just be himself.

[crimeronan]

I'm really interested in knowing more about this Vampire AU and how it works. I remember you mentioning before that Luz gives Amity her blood and later ends up giving Hunter her blood too. How does (presumably normal human) Luz find out about all the vampire shenanigans and run into Amity and the others?

oh god, the worldbuilding is one of the things that's fastest and loosest about this concept. is it vampires living secretly in the human world? is it a parallel world where vampires are commonplace and well-known and that has influenced social n cultural norms from the top-down? is it an AU where the boiling isles is home to vampires instead of witches? WHO KNOWWWS

i think the most fun sandbox for me to play in is one where vampires just exist normally among humans and it's fine. in most places there aren't weird cliques or power struggles or isolated vampire-only societies, there's just. dudes who drink blood sometimes

it's almost funnier that that's the case because it means that both amity and hunter are Wild Anomalies, but in different ways.

(sidenote: i'd be remiss not to mention that the whole ~*~vampire elite~*~ concept and vampire lore in general has antisemitic roots and can get unintentionally Weird And Gross. so please for the love of GOD know this is satirizing capitalism & protestant christianity. ALRIGHT)

amity being from an old money vampire family that's now running a fortune 500 corporation, she is insane and out-of-touch because she does not realize how fucking weird her upbringing was. she's certainly MET humans before luz, but mostly.... ones who were either volunteering or paying to get dicked drinked down. SHE'S WEIRD AND OFFPUTTING IN SO MANY WAYS god bless.

whether hunter's a half-vampire or full vampire depends on which timeline we're splashing around in, but either way he thinks he's human. and has been raised in a murder cult. which is even weirder when you're in a world that ostensibly has no reason to HAVE vampire-centric murder cults. you could simply not do this

belos loves to opine about how the world was better back when humans didn't get so uppity about a little serial killing. and then having hunter do murder for him. luz is like hey dude do you like... do you know... do you know that you don't have to do this. like at all. oh my fucking god you've never even fed no wonder you look dead. i'm taking you to my weird offputting vampire girlfriend with no sense of decorum or social norms whatsoever STAT

and it's just like. absolute fucking nonsense full of a million plot holes bc we are just vibing. there's no well-constructed story here there's just us putting hunter amity and luz together in a room and going "what would be the worst and the funniest thing that they could do right now."

[sticky943]

"Politeness/manners/courtesy/civility/etiquette/decorum" -- or whatever bullshit redundant word society makes up to make this hollow-ass arbitrary made-up fabrication sound legit (if it were legit, only one word would be necessary) -- is nothing but a tool for oppressing and censoring children. I've been beaten and yelled at and hatefully glared at for being "rude/disrespectful/impolite/bad-mannered,"

whether it's saying "fuck" and "shit" (doesnt actually hurt anyone),

saying "i want" instead of "i would like" or "may i" (if you're that concerned over a few minor words, you're pathetically mindless and petty),

screaming too loud after getting my anger censored and dismissed as me being "too sensitive" (my abuser told me to be more "civilized" while i was screaming at it for all the violence and suffering it caused me)

pointing, chewing with my mouth open, putting my elbows on the table, calling adults by their first name instead of "mr/mrs/sir/ma'am" (all of which is completely harmless nonsense that nobody should worry about)

"politeness/courtesy/manners" is just nothing but society's tool for controlling children and oppressing them. i always thought this concept was bogus and artificial and insincere as a child, and i still do. i hate how children are beaten and yelled at into being "polite/courteous/well-mannered/civil" (here we go with the redundant nonsense again), and people think that's a good thing. brainlessly conforming to social norms that were forced upon you as a child and which you didn't get to decide -- be it taking your hat off indoors, not pointing, calling adults "mr/mrs/sir/ma'am," saying excuse me after you burp, keeping elbows off the table -- doesn't make you a compassionate person who cares about others and their rights. it makes you an obedient mindless conformist following conventions and orders. plus how in some cultures burping and leaving your hat on indoors are actually fine.

if this doesn't show how much outdated irrational superstitious made-up petty horseshit this whole "politeness/courtesy/civility/manners" is, i don't know what does. polite/courteous/well-mannered adults literally BEAT and TERRORIZED me into being like them, so for me to be praised as "so polite/courteous/well-mannered" makes me so fucking disgusted i wanna smash something. it's like they're condoning all the cruelty i went through, some sort of sick dehumanizing "ends justify the means" shit. "politeness/courtesy/civility" is, for the last time, nothing but adultcentric, superstitious, petty, arbitrary nonsense used to control and subjugate children. the reason why it's seen as a virtue and a sign that you care about others, is because society (controlled by adults) mistakes obedience/conformity for deep-seated morality and empathy for fellow humans. or on the other side, society values obedience/conformity more than sincere, unconditional kindness and compassion for those more vulnerable than you. hence why society calls for violence against children deemed "rude/disrespectful/impolite/disccourteous/uncivil/bad-mannered/gigglydigglyjigglyfiggly" (i.e, they said "fuck" or "shit," they argued with their parents/teachers and defended themselves, they burped, they didnt hug/kiss their parents/relatives when they were ordered to do so, they didnt say please or thank you or excuse me or some other "magic word" that only a small-minded fusspot with nothing better to do would get worked up over).

don't mean for this to be an incoherent rant, but this is something that's been brewing in my mind as i've deconstructed my childhood. how much suffering, how much dismissal, how much terror i've been through in the name of "politeness/courtesy/good manners" and how i've come to realize that such social constructs are nothing but mindless adultist fabrications used to silence and terrorize children into submission and to become obedient conformist robots who please their adult/parent/teacher overlords. hence why its "polite/courteous/good manners" to kiss/hug a parent/relative when they demand it, and why its "polite/courteous/good manners" for a parent/teacher to violently assault a child. it's all irrational unscientific made-up pointless bullshit society pulled out of its ass bc it wants to control people and make them obedient cogs in the machine.

"from a young age, people are taught that an oppressed person being impolite is worse than a privileged person being violent." -- theconcealedweapon

I have not been raised well. Nobody raised me. I was pushed down and told to stay down. People think well-raised people act pleasing so they assume my upbringing was done well. I'm acting pleasing out of fear, not because I've been taught it's the polite thing to do. I was never taught about politeness. I was taught 'displease me and you die'.

[nakedmonkey]

Sometimes I have these moments where milf boss is just a rich white lady and I truly feel like I'm in Parasite. That line "she's nice because she's rich" is just....SO true.

Rich people have no concept of social norms or decorum when it comes to talking about the working class, I've noticed. Even the "nice" and "generous" ones are so fucking disconnected from the reality of most people's lives, especially during a pandemic. It's wild.

[betterbemeta]

my gf said a good thing yesterday, and that is social justice is gonna fucking fail if it is not built on a foundation of, and assumption of, rebellion. 

This is why cultures of compliance fail so hard when it comes to being useful for progressive causes, even as just social scenes. When we assume others around us are here to comply with a new, ‘better’ set of rules, rather than are united based on rebelling from the rules that bind them everywhere else, we’re already two steps behind the starting line. We don’t look at one another with the comfort that whatever they are doing, they are lashing out at something that presses down upon them. Without collective base assumption of rebellion, we can’t trust a peer to be fighting their own fight, let alone fighting alongside us in a shared one.

Cultures of compliance reduce our trust in one another because all energy is tied up in the effort required to be good and acceptable to the local norm rather than in striking back against prevailing societal norms. If someone is doing something that doesn’t align with the rules to be compliant with everyone forever, then that person is concering and worrisome for us. Don’t they care about trying to fit in? Don’t they have a heart to how other people might accept or not accept their actions? We lose confidence that whatever another person is doing, they know what they’re doing and are to be trusted.

Like, obviously this is not a plea to accept action that is laterally violent, but we have to realize that the structure of internet spaces lends to cultures of compliance rather than cultures of rebellion. When we share things, it is an implicit statement of compliance with the content. ‘Influencers’ basically make their living suggesting what is fashionable to comply with. Memes are repeatables, and divergence from their format reduces their acceptance. To use a website platform at all, you have to comply with its terms of service. Rebellion is not baked in to any of this. It doesn’t matter if you spend 100% of your time complaining about lukewarm neoliberal takes, if you are enmeshed in a culture of compliance you are basically the very same thing as what you complain about. It’s impossible to be radical and focus your identity around compliance at the very same time. 

I know I’m like super square myself, but I don’t have to be some kind of radical guru to tell you that there is going to be this sickly, sliding wave of people waking up in a decade or two like “holy shit, I talked a lot about radical change as a young adult but nothing happened?” and this will probably be among the reasons. They were non-rebellious people in non-rebellious spaces all along, who just differed from the norm in one or a few ways and wanted theirs for that... and didn’t act out about anything else.

