#Education PR Firms

[carmine2023pr]

PR Company in Mumbai for Education Sector | Mumbai | Thane

Are you looking for a PR company in Mumbai for education sector? Carmine helps educational institutions enhance visibility and foster trust through smart strategies. We specialize in developing campaigns that will flaunt your strengths and help you win over the right audience. Let’s work together to make your institution stand out in the education landscape.

[favvvy]

Empowering Africa’s Future Leaders: The Transformative Impact of the JAP Scholarship Program

In Africa, a generation of young, ambitious minds envisions a brighter future, one shaped by innovation, leadership, and resilience. Yet, for many students, the path to higher education and opportunity remains blocked by financial and logistical barriers. The Joint Africa Network (JAN) Scholarship Program, previously known as the JAP Scholarship, is working to break down these barriers, empowering Africa’s future leaders and changemakers.

JAN Scholarship was founded on a mission: to provide talented African students with the resources, mentorship, and education necessary to not only excel in their careers but also to positively impact their communities. It’s not just about funding education; it’s about creating a foundation for long-term growth and leadership. The scholarship covers tuition, living expenses, and other essential costs for students to pursue higher education in fields that are critical for Africa’s development, such as engineering, medicine, and environmental science.

One of JAN’s core strengths lies in its commitment to supporting students’ holistic development. JAN scholars gain access to a network of mentors and professionals from across Africa and beyond. Through workshops, internships, and networking events, JAN ensures that students not only grow academically but also develop key skills in leadership, problem-solving, and collaboration. Each JAN scholar returns home equipped with the expertise and confidence to tackle some of Africa’s most pressing challenges.

Amina, a JAN scholarship recipient from Kenya, dreamed of becoming a doctor but faced financial hurdles. With the support of the JAN Scholarship Program, she is now studying medicine and leading a telemedicine project aimed at connecting rural communities to accessible healthcare. Amina’s story highlights JAN’s approach, supporting students with dreams that go beyond personal success to have a positive impact on society.

Similarly, Kofi, an engineering student from Nigeria, received JAN’s backing to attend a leading European university. Passionate about renewable energy, he’s designing a solar panel system specifically for rural African homes. JAN’s support helped turn Kofi’s vision into a pilot project that is already bringing clean energy to communities in need.

The JAN Scholarship Program’s approach ensures that these students aren’t just scholars; they are future leaders equipped to address Africa’s needs. Each graduate becomes a beacon of progress in their communities, inspiring others and creating solutions tailored to the unique challenges of their regions.

The impact of the JAN Scholarship Program stretches beyond individual students. By supporting Africa’s brilliant minds, JAN is planting seeds for a future where Africa’s own leaders, innovators, and changemakers drive sustainable growth and transformation across the continent. Through its scholarship and mentorship, JAN is helping to build an empowered, self-reliant Africa, one future leader at a time.

[bitchthefuck1]

The thing about the MCU's Peter Parker is that it's literally the story of an economically disadvantaged teenager raised by a single mother(figure) who's recruited by a billionaire war criminal to join the military as a child soldier in an attempt to secure a better future for himself, which ultimately results in him being left traumatized and penniless by the state once his usefulness has run it's course, except in this case you're meant to both side with the billionaire war criminal that recruited him and see this series of events as necessary and honorable. Things that make you go hmmm

[mostlysignssomeportents]

How the kleptocrats and oligarchs hunt civil society groups to the ends of the Earth

It's a great time to be an oligarch! If you have accumulated a great fortune and wish to put whatever great crime lies behind it behind you, there is an army of fixers, lickspittles, thugs, reputation-launderers, procurers, henchmen, and other enablers who have turnkey solutions for laundering your reputation and keeping the unwashed from building a guillotine outside the gates of your compound.

The field of International Relations has studied the enemies of the Klept in detail: the Transnational Activist Network is a well-documented phenomenon. But far more poorly understood is the Transnational Uncivil Society Network, who will polish any turd of sufficient wealth to a high, professional gloss.

These TUSNs are the subject of a new, timely scholarly paper by Alexander Cooley, John Heathershaw and Ricard Soares de Oliveira: "Transnational Uncivil Society Networks: kleptocracy’s global fightback against liberal activism," published in last month's European Journal of International Relations:

https://ora.ox.ac.uk/objects/uuid:5e5a3052-c693-4991-a7cc-bc2b47134467/download_file?file_format=application%2Fpdf&safe_filename=Cooley_et_al_2023_transnational_uncivil_society.pdf&type_of_work=Journal+article

The authors document how a collection of institutions – some coercive, others organized around good works – allow kleptocrats to take power, keep power, and use power. This includes "wealth managers, company providers, accounting firms, and international bankers" who create the complex financial structures that obscure the klept's wealth. It also includes "second citizenship managers and lawyers" that facilitate the klept's transnational nature, both to provide access to un-looted, prosperous places to visit, and boltholes to escape to in the face of coup or reform. It includes the real-estate brokers and other asset facilitators, who turn whole precincts of the world's greatest cities into empty safe-deposit boxes in the sky, while ensuring that footlose criminal elites always have a penthouse to perch in when they take a break from the desiccated husks they've drained dry back home.

Of course, it also includes the PR managers and philanthropic ventures that allow the klept to launder their reputation, to make themselves synonymous with good deeds rather than mass murder. Think here of how the Sacklers used charity to turn their family name into a synonym for culture and fine art, rather than death by opioid overdose:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/11/justice-delayed/#justice-redeemed

Beyond providing comfort to "Politically Exposed Persons" and "High Net-Worth Individuals," TUSNs are concerned with neutralizing TANs. Activists in these transnational networks play an inside-outside game: in-country activists will recruit peers abroad to bring attention to the crimes of their local kleptocrats. These overseas partners target the klept in the places they go to play and spend, spoiling their fun – and if they succeed in getting corrupt leaders censured abroad, then in-country activists can leverage that bad press to fight the klept at home.

To fight this "Boomerang Effect," TUSNs seek to burnish corrupt officials' reputations abroad, getting their names on humanitarian prizes, beloved sports teams, cultural institutions and great universities. They seek to capture international governance institutions that might wrong-foot kleptocrats, co-opting them to enable and even celebrate looters.

