myromeow

[myromeow]

something about how tom is in some ways the most directly tied to the cruises sex abuse coverup (not to diminish other characters' responsibility, but it's his department and he got greg to destroy evidence) and spends a considerable time convinced he'll go down for it, only to end up with the most power at waystar. sexual violence company through and through!

[myromeow]

The completion of the Nero and Sporus arc was so perfectly written.

Greg couldn’t just be “financially castrated” for it to fit narratively — he had to lose all personal and political influence that wasn’t already owned by Tom. Greg is completely reliant on him. He’s been castrated and reduced to the role Tom assigns him. He was literally claimed as a possession by the end of the series and he was happy about it.

Tom didn’t so much push Shiv down the stairs as gently guide her down until the person she was before lay dead at the bottom. The person she is now is not the person she was at the beginning of the series.

And Tom? Our Nero? He’s the Puppet Emperor. He’s gotten everything he’s ever wanted. He has claimed the keys to the kingdom and he couldn’t be happier.

[myromeow]

"Succession, but everyone wants some of Logan's M&M's"

Bringing back this absolute gem.

[myromeow]

SUCCESSION (2018-2023) 3x08 | Chiantishire 4x03 | Connor's Wedding 4x10 | With Open Eyes

[myromeow]

A Real pain is really fucking upsetting me and I think it’s cause I see a part of myself in benji like, I’m not like him but I relate to him in a painful way

[myromeow]

I miss my ugly fucking dog so much

[myromeow]

kieran culkin still being this obsessed with succession rules he’s just like me fr

[myromeow]

Sleep well silly kieran culkin chara... is there a roman roy equivalent?

[myromeow]

Kieran Culkin as Benjamin "Benji" Kaplan A Real Pain Dir. Jesse Eisenberg (2024)

[myromeow]

Keiran Culkin my son, my poor baby, my number one boy, my sassy man, my pathetic little meow meow. He is physically incapable of not being my favorite character.

[myromeow]

Maybe to Kieran Culkin’s credit he did too good a job at portraying Benji. Before the suicide attempt reveal, I was very sure Benji had severe mental health problems. Perhaps we as the audience were supposed to think he was merely selfish/immature and that reveal was supposed to be surprising? It doesn’t really work as a surprise because Benji’s entire existence felt like a cry for help. And then him assuming a more mature attitude at the end as though his problem was simply selfishness/immaturity and not mental illness.

[myromeow]

my favorite 2x golden globe winner <3

[myromeow]

ok i’m about to say something really stupid like this is just the bare minimum of being a good actor Having said that i love it when an actor plays different characters who would just absolutely hate each other if they were real like benji kaplan would have the craziest one sided beef you could ever imagine with roman roy rest assured benji would go for roman specifically when it came time to eat the rich

[myromeow]

Gotta love Kieran Culkin being typecasted as a charming and charismatic guy who shuts his own light out cause of his fucked up little brain, forever doomed by his circumstances and his warped vision of himself and what he needs to do to the world and to others.

It's very enjoyable, bring him his Oscar.

[myromeow]

What if I was prepared to marry you?

[myromeow]

[myromeow]

we already kind of talked about this but…

willa telling roman about this weird new age hypnotism meditation bullshit she does. she thinks it will help him “relax” and get “more in touch with his physical being” and “release him from ego”. okay, rude. he’s, like, already super humble and in tune with himself, but whatever.

roman making his assistant lead him through it (for “the bit” and also to torture them) because there’s no way it could work, right? it’ll just be a funny, totally non-sexual team-building exercise.

uh oh— it works too well.

merry christmas!

merry late xmas.

-

"This is stupid."

You watch Roman sit on his office floor, legs crossed, exasperated at you. That line in his brow carves a grim cast to his expression, glaring at you like you forced him to do this. You take a breath, hands on your knees as you sit across from him. He keeps glancing at the windows, every single blind closed, the door locked. You’re almost positive that as his assistant and his inferior, there is some kind of rule about this - right? Does it matter? Not really. This isn’t the most unorthodox thing you’ve done for him in your brief career.

"I mean... you ASKED me to do this, so -"

"Blah blah blah, I get it, shut the fuck up." He waves your words away, snapping without any real cruelty. He mostly seems tired, like he needs a goddamn nap, maybe a juice box. "Just - okay. I'm just letting you know we look fucking stupid."

