#fucking politics and their dick measuring competitions

[vikkrest]

Can the world just stop for a second and fucking BREATHE?

[chialebeauf]

Dispatch from Absurdist France

Just so you know we're still living in our own weird Kafka/Ionesco fusion timeline.

Macron's a pompous authoritarian dick and we hate him, so the good people of France started a little informal competition amongst ourselves to see which city or town can fuck his redemption tour of public appearances the most. Besides the usual booing, heckling (shoutout to the two old guys that called him a butthole to his face and called his government corrupt while shaking his hand on live TV yesterday, dudes rock!) etc, we've seen a revival of the ancestral tradition of the casserolade/cacerolazo. Which is basically bringing pots and pans and banging on them to make as much noise as you can to drown out government bullshit, thanks to our Latin brothers and sisters for keeping that one warm for us.

Since he's also very sensitive and his minions the préfets -kinda like a local police chief+mini-governor thing- are very attentive to his feelings, they're taking Measures. This morning he went on a visit in the beautiful, beautiful Languedoc backcountry, my only true love, and the local préfet wasn't about to be outdone in fascist shit by his colleagues.

He invaded the small town of Ganges (4000 souls) with 600 riot cops, not a typo, and illegally used an anti-terror law to forbid the carrying of various things in the municipality, including "portable sound devices".

WHICH, Y'ALL, APPARENTLY INCLUDES FUCKING POTS AND PANS!

Irony and parody are dead, here's the video of popo opening people's bags and seizing saucepans. Also they got manhandeld by a buch of dads with an average of around 0,64 baldspots per scalp and then threw CS gas from 5m away while being downwind.

To top it off, the word for saucepan (casserole) is actually slang for a political scandal, which Macron and his gov are full of (2 or 3 ministers in exercice and his Chief of Staff currently under indictement and 4 or 5 former ones still under indictment or convicted, I lost count)

All of that happened before noon.

I'm done with this clown state, I'll start an Occitan independentist guerilla, this is too stupid.

[erelavent]

I have so many things to say about the "clarification" of the FIA's policies, religious and personal statement ban.

Whoever drafted the wording should be fired because this sentence that says drivers can "express their views on any political, religious or personal matter before, during and after the international competition, in their own space and outside of the scope of the international competition" is the most vague shit I've ever read. They claim that drivers' spaces include social media and press conferences, but social media isn't a space (it's a platform), and press conferences aren't owned by the drivers but I digress.

Drivers are not allowed to do anything that will compromise the FIA's stance on neutrality which is defined as any and all proselytizing gestures, clothing, speech etc without approval (which should be requested 4 weeks in advance). They said Lewis' rainbow helmet would qualify but not, for instance, Pierre's symbol of the cross before a race. This is where things start to get messy. If a rainbow on Lewis' helmet can convert people to queerness, why doesn't the FIA think Pierre's gesture can convert people to Catholicism? People have joined cults for far less. Do they not think that people could switch religions if they are influenced by their favorite, good-looking celebrity expressing their belief in God? Because I hate to break it to them but Scientology, Hillsong church, and Jared Leto's cult are prime examples of that. They may not view Pierre's cross gesture as proselytizing but that's only because they've never watched Fleabag. Anything can be proselytizing and I mean anything.

What happens if Lewis, in a feat of malicious compliance, does request to wear his rainbow helmet 4 weeks in advance for Qatar? They have put themselves in a position to be fucked if they let him wear it and fucked if they don't. They can have fun trying to parse their way through that backlash.

What happens in the event of an emergency on track. Let's say, GOD FORBID, a driver or personnel gets hurt or dies due to conditions on track or related to the FIA's governing. Are they gonna have to wait 4 weeks to express that? What if their message isn't approved because they were critical of the FIA or the specific country's national motorsport organization? They're just supposed to pretend like they support the FIA? Lol ok.

Their decision is in direct contradiction to the wants on Formula 1. Domenicali literally stated that last week, and instead of backing off, MBS decided to double down and have a dick measuring contest. He chose to strain the relationship further at a point when F1 is literally having its moment on the world's stage. They have never been more eyes on the sport and specifically on the drivers than ever before, and instead of capitalizing on that, they're deciding to muzzle them. Let's see how that strategy pans out longterm.

[testingcheats0n]

Chapter 5

Okayyyyyy??

We got ourselves a myth chapter? It's just myths for worldbuilding and/or just a dream~? Earth, moon, sun. Pretty standart creation myth ig Oceans, seas, lakes rivers... please don't tell me that they'll list every single rock and bush that Gea- I uh I mean mother earth- has ever farted out. Author-nim-noona-san-sama I beg 😫 Tolkien during the Valaquenta would never.

Oho wait- incest in my creation myth? More likely than I thought.

"U-UwU what are you doing step-Uranus?"

"Hahaha! I'll show you why they call me that!"

Bruh. Bruuuh~ they snubbed my boy Prometheus?! -100 points author-nim my entire blog is named after that chad, you can't rip off the greeks and get rid of big chief the fire stealer.

"WhY dID yOU mAKe TheSE?!"Fuck you fuck you fuck you we were Prometheus' pride and joy fuck you he defied god for us he would never create us for a dick-measuring competition. Fuck you. He's better than all of you put together. Fuck the Gea rip-off and fuck Uranus.

"She gave them fire to make them warm :v" Fuck off.

"They were ungrateful." Double fuck off. This mother earth creature sounds like an abusive parent.

Ah haha...

/nm...

:)

Ah so even the "new" gods are some version of the greek myths :/ hm.

Magus should go eat dirt and die actually. "The rest of the civilized world- aka my kingdom- has changed the name of the country, so the country should accept it."

Magus can go wank himself over his superiority in private thanks 🙄 I'm sure there's an old tome somewhere in his office just waiting for it.

Magus: don't get offended, but your mother was a stupid uneducated peasant- that is also a filthy dirty immigrant- and I know better than her, so you should be ashamed of ever mentioning her filthy uneducated lies. But no offence :)

I want him to get mauled by a bear :D

"Haha your mother is dead, isn't that embarassing?" Cake eater, like danish in a donut shop. Do people like him? Does he have fans or anything? What a piece of crap. I officially hate him.

Anyway. Gen's full name is Eugenides, that's cool af.

By the way. The fact that olives for brains went for the offensive, by attacking Gen's mother, his lineage and using his grief against him and trying to humiliate him for having a dead mother (all ad hominems for a simple myth) proves that Gen and his mother are right. Magus is just a pussy with an ego the size of his dick. X X S!

"Eugenides was the god of thieves- we're all named after him." Now that's cool. So it's like a title of a sort, apart from the "King's Thief" one. That's interesting af. Gen told me a piece of worldbuilding in a single sentence that grabbed my attention faster than olives for brains' entire monologue could.

Imagine being so empty that your biggest accomplishment in a week is making fun of a kid's dead mother. Imagine. Mf was strutting the next day, wtf is actually wrong with him?

I hope he gets brained by a stray rock. Wouldn't that be a shame.

Magus' poor planing vs Gen's inexistent thieving skills

FIGHT!

Magus won...

Old fart wouldn't know manipulation if it hit him.

Ambiades once again proves me right. He's smart, and he's using magus for his knowledge. Speaking about successful manipulation 🙄

Okay so. It's not necessary for an heir to be good at arms. But. It's useful and the skill in battle demands respect and better control. So Sophos should at least try to learn both academics and fighting. He actually kinda reminds me of Samwell Tarly from asoiaf. He's kinda gentle and only wants to learn. His father has other plans.

Then we have this magus, Sophos, Ambiades trio. Ambiades is better at academics, but is obviously there not to learn (and if he does it's more political things) while Sophos is just there to learn period. It should be the other way around tbh... If I were Ambiades I would be striving for a position as a magus at court since his title isn't that impressive- possibly even working on substituting olives for brains if the king has a son, but if I were Sophos I would be squeezing magus' knowledge on politics and the king for all it's worth. It's like learning from experience AND spying for info.

Thieving IS hereditary. That's fascinating! I hope his mother was called Eugenia, it would be awesome.

Sophos: so your father didn't go for milk and didn't come back? Wow your mother is not a slut and you're not a bastard? :o

You gotta love this.

Gen has an older brother who is a soldier, and another who is a watchmaker- he's also called Stenides. Hmmm...

Well, Gen is probably a momma's boy.

Oh he also has sisters. They're... housewifes... sure. The fantastic sexism was sparse so author-nim had to compensate somehow ig.

I just hope to god they're also thieves or something like that.

Alright. This is impressive, I can imagine the terrain perfectly with only a description from the text. Very few books can do that especially with fantasy, and I feel like more writers should strive for writing like such. That said, I would kill for a map just to see that weird ass river that is everywhere.

Attolia >>> Sulnas (Sunas? Solnas? I'm sorry commenter who told me the correct spelling) got it

Okay. I'm sorry but I have to confess I got spoiled when I checked Ambiades' wiki. I kinda sorta know he's not who he says he is. It's obvious with the way he knows so much about Attolia and doesn't care about other places' flora/ecosystem. It's as if he knows it from experience and not from a desire to learn.

Awww Sophos looks up to Ambiades that's adorable.

Wtf mother earth is a dick lmao. She's still mad that humans aren't paying attention to her, so childish. Whatever, the myth was beautiful even if it made 0 sense at the end.

[sunkissedpages]

I’m so ready for this!! Could you do 4 and 21 from the “more smutty prompts” list? Where Tom and the reader hate each other... (any AU or none is fine too)

“shut up.” ‘well, why don’t you come over here and make me?’

“bite me” ‘if you insist’

lol I don’t know much about debate lingo so bare with me also w o w this is so long I’m so sorry lol I got carried away

“Just to be clear, I still won,” Tom panted with an arrogant smirk, thrusting into you a little harder as he did.

“You fucking wish,” you seethed, gasping as he slammed into you just right.

“Bitch.”

“Asshole.”

You bit your lip to stifle a moan as his fingers made their way to your clit, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing how good he was making you feel.

You weren’t even sure how you’d ended up in this situation- that was a lie, you knew exactly how it happened, but you were still dumbfounded by it. And honestly, you weren’t sure if taking Political Debate was the best or worst decision of your life.

Tom Holland was, without a doubt, the biggest dick you’d ever met. He was the best in the class, and he was fucking smug about it. The professor fucking loved him because he was so good at argumentative debate that he could pretty much get away with whatever he wanted. He showed up late, never did the reading, and always always volunteered to go up against you in class. 

There were three big debates for the course that made up the majority of your grade, and then several other, more casual ones scattered throughout the semester, and somehow- more often than not- you’d be at the podium opposite of your least favorite classmate.

As far as you were concerned, Tom played dirty. He always seemed to be one step ahead of you and would pull at loose threads in your arguments until one of them ultimately unraveled the whole thing.

It was beyond frustrating and had quickly turned polydeb (as it was affectionately termed) into your least favorite class. The worst part about the whole ordeal was that everyone in the class loved Tom. They laughed at his witty jabs and egged him on when he started to make a controversial point. This had made you into sort of the villain of the class. Anytime you one-upped the golden boy with contradictory evidence or God forbid, actually won your debate, everyone aside from your professor seemed a little bummed out.