When it comes to elite philanthropy, TUSNs are necessarily selective. Kleptocrats' foundations don't fund anti-kleptocratic groups – they stick to "education, public health, the environment and the arts." These domains steer clear of human rights questions that might implicate their benefactors. Russian oligarchs love children's charities and disability rights – provided they don't target the Russian state.

If charitable giving is reputation laundering's carrot, then "reputation management" is the laundry's stick. Think of organized copyfraudsters who clone websites that have criticized their clients, then backdate the articles, then accuse the originals of infringing copyright in order to get them de-listed from Google or taken offline altogether:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#dark-ops

Reputation managers also spend a lot of time in court. In the UK – the world's leader in libel tourism, thanks to a legal system designed to let posh monsters sue muckraking journalists into silence – Russian oligarchs have perfected the art of forcing their critics to shut up and go away:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/03/04/londongrad/#enablers

Indeed, London is a one-stop shop for the global klept, a place were forelock-tugging Renfields will buy you a Mayfair mansion under cover of a numbered company, sue your critics into silence, funnel your money into an anonymous Channel Islands account:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/07/the-klept/#pep

They'll sell you whole galleriesworth of "fine art" that you can have relocated to a climate-controlled container in a Swiss or Irish freeport:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/14/poesy-the-monster-slayer/#moneylab

They'll give your thick-as-pigshit progeny a PhD and never check to see whether he wrote his thesis himself:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/LSE%E2%80%93Gaddafi_affair

Then they'll hook you up with a cyber-arms dealer to hunt your enemies by capturing their devices:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/07/27/gas-on-the-fire/#a-safe-place-for-dangerous-ideas

But don't let Brexit stop you from shopping for bargains on the continent. The Golden Passports of the EU – available in a variety of flavors, from Maltese to Cypriot to Portuguese – offer the discerning failson access to the luxury good shops and fleshpots of 27 advanced economies, making it a favorite of the Khmer Riche – the junior klept of Cambodia's ruling faction:

https://www.reuters.com/investigates/special-report/cambodia-hunsen-wealth/

But golden passports are for amateurs. Skilled klepts travel on diplomatic passports, which offer the twin benefits of free movement and consequence-free criminality, thanks to diplomatic immunity. The former Kazakh dictator's son-in-law enjoyed a freewheeling diplomatic life in Vienna; one daughters of the dictator of Tajikistan had a jolly time as an envoy to DC; another, to London (where else?).

All this globetrotting serves a second purpose: when rival elites seize power back home and force the old guard into exile, those ex-monsters can show up in the lands they called their second homes and apply for asylum. It turns out that even bomb-the-boats UK will welcome any asylum seeker who enters via the private jet terminal at City Airport (to be fair, these "refugees" have extensive properties in Zone 1 and country places in the Home Counties, so they won't need housing).

This stuff works. After Kazakh state goons murdered at least 14 protesters at a Zhanaozen oil facility in 2011, human rights groups around the world took up the cause. But they were effectively neutralized by TUSNs, with former UK PM Tony Blair writing on behalf of the Kazakh government to the EU condemning any kind of international investigation into the mass killings (add "former Prime Ministers" to the list of commodities for sale in the UK to sufficiently well-resourced murderer).

The authors close their paper with two case-studies. The first is of the daughters of Uzbek dictator Islam Karimov, Gulnara and Lola. And President Karimov was indeed a dictator: he trapped his population within his borders, forced them to use unconvertible scrip in place of money, and ordered the murder of hundreds of peaceful protesters, plunging the country into international isolation.

But while Uzbeks were sealed within their borders, Gulnara Karimov became an international player, running a complex network of businesses that mixed the products of the nation's oilfields with her family's fortune. She solicited – and received – bribes from Teliasonera, MTS and Vimpelcom, who were all vying for the contract to provide service in Uzbekistan. All told, she extracted more than $1b in bribes, laundering them through Latvia, Hong Kong and New York. She acquired real-estate in France and Switzerland, and her spree continued until her father collaborated with Uzbek security to seize her assets and place her under house-arrest.

Lola Karimova-Tillyaeva was Gulnara's estranged younger sister. She and her husband Timur Tillyaev ran the Dubai-based SecureTrade, which did extensive business with "opaque Scottish Limited Partnerships," laundering more than $127m in a single year to offshore accounts in the UAE and Switzerland. They acquired many luxe assets – a jet, a Californian villa, and an LA perfumier.

Lola styled herself as the face of the Karimovas abroad, a "philanthropist and cultural ambassador." She was a UNESCO ambassador and commissioned works of monumental art – and also sued the shit out of news outlets that reported factual matters about her family repressive activity at home. She organized AIDS charities in the name of Uzbekistan – even as her father was imprisoning a writer for publishing a book explaining how to have safer sex.

The second case-study is on Isabel dos Santos, "Africa's richest woman," daughter of Angolan dictator Jose Eduardo dos Santos. Isabel's vast fortune stemmed from her personal capture of vast swathes of the third-largest economy in Africa: "telecommunications, banking, diamonds, real estate and cement, among many others." Isabel enjoyed seemingly limitless access to state credit and co-investment, and was given first crack at newly deregulated industries. Foreign firms that invested in Angola were required to "partner" with Isabel's businesses.

Isabel claimed to be a "self-made woman" – a claim credulously parroted by the western press, including the FT. She used her homegrown fortune to become a major player abroad, especially in Portugal, where she was represented by the leading Portuguese law-firm PLMJ. Her enablers are who's who of corruption-loving lickspittles: McKinsey, Ernst and Young, Boston Consulting Group, and the Spanish BigLaw firm Uri Menendez.

Isabel cultivated a public facade of philanthropic giving and public spirited activism, serving as head of the Angolan Red Cross. She attended Davos and spoke at the LSE (she was also invited to Oxford, but her invitation was subsequently rescinded). On social media, she dismissed critics of her wealth and corruption as "colonialists," decrying their "racism" and "prejudice."

Isabel dos Santos's corrupt sources of wealth were finally, irrefutably exposed through the Luanda Leaks, in which the International Consortium of Investigative Journalists mapped the network of "top banks, management consultants and legal firms that were central to dos Santos’s operations."

