#A haircut and 8 pounds lost is doing wonders actually

[dogstomp]

Dogstomp #3007 - March 26th

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[allthephils]

Repose

Read on ao3  

Word count: 3592 Rating: M (language, adult themes, drinking, mentions of sex, sleeping beauty au)

Chapter 4

It rained the whole way home. Phil watched the water dribble down over the window. He was glad the sun had disappeared behind grey clouds. It’s exhausting being sad in good weather. Louise was kind enough to let him alone on the drive, except for the occasional pat to the knee when she noticed him wiping a tear. Phil felt so much grief, like he was walking away from Dan forever. He’d already been through this process and those old wounds stung in a new, deeper way.

When you’re in love with a member of the royal family, you don’t have to try to stay abreast of that person’s well being. Phil had actively avoided any news about Dan but he still had constant reassurance that he was was alive and well. Now, there was no guarantee that Dan would be either of those things. If all this curse nonsense was true, one of those eligible women could well be his destiny. The royal decree had been clear, whoever delivered the kiss that woke Daniel from his sleep, had the right to marriage and all that entails. The other possibility was that none of those women were Daniel’s true love and he would stay locked in sleep forever. There was a third option as well, that there was no curse and Daniel was just in some sort of unusual variety of coma. He could be lost before they even knew what was happening, and not to sleep, but truly lost. Phil couldn’t fathom the last one, but he honestly didn't know which of the first two was worse.

Louise had to get home to Darcy. She gave Phil a tight hug at the curb with promises to check in and reminders that he could call her anytime, day or night. He tried to tell her how grateful he was for her but the rain came down and they were cut short. Phil brushed his teeth and took a shower. He really just stood under the water, trying to feel something other than grief and sadness and frustration. Phil just wanted to climb into bed but it was only 3 in the afternoon and he didn’t want to risk causing himself a sleepless night in the state he was in. He pulled on his Star Wars pajamas and went to grab t-shirt from his drawer. He dug to the bottom to find a really old, soft one. When he saw the green pattern, he wondered which shirt it was for a moment until he realized it was Dan’s Versace. It had been left behind in the laundry but Phil always thought Dan left it on purpose. He knew Phil hated that shirt. It was hideous and spending over 100 pounds on a t-shirt was just wrong. Now though, as he slipped it on, it felt precious to him.

Phil padded in socked feet down to the kitchen and made a cup of coffee. He carried the mug to the sofa and turned on the television. He couldn’t be bothered to put in a DVD so he scrolled through amazon video and played Jurassic World. Watching Chris Pratt flex and fight dinosaurs sounded like an ideal distraction. Just as he pulled a blanket over his legs, his phone rang, like actually rang. He almost ignored it, completely unwilling to take on human interaction right now, but he didn’t get many calls, it could be urgent. It was Phil’s brother, Martyn.

“Hey Martyn.”

“Hey buddy.” His voice was overly kind.

“What’s up Martyn, I’m kinda busy.”

“Yeah I see you’ve had a busy day. You’re quite the hero on Twitter and Tumblr. Mum’s not loving it but I think she is secretly a little proud.”

“Excuse me?” Phil wanted to throw the phone across the room. Couldn’t he get one day off from all of that? “What are you on about?”

“Phil, I saw the video of you at the castle gate. It’s pretty impressive, I have to say. I don’t want to say I’m surprised but I’m surprised. You stood up for what’s right. The hashtag was bound to happen, it’ll blow over.” Martyn talked to someone on his end for a moment. “Cornelia says to tell you she ships it.”

All at once, Phil remembered, #Phaniel. He hadn’t told his family about Dan, he couldn’t. They knew he had had a boyfriend and that it ended badly. Martyn had come to see him in those dark post break up weeks. As far as Martyn was concerned, Phaniel was no different than Phimmy or Philirific. There was a knock at the door, a merciful interruption. It was the first time in his life, Phil had been happy someone was at the door, except all the times Dan had knocked of course.

“Thanks Martyn and tell Corn I love her. I’ve gotta run, someone’s knocking on my door.”

Martyn tried to argue but Phil hung up, pretending not to hear. He got up and hoped whoever was at the door was ready for the stunning outfit he was sporting. It was a courier of sorts, or was it a process server? “Philip Lester?” He asked, looking down at his clipboard.

“Yes?” Phil felt a twinge of nerves, what was all this about? He really hoped he hadn’t been sent a stripper as he was really not in the mood. They handed over a rather impressive looking envelope with Phil’s name and address written in beautiful calligraphy. The clipboard was shoved into his hands, “Sign for receipt please.” Phil was baffled but he signed, hesitating a moment because he almost wrote amazingPhil. The courier nodded a thanks and turned to leave.

Phil closed the door behind him and sat on the sofa. He turned the envelope over in his hands. There was an honest to god wax seal on the back. He peeled it away, opened the flap, and pulled out the letter. The paper felt wonderful in his hands, it was weighty, and soft to the touch. He held it up to the light and saw the fibers of cotton dispersed throughout. The black ink was deep and rich and Phil marveled that the letter was hand written. He expected some kind of royal decree, an order to cease and desist, or maybe even a restraining order, but that’s not what he read.