Professor Schafer always made a point to say “you’ve done the impossible again Miss y/l/n and beat Mr. Holland!!” You knew it was supposed to be a compliment, but you weren’t too shabby at the craft and you thought you deserved a little more credit than that. Especially because you were the only student to ever beat Tom in a debate and had done it nearly half the time you went up against each other.

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to you when you and Tom were called up to the podium first thing Monday morning, but the familiar butterflies in your stomach returned full force all the same as you tried to approach the stand as confidently as possible.

Tom stood from his seat and pocketed the pen he’d been chewing on. He smirked at you as he made his way down the steps onto the floor of the lecture hall and winked at your professor before taking the stand.

Professor Schafer just laughed and adjusted the glasses on his nose before reading off of the papers in front of him. “Y/n, Tom, this morning you’ll be debating climate change. Y/n you’ll argue pro and Tom will argue anti.”

You smiled a bit. You didn’t care whether Schafer had given you the easier side on purpose. All you knew was that you got to talk about something you were passionate about and crush Tom at the same time. A win-win.

Your confidence quickly fell away as Tom argued from the point of view of big corporations, which you should’ve seen coming, but were still caught off guard by. You tried to argue with Schafer that he was supposed to debate as an individual, but of course, he let it slide because it was “creative” and “would make things interesting”.

You tackled everything Tom threw at you, including the ridiculous claims he made with no evidence to back them up. You thought you had everything under control until the boy across from you randomly shouted out “everyone knows climate change isn’t real!”

To most, it would’ve been obvious that it was a last ditch effort to save his argument, but you were furious.

“Shut the fuck up.” If the room wasn’t quiet before, it certainly was now. You’d broken the number one rule of the class which was to always be polite to your opponent. That, and you’d cursed at him. You weren’t going to get any participation points today.

“Why don’t you come over here and make me?” Tom said with a shit-eating grin, breaking the silence.

You narrowed your eyes at him and took a deep breath, trying to calm down. For the whole semester, you’d been oblivious to the blatant sexual tension that had been building since the beginning of the class, something everyone else had most definitely picked up on.

You didn’t even notice until you caught Tom’s eye from across the room, and watched him lick his lips as he glared at you. It was then that you wondered what those lips would feel like on yours. On your body. You wondered if Tom felt it, or if it was all just pent up hatred for you that you were reading completely wrong.

“Alright, well I think we’ll move on to the next group now,” Professor Schafer said after a moment of awkward silence. You gave him an apologetic look before gathering your papers and making your way back up the stairs.

“Nice work,” Tom said in a sarcastic whisper behind you as he followed on your heel.

“Bite me.”

“If you insist.”

You froze in your tracks, turning around to give him a very measured look. His eyes were dark and his lips were curled up into a mischievous grin. You didn’t know what to make of it.

Which brought the two of you to this dark, empty classroom, mere minutes after class had finally ended, where you were currently having the best sex of your life on top of a lab table with the guy you hated most.

“Fuck, don’t stop,” you begged as he moved in and out of you at a pace that had you seeing stars.

“I’m not a quitter,” he responded, bending down and nipping at your ear.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you accused at the same time you began to feel the familiar coil in your stomach.

“Nothing,” he said and

“No, tell me,” you insisted, trying to fight off your orgasm for a few more seconds.

He sighed. “You give up too easy, that’s why I always win.”

“Fuck you, you do not always win.”

“No, but you would if you didn’t back down so fast.”

“I don’t want the whole class to hate me for badgering you until I win by default.”

“It’s not about being liked, it’s about winning.”

“Clearly.”

It was Tom’s turn to be offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think you know.”

His face was scrunched up too like he was also trying not to cum before you. Another competition.

“Fuck you.”

“I think you already are,” you quipped and Tom swore, stilling on top of you as he came. You would’ve smiled over the fact that your snarky comment was what sent him over the edge if you weren’t right behind him, clenching around him and curling your toes as you came hard.

Tom thrust weakly in and out of you to help you ride out your high before fully collapsing on top of you when it was all over.

“You do believe in climate change, right?” you asked, breathing hard underneath him.

He laughed lightly, his whole body shaking on top of you. “Of course, shit’s terrible.”

“Oh good,” you said with relief. “Because I don’t want to have sex with someone who doesn’t.”

“It would’ve been a little late if I didn’t,” Tom pointed out.

“Well, I figured it was a fifty-fifty shot and I was horny.”

Tom’s lips quirked up into a smile as he rolled off of you onto the other side of the table.

“Just for the record, I still hate you,” you said and hopped off of the table to get dressed.

“Don’t worry, feeling’s mutual, darling,” he shot back, watching you pull your shirt over your head.

You were relieved that your dynamic hadn’t changed after sleeping together, and knew that next time you had to debate him he wouldn’t stand a chance, but you didn’t see the way Tom’s eyes lingered on you as you got dressed with your back turned to him, or the way his smile had faded into a frown as you walked out without saying goodbye.

1k celebration

[calamity-bean]

We’re on the same side, Shadow

Item #2342342 in the never-ending list of things that messed me up about American Gods 2.07: these lines right here. Not only because of what they demonstrate about Sweeney’s individual character growth, but because of how thoroughly they — and this entire episode, really — reflect and bookend Shadow and Sweeney’s whole relationship.

Which is an interesting relationship, I think — especially considering that although we, the audience, have seen plenty of both of them, and although they have significant relationships in common with other characters, Shadow and Sweeney themselves haven’t interacted that much. A long scene in 1.01, and a short scene in 1.03; a couple more short scenes in 2.01, and then nothing for the rest of the season until now, as far as I recall. I’d go so far as to say that their dynamic is informed as much by their separate relationships with Laura and Wednesday as by their actual interactions with each other. When they do interact directly, it tends to feel a bit like an ongoing dick-measuring contest: hostile, competitive, with a lot of bravado and aggression, especially from Sweeney.

Even if Sweeney hadn’t been under orders to pick a fight at their first meeting, I feel like conflict between these dudes would have been inevitable. Their personalities just tend to clash, for one thing. Sweeney is too irreverent, too belligerent not to annoy Shadow, who’s not the sort of person to be uncivil or aggressive without provocation but also isn’t a pushover who’s gonna let Sweeney bully him, either. And unbeknownst to Shadow, of course, Sweeney comes into the situation with a lot of complicated guilt and anger over Laura’s murder. But though this certainly aggravates Sweeney’s hostility — further aggravated, later on, by jealousy as Sweeney develops his own relationship with Laura and his feelings for her grow more and more romantic — I think that wasn’t the only thing bothering Sweeney when they first met. There’s something more, imo: a palpable irritation rolling off him, as he throws dart after dart at that bull’s-eye, at the fact that Wednesday is interested in Shadow at all.

Because as is strongly implied in 2.07, Shadow getting hired essentially meant Sweeney getting replaced. That’s how Sweeney feels about it, at any rate. Once upon a time, he was Wednesday’s right-hand man; he had Wednesday’s favor, and it felt good, it felt special, it felt like the sun was shining on him. Wednesday gave him pride and purpose, and for that, I think he loved Wednesday a bit, in a filial fashion — certainly he felt loyal and indebted to him. And though Sweeney’s relationship with Wednesday has long since crumbled into scorn and derision and mistrust and hatred, he still envies Shadow having what he once had... yet also has enough morality (and enough spite toward Wednesday) to sympathize with Shadow for being in a situation that Sweeney knows, from firsthand experience, is shit.

Because the truly agonizing thing is that despite their conflicting personalities, Shadow and Sweeney actually have some important things in common! And that’s what kills me! That’s what really kills me here: the fact that these guys have reasons to find common ground with each other, but never quite CAN. Both are disillusioned romantics, both capable fighters, both full of pain, both susceptible to Wednesday because he knew how to make them feel more purposeful and important than they had in a long time... They even both get misread in similar ways. One of the first things we learn about Shadow in the novel is that he looks very “don’t fuck with me,” which stands in contrast to his quiet, polite, intelligent, and fundamentally goodhearted demeanor. Likewise, Sweeney reads on the surface as little more than a big, rowdy drunk — “a horny musclehead,” in Wednesday’s words — and only gradually, over the course of the series, has revealed a strong (though compromised) moral compass and profound emotional depth. On a personal level, Shadow and Sweeney tend to irritate the crap out of each other, and I don’t think they like each other as people very much at all. But I think they also understand each other... Or they could, if they were open to doing so.

So the tragedy of it, really, is that they HAVEN’T been open to understanding each other. Every now and then, one of them makes an overture — some sort of gesture toward camaraderie or connection. But it never quite works. Every time one of them is in the mood to reach out — Sweeney offering warnings about Wednesday, for example, or Shadow showing genuine concern at the beginning of 2.07 as he realizes Sweeney's not well — the other is never really in a good place, emotionally, to respond. Shadow’s too wary to believe Sweeney, or too angry to want to listen to him; or Sweeney’s too unsettled (and too prickly in general) not to rebuff Shadow’s concern; and since they don’t get along well in the first place, it can all devolve into arguing pretty quickly. 2.07 contains several of these little glimmers of camaraderie between them, these moments when they almost land on the same page...

...But it’s all too little and too late.

If Sweeney is ever revived, I hope he and Shadow someday manage to... maybe never quite be friends, that’s probably asking a lot, but it could be cool if they reached some sort of understanding. Some level of recognition or respect or even just grudging camaraderie. Till then, though, the note they’ve ended on — fighting each other when they could and probably should be fighting side by side — is so thematically appropriate and so bittersweet.

[queenofairandsnarkness]

Oooh prompts! Batfam - A Robin of your choice requesting and receiving hugs from Bruce

1.) 

Bruce wasn’t a competitive...

...He couldn’t even finish that sentence. He wasn’t sure how it was relevant. While Dick lit up whenever Clark came into the room, he was also Bruce’s Robin. They worked well together- Dick had a perspective that Bruce didn’t, while Bruce was more used to channeling the stomach-churning mix of grief and rage without leaping mindlessly into fights. 

...Well, he’d gotten over it, and Bruce didn’t do that anymore. He knew his temper, has sliced himself up on the edges of that. Dick, for all he’d lost, reacted by making new attachments, charming the world into being a better place. He didn’t need to end up like Bruce.

But he might have waited until just before Clark was about to turn the corner before throwing an arm over Dick’s shoulders and suggesting a colorful diner he knew the boy wanted to go to after hearing Leslie mention the old fashioned milkshakes.

Dick bounced a bit, childishness slipping through the messy burden of teenagerhood.

2.) 

Tim was soaking wet, gasping, and he’d need to make sure the boy’s lungs were checked after dousing him with bleach, given the harbor, but...

He was alive. That was what mattered. He wasn’t going to be another boy Bruce couldn’t save.

Tim, while very glad to not be dead and well aware of the spiral Bruce had been in after Jason’s death, was really glad nobody was around to see that Bruce's hug left the newest Robin dangling off the ground.

“Aw, lookit the tiny baby bird,” Harley said, and Tim muffled a groan.

3.)

He had a talent for fucking up where Stephanie was concerned. It might even count as a superpower.

But he didn't need to be superpowered or the World's Greatest Detective  to know that this particular case would hit her hard.