Both case studies shed light on the network of brilliant, driven enablers and procurers without whom the world's greatest monsters would falter. It's a rare window on a secretive world, one that is poorly understood even by its inhabitants. As Michael Mechanic wrote in Jackpot, his 2021 book on vast, intergenerational fortunes, the winners of the lucky orifice lottery often lack any real understanding of how The Money is structured, grown and protected:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/13/public-interest-pharma/#affluenza

This point was reiterated by Abigail Disney, in a brave piece on what it's like to grow up subject to the oversight of these millionaires who babysit the children of billionaires:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/06/19/dynastic-wealth/#caste

This is an important contribution to the literature. We naturally focus on the ultrawealthy individuals whose reputations and fortunes are the subject of so much attention, but without the TUSNs, they would be largely helpless.

Going to Burning Man? Catch me on Tuesday at 2:40pm on the Center Camp Stage for a talk about enshittification and how to reverse it; on Wednesday at noon, I'm hosting Dr Patrick Ball at Liminal Labs (6:15/F) for a talk on using statistics to prove high-level culpability in the recruitment of child soldiers.

On September 6 at 7pm, I'll be hosting Naomi Klein at the LA Public Library for the launch of Doppelganger.

On September 12 at 7pm, I'll be at Toronto's Another Story Bookshop with my new book The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/24/launderers-enforcers-bagmen/#procurers

Image: Sam Valadi (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/132084522@N05/17086570218/

CC BY 2.0: https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

--

Colin (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Palace_of_Westminster_from_the_dome_on_Methodist_Central_Hall_(cropped).jpg

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

[richarlotte]

how important is the public’s perception of you?

This was a major focus of my leveling up process. I joke about it, but doing some form of PR was important to me; I both felt my image needed to be rehabbed and I wanted to work on it for myself. I used this list, read books, watched interviews and talks from top PR firms run by women, and really made an effort to build myself up through both education and experience. 

A major part of who I am today is because I was able to sit down, figure out what I wanted to see from myself, write out a way to build up an image that was both acceptable for who I wanted to be and that I liked, and plan a way to help myself mature into that image as I became more of a woman and moved farther away from home. My process was pretty in depth and took about 18 months, but I’d credit it for the majority of my professional and social success since I put it to work.

[bluenerdtastemaker]

We Miss You.

Esteban Ocon x Pierre Gasly x Charles Leclerc | G-rated | 8.9K

--

warning: none except Esteban name typos. I am sorry and proceed with caution cause I have lost my soul re-edit this fic already. 😭

--

One would say "Don’t give up because your dream will become reality!". But for some, they would say "Don’t give up, because everything will work out someday, even if your dream is forever dream."

--

--

Life does not always go your way, does it? Especially when your dream suddenly becomes just that—a dream, forever out of reach.

“Mr. Ocon, this is Mr. Gasly. He will be the man you will manage for the future.”

And it hurts even more when your best friend, your childhood partner-in-crime, is the one living that dream, leaving you behind to pick up the pieces.

My name is Esteban Ocon. I’m 28 years old, and I am my childhood rival's manager.

--

Esteban had long since perfected the art of masking his emotions. His handshake with Pierre was firm, professional—barely trembling.

Pierre’s familiar blue eyes sparkled, as if to say, Can you believe this? But Esteban could only force a tight smile. He already knew what Pierre would say. It was the same thing he used to say when they were kids, sitting in the stands at Le Mans, dreaming of a future together in F1.

We made it.

Except we hadn’t made it. Only one of them had.

Toto Wolff had saved Esteban. At fifteen, when his family’s caravan leaked in the rain, when his shoes had holes he couldn’t afford to patch, Toto swooped in with a promise: funding, education, a future. But even Toto couldn’t work miracles. Mercedes had no seat for him, no chance to race.

Instead, Toto gave him a job: managing Nico Rosberg. Esteban had never dreamed of this life—lugging schedules, fixing PR disasters, standing on the sidelines as others raced his dream—but it was work. It was steady. His family had a house now. His mother didn’t have to worry about dinner. For the first time, life didn’t feel like a struggle to survive.

And yet, no amount of success in his career could fill the gnawing void inside. He hated himself for the resentment that still festered, for the late nights when he stared at Pierre and Charles’s photos in their race suits, for the way their podiums felt like knives.

By 2024, Esteban Ocon was no stranger to the paddock. He wasn’t the scrappy, desperate teenager Toto Wolff had taken under his wing nearly a decade ago. He was one of the most respected managers in Formula 1, known for his sharp mind, calm demeanor, and ability to handle the most chaotic personalities.

“Gasly,” Esteban murmured, the name catching on his tongue like a thorn. His voice didn’t waver, but inwardly, his chest tightened. Of all the drivers, of all the possibilities—why Pierre?

Pierre Gasly, his childhood best friend turned distant memory. Pierre, who was supposed to be his partner in chasing their shared dream of F1. Pierre, who had made it while Esteban had been left behind, scrambling to make a name for himself in the shadows of the sport.

--

Pierre froze, champagne flute halfway to his lips, the confident smirk he wore like armor slipping just slightly. Of course, he’d heard about Esteban Ocon over the years—how could he not? The man had become one of the most sought-after managers in Formula 1. But Pierre had never imagined, not for a second, that their paths would cross like this.

And yet, here they were.

Esteban didn’t flinch, his expression betraying nothing as he shook hands with Alpine’s team principal. “Looking forward to it,” he said smoothly, his tone professional, as if Pierre wasn’t standing right there, staring at him.

“Gasly,” Esteban said finally, turning to him with a polite smile. It was sharp enough to feel like a slap.

“Ocon,” Pierre replied, his voice tight.

They shook hands, the grip firm but cold. Pierre couldn’t stop himself from looking for cracks in Esteban’s carefully composed façade. There were none. The man in front of him wasn’t the boy Pierre had known—his childhood best friend, his karting partner, the one he’d competed with and against for everything. This Esteban was polished, distant, untouchable.

--

The tension between them was impossible to ignore, though Esteban acted like nothing was out of the ordinary.

“I’ll be in touch with your PR team tomorrow,” Esteban told Pierre after their first meeting, his tone clipped, professional. “I’ll need a detailed schedule and—”

“You’re really going to do this?” Pierre interrupted, his voice low.

Esteban raised an eyebrow. “Do what?”

“Act like we don’t have... history,” Pierre said, his jaw tightening.

Esteban’s expression didn’t change. “We’re professionals, Gasly. That’s all that matters.”