“Right. Noted, thank you.”

After finally encouraging him to breathe into his core - and after he cracked off some stupid jokes to dispel his irritating tension - you’ve got him really listening. It feels nice. Taking in all the breaths, loosening your muscles. You manage to keep yourself fairly relaxed while opening your eyes to watch Roman. His eyes are shut, and that crease in his brow is gone. His sharp cheekbones don’t clench down into his jaw; his hands rest on his knees. There are gorgeous lines of veins climbing up from his fingers, through his hands and forearms. They disappear under the rolled sleeves of his dress shirt, clinging to him in such a pleasant way that it only serves you to look away before you’re… not so relaxed anymore.

There are words, soft, whispered - about his safety, his comfort, the ability to melt down into the floor. Be heavy. Sink.

For a moment, you feel like he’s asleep. He’s never so still, so… quiet. The fact that he hasn’t uttered a single joke or smirked or scoffed is unusual, to say the least. You wiggle your fingers under his face, slightly downturned.

“… Roman?” you ask softly. He moves a little, making a soft noise in his throat. Repeating his name, he cracks his eyes open, face gentle, still soft. His lids are so heavy, eyes dilated. Relaxed.

“Mmm?”

You stare back at him for a moment and he maintains eye contact, utterly silent. You smile and he returns in, just a little. Seeing his gentle expression is so uncanny that you utter a laugh, and he smiles only a little bigger, eyes still so heavy. He seems to hover gently in place. It’s almost like he’s drunk, or sleep talking. If he weren’t staring right into your eyes, you’d swear he were unconscious.

“Uh. So… you look… you look pretty loose, Rome.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m warm. Feels nice.”

Unable to help your own curiosity, you reach out to touch his hand and he glances down at it, then back at you, maintaining that stupid little smile. God, he… he looks -

No. Okay. Enough.

He trails his slow, warm fingers over yours, giving you such a light squeeze it has you stifling a gasp. A little one - just a little. Not a big deal. Not a big fucking deal. His eyes… fucking Christ. “Roman?”

“Mmm? Yeah?” His teeth. He’s smiling while talking, tongue running along his canine, lazy, eyes so fucking tired and hazed over. Oh, fuck - no, no, no. No. You can feel the warmth in your face, and thinking about it only makes it worse. Idly, you press the back of your cool hand against a cheek, trying to cool the feverish skin. Roman’s gaze shifts and you freeze. It feels like being a caged animal. It feels like neither of you are in his office anymore, existing in some bizarre twin world - it’s just… not Roman. Not really. He pulls his hand away from yours and reaches up, pressing his palm against your cheek while your eyes go wide. Heart thudding in your chest, pulsing in the tip of your nose and the cartilage in your ears. His pupils distend, yawning open into lovely little portals. Dark. He looks at you, his stare soft. Bedroom eyes. Focused, molten. “You look good like that. I do that to you?”

He sounds fucking drunk. His voice is so breathy and quiet. You swallow. There’s a ringing in your ears - it’s your blood, roaring. His thumb strokes your cheekbone. Somewhere in there is a knowing, a sexy sort of hint. The faintest glimmer of mischief, only a touch of it. No tension in his face. Everything slow, melting into the moment.

“Yeah.” Maybe you’re too relaxed, too. Roman ducks his head, only a moment, grin spreading easy. Toothy. Shy. Fucking shy. When he looks back up, he looks boyishly handsome, hair hanging over his forehead. He leans forward and crawls his fingers up your thighs, spider legs, tickling. So slow. Waiting, taking his time. Relaxed. When he reaches the tender bends of your legs, thighs melting into the soft flesh of your hips, he’s so close you could taste him if you wanted to. He never gives you the chance to find out for yourself - he leans in, pressing the most chaste kiss against your mouth. Eyelids fluttering shut, you return it. His lips are so smooth, his tongue against your top lip as he pulls back - just a lick. Just a little.

That moan can’t be yours, soft as it is. Must have been something else.

Roman giggles a little - a gentle sound, pleased with himself. The proof of his pleasure is evident, pulsing in the buttery-soft material of his tailored slacks.

“Uh… -” The time for words ends. There aren’t any more.