Believing that there is any set of rules that can only pump out goodness is not a radical leftist stance. It is the stance of the center-left at best. It is why USA democrats keep trying to slavishly stick to the system to achieve something less than change, to defend the integrity of the system before all else, because that is what they believe to be the best, most fair possible process or decorum that has the highest chance of spitting out good outcomes. We don’t want to squeeze progressive cultures into that image, without realizing it.

And like, cultures of compliance are really good at selling themselves as rebellious so long as they don’t superficially resemble the norm in aesthetic or local in-jokes or attitudes towards strangers. But they’re not rebellion, and I worry sometimes they are going to serve as a placebo for rebellion in people who have been raised primarily by such spaces on the internet. 

[bluinary]

YOYOYOYOYOOOOO

Ooooo, so. I’ve decided to try and flesh out Pluviophilia-- but as an original work.

I’d have loved to finish it as a fic, but to be perfectly frank guys, I’m just not as into snk as I used to be. I’d also have loved to do this with Icarus & I-- and maybe someday I will-- but not only is it a 119k piece, it has fully fleshed out and developed characters that I have a hard time claiming as my own. I know they’re my versions of the snk cast, adapted into a modern AU with less tragedy, but there would be little to no creative work involved for me. 

Pluviophilia, on the other hand, has great potential, but is unfinished. When writing it, I wasn’t 100% certain of who Mikasa and Eren would become-- who anyone in the cast was-- and it works out so well! It also offers fantastic potential for me to diversify the cast, and as it stands, the plot is something I personally need to flesh out, in light of recent events in my life.

Changes:

The story is between two women-- Sara (Mikasa) and Clementine Locklear (Eren), college dorm neighbors with similar traumas who fall for one another and are trying desperately to recover in their own ways while finding a way to let their relationship blossom.

Armin’s character (Eliot) is non-binary; Marco’s character is an immigrant; basically all of the ethnicities of the cast have changed. 

Sara and Clementine, though they’ll face hefty trials of their relationship, will end up together (I hadn’t planned for as much with eremika). 

The story will have more fluff and focus on recovery. A big reason I left Pluviophilia is that I’d written myself into a corner, emotionally speaking. It all became about how depressed Mikasa was, because I really wanted to validate myself and readers, but it stayed there and stagnated. 

Sara and Clementine will get far more time together. The fight at the coffee shop in Pluvio came about way too quickly, and it robbed us of Eren for several chapters. Clementine will not get the same treatment if I can help it.

Things that will be the same:

Eren/ Clementine will be a chaotic, bi disaster who hates their lifelong enemy, Jean/ Nick and has some pretty severe anger issues that clog a pure and loving heart.

Mikasa/ Sara will be a reserved, principled character who is compulsively selfless and protective, if somewhat reckless in that respect.

Armin/ Eliot will be Mikasa/Sara’s best friend, dating Annie/ Kay, and a vastly intelligent, nervous, socially awkward bean who can be absolutely harsh and intimidating if need be. 

The base personalities of much of the cast will remain the same, though they will be altered based on their backgrounds, demographics, and circumstances (e.g., though rough and tomboyish (and blunt/ dense as FUCK), Clementine is a cis girl, and has been socialized to have just a tad more decorum than Eren. Also Marco’s character, Lorenzo, is a Filipino immigrant, and is a little less in touch with American norms than an All-American Marco might be). 

New Year’s Eve countdown kiss :)

All in all, I’m really excited to begin this project!! If anyone is interested in seeing the live progress of the story, please let me know and I will find a platform to post my chapters as they go on. The working title is Clementine Spring.  

For those of you who liked Icarus & I, it’ll take on a more similar tone to it than the original did, with some fluff, some tragedy, and a story of the joys and devastations that come with facing your traumas, and with growing up. 

And if you know nothing of my snk works but are craving some heavy  wlw content (where both girls are brown) featuring pro-recovery themes and a diverse cast (mostly made up of chaotic college students lmao), hit me the FUCK up because knowing I’ll get instant feedback will be my greatest motivator, and I need to write this story. 

TLDR-- Pluviophilia (snk fic) ---> Clementine Spring (original work). Message me if I should post!

[sticky943]

Btw well- behaved is an extremely fucking creepy adjective to describe children, like obedient or docile. It is never a moral obligation to obey orders or conform to social norms. Conforming to "decency/decorum/etiquette/msnners" and what is considered socially acceptable/appropriate does NOT and NEVER will make you a good person. The overwhelming reason why parents commit violence against children as discipline is to "teach kids socially acceptable behavior and to stop inappropriate behavior" as arrogantly and self-righteously defined by adults' bias that they're like God and get to dictate right from wrong. Unfortuantely, might has made right far too many times throughout history, and it never should

Would you agree that the concept of maturity is fabricated and only used to further the opression of young people? I.e. "I just dont think theyre mature enough to make that decision for themself"

In a word, yes.

The idea of “maturity” is the whole problematic conflation of age with intelligence/goodness made manifest in a single word. Its very definition implies that being well-behaved, intelligent, considerate of others, etc is dependent upon being “fully grown”.

Its use ultimately serves the same function as insults like “childish”: when an adult is called “immature”, the implication is that any bad behavior they exhibit is, despite being exhibited by an adult, not “real” adult behavior, and thus it can’t reflect poorly on adults as a category. When a child is called “mature”, on the other hand, the implication is that any good behavior they exhibit is not “real” child behavior, and similarly it is not allowed to reflect positively on children.

I have made a conscious effort to avoid using the word “immature”, instead preferring non-aged terms like “emotionally incompetent”. I also avoid praising children as “mature”, preferring to call them kind, thoughtful, intelligent, etc and avoid the implication that they are any less a child for having these qualities.

[thesinglesjukebox]

ELLA MAI - SHOT CLOCK

[6.44]

Special prize goes to the first person to read all these blurbs in under 24 seconds...

Katherine St Asaph: I know it's a song and not an actual ultimatum in literal reality, but repeating "you've got 24 seconds" throughout a 3:21 track is just silly. [3]

Ashley John: "Shot Clock" is the newest Ella Mai single taking up prime time spots in my hip hop radio station's evening commute mixtape, and I've had enough. I skip to the other stations and come back after what feels like five full minutes later and "Shot Clock" is still! on! Maybe it's my fried brain at the end of the workday or just my natural impatience, but what should be a tasteful slow burn feels instead like an overstayed welcome. [4]

Thomas Inskeep: I kinda love how glacial "Shot Clock" is, not to mention how smart the "shot clock" reference is; this '90s baby does her take on '90s R&B proud. [7]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Deliriously fun in Mai's sheer control over the track -- she's in Harden-esque form, putting in a commanding performance full of the kind of high-efficiency gimmicks that I'm a sucker for. She sings! She raps! She out-Drakes Drake, managing to resurface the only useful part of "Legend" into an exultant hook. And most of all, everything here feels distinctively in her style, up to and including the weirdo spoken word outro. [8]

Julian Axelrod: The "Legend" interpolation helps situate Ella Mai in a more contemporary context, but that song works because it knows how and when to build. "Shot Clock" is so spare that it boxes her in. Ella's voice is incredible, which we already knew. Now she just needs a producer who know how to showcase it. [5]

Alfred Soto: So dense is "Shot Clock" that it could have ejected the Drake sample. So present is Ella Mai that she could have sung a poignant Drake cover. Then I got it: she's reading Drake types their rights. Twenty-four seconds to take care of their shit. Her clear, rich range suggests she's got better places to be. [8]

Stephen Eisermann: As if the slinky melody wasn't evocative enough, Ella Mai sings with the passion of a woman growing impatient and really sells the story in the song. Some of the word choices are a bit clunky, but Ella Mai has exceptional phrasing and sells even the bumpiest lyrics. The song could use an additional verse or a bridge, though, as the abrupt spoken word ending is extremely jarring. [6]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: If You're Reading This... marked a point in Drake's discography that proved he was, in fact, capable of rapping competently. Whether he was clearly biting other rappers' flows or hiring ghostwriters is beside the point: an era-defining artist had, in one fell swoop, retroactively made all his previous rapping sound like complete trash to fans who weren't already privy to it. The commercial mixtape would lead the way for a more confident-sounding Drake, one whose culture vulture-isms and manipulative crooning could thrive in a new musical landscape filled with swaths of artists who were already biting his style. As such, the brilliance of "Shot Clock" comes in how the "Legend" interpolation is a direct and knowing glare toward the cocksure, disingenuous men who need to be knocked down several pegs. Mustard includes a sound bite featuring a typical non-excuse: "Shh, I know, I know, and I'm really trying but--". Ella Mai rebuts with an ultimatum that she knows is far too gracious, but will help bring about the obvious end in sight. She'll give 24 seconds, but at this point ...It's Too Late. [7]