Predatory adoption agency, harrassing poor or teenaged or poor and teenaged moms, moms who didn't have citizenship or were afraid to get an abortion. He'd thought ruefully of people like Georgia Tan, and reflected that any progress people liked to pretend society made could just as easily be wallpaper over rot.  

Which is why he didn't comment when Stephanie used one of Cass' nerve strikes a bit harder than it should have been- Montoya and Bullock looked like they didn't blame her, much. Given the comments the man had been making about the girls he'd targeted...

Harley, next time she crossed paths with the newest Robin, would probably congratulate the girl. When she was away from the Joker, she seemed to veer more towards cheerful chaos and ignoring rules, rather than malice.

But until then, Stephanie had nearly bit through her lip, and her normally loose, shambling gait was tight and brittle.

This was the sort of thing Dick was good with. Or Diana. Or Cassandra, who Stephanie actually liked.

But he knew what he should do.

He carefully placed an arm over her shoulder.

“You did good,” he said, meaning it. He didn't fully understand Stephanie, didn't understand her brashness or her recklessness or the way she lit up at the faintest of compliments the way Jason had.

But he should learn, if she was going to be Robin. Even if he still wanted Tim back, if he quietly hoped Tim would come back after seeing his... friend... in the Robin role.

But she did do good, and her blazing determination worked, if he was willing to work with her.

She tilted her head, as if working out a puzzle. “I'm not... I mean, thanks?” she tried.

He fought back the urge to smile, just a bit.

4.)

He'd needed to wait until Jason was tired and not up for a fight.

The hug was brief and just enough to reassure himself the boy- man, he needed to sort out how he would define Jason other than as Robin and the specter of his failure to do right by him made too, too solid flesh.

Ghosts didn't smell like sweat and kevlar and blood. Also, brimstone, because this was Halloween in Gotham. They didn't breathe like their ribs were bruised.

“...The fuck, are you possessed? Do we have to get Blood or one of the other magic crazies?” Jason asked, muffled by that absurd helmet. He missed Stephanie, who would have gleefully taken Jason to task for it, and probably would do it without setting him off the way Tim or Dick would.

“I'm glad you aren't dead,” he said, instead. “Alfred will be, as well.” He couldn't resist a slight jab. “Diana would probably be happy to see you.”

He suspected Jason was blushing under the mask. “Didn't think you missed me, since you just moved on and all. Since the dickwad clown is still running around.”

He didn't answer that, because  the most honest answer- I didn't trust myself to stop, once I killed the Joker, I thought if I acted on it the rage would devour me- was one that would involve too much of a conversation for their current relationship.

“That isn't... the two things aren't related.”

“Neither are we,” Jason pointed out, before walking off.

5.)

Damien looked at him, eyes wide. “Father?”

“I...” Bruce paused. Damien was his son. Dick had been too young- hell, Bruce had been too young, and angry, and Jason will him too little, and Tim and Cassandra had been there while the Kanes had mostly been away from Gotham. “There are very few Waynes left. But. My mother had three brothers and a sister. One of her brothers are dead, but... we do have family. Who have politely insisted I introduce you to them.” He winced at the memory of Aunt Rebecca's commentary, complete with Bette laughing behind her mother's back. Kate had texted him with a series of increasingly ridiculous emoticons.

Damien, because Bruce was almost as bad with him as he'd been with Jason and Stephanie, took his expression the wrong way. “I will not embarrass you, Father.”

Bruce shook his head. “That's not one of my fears- my aunts are merely very... forceful.” He paused, and tilted his head. “I've also avoided introducing your brothers and sister to them, because I seem to have made a habit of isolating myself from my family who isn't involved in my... more private matters.” He paused. “My cousin Kate is Batwoman, which I have no doubt you will determine ... within five minutes of meeting her.”

“Five seconds,” Damien corrected, though softly enough to be amusing rather than arrogant. “So Dick and Cassandra have not met them?”

“I think Dick might have, at parties when I used to drag him as a boy, but no,” Bruce paused before adding, “Tim met them as neighbors and though those same parties.”

Damien nodded. “Is there a reason you never introduced them?”

“They are a bit... much,” Bruce said. “Though perhaps Kate will bring Maggie Sawyer.”

Damien took that without blinking, which was good. He'd never been entirely certain what Ra's had done with him, socially. “Should they be introduced? I know you have been careful, not to show favor to me as your son by blood.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, waiting for further reasoning. The phrasing was slightly off, but it was improvement in his perception of the world.

“And if I am to prove myself to be the best, I would have it be by my actions, not because of thoughtlessness,” Damien added, looking nervous and reminding Bruce sharply how young Damien was.

He gave Damien a hug, because it was what Dick had done, and Stephanie, and they had helped Damien realize a better version of himself. Not a more humble version, but at least more thoughtful than...

Well, yes, Damien as he had been when he first came to Gotham, but more thoughtful than Bruce usually was.

“I'll check with Aunt Catherine,” he said, ruffling the boy's hair for good measure. “But I think it'll be more enjoyable, this way.”

[bladekindeyewear]

Boots reads Homestuck Epilogue(s) Part 5 - Meat Page 7

==>

Okay, time for Rose and Dirk to talk delicious politics or something.

Heh, customary show-end riots.

Rose, stop causing all of us undue alarm.

Ascending? Is she going to fade out into a concept or something???

Oh shit, Dirk’s doing something similar.  Some sort of inevitability once God-Tier is reached or some such.

Dirk has a solution to the problem in the works.  That’s... well, Rose already cautioned that that could be ominous.  I hope it doesn’t involve decapitation.  Or robot bodies, or turning her into an omniscient cueball or something.

==>

Okay, stage play time.  I can see a weird-seeming text color choice for Caliborn down below, hm.  Time to read down to there...

Ah, the classic finale-callback thumbs down.  Nice.

...yeah, reinforcing the point he was trying to make a little less explicitly with his earlier finale of Homestuck that Lord English had really just, sort of, trapped them in this narrative that their ultimate reward would be to escape, realizing it never really mattered too much compared to their own long lives and happiness or something.

==>

Epilogue TWO??????  D:

Okay now it’s, like, Andrew commenting isn’t it.

Oh shit, it DOES suck them up and trap them? Huh. That explains how Jade was dealt with, I’d forgotten. Also because it was one of the huge goddamn unanswered fucking hugepoints that made it seem like a slap in the face when we were told it didn’t matter and-- yeah okay let me just keep reading.

Huh, broken glasses.

And, phew; the ages it takes is from an OUTSIDE perspective.  Let’s see what it is from an inside perspective...

==>

Jaaaane!!! :D

Okay let’s read about Janey.

Mhmm, that’s not that surprising... Dirk knew that Karkat was going to run against Jane, but Jane didn’t, even though Dirk was ostensibly “working” for her.  There’s definitely a plan here.  Maybe it involves Jane and Karkat smooching publicly at the end.  ...No, that’s just my wishful imagination talking, isn’t it.

Oh my god she’s screaming into a pillow at hearing she has competition.  That’s adorable.

YES, JANE.  UNDERESTIMATE KARKAT.  YOU WILL FALL IN LOVE WITH HIM LIKE EVERYONE ELSE (though probably platonically).  It does upset me that they’ve taken this long to really get acquainted, though; I’ve argued for years that their personalities are naturally compatible as the straight men for all their friends’ bullshit.

In fact, Jane is pretty sure that Karkat Vantas would probably literally burst into flame if too many people happened to look at him at the same time, like a vampire walking out into the sun.

Yes, but he’d get over it.  And be a flaming president or something.

In fact, Jane cannot remember a single conversation she’s ever had with him that wasn’t about the economy. She thinks back to one time at John’s eighteenth birthday when Dave engaged her in a rigorous and rather one-sided debate about deregulation and the failure of “neoliberal austerity measures” until Karkat had to come over and put his hands over his roommate’s mouth to make him stop talking.

Oh my FUCKING god, it’s true.  Dave’s appropriately liberal in the modern, Krugman-esque, statistically grounded way.  Karkat has my vote already.

She’d be happy to accept a graceful, temporary defeat and let Karkat play president for a couple of years. After all, unlike her, he was not immortal.

Hey fuck you.  Also, why the FUCK haven’t they used one of the myriad likely ways to extend Karkat’s lifespan basically indefinitely yet???  Heck, JANE could probably do it with Life powers if she crawled back out of her own butt!  We already know the Condesce could extend other trolls’ lifespans with weird troll powers so Life powers are almost certainly enough to suffice.  >:(

Ohhh, so maybe Jane is just, like... slightly traumatized by trolls? And thus a little tiny bit predisposed against trusting them cause of the Condesce? :(

Interesting how she views her past reliance on / pursuance of Jake as something that made her “weak” specifically.

Okay, I’m getting a slightly uncomfortable vibe that Jane is willing to almost play at seduction with Jake falsely to get his endorsement on--

And she’s willing to do more than that, too.

Okay FUCK, JANE.  GET YOURSELF UNDER CONTROL.  I’m starting to believe the shittalking the others have given about you!  You’d better shape up by the end of this epilogue or what have you.

==>

Okay, trapped John can hear the other three through the walls of their prison or something.

Conversation and musings, conversation and musings.....

Wait, Jade LIVES with Dave and Karkat in that SAME HOUSE and they didn’t even mention it??!??  What is even up with their thing.

Heh, John’s thinking he really could have used a nice kismesis riling him up to better himself.  That’s what they’re for, really.

There there, John.

==>

Oh my fucking GOD, Jane rolls with supply side economics???  TAKE.  HER.  DOWN.

And Jade is just... here?  Huh.

Yeah they DEFS weren’t listening.

JADE: especially when JADE: there are much better things we could all be doing with our mouths.....

HOLY SHIT.  HOLY SHIT.  JADE IS SO INTO EITHER OF THEM THAT THEY CAN’T TAKE IT, CAN THEY.  THAT’S FUCKING AMAZING OH MY GOD

Her tail swishes from side to side

SINCE WHEN DOES SHE HAVE A FUCKING TAIL HOW IS THAT SUDDENLY CANON

I’M NOT MAD IM JUST SURPRISED

Wasn’t that something that the ask-responses from Andrew said she canonically DIDN’T have or what the fuck

Since I guess it wasn’t confirmed IN CANON he just decided he liked it enough to offer it here or???? I DON’T KNOW????

Wow why am I all worked up by this all of a sudden.  It’s just transferring from her earlier line isn’t it.

three of her bras

Okay no nevermind Andrew’s just fucking with us.

...Even though this can probably still be considered canon.  Which only makes how he’s fucking with us work even better, really.  I mean, why WOULDN’T he lob this at us on the ten year anniversary and watch us squirm, really.  There’s no incentive not to.

--oh wait wait never mind reading further these are just bras from different days she threw over the couch.  PHEW.  I thought for a second that we were dealing with dog anatomy stuff that would REQUIRE multiple bras on her.  Jesus.  I wonder if Andrew intentionally phrased things so some people would think that for a minute.