Mr. Lester,

It has come to our attention that your presence at Prince Daniel’s bedside may have had an effect on his well being. The queen requests your return to discuss your visit with the royal physician. Your continued involvement may or may not be desired by her majesty and any further invitation will be extended at a date and time yet to be determined. A car will be sent for you tomorrow morning at 8.

With regards,

Virginia Richards

Senior Secretary

to her Majesty the Queen

Phil snapped a photo and sent it to Louise, who responded simply, with WTF? After Jurassic World, Phil watched an episode of Black Mirror and ordered Thai food. He went to bed early since he’d be getting up in the morning like a normal adult human, for the second day in a row.

Sleep came easy and he dreamed of dragons and enchanted swords, of thorny vines that wound their way up and over Windsor Castle. He saw pink roses, the color of Dan’s lips, bloom between the thorns. Phil, in his dream, approached the gate, his sword dragging behind him, and the thorny tangle unwound and opened to him. He walked through and climbed a winding staircase, dropping his weapon somewhere along the way. Dan lay in repose in a tower surrounded by an artificial night, the moon shone down on his face, and stars drew constellations around him. Phil leaned over to kiss him and Dan’s lips felt cold against his. As Phil stood, Dan’s arm dropped off the bed, limp at his side. Phil woke with a start and checked the time, 6am. He didn’t feel rested, he felt like he’d run a marathon. Nevertheless, he got out of bed and into the shower. He made coffee and forced some cereal down. He took his time dressing but wore his usual plaid shirt and jeans. Phil had no idea what was ahead but he wasn’t feeling particularly eager to please. Seeing Dan again was his only incentive to cooperate and he held on to a sliver of hope that maybe Dan was doing better, maybe he could help him.

Louise practically bounced in her seat, Phil’s phone in her hand. Opposite her, Phil was stress eating, inhaling pizza. He was already on his 3rd slice.

“You have him programmed into your phone as Dan?”

“He told me to call him Dan! What was I supposed to put, Prince Daniel, Duke of Cambridge, future king of England, the one with the nice arse?”

“That’s more accurate, so yes.” Louise thought out loud, “He’s clearly into you. You need to seem interested but not overly excited. He probably gets all kinds of crazy attention.”

“What do you mean, clearly? We said 2 sentences to each other and I was a bumbling mess. Anyway, he said he hoped we’d be friends.” He started on slice 4.

Louise looked Phil dead in the eye. “Are you serious? So you think a prince who has been skirting gay rumors since he was 16 gave his bodyguards the slip and stalked a super cute guy with a matching haircut because he wanted to be friends? You think he hands his phone number out to strangers on the regular?”

Phil blushed, “Guess not.” Louise hit send and handed the phone back.

“Oh my god, you sent it!?"

Phil: Hi Dan, It’s Phil, from the bakery. Sorry you had to run. Can we pick up where we left off?

The phone vibrated and Phil jumped, slamming it face down on the table with a small yelp. Louise rolled her eyes and picked it up, reading aloud.

Dan: Phil! You texted me! I wasn’t sure you would. Does this mean I get to see you again?

Phil put his head down on the table to hide his burning cheeks. He was terrified and giddy and insanely flattered. Louise leaned over and shook Phil by the shoulders.

“Oh. My. God. Philip!”

Phil played it as cool as he could, saying he’d love to hang out but he did have a lot to do this week. This was an absolute lie considering Phil had literally no schedule and no one to answer to but himself. Dan told Phil that he’d be spending the next 2 days in Hackney, helping primary school kids plant a vegetable garden, but that Saturday would be a perfect night to meet up.

Saturday night at 8:30, there was a knock at the door. Phil looked in the mirror, repaired his splinges, and unbuttoned his top button. He opened the door and waved stiffly at Dan who waved back in a sweet attempt at breaking the tension. He followed Dan out the front door to a waiting car. A strong looking guy in a suit held the door open for them and they climbed in. Phil recognized him from the bakery and Dan introduced him as Dennis. Dennis did not say hello, but leaned in and handed Phil an Ipad. “Standard non-disclosure agreement, sign with your finger please. And I’ll need to see your ID.”

“Nice to meet you too, Dennis.” Phil snarked. He pulled his ID out and showed it to Dennis, then signed the screen. Dennis shut the door and walked around to the front passenger seat.

“Sorry about him, he really is a nice guy.” Dan said.

Sometimes, YouTube sent cars to take Phil to events. He tried to pretend this was no different, that there wasn’t a bodyguard in the front seat and a prince sitting next to him.

“So, where are we going?” In an effort to avoid staring longingly at Dan’s beautiful face, Phil watched the scenery go by through the tinted window. It was going to take some time to see him as flesh and blood and not the heartthrob Phil had been stanning for months.

“Knightsbridge.” Dan said, “A few of my friends are having a party in this amazing apartment. You’ll love it. There should be food there if you’re hungry.”

Phil liked a very particular kind of party, the kind with a few close friends playing board games and eating pizza. What Dan was describing sounded like Phil’s own private hell. There’d be weird food he’d never tried, expensive furniture for him to spill drinks on, and loads of new people to judge him for looking awkward and uncomfortable the whole time. Normally, these types of parties wouldn’t be a problem because Phil would never be invited to one but now he had unwittingly agreed to attend. He was just going to have to be brave, there was no way he was giving up this chance to spend time with Dan.