Iris Xie: This song is a warning to endlessly well-meaning and patient lovers: it is not a virtue to exist in purgatory for those who don't deserve you. You too can set the timer. The first time Ella Mai sings "shot clock," she sighs, so it almost sounds like "shattered clock." That deft styling reveals a searing, latent bitterness that exposes a weary soul that has been devoid of comfort in the status of her relationship. There is an absolutely sublime moment when her voice sparkles and dances lightly over the melody: "better know I won't think twice (Yeah) / Better let go of your pride". It is so lighthearted, a final exhale before launching next into her callouts. That rage! "Five years of dating, tired of being patient/ What the fuck you're waiting for?" is so loud, so angry; a collapse of patient decorum. It's also revealing of how those who are socialized as women, and identify as women, are expected to sacrifice their needs at the cost of the relationship, and follow the script of "be quiet, be loyal, be compliant." So she swirls in her power, relentless and fearless, boxing in the warped, anonymous vocals that plead and make excuses "(Shhh, I know, I know and I'm really trying, but...)", and casts away those simpering pleads. The rhythm is splendid and patient, and she leans back on it for support as she reclaims her agency away from toxic patriarchic norms of devotion; a reassuring wave of whirrs, snaps, and cooing vocals that asserts her in the right. While listening, I give thanks to her for vocalizing these truths, and lean back into my own bitterness. I make a quiet promise, to myself, to serve the shot clock the next time I find myself in this hell. No more of this bullshit. [10]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[hurl-a-can]

A Quirky Original Character Profile

tagged by @dickeybbqpit - who also made this wonderful template. rules: fill out the {TEMPLATE}; tag me so I don’t miss your post...:-); tag other people (or not, up to you :-))

Loooooo......oooong post - so the rest is under the cut.

Name: Das Davarris

MBTI  ESFP. Not without reservations, but it fits well. Especially when broken down like this:

Lead (Dominant) Process Extraverted Sensing (Se): Immersing in the present context. Responding naturally to everything tangible you detect through your senses. Checking with what your gut instincts say. Testing limits and take risks for big rewards. Support (Auxilliary) Process Introverted Feeling (Fi): Staying true to who you really are. Paying close attention to your personal identity, values and beliefs. Checking with your conscience. Choosing behavior congruent with what is important to you.

That’s him right there.

Enneagram Type Two (Helper), 2w3 (leaning towards the Achiever type). It is pretty accurate. Das genuinely enjoys being helpful and useful and seeing others happy makes him feel happy in turn. But he also bases his entire sense of self-worth around it and he does need to be appreciated if he wants to thrive.  He’ll always reason with himself and try to remind/persuade himself that he ain’t entitled to anything and isn’t owed anything by others. He is aware of that need (and this awareness mostly prevents him from slipping into abusive/manipulative patterns, apart from a little emotional blackmail here or there) - but that doesn’t make him immune to it (if someone he deeply cares for takes him for granted, he WILL eventually grow bitter, withdrawn - and somewhat snappy). Because he ultimately views his need for validation/appreciation as selfish, he has no healthy expression for it.

Alignment Neutral Good. Yep, sounds about right. Das’s first concern always will be ‘what GOOD does this do, and at what cost’. He sure leans more to the Chaotic side of the spectrum. He won’t hesitate to ignore or bend the rules if needed or if they make no fucking sense/are just plain fucking wrong - and he will lose absolutely no sleep over it.   But even though freedom is incredibly important to him and he can find rules, laws and conventions a tad stifling, he’ll shut up and go by the book if he believes it will benefit other individuals or a good cause or the community as a whole. Well... He’ll try his best. His bloody mouth and his rather expressive face like to defy his control and will sabotage him at times - wherever social conventions, formal protocol and decorum are concerned, going by the book often remains an unattainable goal. (Fortunately, he can partly make up for it by his charm.) He also is and always be a compromise seeker - that applies not only to disagreements with individuals, but to clashes with social expectations and norms. 

Temperament Blend Sanguine/Phlegmatic 

Zodiac Sun I’m pretty sure he’s a Gemini. (Because I am a Gemini and Das is basically me turned up to eleven, so...) 

Zodiac Moon Pisces.

Hogwarts House Oh, he’s such a Hufflepuff: Dedication - once he finds his cause, absolutely Hardworking - not necessarily by nature (he’s a lazy fuck, really, happiest when he can just indulge his own whims and fancies) - but definitely by conviction and in practice (nothing in life is for free and shame on you if you don’t at least make the effort) Fairness - the one and only time someone tried the line “the world is unfair and life is unfair” on the Inquisitor, he responded with a decidedly angry (and loud) “How in the Maker’s snotty nostril is that a reason for us not to be fair, you simple berk?” Patience - OK, he’s definitely not that. Kindness - He remembers the kindness he found in unlikely times and unlikely places - and how much good it did him. He always tries to be kind. It ain’t always easy (he gets in...moods) and sometimes it ain’t possible...but he strives for kindness. Always. Tolerance - "If it doesn’t harm me or others, it ain’t any of my fucking business.” Unafraid of toil - ...whatever’s necessary to get the work done. Loyalty - he doesn’t abandon people...or his core principles.

Ilvermony House The quiz sorted him into Horned Serpent House (represents the mind, favours scholars) - but from what little I’ve read, I think he’s more of a Thunderbird (represents the soul, favours adventurers). Das is a curious cat and he does have an almost unquencheable thirst for knowledge - but he doesn’t have a very scholarly mind.

Bending Element/Nonbender (quiz/read): Air Bender.  

You are drawn to freedom. You are fun loving and free spirited and you always find a way to lighten the mood. You feel that helping others is a priority, yet you don't like being tied down. Sometimes your trusting and adventurous nature can make you seem naive or restless, but you use these traits to make friends easily. People trust you. Above all you believe in second chances, change, and finding joy in life.

That’s spot on...

Spirit Guide (read): Took a quiz. It says butterfly. (Flexible, adaptable. ‘In tune with environmental changes.’)

If they could have one superpower (list): He always wanted to be able to breathe underwater. So I’m gonna say - being able to adapt to and comfortably function in any environment/habitat, be it the bottom of the ocean, a volcano, a mountain peak - or the sodding Fade.

One question they would ask a higher being “There is no Maker, is there... No, wait, no no no, don’t tell me I don’t wanna know! I have another one... Some years ago, there was this fella selling fried sweet pancakes on the street in Wycome. They were unlike any pancakes I ever had and they were so delicious I sometimes still dream about them. They were kinda...orange. And they came in different kinds, like filled with paste from rose petals and osmanthus sugar or sprinkled with black sesame or filled with walnut paste... I *think* they were some kind of fruit pulp mixed with flour and spices, but the bastard wouldn’t tell me the recipe. Not even a hint! I’ve never seen or smelled those pancakes anywhere else and whenever I try to ask about them, people look at me like I’m an idiot. Josie thinks they were persimmon cakes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a persimmon. Were they persimmon cakes? How do I make them? I *need* to find out before I die...”

Which single Disney character are they most similar to (list): I don’t care much for Disney and I’ve really only seen a few of those films. But I think he’s kind of a Dory.

Star Wars Class (examples): A Jedi Sentinel, I guess. They’re fast, DW - and cause a lot of damage.

Star Trek Starfleet Job/Division (quiz): Communications Officer. 

“Comm officers always try to find the peaceful solution to a problem, and prefer to hear multiple perspectives on an issue. They are resourceful officers, and can transition easily between the roles of diplomat, linguist and bridge officer. However, communications officers, despite their broad skill sets, often doubt their own achievements, and occasionally need assurance from friends. “

If they were a storm or natural disaster (examples/ quiz): Hurricane. 

“It takes a particular set of circumstances for you to get truly angry, but when it happens there's just no escaping your wrath.”

Describe their aesthetic in five words or less: mercurial, bright, warm, spicy, rough

If their life was a TV show... A fairly balanced mix of drama, comedy and adventure, I think. By BBC (That’s actually important. It’s BBC.)

Describe the way they use and move their body: He moves and carries himself confidently. He’s got a good posture, quick, energetic step and he always seems to be ringing with unreleased energy, like a drown bowstring or a bent branch. He tends to move fast, he goes over obstacles rather than around them and he always lands on his feet. There’s also this constant awareness of his surroundings - ears moving and flicking to catch the tiniest sounds, eyes wide open, gaze darting and wandering, the occasional tllt or turn of the head in response to something heard or seen or smelled... Unless he zones out or goes into hyperfocus, that is. Those moments are perhaps the only instances when he appears calm. He fidgets. A lot. He can’t sit still if his life depended on it. Rubs his nose when he feels awkward or nervous. Quick to grin, quick to scowl. Is a bit of a windmill when he talks. Acts out the things he describes. Will sometimes jump if excited. Casually stretches his arms, legs, shoulders and neck during conversations. His face expressions are constantly changing. He moves his ears a lot. Loves to pull grimaces and funny faces. Likes to show off in a fight. So there be some twirls and flourishes. And he likes to just...charge, head on. No patience for stealth. He dodges rather than blocks. He’s very fast, so he can kinda afford to be the reckless bladestorm he is - but he does get hurt a lot more than strictly necessary for a fighter as skilled as he is. 