JADE: also you know trolls dont actually have two dicks dave thats an offensive stereotype

Pffffff

Wait, is it that Dave and Karkat’s relationship isn’t quite full-hearts sexual and Jade is incessantly shipping them?? :O

because that’d be hilarious too??  --*reads*

YESSSS JADE BEING SUPER STAT WHIZ WITH HER SUPER PARTOMNIDOG SPACE BRAIN YES

The thing about Jade Harley is that she’s not as good at personal things as she is at other things. Like science, or mastering fraymotifs, or kissing, the last of which she has definitely put a lot of levels into over the past few years because, well, what else are you supposed to do with immortal godhood once you hit the age where the dog hormones start kicking into overdrive? 

f uck

dog hormones

i’m wheezing

Alright, Jade’s springing a thorough relationship talk on them.  That’s cool.  Also she’s throwing statistics in there and I LOVE that now that Jade is older we’re reinforcing just how scary science smart she is, I can’t wait to see other people roleplaying her properly because of it too.

...Yeah Jade would definitely date a chess couple

Jade sighs and crawls closer. She takes one of Karkat’s hands in hers.

JADE: i think wed all work good together

AAAAAAAA :D :D :D

JADE: and i think weve been dancing around that for years now JADE: i wanna try dating for real KARKAT: HAVE YOU EVER CONSIDERED KARKAT: SORRY IF WHAT I’M ABOUT TO SAY TOTALLY BLOWS YOUR MIND KARKAT: DATING A SINGLE PERSON, FOR MORE THAN HALF A SWEEP, FOR REASONS OTHER THAN INITIATING THE CONCUPISCENT EXCHANGE OF FLUIDS?

PFFFFFFFFFFFFF OH MY FUCKING GOD THIS IS PERFECT

Jade being

literally the thirstiest person in this ENTIRE CAST OF CHARACTERS

to the point that everyone’s calling her out on it

in something that’s virtually goddamn canon

holy fucking shit I love everything.  I love life.  Living in a universe where this hilarious shit happens is fun.

....pFFFF JADE DIDN’T KNOW OBAMA WAS REAL THIS IS AMAZING

Ooh, dueling god-tier powers for petty reasons.

OH NO DICK DRAWINGS ARE LIKELY IMMINENT

THAT OR A CHART

OR BOTH

...yeah her hair would get everywhere, wouldn’t it.

yes make fun of ship names some more

What Jade leaves in her wake is not quite the emotional scorched-earth situation that she was going for, but a few of her needles have definitely gotten under some skin. Dave and Karkat both stare after her, silently caught in their own private rationalization spirals.

So this whole time Jade’s been all “JUST KISS ALREADY” and they’ve been all “what no” and now she’s just laid it all out in the open and left them to it.  Yeah that sounds about like what would’ve happened.

Aaaand of course, since this is Dave and Karkat, they just choose to stall some more and play video games.  Jade really DOES complete this relationship with her pushing them to accept reality and stop downplaying their own feelings and self-esteem and all.  But that’s what I thought would happen BEFORE I even read any epilogue stuff so I’m biased.

==>

Pff, Vriska time.

You’ve now got two bitches of either gender at your side

Vriska, shame!  Don’t use that kind of language!!

Yep, this version of her didn’t learn her lesson and is still pretty much completely delusional.

Alright, Real Terezi™ is still flying out in the abyss trying to scoop Vriska out of this jam, cool, cool.

Flailing and spinning, screaming, not being able to see the final event or whatever-- someone save her already we know it’s gonna happen!

JOHN: Emerge from the juju.

Oh.  Well, that’s uncomfortably in line with earlier presumably-discredited theories.  About John saving Vriska from the black hole the Green Sun left in its wake and all.  :|

Yawns too wide and snaps in half?  The moment he was dreaming about?

==>

Oh hai Jake.  This really IS the perfect time to get to see some attempted-exploitative discomfort between Jane and you.  I mean that!  The narrative timing is pretty hilarious.

The sunset has turned the head offices of Crockercorp into a shimmering glass monolith—a beacon, if you will, of the future, visible for miles in every direction.

Jane probably likes to think about it that way at least.

Wow, Jane REALLY sounds like she needs to be knocked down a peg or seven.

The whole place is candlelit, and Jane is reclining on her desk, sprawled out like a lounge singer on a grand piano.

OH MY FUCKING GOD JANE STOP BEING A SLIMEBAG!!!! D: D: D:

Thank you, Jake, for coming through and tanking this.

This is not really the kind of conversation you initiate if you’re looking to extract a sexual deal out of someone. It is, however, the kind of conversation that you might have with a childhood friend who has become somewhat emotionally estranged from you.

THANK FUCKING GOD.  Jane has been saved from herself for the moment.

Okay I see a whole bunch of paragraphs of black text down below just as these two are likely coming together for a kiss.  Uh oh.

...Yep, kiss there.  And, uh...

Okay whew, most of it is Jake privately soliloquy-ing to the narrative about the circumstances leading up to this. I can deal with that.

...Oh my god he keeps thinking of Dirk while getting in close to Jane.  This is gonna blow up in his face isn’t it.

Reading on....

--Ah, yeah, he just realizes he’s more into Dirk I guess.  Ouch.  Ouch, Jane.

DIRK: Were you nice to him? JANE: Well, I... DIRK: I told you, you can’t be nice to Jake. JANE: ...

PPFffffffffff

DIRK: Why don’t you leave Jake to me?

Now ain’t that telling?

Ooh, getting down to plot business with Rose.

==>

Back to John.  I see a bit that says “Listen” there, is he going to hear Vriska screaming? Or is Terezi going to pick her up? Since, like, I mean she has the jetpack and has been searching for her longer and stuff.

Yep, big ol’ LE tantrum.  Though alt!Calliope seems at least as much at fault for the end of the universe as him, if not moreso.

Ah, right, Andrew wanted us to THINK he’d hear Vriska screaming just so he could troll us like that.  Makes more sense, anyway.

Huh, the Juju just pops away.

OW.  Down a spare Rose, just like that, huh?  Probably part of why main Rose knew what the plan was supposed to be for all this.

Ah right, can’t use your Green Sun powers here, Jade.

OW.  Another quasi-doomed side-character death.

Yep, you have to make a tough, leaderly decision and let go.  :C  --Oh crap, you saved her body.  Are you gonna put the ring there or what, I’m not sure where that’s going plotways.

Pff, the whole fight going south just due to John losing his glasses... that’s pretty funny from a perspective.

Oh huh, real ghost Tavros gets nuked.

Oh shit, Meenah’s going in!  Don’t die, I actually care about this version of you!!

--Ah, thrown out and fate unclear, that’s a bit better than clear death.

Hm, Davepeta vs English round two?  I wonder what the purpose of all of this really is, anyway, beyond just a sense that some only implied-wrapped-up things are being actually wrapped up?  This whole Meat arc?  Is Candy going to be ultimately more important to everyone, as was part of the point, or?  Huhhm.

Final Round!!

Hammer buffet!

Slight obligatory feelings allusion via hammer!

Oh no! VORE!!! D:

DAVEPETASPRITE^2: B33 < wrow you almost got vored to death

Phew, avoided

Ow, another decapitation.  There’s a killing blow and being trapped forever in a black hole for LE to look forward to, though.  Weren’t there theories about him being trapped forever at the center of that black hole or whatever?  Huh.  I mean there WAS the garbage disposal that his metaphorical Jigsaw-head gets stuck in early in the comic after all.

Alright, Davepeta sticks him in there?  Cool.

Yeah, you just had to remind us that he’s going to be plunging into his dead sister’s gaping hole, didn’t you? >:|

Davepeta. How they were so unfettered and brave. How they sacrificed themselves by flying right into the black hole like...

Like a fucking piece of garbage, you can almost hear Dave saying. May God rest his soul.

Yup.  Closing another callback.  Why is it silent, though?  Did the black hole stop sucking now that it’s gotten almost everything but John, or is it just his blackout?  I mean, is the end of everything just a thing that “happens” (which is still pretty fine, Paradox Space had a pretty good run), or did it just stop, or is it yet to be resolved or re-John-creates-Paradox-Space’s-beginning-because-hes-the-only-thing-left-constituted if he inexplicably doesn’t die from his heroic wounds or?  And Terezi definitely didn’t go flying around Paradox Space’s dying remains just to get sucked in too, right?  I definitely haven’t seen the whole picture yet I guess.

==>

Alright, back to Rose... actually this post’s getting long so I’ll cut here and keep going in another post.

[stedes-black-bonnet]

My Baby Does Me: Chapter 13

POV: John Deacon x reader

Notes: Want on the tag list? Let a girl know.

Warnings: Swearing and fighting? Angst between John Deacon and Roger Taylor.

Abstract: Back chat, back chat...

You heard a series of knocks on the door. Something about the rhythm seemed familiar to you, but you couldn’t quite place it. There was an uncanny feeling in your heart it was a Queen song. You were good at recalling music at the drop of a hat, so you were troubled by your inability to remember this particular song. The thoughtfully cross look on your face made Deacy laugh lightly to himself.

“I believe it’s ‘Get Down, Make Love.’” The tone of his voice betrayed his inner desires to do just that. He gave you a quick but deep kiss, and instead of chancing anymore contact for fear of not being able to stop himself, he stood, smiling reassuringly down at you before turning towards the door. “Let’s see how good their offer to join is, shall we?” He danced his way over to the door, purely for your viewing pleasure, and the absolute joy it brought him to move with any beat.

“Come on, I haven’t got all bloody night!” It was Roger’s typical unbridled yell; he’d know it anywhere, be able to pick it out of any lineup, and would make it his default alarm if he could.

“Why am I not surprised?” Deacy said as he opened the door.

“Why am I so surprised to find you two here?” Roger said eyeing you and Deacy up. He took in your re-tied dress, messy hair, and Deacy’s creased button-down. A seedy grin spread across Roger’s face, his eyebrows arched, and, like the siren he was, he entered the room as if he owned it.

“Maybe because you assume you’re the only person capable of having a spot of fun.” Deacy questioned cunningly.

“A spot of fun?” Roger sounded personally insulted. “God, Deacy, if you’re calling it that no wonder you never get laid. Ooh baby put your spot of fun in me…” Roger moaned exaggeratedly while sinking into an armchair.

Roger was the only one laughing.

“What? Can’t you take a joke?” He crossed his legs, waiting, trying to see if his charm would win the room or not.

“I can take a lot more than you think, Rog.” Deacy challenged pointedly; sometimes standing up to Roger was the easiest way to cool him down. Agreeing with him tended to make him confused and more upset than before. Agreeing with him usually led to a fight about why anyone would outright agree with him in the first place. Roger made it near impossible for anyone to predict his tactics, which made him a deadly debater; he’d just as soon win a fight than be right. If you were friends with Roger, it was just something you got used to. Competition frequently makes us blind to even our best friendships.

“You wanna bet?” Roger’s smile was intensely charismatic, yet slightly manic, as if anything from this point on could happen, and no one would be able to predict what exactly it could be; this was his favorite game. The purpose of his visit, was quite lost to him at this point.

“I don’t need to prove myself to you.” Deacy said steadily, factually. He wasn’t the kind of man who thought about others or indeed what they thought of him. Life was hard enough already without constantly considering what people thought about you. “Why strive to prove something that is already a fact.”