Roman rests his weight on your seated hips as he unfolds his slim legs, smoothly making his way to his knees as his mouth comes back. He’s firmer, but still takes his time; he tastes you, tongue against yours. Your lip gets caught between his teeth and he pulls, but he doesn’t bite hard. He moans into your kiss and it’s over. There was never going to be a chance, and now you’re absolutely fucked. He continues his sensual, patient assault, guiding you to unfold your legs and lie back. The floor, the shitty carpet - none of that matters. None of it registers. Only Roman’s hot breath on your throat as he drags his tongue over your racing pulse, his hands smoothing up over your ribs, over your chest. His thigh between yours, and then both of them as you part willingly for him. The feeling of him so solid against your clothed cunt, his hips rolling slow and steady like a tide. It washes over the both of you. God, he tastes good - he smells good, spicy, musky. His stubble is pleasantly scratchy. It feels good as he unbuttons your shirt and kisses down in the valley between your breasts - he kisses at the swollen flesh there, hands kneading. You’re at the button and zipper of your own slacks, hurrying to capture his with your trembling digits so you can free the both of you.

Roman moans, hands leaving only to free his cock - no words. None as he guides himself to your cunt - slick. Tight. All that rippled, gorgeous flesh there for the taking, pushing inside of you with the most deliciously infuriating patience. A slow rock of his hips until he’s fully seated, grinding against the deepest, most sensitive nerves. All the heat. Only vaguely mindful of the world outside his office, the both of you taking turns tasting each others’ gentle whines, his voice drawn high and sensitive. All of you, all of him, bare, raw. Fingers on the sharp edges of Roman’s cheekbones, tracing with your thumbs to meet the corners of his jaw. Feeling it move as he consumes your moans, your sobbing little sounds as you try to keep quiet. Roman’s hands wander down, feeling the curve of your ass as he thrusts, undulating, gripping you tenderly there like he can’t bear to not cover as much of you as he can with his own body. His teeth skating over your throat as your climax approaches, deep, different than usual. Nothing about this is usual. Not even fucking close.

Roman shifts his angle just a little and it’s like magic - the suddenness of your orgasm flows up into your brain like sparks, those tiny, fizzing bubbles that evaporate from the edge of a hard wave, surging back down in the riptide to devastate you as it crashes down your belly, your thighs, all the way to your toes as they curl. All of it is cyclical - the unending wave of your body tensing up, contracting; Roman’s rolling hips; his soft little moans in your ear, on a wonderful loop. Those will stay - you’ll remember them late at night while your fingers do what they can to replicate the pleasure, but it’s never the same on your own. Roman whines and goes taut with you, sucking your skin between his teeth to leave a little mark - the marks of those teeth, that delicate flesh that is going to be purple the next day until it fades into a brown, a green. The dimples his teeth make fade before any of that. The sensation stays. Roman’s cock throbs inside of you and he’s filling you up, hips twitching. Your fingers in his hair. He kisses you again, and it’s sloppy - his lips are wet, his tongue against yours in earnest. Cyclical. Mouth to mouth, Roman still buried to the hilt inside your cunt. No beginning. No end. Only heat. Only dying stars, blooming bruises.

Redressing should be awkward, maybe. Roman helps you, and still there aren’t words. Just tenderness. Both of you red, and the sheen of sweat on his face is beautiful, the way his hair has shaken out of its styled part. Loose. Strands hang over his forehead. Only a hint of his smirk is there - just behind the smile. Just a touch. Both of you back in position, legs folded, breaths caught. Roman’s cum leaking from you, his dreamy bedroom-eyes getting a little clearer. A little less lost. After a long beat, you decide to pretend nothing happened. You clear your throat, blinking, watching him.

“Ro… Roman?”

“Yeah.” He sounds clearer, returning back to a familiar register. Like he’s shaking it off. The lines around his smirk - there it is. A certain degree of smugness in those eyes, pupils not so blown. “What?”

“Nothing,” you test. He cocks an eyebrow and the flush returns with a vengeance, hotter than before. “I just think it… worked.”

“Uh-huh.” Roman tilts his head, cracking his neck. He scoffs with clear pleasure as he stretches his arms up and catches you eyeing his lithe form, slim belly peeking from under his shirt before he shudders back to sitting. “Not bad. I feel all… mmm, relieved. Don’t you?”