Pierre tried not to let it get to him. He was a driver, after all. His focus was on the car, the track, the next race. But Esteban’s presence was a constant reminder of everything they’d been—and everything they’d lost.

They hadn’t spoken in years, not since their friendship had disintegrated into rivalry. Pierre had gone on to F1, and Esteban... Esteban had disappeared, only to resurface as a rising star in the world of management.

“Never thought you’d end up here,” Pierre said one evening, cornering Esteban after a team briefing.

“And where’s ‘here,’ exactly?” Esteban asked, his voice calm but his eyes hard.

“Managing me,” Pierre said. “After everything.”

Esteban’s lips twitched into something that might have been a smirk. “Trust me, Gasly, I didn’t ask for this. But I’m here to do a job, and I’ll do it well. What you think about it doesn’t matter.”

--

Esteban buried himself in work. It was what he did best—organize, strategize, keep things moving. He worked late into the night, assembling Pierre’s media schedule, reviewing footage from past races, and liaising with Alpine’s engineers. Every meeting with Pierre was curt and professional.

There were moments when the awkwardness was almost tangible, like the way Pierre hesitated before signing off on a document or how Esteban carefully avoided making eye contact for too long. But they both kept their distance, unwilling—or unable—to confront what lingered between them.

The paddock wasn’t kind to sentimentality, and Esteban had learned long ago how to suppress his own.

--

By the end of the week, Esteban had just started to find a rhythm. Then Charles Leclerc showed up.

Esteban saw him first, striding down the corridor toward Alpine’s hospitality suite. Charles looked the same as always—bright-eyed and effortlessly charming, his Ferrari-red uniform a stark contrast to the muted blue of Alpine. His smile widened when his gaze landed on Esteban.

“Estie!” Charles exclaimed, his voice cutting through the noise.

Esteban blinked. No one had called him that in years—not since karting days, when Charles, Pierre, and Esteban were inseparable.

Charles didn’t hesitate, pulling Esteban into a quick, warm hug before stepping back. “It’s so good to see you again!”

Esteban froze for a moment, unsure of how to respond. The kindness in Charles’s voice, the familiarity of his nickname—it stirred something he thought he’d buried.

“Leclerc,” he said finally, his tone neutral.

Charles rolled his eyes, unimpressed. “Don’t give me that. We’re not strangers.”

“I’m surprised you remember,” Esteban replied, a touch of bitterness slipping through before he could stop it.

Charles frowned, his smile fading slightly. “Of course, I remember. You, me, and Pierre—we were a team once.”

“That was a long time ago,” Esteban said quietly, glancing away.

“Doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten,” Charles replied, his voice softer now. “I always wondered what happened to you.”

Esteban opened his mouth to respond, but Pierre appeared then, stepping into the suite and interrupting the moment. His gaze flicked between them, his expression unreadable.

“Am I interrupting something?” Pierre asked, his tone casual but sharp enough to cut.

Charles turned to him, his smile returning. “Just catching up with Estie.”

Pierre’s jaw tightened ever so slightly. “Is that what we’re calling him now?”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “It’s what I’ve always called him.”

Esteban straightened, slipping back into his professional demeanor. “We should get going, Gasly. You’ve got media duties.”

Pierre didn’t move right away. His eyes lingered on Esteban, something unspoken passing between them before he nodded. “Lead the way.”

--

Later, as Esteban reviewed notes in his temporary office, he couldn’t shake the memory of Charles’s words.

I always wondered what happened to you.

It wasn’t like anyone else had asked. He knew Pierre never had, even after they’d drifted apart. And maybe that hurt more than he cared to admit.

Charles had always been the heart of their trio—the glue that held them together when competition and ambition threatened to tear them apart. And even now, years later, he still had a way of making Esteban feel like the kid he used to be: hopeful, determined, unbroken.

For the first time in years, Esteban allowed himself a moment of relief. Maybe he hadn’t completely disappeared from their lives after all.

--

The night was quiet, the Alpine paddock deserted except for a few staff tidying up after the day’s chaos. Charles and Pierre sat in a corner of the hospitality suite, away from prying eyes and listening ears. A bottle of wine sat between them, half-empty, their glasses untouched for the past few minutes.

Pierre stared at the floor, his mind tangled with memories of the past he tried so hard to bury. He hadn’t meant to bring Esteban up, but the mere sight of him—composed and polished—had stirred something. Something complicated.

Charles, always perceptive, broke the silence.

“Esteban’s working with you now, isn’t he?”

Pierre flinched, caught off guard. He swirled the wine in his glass but didn’t drink it. “Yeah,” he said finally, his voice low. “Surprise of the season, huh?”

Charles tilted his head, studying Pierre carefully. “You didn’t know?”

“Of course, I didn’t know.” Pierre let out a humorless laugh. “You think they consulted me before assigning him?”

Charles shrugged. “I thought maybe you two had… patched things up.”

Pierre snorted, shaking his head. “Patched things up? I don’t even know what we are anymore, Charles. Best friends? Rivals? Strangers?”

“You tell me.”

Pierre’s hand tightened around his glass. “We haven’t spoken in years. Not since…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening. “Not since he left.”

Charles hummed softly, leaning back in his chair. “You mean since he didn’t make it to F1 and you did.”

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken truths. Pierre didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on the wine swirling in his glass.

“You still care about him, don’t you?” Charles asked, his tone gentle but direct.

Pierre’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”

Charles gave him a knowing look, the kind only someone who’d grown up alongside him could pull off. “Come on, Pierre. You’ve been on edge all week. You keep glancing at him during meetings, avoiding him after. And when I mentioned him earlier, you didn’t even deny it.”

Pierre opened his mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. He hated how easily Charles could see through him, how he always seemed to know what Pierre was feeling before Pierre himself did.

“It’s complicated,” Pierre said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

Charles leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “You used to be inseparable. You, me, and Esteban—always together, always looking out for each other. What happened?”

“Rivalry happened,” Pierre muttered. “We were kids, Charles. Kids who wanted the same thing. And when I got it, and he didn’t…” He trailed off, his throat tightening. “We stopped talking. I didn’t know how to face him, and he didn’t want to be around me.”

Charles nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. “And now he’s back in your life, whether you like it or not.”

Pierre let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair. “He’s different now. He’s… cold. Professional. Like he’s built this wall around himself, and I don’t know how to get past it.”