They pulled up in front of a smart looking building. Dennis got out, exchanged some sort of secret lad handshake hug with the doorman, then leaned against the hood of the car and lit a cigarette. Phil followed Dan into the building and to a private elevator. Dan punched a code into a keypad on the wall and they went up. And up. And up. Phil leaned on the railing and closed his eyes as his stomach traveled into his throat. He took a few deep breaths to recover from the elevator induced motion sickness and straightened himself up. The doors opened onto an opulent lounge the size of Phil’s entire apartment. The longest sofa he had ever seen stretched along the length of two walls, dotted with couples and clusters of people. The sofa was white and Phil vowed to stayed far away from it. A huge wall of windows revealed a balcony with a firepit in the center. Across the lounge, there was a banquet table covered in food. Phil took a step closer to Dan, who leaned in to his ear. “Don’t worry, I hate parties too. This is just one of the few places I can be without hiding. Let’s go loiter by the food.”

Phil exhaled and the two of them hurried through the scattered crowd. They grazed on tiny cakes and Dan served up some strong smelling punch. They drank and chatted about nothing and soon the party disappeared. It was just Dan and Phil, not a prince and a YouTuber, just a couple of dorks debating which is the best Mario Kart. Phil refilled their glasses and eyed a small card set on a plate of hors d'oeuvres.

“Dan, what exactly is an artisanal pickle? And why does it need to be said that it’s gluten free?” Dan laughed, covering his mouth to keep from dribbling. ”Don’t ask me mate, I’m a royal not a hipster.” He handed Phil his glass, moving in close enough that Phil could smell the cherry vodka on his breath. “I need to powder my nose. Be right back.”

Phil watched Dan walk away with perhaps just a bit too much attention, but soon snapped back to realize he was stood alone, at a party, full of posh people he doesn't know. He backed himself into the kitchen and leaned on a counter, staring into his punch. There was a couple making out against another counter but the kitchen was so big, it didn’t seem an issue. Phil began absentmindedly playing with a set of crystal salt and pepper shakers next to him, naming them Dan and Phil, and walking them down an imaginary aisle. Just as he said the second I do, someone sidled up next to him and he jumped, shoving the shakers away so fast, one tipped and spilled.

“You’re amazingPhil.” He was as tall as Phil with a mop of curly hair that hung down into his striking green eyes. Phil was hastily brushing salt off the counter into his hand. He threw a bit over his shoulder to avoid angering any malevolent spirits and let the rest fall to the floor.

“I am. Hey.” He really hoped this guy would walk away but that didn’t happen.

“I’m PJ, so good meeting you.” He shook Phil’s hand briskly and spoke just as fast. “Love your videos. You came with Dan, yes? Dan and I met in grammar school. He’s a grave disappointment to his parents as am I, so we bonded right off the bat. Can I pick your brain about YouTube? I find it fascinating.”

“Hi PJ, It’s eh, good to meet you too but I feel like I should see where Dan ran off to.”

“Oh Dan? He’s right over there.” He gestured over his shoulder. “He got ambushed on his way back from the loo.”

Phil looked over to see Dan talking to a very pretty young woman in tiny shorts and a bolero jacket. Her heels were so high, she could look Dan right in the eye. Her right hand rested on his forearm and the other gesticulated wildly, spilling drops of her drink onto the cream colored rug. Dan caught Phil looking for him and he rolled his eyes and grinned before going back to feigning interest in her non-stop talking.

“So,” PJ drew Phil back in, “you guys a thing then?”

“Me and Dan? Oh no. We only just met. We’re just friends.”

“Really? Hmm. Didn’t look like friends over here canoodling in the corner.” PJ crunched a tiny pickle.

“Canoodling? We weren’t… he’s not interested in me like that.” Phil moved to get himself more punch and PJ followed, standing beside him.

“You see the girl he’s talking to? That’s Iris Spencer. She comes from just the right sort of family and has been educated in all the right schools. If Dan’s father could choose anyone for him to marry, she’d be it.”

“Marry? He not even 19.”

“Well, they’d wait till after university of course. To call her Dan’s ex-girlfriend would be a stretch so let’s just say they’ve spent some time together and she’s not accustomed to being turned down. Anywho, she’s been talking his ear off for a good 20 minutes and he hasn’t taken his eyes off of you.” PJ slurped from his cup of punch to drive his point home. “He’s into you.”

Phil kept his head low but glanced up, trying to discreetly watch the interaction. Dan nodded occasionally but his eyes stayed fixed over Iris’ shoulder, across the room, on Phil. Their eyes met and and Phil bit his lip to keep his smile from spreading too wide. He looked at PJ who grinned and slurped again.

“He’s out of my league.” Phil said, shaking his head softly.

PJ leaned in close and whispered, “Phil, he’s looking at you like you’re a damn buffet and he’s not sure which end to start on. Go. Get. Your. Man.”

Phil sputtered a laugh and looked at PJ with wide eyes. He couldn’t argue with that so he tipped back the rest of his punch and stood up as straight as his nerves would allow. He marched right up to Dan and took his hand.

“Phil! This is… Oh!” Dan was cut off mid-sentence as Phil pulled Dan along with him, never stopping.

Iris fumed, “Oi! Dan!”