Their voice He’s a chatterbox. Babbles a lot. Soliloquizes, too, or speaks to animals and inanimate objects. A lot of what he says is totally bananas. He’s well-read and absorbs new vocab quick and he’s got a gift for language - his speech tends to be rich and riddled with metaphors. He also never quite ceased to be that Denerim street kid - so he doesn’t care much for decorum or good taste where choice of words is concerned. He is louder than most people - but his volume shifts a lot. He can be gentle and soft-spoken - and usually is in more private, intimate (or more serious) conversations. His voice is as expressive as his face. And he’s got a voice claim, actually.

Which of the Dark Triad Traits are they susceptible to (read) A lot of his issues have to do with self-image. So narcissism, probably.

Which Quadrant of the political spectrum do they lie on and how far in, do they even care (test, read):

47.2% Left, 63.9% Liberal Left-liberalism (Social Liberalism): Individuals in this quadrant seek to uphold individual liberty while taxing the market to provide social benefits for those in need. They tend to see themselves as seeking balance between individual liberty and social justice, and to be in favor of multiculturalism, secular government, and international cooperation. While they are typically skeptical of state involvement in social affairs, they nevertheless see a legitimate role for the state in combating discrimination and ensuring equal treatment. 

Most listened to music genre if they lived in our world: I think he’d be into "ethnic” rock and folk fusion. And by ‘ethnic’ I mean deliberately incorporating, reinventing and (re-)interpreting local/historical music traditions and influences that lie outside of the international mainstream (for me, that includes medieval music of Europe). But he’d need that distinct touch of modern sensibility.  So Chirgilchin or Huun Huur Tu wouldn’t quite cut it for him - but Yat-Kha or Sainkho would - and Tanzwut would be more his thing than Corvus Corax. (Also, he wouldn’t give a flying flip whether it is an Indian or a German playing that sitar, or whether it is a Tuvan or a Brit doing the khoomei.)

Their most useless talent: Burp talking, I guess.

If they could change their name or give themselves a nickname, what would it be? He’s fine with Das.  But he’s toyed with the idea of changing the official form of address to the Inquisitor from ‘Your Worship’ to ‘Hey mate, what’s up’.  

tagging: @mocha-writes, @sunshinemage, @fleshwerks, @enchantment1385, @my-da-phase, @seboostianillustrations, @ironbullsmissingeye, @marquis1305, @nerdierholler

... and YOU.

(As usual, no pressure - feel free to scroll past & ignore.)

[dragonfics]

Thanks (again) to @itsladykit I was inspired to write some silly rom-com style TwistedHoneyMoney. The exact words that started it were “Twist/Rus, Cash/Rus, Twist/Cash love triangle (the kind that ends in polyamory, but starts with a rivalry between Twist and Cash)”. How was I to say no to a good old-fashioned love triangle? (Especially one with a Tale-verse monster sandwiched between to Fell-verse idiots).

Relationships: TwistedHoneyMoney (Twistfell Papyrus/Underswap Papyrus/Purple Swapfell Papyrus) (The poly relationship is not yet established in this chapter)

Summary:  Fell-verse monsters have a strange method of courtship—one some might deem a little unorthodox (or, in the words of certain monsters—undignified). Then again, it takes a fool (or two) to underestimate the duplicity of a Tale-verse monster. After all, isn’t it always the ones you least expect?

Tags: Non-explicit sexual content (this chapter), flirting, teasing, unconventional courtship

Warnings: Nothing serious, but this may come across as a sort of “cheating” (though no one is in an established relationship). Everything is consensual however, and the rivalry is in good-spirits (for the most part). But... they are assholes. I’m not even going to try and deny it.

Just two chapters for this one! It was meant to be a one-shot, but I went completely overboard with the “courtship”. (I would also like to apologise to anyone waiting on the next chapter of Argent Night. Unfortunately, I’ve been a bit swamped with uni stuff, so I’ve had to delay the update. I’m hoping to get the next chapter out by next weekend.)

With that all out of the way, I hope you enjoy!

~Beneath the cut~

When the Barrier had broken, and monsters had reached the Surface, it had soon become apparent that certain members of their race were more suited to life among humans than others. While many monsters settled comfortably into their new lifestyle, some found themselves struggling to adapt to the everyday norms of human society.

“Public transport? What a concept! Why on earth would I travel out in the open where anyone could attack me without warning?”

These more ill-fitted monsters were dubbed ‘Fell-verse’ by the gentler portion of their cohort, given the widespread notion that they were merely ‘fallen’ versions of the average monster.

Naturally, the Fell-verse monsters were not pleased with this distinction, and chose to name the softer members of their species ‘Tale-verse’—as an act of petty revenge (in their own eyes, at least).

“Utter airheads, the lot of them! Waltzing around as if life is some sort of fairy-tale.”

But despite a few initial disagreements, the Tale-verse and Fell-verse monsters soon came to develop a sort of fondness of each other (though neither would ever admit it openly). Though they still butted heads occasionally, their fascination with each other took over many early misgivings.

Compassion, joy, and zest were all fairly foreign concepts to many Fell-verse monsters. So it came as quite a shock to them when the Tale-verse monsters displayed such things so openly. Words like ‘naivety’, ‘absent-mindedness’, and even ‘stupidity’ were thrown around by some. Others, however, found themselves quite enthralled by the sweeter monsters, and many Fell-verse monsters were soon to be seen wandering the streets in the company of Tale-verse monsters.

And indeed, the Fell monsters weren’t the only ones intrigued by their counterparts. Many Tale-verse monsters derived amusement from the brash behaviour of Fell-verse monsters. More than once, a Tale-verse monster would have to explain the common social etiquettes of human society to a Fell-verse monster.

“He wasn’t trying to kill you, he was just offering you a drink.”

And, as time took its course, the question of Tale-verse and Fell-verse monsters entering ‘intimate relationships’ with each other arose. At first, the mere suggestion was met with utter indignance.

On the Tale-verse end, one often heard comments such as: “Utterly absurd! Can you imagine actually trying to tame one of those creatures long enough to have relations with it? I, for one, am content to let them ravage each other instead of those of us with a little dignity!”

And, on the Fell-verse side of things: “yeah, i guess i’d fuck a—heh—tail-verse or two. but, like, do they even know what they’re doin’? … do they know what fuckin’ is?”

Yet for all the doubts and naysaying, nature inevitably took its course, and soon, relationships between Fell-verse and Tale-verse monsters came to be—rare, though they were.

It soon came to the attention of the Tale-verse monsters however, that their Fell-verse counterparts had a fairly… abnormal method of courtship. Many seemed to lack the charisma acquired to ‘woo’ the Tale-verse monsters—a fact they made up for in blunt, unashamed forwardness. And though this approach had its benefits (most Fell monsters weren’t overly fond of small-talk), its success rate was fairly laughable. As it turned out, Tale-verse monsters tended to expect a little more decorum from their suitors.

Another trait which seemed prominent among Fell-verse monsters, was the (sometimes mildly aggressive) tendency towards competitiveness. And in the case of seduction, this often led to the unabashed art of bragging of one’s conquests. It soon became a point of pride, for one to be able to say that they had been intimate with a Tale-verse monster. After all, what sort of social prowess must one possess to be able to seduce such an enigmatic creature?

 Twist, a skeleton monster (and one of very few, at that), could make no claim to possessing any degree of subtlety or finesse when faced with social encounters. What he didn’t lack however—was confidence. While he’d never been one to brag (at least, not explicitly), his list of Tale-verse conquests was to be admired. Whether it was his words or his reputation—few could be sure—but Twist seemed to possess a knack for charming his way into the beds of Tale-verse monsters.

Cash, another Fell-verse skeleton, could make similar proclamations about his sex-life—and he did. Though a little shy of Twist’s level of confidence, Cash was a very proud monster, and took great strides to ensure the word of his prowess spread as far as was possible. Though he lacked Twist’s charm (and for Twist, ‘charm’ was probably a generous descriptor), he certainly had no shortage of affluence. When his wits failed him, he always had his wealth to fall back on (and it served him well).

But, as it stood, neither Twist nor Cash were quite satisfied with the list of successful Tale-verse endeavours to their names. There was one they would have liked to add—a monster they’d both had in interest in for quite some time.