“Maybe he’s protecting himself,” Charles suggested. “From you, from the sport, from everything that hurt him.”

Pierre looked away, his chest tightening. He hated how much sense that made.

“You still care,” Charles said again, softer this time. “Admit it.”

Pierre didn’t answer, but the silence was enough. Charles smiled faintly, leaning back in his chair.

“Maybe it’s time to stop being rivals,” he said. “And start being friends again.”

Pierre let out a bitter laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” Charles admitted. “But if anyone can figure it out, it’s you two.”

Pierre didn’t respond, but deep down, he knew Charles was right.

The weeks turned into months, and the dynamic between Esteban and Pierre remained frustratingly professional. Their work together at Alpine HQ was smooth, efficient, and seamless. Pierre was delivering consistent results on track, and Esteban’s reputation as a sharp, effective manager only grew.

But despite their outward success, there was no warmth between them. Their conversations rarely strayed beyond racing strategies or PR obligations, and the unspoken tension between them hung like a heavy curtain.

It wasn’t until a quiet evening at Alpine’s headquarters in Enstone that something unexpected happened.

Esteban was sitting in his office, a neat, minimalist space filled with the hum of his computer. The long hours were nothing new to him; they kept his mind occupied and his emotions at bay. He was reviewing Pierre’s schedule for the upcoming week when the door opened without a knock.

Pierre stepped in, dressed casually in a hoodie and jeans, his usual confident demeanor intact. Without saying a word, he placed a small bag on Esteban’s desk.

Esteban glanced up, surprised. “What’s this?”

Pierre shrugged, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. “Just take it.”

Frowning, Esteban set his laptop aside and opened the bag. Inside was a brightly colored wrapper, unmistakable even after all these years. His breath caught.

The candy.

It was the same candy Pierre had always shared with him when they were kids—back when Esteban couldn’t afford luxuries like this, living out of a leaking caravan with his family. Pierre had never made a big deal of it, always slipping him a piece with a grin as if it were nothing.

“Why are you giving me this?” Esteban asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Pierre’s smirk softened into something more genuine, almost hesitant. “Saw it at a shop the other day. Thought of you.”

Esteban stared at the candy, his chest tightening with a mix of nostalgia and something heavier. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Pierre said quietly. “But I wanted to.”

The silence between them stretched, thick with unspoken words.

“Do you remember?” Pierre asked, his voice softer now. “How much you loved those? You’d always save them, make them last as long as possible.”

Esteban’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though he kept his gaze on the wrapper. “Yeah, I remember.”

Pierre took a step closer, his tone gentle. “You don’t have to act like we’re strangers, Ocon. Not here. Not with me.”

Esteban’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. “What are you talking about?”

Pierre sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “This whole... thing. Acting like we don’t know each other when we used to be—” He cut himself off, his expression tightening. “Look, I know things went wrong between us. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

Esteban clenched his jaw, his eyes dropping back to the candy. “We’re professionals, Gasly. That’s all that matters.”

“You really believe that?” Pierre asked, his voice low, almost sad. “That it’s all just about the job?”

Esteban didn’t answer. The candy in his hand felt heavier than it should have, the memories it carried weighing down on him.

Finally, he unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth. The familiar sweetness hit him instantly, the taste unchanged after all these years. For a moment, he closed his eyes, letting himself savor the memory.

“Still good?” Pierre asked, his voice lighter now.

“Still good,” Esteban admitted quietly, a small, genuine smile tugging at his lips.

For the first time in years, the tension between them seemed to ease, just a little. And as Pierre turned to leave, he hesitated at the door. “You’re not as hard to figure out as you think, Esteban,” he said softly before disappearing down the hall.

Esteban sat in his quiet office, the candy melting on his tongue. And for the first time in a long while, the ache in his chest didn’t feel quite so unbearable. Wait, did he said Estaben?

The dynamic between Esteban and Pierre shifted in subtle, almost imperceptible ways over the following weeks. They still called each other "Ocon" and "Gasly," but there was a softness to their interactions now, a lingering in their conversations that hadn't been there before.

Esteban noticed it most in the way Pierre looked at him—how his eyes lingered a little too long during meetings, how his gaze softened when he thought Esteban wasn’t paying attention. It made Esteban’s chest tighten, though he told himself it was nothing.

It wasn’t nothing.

He caught himself looking back just as often, his professional mask slipping more and more with every shared glance. There was something in Pierre’s expression that felt familiar yet foreign, a warmth Esteban hadn’t dared to hope for in years. Longing, maybe? Or was that just wishful thinking?

--

It was during a particularly chaotic weekend at the Austrian Grand Prix that things took another unexpected turn. Esteban had just finished coordinating media obligations for Pierre and was taking a rare moment to breathe in the Alpine hospitality suite when Charles Leclerc walked in, all effortless charm and boyish smiles.

“Estie!” Charles greeted, his voice warm as ever, the nickname slipping out as easily as it had years ago.

Esteban stiffened, glancing around to see if anyone had overheard. Charles didn’t care—he never had—and it was one of the reasons Esteban had always liked him, even if his openness could be overwhelming.

“Charles,” Esteban said, nodding politely.

“I was looking for you,” Charles said, ignoring the stiff formality. He leaned casually against the table, glancing over at Pierre, who was talking to some engineers a few feet away. “We’re flying back to Monaco tonight on my jet. You should join us.”

Esteban blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“My jet,” Charles repeated, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “You and Pierre can come. There’s plenty of space.”

Esteban hesitated, his mind racing. For months, he’d taken regular commercial flights after races, returning to his modest routine while Pierre occasionally joined Charles on his private jet. The two of them had always been close, their friendship easy and unshakable in a way Esteban could never quite relate to.

“I don’t know...” Esteban began, but Charles cut him off with a laugh.

“Oh, come on, Estie. It’s about time you joined us. You work too hard. Besides, I already told Pierre, and he didn’t object.”

Esteban glanced over at Pierre, who had finished his conversation and was now walking toward them. His expression was unreadable, but when Charles brought up the jet again, Pierre simply shrugged. “It’s up to you, Ocon.”

The way Pierre said it—calm, almost indifferent—grated on Esteban’s nerves. But there was something else in his tone, something subtle, like he was daring Esteban to say yes.