There was a silence mingled with new resentments and unsettled arguments you had sensed earlier in the evening. You and Lydia made eye contact; she looked somewhat spent and concerned. She leaned up against the door frame, clearly wanting to be anywhere else. You noticed her modified dress and wearing of Roger’s rainbow black blazer. You were certain they had had sex. Bonds had been made here, sides chosen by earlier encounters that would influence this approaching argument. Lydia would be predisposed to take Roger’s side and you Deacy’s. This might even be expected without question. However, whatever these famous men had to fight about, it wasn’t really any of your business; the notion of being dragged into it was surprisingly unattractive to you. You hoped they’d leave you and Lydia out of it, or it would have to be made clear whatever public tiff they were about to have would have nothing to do with you. It was a hard line you were willing to draw if need be.

“You really want to do this here and now?” Deacy gestured to you, then to Lydia; trying to remind Roger two women they both cared about were standing in the room with them.

“Oh, I’m not afraid of an audience.” Roger bit back, “In fact, I prefer one.” He was wolfishly charming and as deadly as one. Part of his charm was the innate danger he seemed to radiate; you didn’t think he was capable of hurting a person, no, it was a different kind of danger and suspense altogether; he was unknowable, unpredictable, and would do almost anything to win. He ran a hand through his blond hair, smiling his flashiest, most intimidatingly seductive smile at Deacy.  

Deacy, a man with every trick up his sleeve, took an elegantly firm stance and slowly, deliberately crossed his arms over his chest, swung one leg behind the other, and leaned up against the closest greco-roman column like a model waiting for his shoot to begin.

“Well, Meddows, I’m waiting.” Deacy buffed his nails on his lapel. “Come out with it. Whatever you’ve been waiting to say to me all night, I’m ready for you to get it off your chest.”

“Are you though?” Roger said, closing the distance between him and Deacy in calculated saunters of his always ready for action hips. “Because if you really were ready to play with the adults, mate, you’d go ahead and shaft this...record idea of yours before it starts causing problems among the band--more than it already has.”

“The problems here aren’t because of the record. The problems existed before the record.” Deacy explained hastily. “It’s not my record; it’s our record together. It’s Queen’s record.”

“It is too your bloody record! Brass sections and fucking club music has John Richard Deacon written all over it; you think Bri sounds like that? You think it’s his ideas going into this album? Please! Be real. He’s just too nice to say anything.”

Deacy sighed angrily, “Listen, Freddie likes it.”

“You and Freddie are forming some kind of Chinese wall between us. Some blockade so we have to pick sides.”

“He thinks it’s worth trying. He wants to experiment. He wants to grow. He wants what’s best for Queen. You and Brian want to go another way; it isn’t the end of the world like you’re making it out to be. There must be a comprise here; we’ve done it before.”

“And what? ‘Staying Power’ or whatever it’s called is what’s best for Queen? Fucking ‘Body Language’? Please. Spare me—that’s not us. Our fans will laugh at us.”

“Roger, that is us. That’s what Queen has always been.”

“Disco trash?”

“A chameleon.”

“You don’t have to be involved in those songs if you don’t like them.” Deacy said simply, washing his hands of the murky situation.

“I’m as much a part of Queen as you are; you have no power over my place here. Queen is my band, too. Brian and I deserve a bloody say in what goes on in the band we started.”

“Do you ever not talk back, Roger?” Deacy asked irritably, “Can you ever for a second not analyze what I say? As if you know better than I do about what comes out of my mouth?”

“Oh, because you never place anything between the lines of what you say, Deacy? Because you never talk in innuendos? You always say what you mean?” Roger was making a rather showy production of laughing at Deacy, “Nothing genuine ever comes out of your mouth, there's always a hidden meaning. Always.”

“At least I don’t have your ungodly temper.”

“Oh, believe you me there is nothing not Godly about my temper.” Roger corrected him with a vainglorious wave of his hands.

“Oh, we are all well aware of that. Would you like me to get you a TV to throw off the balcony? Would that help you prove your point?”

“I’d rather throw you off the balcony, mate.”

“Try me.”

“You think you could take me?”

“You’re going to far, Rog.” Deacy said, defiantly.

“I haven’t even begun to fight; this is all just foreplay.” Roger was grinning once more.

“Come off it,” Deacy sighed tiredly.

Roger shrugged, “Anything is foreplay if you try hard enough.”

“If you’re done measuring your dicks in front of the ladies, might I suggest you zip up your pants, unless you intend to do something with them to resolve all this tension, darlings?” Freddie stood in the doorway with Jim.

“Besides, there really isn’t a need for the old measuring of the dicks scenario. We all know I have the biggest cock in the room.” Jim smirked kindly and knowingly at the assembled group. You weren’t sure if Jim meant Freddie or indeed his own penis. You had a suspicion he meant both.

“You wish.” Roger said, his voice somewhat lighter and less serious than it had been during the heat of the argument.

“What on earth is all of this about?” Freddie asked you.

“Seems to be a dispute about your next record?” You inquired politely.

Freddie rolled his eyes. “Friends, this isn’t the time or the place. There’s been alcohol, and mating, and too many emotions to have a beneficial conversation about the record. Really, you’re doing more harm than good here.”

“I’m disappointed in all of you.” Jim snapped; when he was angry, his Irish dialect really came through, making you smile despite his wise words. “You’re dragging yourselves through the mud to prove some point that won’t even matter a year from now when the record is completed. You love each other; that’s all that matters, here. And you’re forgetting it for some petty dispute about tracks and sounds and it’s disheartening to witness, isn’t it, ladies? You’re Queen. You’re trying to rule together; the only reason you’re fighting so hard is because you care about your work and each other--don’t shake your head at me, Rog, I’ll gladly take any excuse to thump you. Don’t ruin what you have over a couple songs. And certainly don’t use the drama to show off in front of our new friends.” Jim gestured to you and Lydia.

Moved by his words, you decided to chime in. “Jim is right. I don’t want to be part of this melodramatic pissing match between two people I respect and like, thank you very much. I don’t want to be used to make a point in some grudge match. I’m not a pawn for sale.” You said from the bed.

“Nor am I.” Lydia said crossing over to you. “In fact, it’s all rather boring, if you ask me. If you can’t find some way to resolve this petty argument, we will be leaving. Without you.”

You stood up and took Lydia’s arm. You looked to Deacy, curious how he’d react to your drawing such a firm boundary so early on in your courtship.

Deacy’s eyes were heavy with raging storm clouds. Mixed emotions were passing through his gray-green eyes. He wanted to prove to Roger he was wrong. When such a feat was accomplished, it was worth the struggle to see him defeated. It was a rare sight. Deacy more than anything wanted Queen to explore what the world of music had to offer, and--most importantly--to do It together. In fact, the only way to do it in his mind was to do it together. This was an obstacle. They had reached a creative stalemate, and it was partially his fault.

Deacy didn’t want to open his life up to you in this overtly public way. He wanted to ease you into the joys and hardships of the band without alarming you to the drama of stardom. Most of the arguments were harmless, lots of flash with little harm. They were used to it, but to outsiders it looked deadly. Every member of Queen was fantastically different with massive egos, vast creativity, and unique options about songs and songwriting. Exposing you tonight to the latest issues among the band wasn’t what he wanted. Sure, they fought; they were family. However, because they were family, that meant they also loved each other, would do anything for each other, and also had the best arguments of anyone around; Roger suggested once they should sell tickets to the fights and not the concerts.

When you really know someone intimately you know just how to push their buttons. It can be as dangerous as it is exciting. And this fight, by no means nice, was certainly tame when compared to most. He knew Jim was right, too. They should not be airing band issues in front of guests, indeed, in front of anyone not in the band. Miami would have a field day when he found out they had had a public blow out in front of two relative strangers.

Deacy swallowed hard. “Roger, I shouldn’t have picked a fight tonight. I know we all have different views about our direction, but I know we can figure it out together.”

Roger was glaring at the floor. “I suppose I don’t really want to throw you off the balcony. I was pissed, mate.”

Freddie looked at Jim, who nodded exhaustively, “It’ll do for now.”

“Now, what are you doing back here?” Freddie asked Roger.

“Oh, very funny. I know one of you has my keys. Give them back, Deacy.”

Deacy walked over to you, just to be nearer to you. “I don’t have them, Rog.”

“Look—I know we already had a fight tonight and your ego can’t handle losing twice in one night, so—“

“Here,” Jim said, removing the keys from his pants pocket. “I took them.”

Deacy snapped his eyes onto Jim; almost everyone in this room knew Deacy had taken Roger’s keys earlier in the night. Why was Jim covering for him? Perhaps, he knew it would benefit the situation the most?

Roger reached for his keys, and Jim passed them along.

“Now, I’m going to need you all to get out of my room; I need to make love to my husband and I’d prefer to not have an audience.” Jim started ushering everyone out of the bedroom. “Y/N, I’ll see you later tomorrow? Well,” Jim checked his watch, “later today, technically?”

“Oh yes! I’ll meet you back here around noon?”

“Perfection, just like you.” Jim closed the door on the wild bunch.

“I swear, Rog is the most dramatic person in the world.” Freddie said, taking Jim’s hand in his.

“Speak for yourself, Mr. Mercury; Roger wasn’t even the third most dramatic person in this room.”

Freddie laughed, pulling Jim into a kiss that lasted the rest of the night.

Tag List: @phantom-fangirl-stuff @obsessedwithrogertaylor @triggeredpossum @partydulce @groupiie-love @richiethotzierz @sophierobisonartfoundationblr @psychostarkid @teathymewithben @smittyjaws @just-ladyme @botinstqueen @mydogisthebest @little-welsh-wonder @maxjesty

[k-frances]

Ironic, right? A tumblr post about not listening to tumblr posts. What I’m going to talk about might get a little touchy, but I feel like it’s my job on this blog to go where other people don’t because they’re overly worried they might offend someone. So disclaimer, if this offends you, I don’t care. That sounds harsh, but let me explain. I’m going to do everything in my power to express my views in a way that is non-offensive. If my views still offend someone, I did everything I could to not offend them and I can do no more, so for that reason I won’t feel guilty or bad because someone else doesn't like something. 

That’s lesson one. Tumblr has created a real environment of fear around offending people. Yes, it’s good to try your damnedest not to offend people, but guess what. It’s still going to happen. 

Advice on Writing Method

There are hundreds of posts talking about how the ‘rules of writing’ are not so much rules but guidelines, so I won’t go into incredible detail with it. I’ll simply leave it at; if someone’s writing method doesn't work for you, don’t do it. 

On the flip side, if someone says that, in their opinion, certain writing methods don’t work well for x,y,z reasons, don’t get offended. Just don’t. Don’t waist your energy on it. Either read what they have to say and consider, or don’t! If you know what you’re doing is working for you, then why would you need advice about it in the first place?

Advice on Things Not to Write About (because it will offend someone)

 Hi. I’m a doctoral student in a clinical psychology program. So as far as sensitivity training goes, I have more than you (almost definitely). I probably have more than 90% (made up statistic lol) of this website. Here is what is important to consider:

As a writer, we will always be touching on experiences that aren’t identically our own, because otherwise we would be writing biography. Sometimes we might go so far as to write about different races, religions, or traumatic experiences that we have never experienced. It’s important that we are very careful when writing about these topics. Remember, we are doing our best not to offend someone. That means doing the research, asking (politely) if you have a recourse to ask, and reading about what that minority group has said about representation. We should try our absolute best to include those voices in our consideration of the topics we’re covering. Not only will it make minority people feel better, it will also make your writing more authentic and palatable for everyone. 