Rus was a Tale-verse skeleton—and a rather fascinating one at that (in the shared opinion of Twist and Cash, in any case). Though Tale-verse through and through, Rus was rather a curiosity for the two Fell skeletons. He smiled—a lot—yet there was something behind his smile that left the mind wondering. The smile was by no means false, but it held a certain degree of ambiguity, which stirred an element of uncertainty—and intrigue—in the Fell-verse skeletons.

Being of the same ilk, Twist and Cash saw in each other a competitor for Rus’s affections. While both had yet to make a move on him, the tension between them had been present for a long time. And it was on a warm Friday night—at one of the skeletons’ weekly gatherings—that these tensions rose to a head.

****

Twist was a monster who made it his mission to spend as much time in public as his schedule allowed. So when the Tale-verse skeletons had proposed a weekly ‘pub night’—a visit to their neighbourhood’s local watering hole—Twist had been one of the first to speak up in favour of the idea (in spite of many of the other Fell-verse skeletons’ protests to the ‘Tale-verse nonsense’). And once the tradition had begun, Twist had become one of the few (if not the only) to attend every single gathering.

And this week was no different. He sat at the bar, sipping his drink and observing the other patrons (monsters and humans alike) chatting and laughing away. It was a relatively quiet night, and only a few of the skeletons had deigned to show up. Rus and Cash were both in attendance, and as it stood—very much occupied by each other.

Twist watched, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement, as Cash made his very best effort to hold Rus’s attentions. They were seated in a booth along with two of the other skeletons—Red, and Blackberry (Twist’s brother). But neither Rus nor Cash were paying much heed to the other two, sitting a little closer to each other than was perhaps necessary for an ordinary conversation.

But Twist knew it would be a while still before Cash was ready to make his move. The set of his shoulders was tense and anxious, and he barely seemed able to maintain eye contact with Rus for more than a few seconds. Twist would have been more than eager to indulge himself in the entertaining activity of watching Cash squander each passing opportunity to seduce Rus for the entire night—but, Twist wasn’t known for his patience, so after downing the remainder of his drink, he stood and crossed the bar.

As he approached the booth, Rus and Cash both looked up (the latter appearing a little less than pleased at the intrusion). “Heya, Tale-verse,” Twist addressed Rus, grinning.

“twisted,” Rus greeted in response.

Cash was giving Twist an apathetic glare, and Twist lifted a challenging brow-bone before returning his attentions to Rus. “Y’know, ‘m feelin’ a little pent up—ya wanna head back ta my place fer a couple a’ hours?”

Twist knew he was taking a risk; though this very direct method of enticement had worked in the past, Rus was difficult to read. Cash, on the other hand, made no effort to hide his bewilderment. “for goodness sake, twist, ya can’t just—”

“sure,” Rus responded, standing. Cash blinked, clearly stunned (in truth, Twist couldn’t claim to be any less surprised, but he refrained from revealing as much). Rus shot Cash a smile. “i’ll see you later, moneybags.”

Cash seemed to be struggling to find words, looking crestfallen as Twist slung an arm over Rus’s shoulders, pulling him against his side. “Don’ worry, Patches, I’ll take good care a’ him,” Twist said, knowing full well that the nickname embarrassed Cash to no end.

True to his nature, Cash blushed a pale shade of violet, ducking his head and turning his covered eye away. Twist chuckled, and pressed his teeth to the crown of Rus’s skull. “Ready ta head off then, sweetheart? I’m as good as they say, promise,” he added, with a wink.

“oh, i don’t doubt it,” Rus said. “and if you prove to be better—maybe i’ll even consider fucking you again.” Twist took no small amount of delight in the smug grin he was able to cast in Cash’s direction as he led Rus from the bar.

Needless to say, he’d won.

 And, as it turned out, Rus was just as profound a partner as Twist had been hoping (more so, even). His stamina was surprising for someone of his HP, and he made very little effort to keep himself quiet (which Twist appreciated immensely). He was also astoundingly more attentive than Twist had been expecting—leaving Twist more satisfied than he could have hoped for.

As they lay beside each other on Twist’s mattress, Twist couldn’t help but grin to himself. “Gotta say, Tale-verse, I’m impressed,” he said, a little breathlessly.

“i’d be offended if you weren’t,” Rus replied, smirking. He rolled over, pressing himself against Twist’s side and resting his head on his shoulder. “you weren’t half bad yourself.”

Twist was somewhat startled by the gentle display of affection—and had to remind himself for a moment that Rus was a Tale-verse monster. Well, though unfamiliar, it certainly wasn’t anything Twist was opposed to. After a moment’s hesitation, he returned the gesture, wrapping an arm around Rus. It felt… nice.

The pleasant haze of their afterglow was broken by the dull buzz of Rus’s cell phone. Casting Twist a sheepish grin, he untangled himself from his arms, turning over and answering the call. “heya, cash. what’s up?”

Twist froze in disbelief. Why would Patches be calling now…?

“what am i doing…?” Rus turned to cast Twist a wink. “something unfathomably stupid.” Twist stifled a snort, but watched Rus carefully. There was no chance Cash was simply calling for a friendly chat; his motivations were undoubtedly less than honest. “hmm, your place?” Rus’s response to whatever Cash had said confirmed Twist’s suspicions. “tell you what—why don’t you give me an hour? that work?” Rus stifled a snort, his gaze flickering to Twist. “yeah, i’ll shower first, you asshole. see you soon.”

For a moment, Twist had to remind himself not to gape. He stared at Rus as he hung up, struggling to hide his bewilderment. “Yer… meetin’ up with Patches?” he asked cautiously, ensuring he hadn’t misunderstood the phone call.

Rus flushed slightly, but smiled, his eyes darting away from Twist. “yeah… something wrong with that?”

Twist blinked, trying to comprehend the situation. While Cash’s intrusion was not unexpected—Rus’s agreement to his offer certainly was. Still, Twist wasn’t one to back down so easily—though he couldn’t stop Rus from engaging with Cash tonight… he could certainly delay him. “We still go ‘n hour, don’ we?”

Rus shrugged. “i suppose.”

“Good.” Grinning, Twist rolled them over, straddling Rus’s hips. He leaned down, kissing the surprised look off Rus’s face. “’Cause I’ve got a few more things I’d like ta do ta ya before ya go.”

Twist considered it a victory that Rus didn’t have time to shower before he left.

 Twist made sure to awake before sunrise the next morning. His bones ached pleasantly from the previous night’s activities, and his magic felt considerably warm and settled. After a quick breakfast, he made his way to the nearest bus stop. He was at Cash’s house before seven. Not bothering to ring the bell of the ridiculously pricy penthouse, Twist waltzed inside—noting that Cash seemed to have forgotten to lock the front door. He certainly must have been eager.

To Twist’s surprise, Rus was sprawled out on one of the lavish sofas in the living room, fast asleep. Cash was nowhere in sight. Shooting a cautious glance at the staircase, Twist approached Rus, placing a light hand on his shoulder. “Hey, Tale-verse,” he whispered, as Rus blearily opened his eye sockets. He blinked at Twist in surprise, a hint of amusement in his features.

“twisted… couldn’t stay away, could you?” Rus murmured through a yawn.

“Nah.” Twist grinned, climbing onto the sofa beside Rus. “Patches made ya sleep on the couch?” he questioned, lifting a brow bone.

“who says we were sleeping?” Rus asked, smirking.

Twist chuckled, leaning in. “Wanna not sleep some more?”

Rus snorted. “you sure have a way with words, twisted. do you want me to suck you off or eat you out?”

Twist grinned, feeling victorious. Leaning in, he pressed their teeth together, satisfied by Rus’s soft hum of appreciation. “How ‘bout both?” he murmured, nipping at Rus’s jaw.

Rus drew away to regard him with dubiety. “now you’re just being greedy.”

“Why waste a mouth as exquisite as yers on jus’ one form of oral?”

“well now, how can i say no to such a sweet-talker?”

Twist couldn’t decide if he was more satisfied by Rus’s performance, or the look on Cash’s face when he emerged at the top of the stairs to find Rus with his head between Twist’s legs.

 A week passed without incident (sexual or otherwise), and it wasn’t until the skeletons’ next gathering that Twist saw Rus and Cash again. The day was hot, and Twist was thankful for the cool air-conditioning inside the bar. What he was not so thankful for however, was the sight of Cash and Rus huddled beside each other in one of the corner booths.

By all appearances, things seemed fairly normal (but, perhaps, for their proximity to each other). But as Twist drew closer, he came to notice a rather strange expression on Rus’s face. He looked almost pained, and light beads of sweat dotted his skull. It was only when Twist caught Cash’s expression—an almost vindictive grin—that he realised something more was at play.