“Fine,” Esteban said before he could overthink it.

Charles beamed, clapping him on the back. “That’s the spirit!”

--

The flight back to Monaco was calm at first, the soft hum of the engines filling the luxurious cabin. Esteban sat by the window, his eyes fixed on the darkening sky, while Charles and Pierre exchanged light banter across the aisle. It was peaceful—too peaceful.

“Do you remember that karting race in Lyon?” Charles asked suddenly, leaning forward with a mischievous grin. “The one where you crashed into me?”

Pierre groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You always bring that up! It wasn’t my fault—you cut the corner!”

“I won that race, didn’t I?” Charles shot back, his tone smug.

“Barely.”

Esteban couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. For months, he had observed them from a distance—behind glass walls in Alpine HQ, in the paddock, during debriefs. They always seemed so natural together, their banter easy and familiar. Now, up close, it was even more intense.

“You were so smug that day,” Pierre added, pointing at Charles. “You couldn’t stop talking about it for weeks.”

Charles laughed, a genuine, infectious sound that made Esteban’s chest ache. “Because I beat both of you. Admit it, Ocon, you were pissed.”

Esteban blinked, startled to be brought into the conversation. He glanced at Charles, whose smile was warm and teasing.

“I was annoyed,” Esteban admitted. “But only because you wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“See?” Pierre said, gesturing to Esteban like he’d just proved a point. “He gets it!”

Charles grinned, his eyes sparkling. “And yet, you still came back the next weekend, ready to lose again.”

“Bold words,” Esteban shot back, surprising even himself with the sharpness in his tone.

Pierre laughed, low and genuine, and something in Esteban’s chest twisted. He looked away, trying to steady himself, but then Charles leaned closer, his elbow brushing against Esteban’s arm.

The three of them fell into a rhythm, their conversation flowing naturally for the first time in years. Esteban was cautious at first, unsure of where he fit between them, but Pierre and Charles were persistent, pulling him into their memories, their jokes, their world.

And that’s when it hit him.

It wasn’t just the way they spoke to each other, the easy back-and-forth that came from years of familiarity. It was the way they looked at each other—Pierre’s gaze softening when Charles laughed, the subtle brush of Charles’s hand against Pierre’s arm as he made a point. It was in the way they existed together, a quiet intimacy that Esteban had tried not to notice for months.

But now he couldn’t ignore it.

Oh, Esteban thought, his stomach sinking.

Oh, no.

He shifted in his seat, suddenly hyper-aware of everything. Of Charles’s arm still resting against his. Of the way Pierre’s gaze flicked to him every so often, like he was checking to make sure Esteban was still part of the conversation.

Oh, no.

It wasn’t just them. It was him, too.

He’d caught himself staring before, watching them through the glass walls of the paddock, wondering what it would feel like to step into their world. He’d told himself it was just envy—that he missed the camaraderie, the closeness they used to share. But now, with Charles laughing beside him and Pierre’s eyes lingering on his, Esteban felt the weight of something far more complicated.

Oh, shit.

The realization hit him like a freight train. He had feelings for them. Both of them.

Esteban swallowed hard, his throat dry. He forced himself to focus on the conversation, but his mind was racing. How long had this been building? How had he not noticed?

“And what about you, Estie?” Charles asked suddenly, pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts.

Esteban blinked, his heart pounding. “What?”

“What was your favorite karting memory?” Charles asked, tilting his head. His smile was soft now, more curious than teasing.

Esteban hesitated, glancing between them. Pierre’s expression was unreadable, but there was a quiet intensity in his gaze that made Esteban’s pulse quicken.

“I don’t know,” Esteban said finally, his voice quieter than he intended. “Probably the time I managed to beat both of you.”

Pierre snorted. “That happened once.”

“And I made sure to savor it,” Esteban shot back, his lips twitching despite himself.

Charles laughed, and for a moment, the tension in Esteban’s chest eased. But as the conversation continued, he couldn’t stop himself from noticing the way his heart ached every time they looked at each other—or at him.

--

At some point, Charles got up to grab a drink, leaving Esteban and Pierre alone.

“Comfortable?” Pierre asked, his voice low.

Esteban glanced at him, surprised. “It’s fine.”

Pierre’s lips twitched, but he didn’t press. Instead, he leaned back in his seat, his eyes lingering on Esteban a little too long.

Esteban looked away, his heart pounding. What was he supposed to do with that? With Pierre looking at him like... like he mattered?

“Thanks for coming,” Pierre said suddenly, his tone softer.

Esteban frowned, turning back to him. “Why are you thanking me? It was Charles who invited me.”

Pierre shrugged, his gaze steady. “Yeah, but you didn’t have to say yes.”

Esteban opened his mouth to respond, but Charles returned, plopping down at his seat and breaking the moment.

As the jet continued its journey, Esteban couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted again—something he wasn’t sure he was ready for. But as Pierre’s, and now Charles's gaze met his across the cabin, that unspoken warmth still there, Esteban wondered if he was already in too deep to stop it.

By the time the jet landed in Monaco, Esteban felt like he was coming apart at the seams. Whatever this was—this tangled mess of old friendships, rivalry, and newfound feelings—it was going to destroy him.

--

The days after the flight were brutal. Esteban tried to convince himself he was overreacting, that this was just a passing phase of misguided longing. But every time he saw Pierre and Charles together, laughing in a way that felt too intimate, too familiar, the knot in his chest tightened.

And then he saw it—confirmation, the thing he had tried to avoid acknowledging.

It was a quiet moment in the Alpine hospitality, long after most of the team had gone home for the night. Esteban had returned to grab a document he’d forgotten, only to pause when he saw them through the glass wall of Pierre’s office.

Charles was leaning against Pierre’s desk, his arms crossed, a soft smile on his face as Pierre spoke. The air between them was charged in a way that wasn’t platonic, their body language closer, more comfortable than friends typically allowed. And then, just as Esteban told himself to look away, Charles reached out, brushing a hand against Pierre’s cheek, and Pierre leaned into the touch.

Oh, they’re together.

The realization hit him harder than he expected, an ache settling deep in his chest. Of course, they were together. It made sense. They fit. They understood each other in ways Esteban would never fully grasp.

He turned and walked away before they could notice him, the tightness in his chest growing heavier with every step.