However, you are likely to still offend someone. That’s right. You can do it all, and some people will be upset simply at the idea you, a Non-whatevergroup, is writing about them, and your writing doesn’t match up with ThEiR ExPeRiEnCe™. You could ask 100 people of a minority group, and 99 would love what you did and not find offence at all, and one of them would skin you alive with their words of pure outrage. And that one person would for sure have a tumblr account. 

[A small lesson about sample sizes. For the most accurate information about a demographic, you need a random sample. Tumblr is not a random sample. It houses the most offendable people on the planet, and you will likely find that people in your real life of the same exact demographics are somehow not nearly so.]

So if your main source of advice is from tumblr, let me give you a few guidelines for what advice not to take:

-advice which tells you to ‘never’ touch a topic at all, and gives absolutely no reason, caveats, or clarification. If someone isn’t willing to express their opinion beyond saying (my favorite) “If you’re going to write about X, just don’t.” (when X is a broad topic or theme, not a specific trope) then their opinion is either poorly formulated in their own head and based on automatic, emotional responses, or at the very least poorly expressed to a point where it isn’t helpful critique to use.

-Their reasoning is nothing beyond ‘I don’t like it’. Even if they use fancy language, just not liking something is not reason enough to ban it from all literature. If something is truly problematic, there’s going to be a clear and easy to convey reason. 

-If the person is an ass hole about it. That’s it. Simple. If someone is expecting you to listen to them and they’re spouting, you don’t have to listen to that. They’re expecting you to tread carefully around them while screaming at you.

And lastly, in the hopes of creating a better environment, here’s some advice when wanting to approach the type of ‘please don’t write about this’ post that will actually get people to take you seriously and listen:

-realize that you don’t know other peoples’ ‘groups’ on face value. Almost everyone is in a minority group. (Whaaaaa?!) Yes, its true. Even CIS White Men™ may have a learning disability or past trauma. The fact is, you don’t know. Don’t imply that no one knows what it’s like to be the sad man, when what you really mean is ‘my experience differs from yours because I am X, and here’s how’.  (No I’m not saying having trauma is the same as being Black or gay. I’m saying they’re different, but not better or worse, it’s not a competition and there’s no assigned value of struggle. They’re just complexly different.)

Aside: I am so sick of struggle dick measuring contests on this site! 

-Avoid ‘never’ statements unless it’s something very specific (ex: never refer to a Black character using term X). What I’m saying not to do is ‘never write about the struggles of a Jewish person if you’re not Jewish’.

-Give your reasoning! No, you don’t owe anyone an explanation for how you feel, but you are expecting people to listen to you and do as you say. They don’t even know you, so if you want to be taken seriously, just explain yourself a little. It will also help to clarify, stop unneeded arguments due to miscommunication, and help writers actually discern what it is that is offensive so they can apply that understanding to other scenarios that might also be offensive for the same reason.

-Realize that people are going to make mistakes and don’t skin them alive for it. 

-Also, please stop saying things like ‘if you can’t see why this is offensive then I can’t help you’. First of all, that’s inflammatory. No one needs your help. You’re trying to impart your opinions on someone else, it’s much easier for them to just ignore you, so stop acting like you get the final stamp of approval on their work and they need you. 

They don’t need you. We need each other. We need to communicate positively with each other if we’re going to make this medium a better, more inclusive environment. Lastly, you’re whole argument is that other people can’t understand minority experiences they’ve never lived, so why would you turn around in the second breath of your point and say ‘if you can’t understand, there’s no help for you’? That creates an environment that clearly says; if you aren't X, you don’t understand, if you don’t understand you are garbage.

That is some fucked ups cyclical shit right there.

[totentcnz]

Meet Wil’s future husband, Odario Narawa.

And what an absolutely BUCKWILD RELATIONSHIP these two have.

See. Odario and Wil start off HATING each other. Odario is the bigender child of the famous Black Draconid classical music critic Tsimshala Narawa, who becomes like the Eduard Hanslick of the 21st century--a staunch musical conservative who doesn’t like the direction that Franzi and Wil want to take music in. Like. The two of them were up to some crazy crazy shit. You haven’t heard the music of the future until you’ve heard their classically structured pieces comprised entirely of artificial sounds, or the way that Wil’s music goes . While Tsimshala was much too classy to be the one who described Wil and Franzi’s experimentation as “classical music written by insane people,” he certainly agreed with it silently and wrote against their work on a constant basis. He particularly hated Wilhelm’s notion that TV shows, video games and animation could be called “music drama” and taken seriously in an academic manner as works of art if done right; he lambasted Wil’s Draconid anime ProClassica when it came out and said that those who took it seriously as art should be “ashamed that they had fallen so far.”

So of course, Wil takes one look at this dude and goes, “I’m going to piss him off by fucking his kid.”

Achieving this would be just as hard as you’d expect--yet at the same time, it would also be easier. See, Odario hated Wilhelm’s work just as much as his father did. He hated Wil’s music dramas so much that even though he formerly only wrote the music for operas and not the libretto, he took writing & poetry courses and started writing the librettos as well just to prove that his style of music was just as valid as (and also better than) Wil’s. He didn’t have much taste for Wilhelm’s personality either; teenage/early-mid twenties Wil was a mentally unstable mess who was constantly causing drama on Twitter, particularly in the form of harassing politicians, and Odario with his completely clean sheet thought this behavior was beneath the dignity of a distinguished composer. Lastly, Odario was lukewarm at best to the idea of explicit politics in art. Wil famously says as he grows older, “All of my work is political, and if you can’t see the politics, you aren’t squinting hard enough.” Odario, on the other hand, believed that only the best of the best of the best of writers could successfully pull off politics in their work--and Wilhelm, in his opinion, was by no means one of the best.

These two had one thing in common, though: Each found the other--at least physically--to be irresistibly hot. And when the two of them finally met in person for the first time? Oh BOY did Wilhelm’s gaydar go OFF.

The two of them met, actually, at a competition that was arranged by their fathers--Franzi and Tsimshala--to put it to a public vote as to who was the greatest music dramatist of the time but honestly some people thought it was just history’s biggest dick measuring contest between two parents to see whose child was “better.” There were three separate parts to this competition, all of which would be voted on separately: Pure Music, Pure Story and Music Drama. Odario won the pure music round--the composition Wil submitted was too untamed, too avant-garde. Wil won the pure story round--his capability for creating gripping plots is positively unmatched. But the Music Drama round, for which each one wrote an entire fucking opera to be staged for this competition? THEY TIED. The world came away with no definite answer of who was to be deemed the great music dramatist of all time.

To Wilhelm, though, it hardly mattered. Though his egotistical self usually couldn’t stand the notion that anyone was his equal let alone his superior, he actually saw their equal results as a blessing--because it gave him a clearer inroad for his next step in Operation Fuck My Music Critic’s Son. This is where most people would attempt to resolve their differences with the other party for the best shot at getting them in bed. But Wil always did things his own way. And so he chased Odario down and started teasing, taunting, prodding and even bragging about the results & what they meant for their relationship. You’re so fucking gay for me, aren’t you, he gloated at the end of it. It’s okay. You’re not alone. So many people are irresistibly attracted to me. Embrace it. Set yourself free.

As it turns out, he was right. And the rest is history. 

[overcaffeinated-creative]

Leia and Solus: Bounty Hunters

@mexicanpickletaco was listening to me ramble and decided that Leia and Solus needed to be in a buddy bounty hunter au. I believe that messages that sparked it were, “It’s dangerous for everyone because they encourage one another’s “Well fuck you, I’ve got the blaster mentality.”; “Leia is Leia. While Solus negotiates like a Mandalorian.”; and “You’ve got two bewildered husbands who are just like, “Not worth it. Let ‘em menace someone else.”

And now there’s another bullet point AU (with actual bullet points!) because I take everything as encouragement:

Han, bless his heart, is in over his head right out the gate. He’s a smuggler above all else and the other three are less smuggle, more chase the running, screaming man across three sectors because money. Solus and Leia are more “Set to stun for more money” than Boba.

That doesn’t stop Han from getting mixed up with them...repeatedly.

I would imagine Solus trained Leia in the finer arts of how to do this.

Maybe they’re doing this for the money for the Rebellion? I didn’t think that far so feel free to make stuff up to fill in the blanks.

Solus has a very nice ship clearly built for bounty hunting and that various problems they could find. 

Half of the arguments with Han stem from this.

At least.

Solus refrains from overtly freaky Jedi moves because she’s got her beskar’gam and the skills to warrant wearing it.

Tbh some of her arguments with Boba totally stem from armor dick measuring contests.

 Leia is the common sense of her outfit some days; Solus has a mentality best described as “Well, nothing’s killed me yet so something’s working.” Therefore she just goes with the impossible as Acceptable.

Solus has at one point greeted Boba by shrieking “YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” and full body launching herself at him. It was entirely over a bounty he stole that was almost hers.

Cause Boba’s Too Cool for Rules.

And Solus is Fearless.

Leia can identify the distinctive noise of beskar colliding with durasteel at 20 yards because of them.

She’s also probably got some Force training because Solus believes in using everything you have at your disposal.

Those were some Stories.

Some bartenders say their best/worst nights include Han/Leia and Solus/Boba square off because they don’t know how to just talk like normal people. Not that Boba really talks. He’s more of grunts, annoyed silence, and threats because Solus is Rage when she wants to be.

Han/Leia have less of a reputation for property damage.

Boba/Solus might as well be nicknamed Property Damage because both enjoy a good fight.

Don’t call it flirting.

It’s not.

Not at all.

Doesn’t matter if they absolutely insist on arguing with each other as a form of greeting. Or, show the slightest hint of caring for one another.

That one time Solus appeared like a fucking wraith to wreck shit because someone had Fett captured means nothing. Doesn’t matter that she would’ve got first pick of better bounties because of this. Or, that they openly fight all of the damn time. It was just luck she tracked him down and wrecked that place to keep him alive.

She exclusively calls him Fett.

Leia gets a name before Solus gets passed the “You” stage to the “Vetra” stage. Or, whatever level of insults they’re volleying at one another.

Why has Boba Fett, heartless bounty hunter, not murdered this rival? Especially such a vocal, little pain in his ass.

(No that was not a hint, Solo. Don’t you owe the Hutt more spice?)

Strategy. 

She keeps the ranks thinned out below him and seems amiable enough to not truly attempt to kill him. Thus, he gets to keep his spot while keeping an easy eye on the competition.

(”Solo, I will sell you to the Hutt if you bring up her looks one more time.”)

(”I mean it.”)

Han is totally Force Sensitive in this because I love that headcanon. Him being so salty about is what makes me happy.

Solus and Leia just watch his Force Sensitive ass clearly use the Force and let it go. Shit’s hilarious. 

Leia and Han will argue over anything at the drop of a hat. 

It’s wonderful because they’re so tame.

No she doesn’t like him.

Yes it’s considered background noise now.