Dan looked over his shoulder, “Sorry Iris, got a better offer!” They drew some attention as Phil led Dan out onto the balcony. Phil spotted a huge tub of beers and grabbed two. Dan did the same. They followed the balcony around the side of the building and squeezed past a stack of extra patio chairs to find a few feet of blessed empty space. They both sunk to the ground, giggling. Dan popped the tops of his beers on the slats of a chair and handed one to Phil, who held his own two beers up, “Great minds,” he said as he put them aside.

The clinked their bottles together and Dan opened his mouth to give a toast but paused, “I just realized all the toasts I know are dirty, I don’t want to offend you. You got one?”

Phil though for a second, cleared his throat, and said, “I’d rather have a bottle in front of me then a frontal lobotomy. Cheers!”

Dan chuckled and drank. “Phil, I’m sorry I brought you here. I wanted to go somewhere I could be myself but this scene is garbage, I know that.”

“I dunno. I’m actually having a really good time, Dan. I met your friend, PJ. He’s… interesting. He’s actually pretty cool. I don’t care where we are as long I’m...” Phil stopped himself just in time but Dan wasn’t gonna let him off that easy.

“I’m sorry, what?” Dan stared at Phil, eyebrows raised, hand over his heart. “Phil Lester, were you gonna say, as long as you’re with me ?”

“No. I mean, that’s weird. We just met. I… I just...”

“You were gonna say that!” Dan was getting such a kick out of Phil’s utter embarrassment. “You cheesy mother fluffer. You were playing it so cool, but I broke through, didn’t I? Admit it, you like me? You think I’m fit.” The emphasis Dan put on the word fit had Phil completely flustered. He put his forehead on Dan’s shoulder and groaned. Dan laughed a little to loud.

“It’s ok, Phil.” Dan’s voice softened, “I like you too.”

[buzznoow-blog]

How to Get Back at Your Ex: 20 Fun, Classy Ways to Get Revenge

Wondering a way to come back to at your ex? attempt these twenty revenge concepts to assist you to plot the proper payback for all the place you thru.

When somebody hurts America, it’s natural to require to hunt revenge. They’ve created America feel dreadful—why shouldn’t they get a style of their own medicine? Well, we've you lined with these revenge concepts for plotting a way to come back to at your ex!

This has ne'er been truer then once it involves the dissolution of relationships. once we enter into a relationship, we tend to create ourselves liable to that person. we tend to believe they will be trusty, and that we open up to them each physically and showing emotion. we tend to share secrets with them, become knowledgeable about them, and square measure honest with them—and we tend to expect constant reciprocally.

However, it's as a result of relationships square measure thus intense that it's all a lot of pain once we square measure disenchanted by our partners. If they lie, cheat, hurt, deceive, or abuse America in a way, we tend to feel it most bigger. as a result of they're the ones that ought to behave in only the alternative method.

How to come back to at your ex – twenty plots to actual revenge

Maybe your ex cheated or gambled all of your cash away. maybe {they just|they only|they merely|they simply|they thuslely} didn’t pay you sufficient attention or known as your names and diminished you so you lost all of your confidence.

So, you probably did what’s right and you poor up with them. But now, somehow that doesn’t want enough. What that person places you thru, they shouldn’t be ready to flee with it, right?

No, that scumbag has gotta pay!

Of course, it’s necessary to recollect that whereas revenge helps you are feeling as if you bought even along with your partner, it doesn’t forever cause you to feel higher. forever steer away from things amerciable or that might seriously hurt them *no matter however tempting it will be*. However, if you merely can’t let things lie till you bought back at your ex, here square measure twenty concepts to start you off!

#1 Get somebody hotter, cleverer, and customarily higher. the amount away to actual payback on associate degree ex? Move onto ensuing larger and higher things! If you'll bag yourself, somebody, a lot of engaging, successful, and along then your ex, you're property them and everybody else comprehend it was the proper call to spit up, and hopefully create them feel pretty little and jealous within the process!

#2 Go somewhere you recognize they’ll be and appearance fabulous. If you recognize you're attending to be within the same place, create an additional effort to seem super hot. obtain a brand new outfit, get a haircut, do no matter it takes to create them assume ‘what have I done?’ Then check that you act wholly cool before of them, just like the breakup doesn’t trouble you in the slightest degree.

#3 Lose those pounds. If you bought a touch, er, snug, in your relationship, now could be the time to hit the gymnasium laborious and shift those pounds. You’ll feel most a lot of assured regarding yourself, and if you ever come upon your ex their jaw can hit the ground. What’s a lot of satisfying than that?

#4 Get with their mates. If they extremely screwed you over, there's no sweeter revenge then hook up with their nearest and beloved. It sends them crazy with jealousy however since they don’t have a leg to face on, they merely have to be compelled to sit there and take it!

#5 entertain others before them. Show them however very little you care by obtaining your flirt on success with others.

#6 Be very nice to them. typically you’ve simply ought to be the larger person. Being very nice to them may be a good way to point out you couldn’t care less. It leaves them feeling extremely confused too!

#7 come back everything they ever got you—smashed up. Having a decent filter out of all their stuff is super cathartic, and check that they grasp you don’t need to stay any of it as it’s meaningless to you currently. however, don’t allow them to use it either! Smash that stuff up and dump it on their threshold so that they should clear it up.

#8 Delete all their pics from your social media. allow them to grasp you mean business and wish to start over by deleting any trace of them from your social media accounts.