--

The following weeks were hell. Esteban threw himself into his work, keeping interactions with Pierre as brief and professional as possible. He stopped lingering in Alpine’s hospitality and made excuses to avoid any gatherings where Charles might be present. It was easier to stay away, easier to keep his feelings locked up tight where they couldn’t hurt anyone.

But Pierre noticed.

“Ocon, you’ve been avoiding me,” Pierre said one afternoon, cornering him after a debrief.

“I’ve been busy,” Esteban replied curtly, not meeting his eyes.

Pierre frowned, crossing his arms. “Too busy to even grab a coffee? We used to talk, you know. What’s going on?”

Esteban clenched his jaw, keeping his gaze firmly on the floor. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t let Pierre see the cracks in his armor.

“Nothing’s going on,” he said stiffly. “I’m here to do a job, Gasly. That’s all.”

Pierre’s eyes narrowed, the frustration evident on his face, but he didn’t press further. Esteban left before he could say something he’d regret.

The worst part wasn’t the avoidance or the guilt; it was the way his feelings refused to go away, no matter how hard he tried to bury them. Every time he saw Pierre smile, every time Charles laughed, every time they stood too close, the ache in his chest grew sharper.

He felt like a homewrecker, even though he’d done nothing to act on his feelings. Just the knowledge that he felt this way was enough to make him hate himself.

And yet, despite everything, he couldn’t bring himself to fully pull away. Some part of him still craved their presence, still wanted to be part of their world, even if it meant tearing himself apart from the inside out.

--

One night, after another long day at the paddock, Esteban found himself sitting alone in his hotel room, staring at the ceiling. The thoughts he’d been avoiding all day came rushing in, hitting him like a tidal wave.

You’re ruining this.

You’re going to destroy what they have.

They’re happy. You don’t belong in this.

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, trying to block out the spiral. He needed to get over this. He needed to move on.

But how could he, when every interaction with them—every stolen glance, every accidental brush of hands—only made his feelings stronger?

--

The weeks after the realization were suffocating. Esteban’s attempts to distance himself were starting to feel like living in a glass box—he could see them, but they were untouchable, unreachable. Every time Pierre looked at him, it was with an unspoken question, but Esteban couldn’t meet his gaze. Every time Charles smiled at him, it felt like a dagger wrapped in warmth.

He couldn’t stand it. The tension had thickened between them like an unspoken barrier, and Esteban had built walls around himself that even he couldn’t break down. It wasn’t just avoidance anymore; it was an inability to be in the same space without feeling like he was suffocating. He couldn’t look at Pierre without remembering their shared past, the way they’d been inseparable—until they weren’t. He couldn’t look at Charles without knowing that the warmth he once felt for him was now something unrecognizable, a twisted version of what used to be friendship.

His life felt like a delicate balance between duty and overwhelming pain. He tried to focus on work, but his mind would inevitably wander to the same thoughts, the same unanswered questions. Could he keep going like this? Could he really continue managing Pierre, knowing how deeply he cared? Could he continue watching the dynamic between the two of them, knowing that he was now the outsider?

As the summer break rolled around, Esteban couldn't help but feel like he could finally exhale. The constant tension that had plagued him for months seemed to lift with the final race before the break. The distant walls he’d put up between himself, Pierre, and Charles felt almost suffocating at times. But now, he had a rare opportunity to escape. The relentless pressure, the unspoken words, the weight of emotions he'd been avoiding—it all seemed to fade as soon as the words "summer break" were uttered.

For the first time in months, Esteban felt free. He was finally going home. Back to the place where everything felt simpler. He’d booked a flight using his Air France star points, splurging on a business class seat, a luxury he rarely allowed himself. He needed the space, the comfort, and the time to think.

The hum of the plane, the smooth motion as they soared above the clouds, was a welcome relief. Esteban leaned back in his seat, eyes closed, letting the cool air of the cabin wash over him. He'd be home soon, surrounded by familiar faces, by his family. A place where no one expected him to be anyone other than Esteban—no complex relationships, no overwhelming dynamics to navigate. For once, he could just be.

--

Little did he know that the demons of his life—Pierre and Charles—weren’t done with him.

--

Two days had passed since Esteban had arrived back home, and the familiar scent of his childhood home, the sound of the ticking clock in the living room, and the quiet hum of his parents' house felt like a much-needed breath of fresh air. His parents were still away for work, so he had the entire place to himself. For the first time in months, Esteban allowed himself to relax, truly unwind. The pressure of the season had lifted, and for now, he was just Esteban—no racing, no drama, no complicated relationships.

That is, until the bell at the door rang.

Esteban jolted, his body frozen in the middle of a bite from his breakfast cereal. He hadn’t expected visitors. Not today. He had expected the quiet of his hometown, where he could sleep in late and not worry about anyone showing up unannounced. He wasn’t expecting to see anyone, especially not Pierre and Charles. Not in this quiet little town where everyone knew everyone, and he wore his panda pajamas for the first time in months—those soft, fuzzy, ridiculous pajamas his mom bought him when he was a kid. They were so embarrassing that only his parents ever saw him in them, but today, Esteban didn’t care. They were comfortable, and he needed that comfort more than anything.

As he stood up, the doorbell rang again, and he cursed under his breath. He could hear the faint voices outside, and before he could even prepare himself, he heard footsteps approaching the door.

He quickly threw down his spoon, still in disbelief at the situation, before looking around the kitchen, trying to figure out what to do. But there was nothing he could do. His heart sank.

He quickly padded to the front door in his panda pajamas, knowing full well who stood on the other side. His gut twisted. There was no way. His attempt at isolation was over, and in the most inner Esteban way possible, it was his childhood pajamas that would be his undoing.

Taking a deep breath, he swung the door open.

And there they were.

Pierre stood there, looking as casual as always, but there was something different in the way his eyes narrowed at Esteban’s appearance. Charles, on the other hand, had a grin that spoke volumes. It was that grin. The one Esteban used to see every time they both cornered him into a conversation about things they never fully said out loud.

Esteban felt like he was about to combust from the sheer awkwardness of the moment, his cheeks burning, his mind scrambling for something to say.

--

Pierre stood at the door, his hand still resting lightly on the handle. He had expected many things when he arrived in Esteban's hometown—he hadn’t expected to be greeted by this.