No they’ve not lost a bounty because Han was in trouble and Leia has a heart.

They’ve lost five at Solus’ last count. 

Leia and Solus are scary af running together tbh.

Leia totally still politics everything she possible can and it shines. She gets them paid double some days.

Which is good.

Cause Solus believes explosives solve everything or at least help a solution come around.

Tbh they’re probably decent con artists on the side.

Forged. Art.

Solus forges art and Leia fences it and they keep themselves up with that too.

Look, they’re both badasses.

Han is jealous.

This starting more of their fights.

No one mentions Solus and Boba have the same shoulder plate on their armor. Sand Gold with a stylized Mythosaur Head.

At least no one that isn’t okay with being shot at anyway.

(Han brought it up once.)

Solus still has her fondness for kids. It’s precious. Big, scary bounty hunter totally melts for little kiddies.

Leia and Solus have probably tried to run a con through a pod race. Leia posses as the manager and Solus gets Too Excited to race. 

Solus brings Leia home to Krownest and therefore Harti has meet her. He’s very proud of Leia for being the Common Sense. He also asks after little Bo’ika, because someone should.

Leia totally adores him. They bond. It’s sweet.

The Duo totally borrows a strill some times from Harti. It’s very sweet because they think it’s a precious baby who does fantastic work. Not to mention it adds to their Look.

Han bitches about the smell when he runs into them. Because he’s really about not running into them but totally running into them.

Chewie and Solus are friends because their People are being dumb together and that’s nice.

[lia-nikiforov]

Weekly Anime Rambling Re: Creat...ive Conceit

Another week of getting everything mixed up because my viewing schedules are a disaster hahaha! is it very obvious i’m running out of puns

The season’s drawing to a close, and it looks like every show is rushing at full-gear to wrap up all their loose ends or end on a good place before the season break. Which means a lot of shows are doing shitfests and I have A LOT OF WORDS

I haven’t talked much about Fate/Apocrypha in this feature but I must shamefully admit I’m enjoying it way more than I expected. I’ll talk more about that in my final season rundown, so for the time being I’ll just say Astolfo is my waifu and if you use the T slur to refer to them I’ll gut you alive. 

One show clearly struggling to meet its planned middle-point is Altair, with the past two episodes breezing through plot points like a speedcourse on acquiring new party members for Mahmut. The production itself is also clearly suffering, finding an in-model shot of any given character woud be a challenge. I did like the latest episode because we’re finally getting to see more political nuances beyond “Evil empire wants to conquer the world”. I also really liked how they brought the Prenses into the fold by emphasizing her importance in the political moves they’ll carry out next, and that she was the one to come up with them was specially great

Giving female characters agency? What, Like it’s easy?

I’m not even gonna talk about episode 10 of Ballroom because it was so boring I hardly remember anything about it except thinking “is there ever gonna be any dancing” (the answer was no). But I am going to talk about episode 11 because god was it frustrating.

Firstly, this was the episode that featured the most and probably best dancing animation of the entire show. Unsurprisingly, even then it’s overshadowed by the abuse of stills and audience shots. Whatever little magic and good-will they manage to create with, for example, a neat shot of Tatara and Mako hopping is almost instantly voided by a full minute of still frames. Let 👏 me 👏 see 👏 the 👏 fucking 👏 dance 👏 gdi 👏

Of course it wouldn’t be Welcome to the Ballroom without at least a very fine layer of casual sexism and neglecting the female characters entirely, this time awfully noticeable in the second half where all the focus is on Tatara and Gaju having a load of fun with their dick measuring contest! Wait, what do you mean ballroom dancing is a pair sport?

If you ask this show, Ballroom dancing is a sport about men being cool while dragging around women who have no fucking idea of what the fuck is even going on. Add to that all the harping on how “it’s the lead that makes or breaks a pair” “if the leader is bad the pair will look bad” because I guess the follower doesn’t ever matter.Or how only the boys are dead tired after the event, because I gues the girls weren’t dancing at all, what a relaxing job it must be to be a female in competitive ballroom dancing, you don’t have to put in any effort at all!

Also the music choices are atrocious which is finally explained by the Production team revealing they thought the audience would not like “old” music -because I guess the audience is too stupid or smth- so instead they went for completely inappropriate pop-rock themes instead! Maybe don’t underestimate your audience if you want them to buy your produc! (source)

But okay, after god knows how many episodes, the Tenpei cup finally ends, Gaju and Shizuku win but Mako wins Queen of the Dancefloor! At least some recognition fo Mako’s dancing skills, that even in spite of Tatara’s sloppy dancing she managed to outshine Shizuku through her own talents! Wait, hold on, what’s that?

FUUUUUUUUCK YOUUUUU SHOOOOOOW

Adding insult to injury, Gaju doesn’t even apologize to Mako for treating her like crap. In spite of his scummy attitude, Gaju seems to be a good sport, so I thought at least he’d “officially” ask Mako to become his partner again, but no such luck, it’s her who approaches him first. Fuck you again, show.

I also have a lot of thoughts about the garbage treatment of Shizuku, but I’ve talked about the show enough in this week, so that’s another post.

Oh yeah, Vatican is... the expected mess I guess lol. I have literally no idea of what is going on anymore but...

I want some of that cocaine too bruh (i’m kidding, don’t do cocaine my friends)

Also, Made in Abyss is great but can we please drop all the pee jokes.

I’ve technically already watched the final episode of Re:Creators, but I want to address the penultimate episod which is the actual resolution of the conflict because it’s not only a convoluted mess (and if I went into that in detail I’d write thousands of words), it’s ultimately a betrayal of the show’s opening promise.

To elaborate, Sota’s first dialogue is something along the lines of “I’m not the protagonist of this story. This story is about her”. At first I thought it meant Selesia too bad she died meaninglessly and without really doing anything for the story like 99.99% of the creations :’D, but we later learn he’s talking about Setsuna, for whose death he feels guilty yadda yadda Potato McBoring manpain.

But then the show decided to make Altair so ridiculously and unbelievably overpowered that the only way to defeat her is the very predictable “create Setsuna” and this is where the show betrays itself

Because even if the resolution is that Setsuna and Altair go off into this some other world to live as abstract creations happily ever after, the actual emotional climax of the episode is after they disappear:

This is a massive slap in the face to everything the show was trying to do and to Setsuna’s character. Basically she’s stripped of her agency and becomes a figment of Sota’s creation. Sota who abandoned her when she was going through the hardest of times, now gets to be -even if briefly- her creator, her god, and he takes the credit for being the amazing creator that save the world. He even says it out loud in a culminating moment of disgusting conceit.

The whole purpose of the story, of the show, as it turns out to be, is to satisfy Sota’s ego. Setsuna is literally fridged for the sake of Sota’s manpain. This was never a good show, but until now it just felt like a lot of poorly executed great ideas. This, though, is basically giving up on any pretention of being “different” of stepping away from “Blandy McBoring protag saves the world because no one else but him can do it, he is so special”, and it’s made even worse because of the context of Setsuna’s death and the meaning of being a creator. Ugh, I’m coming short of words so I’ll just leave it at this was already a mediocre show and somehow they managed to go all the way and make it terrible.

And now another show that is sadly crapping the bed for its last hurrah, and one I’m very sad to be dissing like this. Yup, I’m talking about Virgin Soul

It’s like 10 episodes late and all the reward we get for waiting so long to hear Charioce’s motivation boils down and awfully rote and predictable to “Bahamut killed my mommy so now I kill Bahamut”. Next we know Charioce’s mom was also named Martha I guess. The explanation is also delivered in the most transparently expositional dialogue possible and seems like a very last-minute attempt by the writers to paint Charioce in a sympathetic light because they realized too late they hadn’t given him anything for the audience to like him beyond his romance with Nina. Somehow their explanation doesn’t even address the genocide against the gods or the enslavement of the demon race, and it seems every insinuation of Gabriel being shady has been forgotten too. Okay...

It’s sad because this feels like a hugely missed opportunity. The first half of the series painted the possibility of a tri-racial conflict in which all sides were to blame, but instead it seems like it was all a fabricated conflict to pad the way so they could have a three-way confrontation bombastic finale, but with none of the nuances and grey morals it initially promised. The characters are still great, but I’m very sad that the story has been reduced to an uninteresting, predictable cliché that doesnt even quite work with all the previously established ideas.

Oh well, the season’s almost over. Next week should be my last Rambling of the season before my Final Review and I also somehow gotta find time to post about my most anticipated shows for the fall. Fun!

[dearyallfrommatt]

From Twitter concerning the Tucker Carlson-Tammy Duckworth nothing:

I don't know who needs to hear this, but you don't owe anyone debate. Whether they're some random dingleberry on Twitter or, say, a millionaire scion playing journalist on a mainstream media outlet, you probably have better things to do with your time than pointless bickering.

Debate has a place in one’s cognitive development, but modern political discourse ain't it. It's supposed to help you clarify your argument and sharpen your ability to reason and use logic, it’s not a competition. Even in school settings, it measures more who uses the rhetorical tool more successfully and properly than who actually changed anyone’s mind. "Destroying" someone, whether you actually do it or not, is mere dick wagging and basically only measures who angers quicker.

A debate is supposed to take two opposing premises and work to find a conclusion that either satisfies both or shows conclusively that one should be modified if not abandoned. Even that’s a personal thing, and if you haven’t managed that, you haven’t had a debate worth mentioning. That can't be done in a world where "TDS" or "fake news" is considered a killer riposte.

It's definitely possible for a doctrinaire von Mise libertarian and a stone anachro-communist to have a reasoned, useful debate on the matter of governmental taxation, but once you start throwing words like "dogmatic Marxism" around - or even "fascist" - it's pissing in the wind.

That doesn't mean one side is "right" and the other is "wrong". Axiomatic "right or wrong" is meaningless, there's only what works best and who it's supposed to work for. We don't live in a world where power is equally distributed, and all the mean tweets in the world won't change that. If you have a New York Times column and every week readers are telling you what a doorknob you are, that isn’t censorship or necessarily them being close minded. Maybe you are a doorknob with a plumb gig you maybe don’t deserve, all things considered. In any event, you’re probably pulling down six bills a year, so get over it.

With that in mind, there's nothing wrong with telling someone who's got a NYT column and thinks they're free speech is being canceled to fuck off for being a silly shit. Completely discounting someone you think is a useless goob on any and everything is okay. It's just on you and you have to own that.

Similarly, it's perfectly okay to trust someone implicitly in one field of thought and one alone while considering them a silly fucker in almost everything else. Life is short. Enjoy yourself. Get shit done you think is important. Don't waste your time stroking the egos of buttholes.

I'm not sure why this is so difficult to wrap our collective heads around.

[njawaidofficial]

“Billions” Is The Best Show About The Worst Kind Of Masculinity

https://styleveryday.com/2018/04/16/billions-is-the-best-show-about-the-worst-kind-of-masculinity/

“Billions” Is The Best Show About The Worst Kind Of Masculinity

Paul Giamatti as Chuck Rhoades and Jeffrey DeMunn as Charles Rhoades Sr. in the Billions episode “Hell of a Ride.”