#9 Unfollow them on social media. As above, showing them you merely aren’t fascinated by what they're up to maybe a good way to settle the score.

#10 Tell their mater. If they did one thing notably unhealthy, you recognize UN agency they won’t need finding out? Their mom! Telling the fogeys may be a devious move, however, it makes them consider before doing it again!

#11 Tell everyone! A public shaming may be simply the price tag if you seek for them to feel seriously rueful for his or her actions. Okay, thus it'd mean that everybody lands up knowing your business, however, a minimum of the entire world is aware of what associate degree idiot/scumbag they are—including any potential new individuals they struggle to lure their way!

#12 Steal their friends. If you are doing variety eleven, you're absolute to shock many of their friends. sidle up to them and create them see your purpose of read. If they extremely were that terrible and you’ve been along for a protracted time, you may find yourself obtaining them on your aspect. If potential, check that they fathom it, that feels even better!

#13 Comment rubbish on all their social media posts. If you would like to understand a way to come back to at your ex, and have a giggle and obtain them seriously confused/annoyed at constant time, write stupid, biting rubbish on all of their social media posts or block their feed with weird pictures!

#14 If you shared Netflix passwords, modification them. Don’t allow them to sponge off you for one second longer!

#15 ne'er attach with them once more. no matter what you are doing, but tempting it's, and despite what proportion alcohol you drink, never, ever attach with them once more. albeit they beg for forgiveness and raise you to require them back, be stronger. Take the ethical status and say no—you’ll feel the most higher if you are doing.

#16 Become flourishing. Get that promotion, modify career ways, write that book. Do all the items you same you were attending to do after they command you back, and kick ass at every single one amongst them!

#17 Imitate photos they post of themselves on social media. guy of their chesty selfies or stupid posts by mocking them. individuals can assume you're humourous too *well, everybody expects your ex that is*!

#18 raise all of your stuff back, then throw it away before of them. create them search for all the things you left at their place, and obtain them to come back it. it'll be funny looking their face after you simply say ‘thanks’ then chuck it straight within the bin!

#19 keep tight with their family. wont to decision his mum each week? Keep doing it! wont to play golf along with her pater on an everyday basis? Refuse to relinquish that up. Staying getting ready for their family can exasperate them and create them feel jittery all the time too!

#20 Go traveling. Get out there and see the world! check that you document photos of yourself having a tremendous time altogether these exotic locations. Nothing says, ‘I couldn’t care less regarding you’ higher than trying hot on a beach somewhere lovely.

Remember, obtaining revenge on your ex are often vastly cathartic and even fun. It will assist you to continue along with your life and obtain over it. Still, it’s necessary to stay a check on yourself.

If you discover you pay all of your time plotting alternative ways for the way to urge back at your ex, maybe it’s time to decide whether or not they square measure value wasting from now on time on. perhaps the simplest revenge you serve them is by simply moving on.

[enchantingtigerbarbarian-blog]

EPILOGUE

EPILOGUE:

BANNON AND TRUMP

On a sweltering morning in October 2017, the man who had more or less single-handedly brought about the U.S. withdrawal from the Paris climate accord, stood on the steps of the Breitbart town house and said, with a hearty laugh, “I guess global warming is real.”

Steve Bannon had lost twenty pounds since his exit from the White House six weeks before—he was on a crash all-sushi diet. “That building,” said his friend David Bossie, speaking about all White Houses but especially the Trump White House, “takes perfectly healthy people and turns them into old, unhealthy people.” But Bannon, who Bossie had declared on virtual life support during his final days in the West Wing, was again, by his own description, “on fire.” He had moved out of the Arlington “safe house” and reestablished himself back at the Breitbart Embassy, turning it into a headquarters for the next stage of the Trump movement, which might not include Trump at all.

Asked about Trump’s leadership of the nationalist-populist movement, Bannon registered a not inconsiderable change in the country’s political landscape: “I am the leader of the national-populist movement.”

One cause of Bannon’s boast and new resolve was that Trump, for no reason that Bannon could quite divine, had embraced Mitch McConnell’s establishment candidate in the recent Republican run-off in Alabama rather than support the nat-pop choice for the Senate seat vacated by now attorney general Jeff Sessions. After all, McConnell and the president were barely on speaking terms. From his August “working holiday” in Bedminster, the president’s staff had tried to organize a makeup meeting with McConnell, but McConnell’s staff had sent back word that it wouldn’t be possible because the Senate leader would be getting a haircut.

But the president—ever hurt and confused by his inability to get along with the congressional leadership, and then, conversely, enraged by their refusal to get along with him—had gone all-in for the McConnell-backed Luther Strange, who had run against Bannon’s candidate, the right-wing firebrand Roy Moore. (Even by Alabama standards, Moore was far right: he had been removed as chief justice of the Alabama Supreme Court for defying a federal court order to take down a monument of the Ten Commandments in the Alabama judicial building.)

For Bannon, the president’s political thinking had been obtuse at best. He was unlikely to get anything from McConnell—and indeed Trump had demanded nothing for his support for Luther Strange, which came via an unplanned tweet in August. Strange’s prospects were not only dim, but he was likely to lose in a humiliating fashion. Roy Moore was the clear candidate of the Trump base—and he was Bannon’s candidate. Hence, that would be the contest: Trump against Bannon. In fact, the president really didn’t have to support anyone—no one would have complained if he’d stayed neutral in a primary race. Or, he could have tacitly supported Strange and not doubled down with more and more insistent tweets.