Any other monster would have shied away the moment they caught whim of what was going on between the two skeletons—but Twist wasn’t just any monster. Shame was something relatively foreign to him, and without qualm, he sat down beside them, shooting Cash a broad grin. “Heya, Tale-verse—Patches—what’re ya up to?”

Rus’s eyes went wide, a heavy blush sinking into his features. But when he opened his mouth to speak, Cash cut in, leaning over to regard Twist with a challenging tilt of his head. “not much. i was just givin’ rus a hand with somethin’. isn’t that right, sweetheart?” Rus blushed deeper as Cash’s teeth grazed his neck, but he nodded (a little breathlessly), remaining silent.

Twist observed them, projecting unfazed amusement despite the frustration Cash was igniting within him. “Well,” he said, shrugging with casual indifference and leaning back, “don’ stop on my account.”

“we weren’t,” Cash growled, and Rus whimpered softly, turning to bury his face in Cash’s chest. But Cash stopped him, holding him at bay with his free hand (the other was currently… occupied). “nah, love. i want ya ta look at him. go on. turn around.”

Rus stared at Cash for a few seconds, tears leaking from the corners of his eye sockets, before turning hesitantly to look at Twist. Cash pressed his teeth to Rus’s acoustic meatus, whispering something too quiet for Twist to hear. But given the sudden heated look that crossed Rus’s features—it wasn’t difficult to guess the nature of Cash’s words.

Twist knew walking away would be admitting defeat, but he still felt thoroughly put on the spot. Embarrassment wasn’t really an emotion he was familiar with, yet he could feel magic tingling beneath the surface of his bones. Rus’s expression was an enticing mixture of bliss and discomposure, his eyes straying from Twist’s face, and his cheeks glowing. Though Twist would normally be more than inclined to enjoy the display, Cash’s complacent smirk was very off-putting.

He relinquished to sit and watch, forcing his features to appear neutral, until at last Cash pressed his hand over Rus’s mouth to muffle his cries, and pulled away. “you were perfect, darlin’,” Cash murmured, running his tongue over Rus’s neck, while keeping his gaze firmly locked on Twist. “gonna go wash my hands,” he said, sliding out of the booth and casting Twist a triumphant smirk. “don’t worry, love, i took good care of ‘im.”

Twist watched Cash go, pressing back the retorts he itched to speak. When Cash was out of sight, Twist turned to Rus, who still looked a little flushed. Shuffling over, Twist traced his fingers over the back of Rus’s hand playfully, leaning in to murmur, “Need me ta take ya home, Tale-verse? I can give y’a ride.”

Rus glanced at him, lifting a brow-bone. “you don’t drive,” he pointed out.

“Not that kinda ride, sweetheart.”

By some miracle, Rus agreed. Twist was more than obliged to continue his rivalry with Cash—indeed, he was rather delighted. The competition was thrilling—seeing the mix of outrage and frustration on Cash’s face every time Twist gained the upper hand was immensely satisfying. Not to mention, Rus was a damn good fuck.

****

Cash had never been one for socialising. He tended to avoid human (and monster) interaction as much as physically possible, and spending time in the presence of crowds was a peeve of his. He had been one of the first to reject the bullshit Tale-verse suggestion for a ‘weekly hang-out’. In fact, the first time he had attended had only been at Twist’s unrelenting insistence.

He had attended every one since.

Cash liked Rus. He liked talking to him, being around him, touching him. He was all sweet smiles and soft whispers and subtle glances that made Cash feel wanted. So on that warm Friday night, Cash’s soul had leapt a little when Rus had chosen to sit beside him. Him—and not that Twisted asshole who kept shooting them glances from across the bar. Cash made sure to establish the fact that Rus’s attentions were his for the night. He shuffled close to him, leaned in, and did his best to smile and engage.

But for the life of him, he couldn’t seem to get the right words out—hell, he could barely look at Rus without blushing. And before long, Twist was standing beside their booth, his body angled in such a way that flaunted the sharp curve of his hip and displayed just a sliver of his clavicle. His eyes were on Rus, but Cash caught the brief smug glances in his direction.

When Rus left with Twist, it felt as if a dagger had embedded itself in Cash’s chest. His fists trembled at his sides, and he could do little but stare at the hard oak of the table as his magic boiled. He caught a glimpse of Blackberry’s smug half-smile across the table, and snapped his head up, teeth gritted. “somethin’ to say, berry?”

Blackberry sighed, sounding almost pitying. “You’re not going to win against him, Cash,” he stated simply.

Irritated, Cash cast a glance at Red, who merely shrugged in concession. “yeah, uh, sorry bud. the twisted’s got ya beat by a mile an’ a half.”

Cash stared at both of them for half a minute before standing abruptly, marching for the door without so much as a ‘goodbye’. He seldom bothered mustering the energy for petty competitions—but Twist somehow seemed to know just which of his buttons to push, and Cash was nothing if not stubborn. He would not be losing this.

 Relief flooded Cash when Rus picked up on the other end of the line around an hour later (a very small part of him entertained the idea that Rus had been hoping Cash would call). And Rus’s unfaltering agreement to come over sent Cash’s soul aflutter. He couldn’t help but grin to himself as he hung up, wishing more than anything that he could see the look on the Twisted bastard’s face.

When Rus arrived an hour later, he was looking a little dishevelled. “you smell like sex,” Cash remarked, letting him in.

Rus hummed in agreement, crossing the room and flopping onto one of the plush sofas. “uh… yeah. that’s normally what happens when you have sex.” Cash felt a sick pit settling in his chest, and he grimaced. Seeming to sense his discomfort, Rus quickly shook his head, smiling. “but… feel free to try and prove me wrong.” His tongue danced over his teeth, and Cash felt warmth pooling in his groin.

After pouring them both a glass of his most expensive champagne, he sat beside Rus, who seemed more than grateful for the drink. “are you trying to get me drunk, cash?” he asked, lifting a brow-bone in teasing.

“i’m trying to give you the treatment you deserve,” Cash told him, smoothly. His breath stuttered as Rus’s hand glided slowly up his femur, settling just beneath his pelvic inlet.

“fuck me on this sofa, and i’ll consider myself treated,” Rus purred, pressing his teeth against Cash’s neck. Though Cash normally turn his nose up at the thought of sullying his pristine couches—he decided to make an exception for Rus.

And oh, was he glad he did. Though fucking Rus was sweet and gentle, it was nothing like Cash had imagined it to be. Though Rus was soft and considerate—he was by no means submissive. Even as Cash pounded into him, he could feel Rus guiding his movements, encouraging him, whispering words of praise and adoration.

When Cash came, it was with tears in his eyes, and Rus’s name falling from his mouth. He flushed at how embarrassingly quickly he had reached his climax, but Rus seemed unconcerned, almost immediately curling up against him and falling asleep.

A little startled at the unreserved display of trust, Cash carefully pried himself out of Rus’s arms, gathering a blanket and draping it over him before hurrying upstairs, his cheeks burning. A small bloom of pride unfurled inside him—where Rus had only remained with Twist for a mere hour, he had chosen to stay with Cash for an entire night (even if he was only sleeping on his sofa). Cash almost considered joining him, but decided against it, the thought a little daunting.

Needless to say, the fury and despair he felt at finding Twist in his living room the next morning with Rus’s face buried in his crotch—was unfathomable. Cash vowed nothing short of bitter revenge in return.

 A week later, he delivered on his promise.

The blistering heat of the day did nothing to quell the heady agitation of Cash’s magic, and he was more than grateful when he found Rus sitting in their usual booth alone at the bar. Sliding in beside him, he pushed his misgivings to the back of his mind, and slung his arm over Rus’s shoulders, leaning into him. “bit warm today, isn’ it?” he remarked, satisfied by the look of surprise on Rus’s face.

“i—i suppose it is,” Rus said, seeming a little taken off guard by the physical gesture. This delighted Cash, and he tugged Rus closer. He could feel the heat radiating from his body, and dared to indulge the idea that Rus might be just as horny as he was.

He turned his head to press his teeth to the angle of Rus’s jaw, feeling a shudder go through Rus as he scraped his teeth over the bone. “hmm… you smell delicious, y’know that?”

Rus’s breath hitched as Cash’s fingers found the waistband of his pants, teasing at the base of his spine and iliac crest. “i—the others might be here soon,” he murmured, his breathing beginning to quicken.

“do you want me ta stop?” Cash asked, pausing.

“i don’t… n-no.”

“good,” Cash breathed, his fingers finding the pool of magic which had settled at Rus’s pelvic inlet. “because i really don’t want ta stop… and besides, pretty sure the twisted asshole is the only one showin’ up today.”