Jeff Neumann / Showtime

Dick is a multipurpose metaphor in Billions. Most of the characters in Showtime’s hedge fund drama talk about their work, their success or lack thereof, and their stature as an extension of their virility. They aren’t all men, but they do all circle a luxe locker room of an industry that’s been overwhelmingly defined by men. Any observation you might feel inclined to make about Wall Street being dominated by bros vying to prove who has the biggest balls, Billions makes for you. In its very first episode, without the hint of a wink, a trader describes his issues at work to performance coach Wendy Rhoades (Maggie Siff) by using the language of erectile dysfunction: “I hear it happens to guys my age.”

Exactly a season later, Wendy shakes a bottle of Viagra at an audience of hedge fund types, telling them that while some of them rely on it, none would admit that: “The thought that someone might know you need help is worse than not getting the help you need. Still, when the time comes, when you need to pull the trigger on the buy or sell order, you better be hard as a rock and ready to go” — no Freudian subtext necessary. More recently, to really underscore the erection connection and the fragility that accompanies it, a character insists he would part with a fraction of his — “an inch off my dick” — if it meant he and his failing fund could get back in the game.

When Billions, the creation of Brian Koppelman and David Levien, premiered in 2016, it was a show that — much like its wilder cinematic sibling The Wolf of Wall Street — felt unwilling to commit to being either a critique or a celebration of the excesses and amoral schemes it was putting onscreen. When you wallow in dudes slinging their schlongs around without any apparent subversion, it tends to come across as endorsement, especially when considered through the fumes of the presidential election that followed the first season, in which macho posturing and cartoonish wealth carried the day. In its early episodes, especially, Billions could be taken for another variation on the “flawed but great man” drama, and an addictive but particularly sour one whose standards of greatness were questionable.

Bobby “Axe” Axelrod (Damian Lewis) and Chuck at the end of Season 1.

Jeff Neumann / Showtime

It’s actually about two men — US attorney and rising political star Chuck Rhoades (Paul Giamatti), and hedge fund superstar and billionaire “man of the people” Bobby Axelrod (Damian Lewis) — and the series unfolds in the shadow of their kaiju battle. Chuck, who sets out to take down Axe for insider trading with the obsessiveness of Ahab chasing Moby (sorry) Dick, might nominally be on the side of “good,” or at least the law, but Billions is quick to muddy this divide. With his aims to run for office, Chuck proves himself to be someone willing to cross lines to further his own interests, while Axe is shown to be, while far from innocent, not the worst offender in his ethically flexible industry — just the showiest target.

Three seasons in, Chuck and Axe are still duking it out, and what’s striking is how much smaller their continuing struggle now makes them look — so very human-sized. They’ve lost relationships and fortunes to a conflict that was started, by Axe’s own acknowledgment, for “dick-measuring purposes.” Somewhere along its run, Billions snapped into focus from being a blurry drama about power to being an infinitely sharper one about gender. It’s a snappily paced, light-on-its-feet nightmare about pissing contests, bruised egos, and displays of dominance, and what happens when power and gendered behavior are so intertwined that they get openly treated as if they were one and the same.

Midway through its current season, Billions still couldn’t be described as a critique of the finance world, or the political one that intersects with it — it regards them both with a clinical gaze, as structures that protect and serve themselves, resist consequences, and erode people’s ideals with rewards and compromises. Part of what makes the protagonists’ continuing clash quietly ridiculous is that, however intent they are on obliterating one another, both are wealthy white men cushioned by all the advantages they inherited or accrued for themselves, and they could ever only fall so far.

Chuck, with his pedigree and connections, could roll through the scandal that may or may not erupt around him and into a lucrative private sector gig if he had to; Axe, who in a recent episode had an earnest conversation with his ex-wife Lara about whether they could afford to live on a mere $300 million if they had to, immediately comes up with a workaround after being cornered into giving up his ability to trade. Billions is technically a drama, but it’s more fitting to think of it as a dark, near-subliminal comedy about machismo and avarice, about what a surreal thing it is that so many people in power are really just jostling to throw their junk on the table.

Taylor (Asia Kate Dillon) at the poker table in “Optimal Play.”

Jeff Neumann / Showtime

The best thing Billions has done was to introduce a nonbinary character in its second season. That’s not just because casting the nonbinary actor Asia Kate Dillon as Taylor Mason — a brilliant analyst who strides into Axe’s office, informs him of their preferred pronouns, and proceeds to impress him so much that he coaxes them out of their plans to head to academia with offers of a hefty paycheck and mentorship — is a milestone of representation. It is, as is the conversation that Dillon went on to lead about actor/actress awards categories. But Taylor has also crystallized the themes of gender and power that the show had previously been circling less certainly. The transformation of Taylor from an intriguing side character at the start of Season 2 to a central series regular in Season 3 is the saga of Billions finally clicking together, like a dance troupe finally nailing its choreography.

Billions is not exclusively a show about men, but it is shaped by masculinity to the extent that most of its women — formidable, brainy, tough — are seen through the ways they’ve had to learn how to navigate the expectations and biases of men. They shield themselves when needed, soften their edges when it’s advantageous, and contend with being seen as sexual objects. Characters like Wendy, who can effortlessly hamstring a heckler with a precise observation about the source of his insecurities, or Assistant US Attorney Kate Sacker (Condola Rashād), whose guardedness when talking about the depths of her convictions speaks to an awareness that they could get her labeled as too emotional to get the job done, have had to get used to being one of the few women in the room. Wendy’s storyline has been explicitly about those challenges, about being Chuck’s romantic partner and Axe’s professional one, and contending with how much trouble they have accepting that she can do both.

Taylor’s experience is by no means easier than that of the women on the show (“You skinny fucking freak!” a finance bigshot spits at them at one point), but it’s different, in that so many of their colleagues are confounded about what biases to bring to bear. No one at work has context for Taylor. In their first appearance, Taylor teases another trader about assuming they’re a vegan, letting him sputter before dryly saying, “Of course I’m a vegan.” Taylor, with their shorn head, neutral dress, and intense eye contact, is cerebral and straightforward instead of gut-driven and posturing, concerned about their carbon footprint, and uneasy with conspicuous consumption — all qualities that put them at odds with everyone around them at the office. At first, that made it seem like they were going to get saddled with being Axe Capital’s conscience — that frequent burden of the outsider, to have to serve as a morally pure buzzkill.

Taylor and Mafee (Dan Soder) in “Dead Cat Bounce.”

Jeff Neumann / Showtime

Instead, Taylor becomes the company’s star, then Axe’s unexpected chosen successor, carving out a path for themselves as someone for whom strength is not bound up in performing masculinity or displays of aggression. Taylor was clearly initially introduced to be a foil for Axe, to demonstrate that, despite how chest-thumpy the office culture around him is, Axe himself is capable of seeing talent whether it comes in a form he’s accustomed to or not. But since then, Axe has in many ways been transformed into a foil for Taylor. He is an adviser who keeps trying to pass along his worst qualities as well as his best ones, because he doesn’t see them that way, even as his skirmishes with Chuck end up making him an exile from his own fund.

“You know the rider in the bicycle movie who, just when he has victory in sight, takes his hands off the bars and just holds them out like this, taking in the sun, gliding, letting all the other racers whiz by him just because?” Taylor asks Axe this in the Alex Gibney–directed episode “Optimal Play” in the second season, when Axe approaches them about representing the company in a Wall Street charity poker tournament called, honest to god, the Alpha Cup. “I always want to be that biker,” Taylor says. Despite their disinterest in that sort of competition, Taylor of course gets roped into playing and wins, taking down a taunting opponent whose rage makes him transparent.

It’s an exhilarating moment underscored with unease, as their colleagues slap them on the back and cuff their head affectionately, rewarding them with “one of us” gestures of acceptance they weren’t seeking out. Taylor understands that knowing you can win, and then opting not to bother, is actually a bigger power move than needing to constantly destroy all rivals. They even put it in language the Axe Capital community should understand: “The whole ‘my dick is bigger than yours’ thing, it wasn’t for me.”

Axe in “The Wrong Maria Gonzalez.”

Jeff Neumann / Showtime

The motif of fathers and their (literal or figurative) children has become a throughline in the third season of Billions, and another way for the series to explore gender and power. Taylor, in becoming the heir to Axe’s throne, has had to contend with their mentor’s unwillingness to cede control of his kingdom. Axe turns up at the office, which is full of employees he’s forbidden from interacting with, to show that it’s still his territory, a compulsive flaunting of strength that mostly just undermines Taylor’s still-new leadership role. There’s a sense that he can’t resist wanting to compete with Taylor, even if it means competing with his own company — to prove, even if only to himself, that he’s still the best. As is the case with his war with Chuck, Axe just can’t help himself.

While Taylor and Axe settle on a mutually agreeable detente, a more perverse reconciliation is achieved in the parallel storyline of Chuck and his actual father, Charles (Jeffrey DeMunn), a New York real estate tycoon. Charles’ desire to further a family dynasty wars with his contempt for what he perceives as weakness in his son, and he is a great believer in manly posturing, in ways that his son is at least conflicted about. Billions is, on the sexposition-happy scale of cable dramas, relatively restrained with displays of sex and nudity. So it’s telling that in Sunday’s episode, “A Generation Too Late,” the writers allow DeMunn a moment in the buff when Charles shucks his robe to dismiss a man who tries to corner him outside a steam room for an unwanted conversation — full-frontal as a power move.

In the previous episode, Charles scornfully lectures Chuck about trying to repair their relationship with a sentimental speech, as they stand outside an alumni event on a campus Charles describes as “the site of my greatest conquests.” He points to a dorm and announces, “I fucked three girls in there once in a 24-hour period — one in the can.” Charles is a hidebound, amusingly loathsome creation, and last night’s installment ended with a particularly grim punchline about just what it takes for Chuck to secure affirmation from his father. All Chuck needed to do is to screw his dad over and force his hand. “I’m proud of you, son — you fucked me good,” the older man says, in the first expression of pride toward his son since young Chuck lost his virginity to a sex worker of his dad’s choosing at age 14.

Chuck and Wendy Rhoades (Maggie Siff) at the start of Season 2.

Showtime

Billions can be cartoonish, and if the past year has underscored anything, it’s that the IRL worlds of finance and politics sure can be, too. But the fictionality of Billions provides enough distance that there’s a strange sense of comfort to be had from the series. Watching actual world leaders conduct their own dick-measuring contest on a nuclear scale is terrifying, because we exist at the mercy of their decisions, and we have to live with the consequences. Watching Axe and Chuck sneer at each other in the plush spaces the show rarely strays from, we’re freed up to consider the sad absurdity of these tendencies. These men are so inured to competition and a desire to prove their dominance that they work against their own best interests and those of their successors.

The series doesn’t pander by suggesting that its non-male characters are either better or more compassionate than men — both Taylor and Lara, for instance, advocate for financially gutting a small town whose debt Axe purchases. But the show does end up portraying stereotypical masculinity as a trap that its main characters can’t find their way out of. That masculinity is a vulnerability that they have internalized as strength, even if these same characters still hold most of the power. They may be smart men, but they can be baited into doing some very dumb things for the sake of their pride and the need to demonstrate their prowess. And that’s a hell of a lot more fun to watch unfold on scripted television than it is on cable news. ●