For Bannon, this episode was not only about the president’s continuing and curious confusion about what he represented, but about his mercurial, intemperate, and often cockamamie motivations. Against all political logic, Trump had supported Luther Strange, he told Bannon, because “Luther’s my friend.”

“He said it like a nine-year-old,” said Bannon, recoiling, and noting that there was no universe in which Trump and Strange were actually friends.

For every member of the White House senior staff this would be the lasting conundrum of dealing with President Trump: the “why” of his often baffling behavior.

“The president fundamentally wants to be liked” was Katie Walsh’s analysis. “He just fundamentally needs to be liked so badly that it’s always . . . everything is a struggle for him.”

This translated into a constant need to win something—anything. Equally important, it was essential that he look like a winner. Of course, trying to win without consideration, plan, or clear goals had, in the course of the administration’s first nine months, resulted in almost nothing but losses. At the same time, confounding all political logic, that lack of a plan, that impulsivity, that apparent joie de guerre, had helped create the disruptiveness that seemed to so joyously shatter the status quo for so many.

But now, Bannon thought, that novelty was finally wearing off.

For Bannon, the Strange-Moore race had been a test of the Trump cult of personality. Certainly Trump continued to believe that people were following him, that he was the movement—and that his support was worth 8 to 10 points in any race. Bannon had decided to test this thesis and to do it as dramatically as possible. All told, the Senate Republican leadership and others spent $32 million on Strange’s campaign, while Moore’s campaign spent $2 million.

Trump, though aware of Strange’s deep polling deficit, had agreed to extend his support in a personal trip. But his appearance in Huntsville, Alabama, on September 22, before a Trump-size crowd, was a political flatliner. It was a full-on Trump speech, ninety minutes of rambling and improvisation—the wall would be built (now it was a see-through wall), Russian interference in the U.S. election was a hoax, he would fire anybody on his cabinet who supported Moore. But, while his base turned out en masse, still drawn to Trump the novelty, his cheerleading for Luther Strange drew at best a muted response. As the crowd became restless, the event threatened to become a hopeless embarrassment.

Reading his audience and desperate to find a way out, Trump suddenly threw out a line about Colin Kaepernick taking to his knee while the national anthem played at a National Football League game. The line got a standing ovation. The president thereupon promptly abandoned Luther Strange for the rest of the speech. Likewise, for the next week he continued to whip the NFL. Pay no attention to Strange’s resounding defeat five days after the event in Huntsville. Ignore the size and scale of Trump’s rejection and the Moore-Bannon triumph, with its hint of new disruptions to come. Now Trump had a new topic, and a winning one: the Knee.

* * *

The fundamental premise of nearly everybody who joined the Trump White House was, This can work. We can help make this work. Now, only three-quarters of the way through just the first year of Trump’s term, there was literally not one member of the senior staff who could any longer be confident of that premise. Arguably—and on many days indubitably—most members of the senior staff believed that the sole upside of being part of the Trump White House was to help prevent worse from happening.

In early October, Secretary of State Rex Tillerson’s fate was sealed—if his obvious ambivalence toward the president had not already sealed it—by the revelation that he had called the president “a fucking moron.”

This—insulting Donald Trump’s intelligence—was both the thing you could not do and the thing—drawing there-but-for-the-grace-of-God guffaws across the senior staff—that everybody was guilty of. Everyone, in his or her own way, struggled to express the baldly obvious fact that the president did not know enough, did not know what he didn’t know, did not particularly care, and, to boot, was confident if not serene in his unquestioned certitudes. There was now a fair amount of back-of-the-classroom giggling about who had called Trump what. For Steve Mnuchin and Reince Priebus, he was an “idiot.” For Gary Cohn, he was “dumb as shit.” For H. R. McMaster he was a “dope.” The list went on.

Tillerson would merely become yet another example of a subordinate who believed that his own abilities could somehow compensate for Trump’s failings.

Aligned with Tillerson were the three generals, Mattis, McMasters, and Kelly, each seeing themselves as representing maturity, stability, and restraint. And each, of course, was resented by Trump for it. The suggestion that any or all of these men might be more focused and even tempered than Trump himself was cause for sulking and tantrums on the president’s part.

The daily discussion among senior staffers, those still there and those now gone—all of whom had written off Tillerson’s future in the Trump administration—was how long General Kelly would last as chief of staff. There was something of a virtual office pool, and the joke was that Reince Priebus was likely to be Trump’s longest-serving chief of staff. Kelly’s distaste for the president was open knowledge—in his every word and gesture he condescended to Trump—the president’s distaste for Kelly even more so. It was sport for the president to defy Kelly, who had become the one thing in his life he had never been able to abide: a disapproving and censorious father figure.

* * *

There really were no illusions at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Kelly’s long-suffering antipathy toward the president was rivaled only by his scorn for the president’s family—“Kushner,” he pronounced, was “insubordinate.” Cohn’s derisive contempt for Kushner as well as the president was even greater. In return, the president heaped more abuse on Cohn—the former president of Goldman Sachs was now a “complete idiot, dumber than dumb.” In fact, the president had also stopped defending his own family, wondering when they would “take the hint and go home.”