Rus pulled away slightly to glance at him, a brow-bone lifted in skeptical amusement. Cash flushed a little, suddenly wishing he hadn’t spoken. But to his surprise, Rus only grinned and leaned close to whisper, “well then, we’d better put on a damn good show.”

By the time Twist arrived, Rus was barely short of a mess of sweat and magic in Cash’s hands (or, hand, rather). The sudden expansion of Twist’s eye-light didn’t surprise Cash, and he smirked as he caught Twist’s gaze. He was a little surprised when Twist sat down beside them—even more so when he remained where he was after it became obvious that Cash wasn’t stopping.

Cash heaved Rus closer, wrapping his free arm around his chest possessively, and whispering obscene words against his skull. Throughout the encounter, he refused to release Twist’s gaze—the bastard needed to learn that Cash wasn’t one to accept defeat so easily. For once, Cash found himself struggling to read Twist’s expression. His eye would occasionally stray to Rus’s face, but for the most part, he seemed to be having difficulty keeping it off Cash.

When Rus came, Cash pressed his hand over his mouth to silence him, despite the rowdy chatter that filled the bar. He allowed Rus barely a moment to catch his breath before leaning in to smooth his tongue over Rus’s neck. “you were perfect, darlin’,” he breathed, softly, carefully gauging Twist’s response. To his disappointment, Twist appeared (for the most part) unaffected by the display, but for the pale flush of magic around the spiderweb cracks of his eye socket. Giving Rus’s femur a gentle squeeze, Cash stood. “gonna go wash my hands.” He glanced at Twist, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “don’t worry, love, i took good care of ‘im.”

As he walked away, Cash preened at the way Twist’s jaw clenched—just a little. Though he knew this competition of theirs was far from over, he couldn’t help but revel in his small victory. While he was more than enjoying the pleasure of Rus’s company, he was beginning to find himself quite thrilled by Twist’s small slips in composure. The idea of seeing him fall apart completely was… more than intriguing.

****

The feud between Twist and Cash continued for weeks. With Rus as their weapon of choice, they tormented each other to no end—going so far as to interrupt one another in the midst of their ‘revenge schemes’. One positive at least, was that Rus seemed to have no complaints in regards to the arrangement. If he had any reservations about his role in Twist and Cash’s rivalry, he made no mention of them. Truth be told, he appeared a rather enthusiastic participant.

But, one Friday night at the bar, their antics were brought to a rather abrupt end.

Twist’s hand had somehow found its way up the back of Rus’s shirt, and he had his fingers curled around Rus’s spine—a predicament Rus seemed quite satisfied with. Particularly when coupled with the feeling of Cash’s sharp fingers on his ribs. The look on his face was something akin to deep bliss—though the same could not be said for Twist and Cash. Over Rus, they shared a piercing glare, each determined to outdo the other.

It was only when Edge (who had been observing the endeavour in silent distaste after being quite forgotten by the other three skeletons) loudly declared, “Oh for fuck’s sake, Rus—would you just pick one of them?”—that Twist, Cash, and Rus all came to a simultaneous halt, looking up at Edge in surprise.

Immediately, Twist and Cash exchanged a frantic glance. In the midst of all their attempts to best each other, not once had it occurred to them to simply ask Rus which of them he preferred. And suddenly, all attention was on the Tale-verse skeleton, who faltered beneath the gazes of the other three. “w-well…” he stammered, averting his gaze.

“… well?” Cash was quite literally sitting on the edge of his seat, his fingers clenched around the corner of the table. “which of us is it?”

Rus shook his head, releasing a quiet, humourless laugh. “look—it’s not that easy. i—”

“C’mon, Patches,” Twist interjected, shooting Cash a dubious grin. “It’s obviously me. Ya can’ even last more than a couple a’ minutes.”

Fuming, Cash opened his mouth to snap back at Twist—but Edge quickly cut in, sighing. “Aggrandising your own sexual prowess isn’t going to achieve anything, Twist,” he said, sharply, silencing Twist. “It’s precisely how the two of you landed yourselves in this dilemma in the first place… Rus?” Something unspoken seemed to pass between Rus and Edge—an understanding beyond what Twist or Cash had the capacity to comprehend in that moment.

Rus glanced between Twist and Cash anxiously, resting a hand on each of their arms. But their surprise at the unexpected gentle contact was nothing compared to when Rus quietly confessed, “i… i want both of you.”

[acrossdeeprivers]

The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel

When we think of women in the 1950s, particularly American women, we think about their very distinct aesthetics, the pop-y pastel-colored dresses, the carefully structured hairdos, and that honey-glazed, always enthused manner of presenting oneself. Personalities brighter than the sun. That’s a postcard image of a 50’s woman, a pop culture cliché.

Of course, not all of them talk and walk like dopey dolled-eyed damsels in the television shows and movies. They were real people living in a post-war era, later known as the ‘Golden Era’, accommodating the challenges of the new age. But stereotypes don’t write itself. There must be a smudge of everyday truth in that square image. Maybe a paint bucket. I don’t know, I wasn’t alive yet at that time.

But there is one woman, on the Upper East side, in New York City, during 1958, who stomped on that cliché when she stepped one foot in inside the world of stand-up comedy. And yes, she living fictionally in Amy Sherman-Palladino’s head. About a month ago, I finished watching Amazon’s best new series, The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel and I cannot shut myself up thinking or talking about it. It was that brilliant!

I first heard about the show when it won the 2018 Golden Globe’s Best Television Show - Musical or Comedy and it’s lead who won the Best Actress category. Rachel Brosnahan played Miriam ‘Midge’ Maisel, a Jewish housewife and mother of 2, who discovers she has a natural aptness for comedic stage performances after a sudden separation from her husband. Brosnahan just breathed life to Midge oh so magically!

I’m not going to summarize what happens in this series because I deeply believe everyone should watch it. Well, not everyone. With the exception of underage little people and Antisemites. No, see, I think the latter should definitely check it out.

What I wanted to impress upon on is, why this show nestled itself into the urban jungle of my psyche and why it will probably stay there for more seasons to come. Shall we?

1. The Comedy Is Real. It’s a well-written, well-acted and over-all well-produced Chocolate Babka of a show, and it’s fucking hilarious! Embarrassingly, it’s my third time now (and counting) watching it and every time I discover some cheeky little dialogue or catchphrases that was even funnier this time around. And to my surprise, it comes from the supporting characters. That’s when you know the script is golden. Schmolden.

2. A Funny Woman In A Man’s Funny World. With all the good things happening in regards to the women’s movement and fight for equality (Women’s Marches, Impact10x10x10, Times Up, etc.) these past few months and years, this show couldn’t be more concurrent.

Midge is a 50’s women. Fictive Fact. The fashion sense, the plush lifestyle, the marital & maternal status, she lives as a privileged 50’s woman. Yes, she subscribes to the collective norm on how women’s social decorum should be. Until that is.

Midge started to notice and learn about the “absurdities” in society and the silliness of the expectations on her gender or, most of the time, lack thereof. Then, she speaks about it. And makes fun of it.

I think her character development is the highlight of the show.

3. The Jewish Culture. With Laughs. Obviously, a lot of the amusing statements and jokes that is particular to being Jewish, I wouldn’t get. But I got so invested that I research most of it and learned. And I laughed some more. Maybe except for that Adam and Eve bit, I did get first-hand information regarding that one. We, kind of, share the biblical once-upon-a-time reference.

4. The World Of Stand-Up. It wasn’t my first introduction to stand-up but I did enjoy its pick-behind-the-curtain narrative into that seemingly scuzzy yet profoundly enlightening and intelligible world. What does it take to be a comic and all that jazz. And I learned about Lenny Bruce!

And Bob Newhart, Mort Sahl, Joan Rivers and many more.

Yes, old school comedy might be my new thing now.

[nebris]

This is Going to Get Worse

“Send her back” is what Trumpism has been all along. This is what Donald Trump is, and what Donald Trump always was. | The Baffler  

Watching a virtually all-white crowd of viciously angry, red-faced people chanting “Send her back!” at the mention of Representative Ilhan Omar during the President’s latest herrenvolk rally was horrifying. But the real horror is that this, sixteen months out from the election, is just the tip of an iceberg. This is bad and it will get worse. Much worse.

It will get worse because nobody is going to stop it, or is even trying. It will get worse because this is what Trumpism has been all along, because this narcissistic fraud is the vicar of every American who has longed for someone to say the quiet part loudly. It will get worse because conservatives either agree with him or look the other way in exchange for advancing their policy goals.