But, of course, this was still politics: those who could overcome shame or disbelief—and, despite all Trumpian coarseness and absurdity, suck up to him and humor him—might achieve unique political advantage. As it happened, few could.

By October, however, many on the president’s staff took particular notice of one of the few remaining Trump opportunists: Nikki Haley, the UN ambassador. Haley—“as ambitious as Lucifer,” in the characterization of one member of the senior staff—had concluded that Trump’s tenure would last, at best, a single term, and that she, with requisite submission, could be his heir apparent. Haley had courted and befriended Ivanka, and Ivanka had brought her into the family circle, where she had become a particular focus of Trump’s attention, and he of hers. Haley, as had become increasingly evident to the wider foreign policy and national security team, was the family’s pick for secretary of state after Rex Tillerson’s inevitable resignation. (Likewise, in this shuffle, Dina Powell would replace Haley at the UN.)

The president had been spending a notable amount of private time with Haley on Air Force One and was seen to be grooming her for a national political future. Haley, who was much more of a traditional Republican, one with a pronounced moderate streak—a type increasingly known as a Jarvanka Republican—was, evident to many, being mentored in Trumpian ways. The danger here, offered one senior Trumper, “is that she is so much smarter than him.”

What now existed, even before the end of the president’s first year, was an effective power vacuum. The president, in his failure to move beyond daily chaos, had hardly seized the day. But, as sure as politics, someone would.

In that sense, the Trumpian and Republican future was already moving beyond this White House. There was Bannon, working from the outside and trying to take over the Trump movement. There was the Republican leadership in Congress, trying to stymie Trumpism—if not slay it. There was John McCain, doing his best to embarrass it. There was the special counsel’s office, pursuing the president and many of those around him.

The stakes were very clear to Bannon. Haley, quite an un-Trumpian figure, but by far the closest of any of his cabinet members to him, might, with clever political wiles, entice Trump to hand her the Trumpian revolution. Indeed, fearing Haley’s hold on the president, Bannon’s side had—the very morning that Bannon had stood on the steps of the Breitbart town house in the unseasonable October weather—gone into overdrive to push the CIA’s Mike Pompeo for State after Tillerson’s departure.

This was all part of the next stage of Trumpism—to protect it from Trump.

* * *

General Kelly was conscientiously and grimly trying to purge the West Wing chaos. He had begun by compartmentalizing the sources and nature of the chaos. The overriding source, of course, was the president’s own eruptions, which Kelly could not control and had resigned himself to accepting. As for the ancillary chaos, much of it had been calmed by the elimination of Bannon, Priebus, Scaramucci, and Spicer, with the effect of making it quite a Jarvanka-controlled West Wing.

Now, nine months in, the administration faced the additional problem that it was very hard to hire anyone of stature to replace the senior people who had departed. And the stature of those who remained seemed to be more diminutive by the week.

Hope Hicks, at twenty-eight, and Stephen Miller, at thirty-two, both of whom had begun as effective interns on the campaign, were now among the seniormost figures in the White House. Hicks had assumed command of the communications operation, and Miller had effectively replaced Bannon as the senior political strategist.

After the Scaramucci fiasco, and the realization that the position of communications director would be vastly harder to fill, Hicks was assigned the job as the “interim” director. She was given the interim title partly because it seemed implausible that she was qualified to run an already battered messaging operation, and partly because if she was given the permanent job everyone would assume that the president was effectively calling the daily shots. But by the middle of September, interim was quietly converted to permanent.

In the larger media and political world, Miller—who Bannon referred to as “my typist”—was a figure of ever increasing incredulity. He could hardly be taken out in public without engaging in some screwball, if not screeching, fit of denunciation and grievance. He was the de facto crafter of policy and speeches, and yet up until now he had largely only taken dictation.

Most problematic of all, Hicks and Miller, along with everyone on the Jarvanka side, were now directly connected to actions involved in the Russian investigation or efforts to spin it, deflect it, or, indeed, cover it up. Miller and Hicks had drafted—or at least typed—Kushner’s version of the first letter written at Bedminster to fire Comey. Hicks had joined with Kushner and his wife to draft on Air Force One the Trump-directed press release about Don Jr. and Kushner’s meeting with the Russians in Trump Tower.

In its way, this had become the defining issue for the White House staff: who had been in what inopportune room. And even beyond the general chaos, the constant legal danger formed part of the high barrier to getting people to come work in the West Wing.

Kushner and his wife—now largely regarded as a time bomb inside the White House—were spending considerable time on their own defense and battling a sense of mounting paranoia, not least about what members of the senior staff who had already exited the West Wing might now say about them. Kushner, in the middle of October, would, curiously, add to his legal team Charles Harder, the libel lawyer who had defended both Hulk Hogan in his libel suit against Gawker, the Internet gossip site, and Melania Trump in her suit against the Daily Mail. The implied threat to media and to critics was clear. Talk about Jared Kushner at your peril. It also likely meant that Donald Trump was yet managing the White House’s legal defense, slotting in his favorite “tough guy” lawyers.

Beyond Donald Trump’s own daily antics, here was the consuming issue of the White House: the ongoing investigation directed by Robert Mueller. The father, the daughter, the son-in-law, his father, the extended family exposure, the prosecutor, the retainers looking to save their own skins, the staffers who Trump had rewarded with the back of his hand—it all threatened, in Bannon’s view, to make Shakespeare look like Dr. Seuss.

Everyone waited for the dominoes to fall, and to see how the president, in his fury, might react and change the game again.

* * *

Steve Bannon was telling people he thought there was a 33.3 percent chance that the Mueller investigation would lead to the impeachment of the president, a 33.3 percent chance that Trump would resign, perhaps in the wake of a threat by the cabinet to act on the Twenty-Fifth Amendment (by which the cabinet can remove the president in the event of his incapacitation), and a 33.3 percent chance that he would limp to the end of his term. In any event, there would certainly not be a second term, or even an attempt at one.

“He’s not going to make it,” said Bannon at the Breitbart Embassy. “He’s lost his stuff.”

Less volubly, Bannon was telling people something else: he, Steve Bannon, was going to run for president in 2020. The locution, “If I were president . . .” was turning into, “When I am president . . .”

The top Trump donors from 2016 were in his camp, Bannon claimed: Sheldon Adelson, the Mercers, Bernie Marcus, and Peter Thiel. In short order, and as though he had been preparing for this move for some time, Bannon had left the White House and quickly thrown together a rump campaign organization. The heretofore behind-the-scenes Bannon was methodically meeting with every conservative leader in the country—doing his best, as he put it, to “kiss the ass and pay homage to all the gray-beards.” And he was keynoting a list of must-attend conservative events.

“Why is Steve speaking? I didn’t know he spoke,” the president remarked with puzzlement and rising worry to aides.

Trump had been upstaged in other ways as well. He had been scheduled for a major 60 Minutes interview in September, but this was abruptly canceled after Bannon’s 60 Minutes interview with Charlie Rose on September 11. The president’s advisers felt he shouldn’t put himself in a position where he would be compared with Bannon. The worry among staffers—all of them concerned that Trump’s rambling and his alarming repetitions (the same sentences delivered with the same expressions minutes apart) had significantly increased, and that his ability to stay focused, never great, had notably declined—was that he was likely to suffer by such a comparison. Instead, the interview with Trump was offered to Sean Hannity—with a preview of the questions.

Bannon was also taking the Breitbart opposition research group—the same forensic accountant types who had put together the damning Clinton Cash revelations—and focusing it on what he characterized as the “political elites.” This was a catchall list of enemies that included as many Republicans as Democrats.

Most of all, Bannon was focused on fielding candidates for 2018. While the president had repeatedly threatened to support primary challenges against his enemies, in the end, with his aggressive head start, it was Bannon who would be leading these challenges. It was Bannon spreading fear in the Republican Party, not Trump. Indeed, Bannon was willing to pick outré if not whacky candidates—including former Staten Island congressman Michael Grimm, who had done a stint in federal prison—to demonstrate, as he had demonstrated with Trump, the scale, artfulness, and menace of Bannon-style politics. Although the Republicans in the 2018 congressional races were looking, according to Bannon’s numbers, at a 15-point deficit, it was Bannon’s belief that the more extreme the right-wing challenge appeared, the more likely the Democrats would field left-wing nutters even less electable than right-wing nutters. The disruption had just begun.

Trump, in Bannon’s view, was a chapter, or even a detour, in the Trump revolution, which had always been about weaknesses in the two major parties. The Trump presidency—however long it lasted—had created the opening that would provide the true outsiders their opportunity. Trump was just the beginning.

Standing on the Breitbart steps that October morning, Bannon smiled and said: “It’s going to be wild as shit.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I am grateful to Janice Min and Matthew Belloni at the Hollywood Reporter, who, eighteen months ago, got me up one morning to jump on a plane in New York and that evening interview the unlikely candidate in Los Angeles. My publisher, Stephen Rubin, and editor, John Sterling, at Henry Holt have not only generously supported this book but shepherded it with enthusiasm and care on an almost daily basis. My agent, Andrew Wylie, made this book happen, as usual, virtually overnight.

Michael Jackson at Two Cities TV, Peter Benedek at UTA, and my lawyers, Kevin Morris and Alex Kohner, have patiently pushed this project forward.

A libel reading can be like a visit to the dentist. But in my long experience, no libel lawyer is more nuanced, sensitive, and strategic than Eric Rayman. Once again, almost a pleasure.

Many friends, colleagues, and generous people in the greater media and political world have made this a smarter book, among them Mike Allen, Jonathan Swan, John Homans, Franklin Foer, Jack Shafer, Tammy Haddad, Leela de Kretser, Stevan Keane, Matt Stone, Edward Jay Epstein, Simon Dumenco, Tucker Carlson, Joe Scarborough, Piers Morgan, Juleanna Glover, Niki Christoff, Dylan Jones, Michael Ledeen, Mike Murphy, Tim Miller, Larry McCarthy, Benjamin Ginsberg, Al From, Kathy Ruemmler, Matthew Hiltzik, Lisa Dallos, Mike Rogers, Joanna Coles, Steve Hilton, Michael Schrage, Matt Cooper, Jim Impoco, Michael Feldman, Scott McConnell, and Mehreen Maluk.

My appreciation to fact-checkers Danit Lidor, Christina Goulding, and Joanne Gerber.

My greatest thanks to Victoria Floethe, for her support, patience, and insights, and for her good grace in letting this book take such a demanding place in our lives.