It will get worse because the media learned absolutely nothing from 2016, and every time Trump kicks the ball a gaggle of a hundred reporters chase it, overanalyzing it, giving Both Sides a chance to opine on it, and asking customers in Ohio diners how they’d like to see the ball kicked next time. It will get worse because the default media frame for covering racism is, “Was this racism?” and because they still believe that congressional Republicans will surely turn on Trump with the next outburst because Republicans are people of honor and integrity, because the entire worldview of legacy media requires that to be true.

It will get worse because the House majority for which so many people fought so hard in 2018 has already signaled that impeachment is off the table, so even the pretense of accountability or oversight is gone. Instead, the House intends to hold endless “hearings” and point desperately to the Mueller Report like the losing coaches point to the rule book in Air Bud, gesticulating wildly as the dog dunks on them over and over, and the crowd loves the dog with all its heart and looks at the losing team with the contempt reserved for such demonstrations of learned helplessness, while the very voters to whom Democrats most desperately want to appeal don’t know or care about rules but sure do notice that one team managed to lose a basketball game to a fucking dog.

It will get worse because the leadership of the Democratic Party is not built, temperamentally or constitutionally, for this fight. It is built for 1996, ready to debate the V-chip or whether the top tax bracket should be 36 percent or 39 percent. It is a party built to negotiate, to concede, and to see “getting something done” as the value-neutral definition of victory. They are clutching to their treasured consensus politics, to their norms and to decorum, and it will never happen because the only people who give a shit about those things are elites with nothing really at stake, now or ever.

It will get worse because the Democratic Party still believes that the mushy center is the place to campaign against Trump, that white votes are the only votes worth winning, that people of color or young people will never vote so why bother giving them a reason to, and that, in the brilliant words of Chuck Schumer, “for every blue-collar Democrat we lose in western Pennsylvania, we will pick up two moderate Republicans in the suburbs in Philadelphia.”

Except they didn’t, and they won’t, and now they want the Blue Collar Guy back. He will never come back, because the stereotypical “white working class” media caricature has lost his job and watched his city disintegrate and has no future, so whiteness is his last remaining asset, and he likes the candidate who promises to protect it. After all, implicit in every musing about Trump-loving whites “losing ground” is that being white means, and should mean, being comfortably ahead. It is the simplest explanation for why every racist outburst, far from being the one that turns Trump supporters away, makes them love him even harder. He knows what they want, and he will give it to them in the increasing doses needed to achieve a buzz over time, and if it gets more people killed in a synagogue or driven over at a rally, that’s mere collateral damage to people whose worldview is already based on the idea that every victim had it coming.

It will get worse because an entire generation of people under forty has already been written off to a life of lowered expectations and debt peonage—a generation that might get more riled up by the politics of Social Security and Medicare had they not already resigned themselves to the reality that neither will exist when, if, they reach old age. None of the relevant social, political, or economic institutions are undergoing an intergenerational transition of power; instead, Boomers have decided simply to stay at the helm until death comes, and since nobody except them has ever mattered it’s no big deal if everything burns down on their way out.

Most of all, it will get worse because this is what Donald Trump is, and what Donald Trump always was, and what so many Respectable People spent so much time over the past three years desperately insisting, pretending, hoping, admonishing, that Donald Trump is not. He is a blank, sucking nullity of ego and omnidirectional rage, angry that he does not have more of what he deserves, which is more. More money, more adulation, more power, more Playboy models, more tacky Central African dictator furniture, more flaccid suburban dad golf resorts. The Chinese government figured it out long before many Americans will: throw Trump a big parade, and he will give you anything, because inside he is a twelve-year-old boy who wants to be king, a king so gaudy that no one could possibly mistake him for anything else.

It will get worse for every single one of the 470 days from now until Election Day 2020, because every institution tasked with preventing this from happening and capable of stopping it has instead decided to let it happen. All of it—the racism, the xenophobia, the unsubtle encouragement to violence, the total disregard for the consensus politics of the past century that most liberals still think is possible because The West Wing and cable news and listening to Beltway consultants who never win anything broke them psychologically—will get worse, because this is a monster that dies if it stops growing.

The paeans for a return to bipartisan normalcy are misguided and delusional but also useful indicators of just how far away we are, collectively, from getting it. There is no going back, no putting the genie of a mainstreamed, legitimized white nationalism back in the bottle. The politics of Blood and Soil can’t be accommodated, compromised with, or made to see reason. They can only be defeated, and we are still at the stage of trying to negotiate with them.

https://thebaffler.com/latest/this-is-going-to-get-worse-burmila

[readertexas-blog]

Political Amnesia

Political Amnesia

"Not long ago, Bret Stephens, who left the Wall Street Journal for the Times and has been an admirable mainstay of the anti-Trumpist movement among conservatives, wrote a touching piece about his father, and the decency of the values that he exemplified, especially when it came to the treatment of women, in the workplace and outside it. “Our culture could sorely use a common set of ideas about male decorum and restraint in the 21st century, along with role models for those ideas,” Stephens wrote. “Who, in the age of Trump, is teaching boys why not to grope—even when they can, even when ‘you can do anything’?” But nowhere did Stephens acknowledge that, less than a year ago, America did have, in President Barack Obama, a near-perfect model of male decorum and restraint, who in his own behavior and words taught boys how to be men who honored and respected women.

The point is not that what Obama did was necessarily always admirable, but that amnesia about even the very recent past has become essential to the most decent conservative politics…” (https://www.newyorker.com/news/daily-comment/a-year-of-donald-trump-in-the-white-house - Adam Gopnik)

I wonder if, amid the analyzing of why people seem to forget the damage one politician or political party does, turning around to vote for the offending party (think GOP 2010), what we witness instead are simple, unshakeable biases that we ubiquitously inherit and — one way or another — hold onto; that too much attention is paid to a triumphant mid-term election and too little attention is paid to voting trends from one generation to the next.  While it’s cliche to state that politics and psychology are interwoven, is the cliche itself sufficiently examined by the commentariat, much less voters themselves?  

Although the concept of speaking to people’s hearts instead of their minds is conceptually simple, I find it remarkable how easily that golden rule of politics is either ignored or bungled by failed campaigns/politicians (1).  However, even if a politician truly does ‘get through’ to people, how likely is any leader going to alter the beliefs a voter — or voters — have build and held their entire lives?  Figures like Eisenhower, Nixon and Clinton come to mind when reckoning with this question, i.e. politicians who — regardless of their political expertise and cultural reverence — didn’t radically shift the policy dynamics of the government.  

I’d argue Trump's offered the United States an opportunity to make use of generational folly and force a change in governmental dynamics.  His movement assigns agency and responsibility to the population of which it’s capable of undertaking but that, however, it lacks in direction, energy and resources.  Trump’s politics, although diseased, is nevertheless a politics of the heart, speaking to recesses of our collective being we’d rather ignore yet, if properly examined, could do us a tremendous service.  The rational and irrational biases of any voting bloc is, for the first time in a long time, being shaken.

How?  

Thanks to the Iraq/Afghan Wars, Great Recession, healthcare and student debt crises — coupled with the dying off the WWII Generation, I think we’re at a moment in which biases are being reworked.  Further, I’d argue Trump did us a favor in what he unearthed with his campaign, his rhetoric and Presidency, for Trump the Man and Trump the Movement have forced us into an internal reckoning which we as a country have avoided but deserve. Fundamental questions have to be asked, if not among the current generation of officeholders then the next: Do we want an oligarchy or a democracy?  Is authoritarianism better than republican rule?  Should the environment be spared any more trauma?  Should we fight more endless wars and conduct ourselves with further fiscal irresponsibility?  Should we care for the sick and underprivileged?  Does socialism for the wealthy create a stable society?

If leaders are brought to the fore who advocate collective sacrifice (a national service program); taxation that properly distributes wealth, and a safety net that enhances citizens’ abilities to take control over their own lives (practical/affordable education and universal healthcare), I believe we’ll be able to look back on the Trump Presidency as one of America’s finest moments, for it can prove the catalyst in forcing the country to remake its own greatness; ironically, we really will be able to say that Donald Trump — Donald fucking Trump, of all people — helped make American great again.  However, it’ll be up to us to remember the responsibilities of the task at hand, the tasks’ inherent challenges.  We’ll have to remember what a just and equitable society looks like, and the dangers of foregoing our responsibilities to ourselves and generations to come.

Perhaps if we can properly remember that which has had to be reworked from one political majority to the next, we’ll be able to put political amnesia to good use.  After all, a majority of the country at one time or another tolerated slavery, child labor, female subjugation and Native American genocide.  If we can put that amnesia to good use, maybe we’ll be able to forget the dogmas of trickle down economics, endless wars and the Moral Majority, and instead create a new foundation of norms that’ll strengthen America, short and long-term; it’ll start with a kind gesture or two, some hope and the hard, practical work it demands.

(1) http://www.nytimes.com/2007/08/26/books/review/Brooks-t.html