Esteban opened the door, looking somewhat disheveled, but what caught Pierre off guard was the sight of him standing there in panda pajamas. The fuzzy black-and-white onesie, complete with little ears and a tail, was the kind of thing Esteban would only ever wear when he thought no one would see him. And apparently, he was right—no one was supposed to see him dressed like that.

Pierre blinked, his mind briefly short-circuiting as he stared at his manager in total disbelief. He’d always known Esteban was a bit of a dork, but this? This was something else entirely.

His lips twitched, fighting against the grin that was threatening to break free. His first instinct was to tease Esteban, but he couldn't help but let out a soft laugh before quickly catching himself.

“Well, that’s... a look,” Pierre finally said, raising an eyebrow with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Nice pajamas, Ocon.”

Esteban, clearly embarrassed, shifted awkwardly, his cheeks flushing. "I—uh, it's just for at home," he muttered, clearly uncomfortable under the weight of Pierre’s gaze. "Not for public consumption."

Charles, standing beside Pierre, let out a quiet chuckle, clearly enjoying the situation. "Should’ve known."

Pierre couldn’t hold it in any longer. He chuckled fully, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Esteban just stood there, mortified, tugging at the sleeves of the onesie as though he could make it disappear. Pierre couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Esteban look so utterly flustered, and honestly, it was adorable.

But as much as he wanted to tease Esteban more, something in his expression changed. There was a tension behind those wide eyes, something deeper than just embarrassment. Pierre took a step forward, feeling that familiar weight settle in his chest. They weren’t just here to poke fun at Esteban’s pajamas. This was something else.

Pierre sobered up, his playful grin softening as he met Esteban’s gaze, still standing there in the doorway. "We came to talk, Esteban," he said, his voice quieter now, his usual teasing edge replaced with something a little more serious.

Esteban blinked at him, clearly thrown off by the sudden change in tone. "What do you want, Gasly?"

But Pierre didn’t break eye contact, sensing the walls Esteban had put up. "About you," he said simply. "About everything."

Charles, meanwhile, leaned casually against the doorframe, his grin more subdued now. “We’ve been patient, Estie, but you’ve been avoiding us long enough.”

Pierre could tell that Esteban was trying to keep it together, but the way his shoulders slumped ever so slightly, the way his gaze flickered nervously, told Pierre all he needed to know. They had pushed him too far, and now there was no turning back.

“You’re not getting away from this,” Pierre added softly, his voice almost too gentle.

Esteban’s face tightened. Pierre couldn’t tell if it was frustration, guilt, or something else entirely, but it was there—clear as day. And in that moment, Pierre realized that all the time they’d spent together, all the moments they’d shared, had led to this. To this conversation, in the doorway of Esteban’s childhood home, with the most ridiculous, adorable pajamas on display for both of them to see.

Pierre didn’t want to be the one to break Esteban, but he knew they couldn’t go on pretending anymore. Not after everything they’d been through. Not after everything that had been left unsaid.

Finally, Esteban sighed, his posture sagging, as if he’d given up on fighting it. He stepped back, letting them inside. "Fine," he muttered. "Come in, then. But you better not make fun of my pajamas."

Pierre and Charles exchanged a quick look, both holding back grins at the same time, and then stepped inside, closing the door behind them. The tension still hung in the air, thick and heavy, but it was clear now: the conversation had started, and there was no going back.

--

Esteban stood in the kitchen, the kettle whistling softly as he poured the hot water into the teapot. He could hear the quiet shuffle of footsteps behind him, the sound of Pierre’s voice low and soft as he explored the house, and Charles’ occasional laughter as he flipped through an old album.

He stole a glance at the rearview mirror in his home (don’t ask why it is in the house), his gaze unintentionally drifting to the living room. He saw Pierre standing in front of a photo on the wall, one that featured the three of them, years ago—young, naive, and full of promise. A picture from before everything fell apart. Before he lost everything that mattered, before he became a shadow of the person he once was.

He watched Pierre’s fingers hover over the frame, almost as if he was tracing the contours of their past with his eyes. The picture had always been a reminder of how far they had come, of how much had changed, but now it felt like a dagger to Esteban’s heart. It wasn’t the first time Pierre had seen this photo, but it was the first time in this home—the one they had never visited, the one that had come after everything.

Esteban closed his eyes, letting out a deep sigh. How long had it been since they all last spoke in home? Years? He couldn’t even remember anymore. The whole thing—the crash, the collapse of his career, the split from everything—had become a blur. And now, here they were, standing in his new home, a far cry from the days when they’d been inseparable, when everything had seemed possible.

His parents were away, working like they always were, and Esteban couldn’t help but feel a bit lost. He needed them right now, more than ever. But instead, he was left alone with his thoughts, with Pierre and Charles in the next room. And he couldn't shake the feeling that they were about to turn his world upside down.

As he busied himself with making tea, his mind raced. He wanted this to be a quiet, easy evening. A simple summer break where he could curl up on the couch, binge-watch Netflix, and forget about everything for a while. But instead, he was about to confront the wreckage of his past, the things he had avoided for so long.

His hands shook slightly as he poured the tea, trying to keep himself calm. God, he wasn’t ready for this. Not yet. He just wanted to bury his head in the sand, but he knew that wasn’t going to work. They were here for a reason. They had come to settle things, to talk about everything they had avoided.

Finally, he walked back into the living room, setting the tray of tea down on the table. Pierre and Charles were both sitting on the couch now, looking at him with quiet, expectant gazes. They were so calm, so collected, and it made Esteban feel even more nervous. He took his seat, his eyes darting nervously between them, before finally settling on Pierre.

“Tea,” Esteban muttered, his voice soft, as he sat down. “It’s not much, but it’s... it’s something.”

Pierre’s gaze softened as he accepted the cup, but Esteban could see the concern lingering in his eyes. There was something different about him now—something that made Esteban feel small and vulnerable. He had been through so much, and yet, Pierre was here, looking at him like he still mattered.

“So,” Charles started, breaking the silence. “We’ve... been thinking about you a lot, Esteban. You know that, right?”

Esteban swallowed hard, his throat dry. He nodded, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He wasn’t sure he could.

“You’ve been kind of... absent, you know?” Pierre continued, his voice gentle but firm. “Not just in work, but in our lives. We’ve missed you.”

Esteban bit his lip, his heart racing in his chest. The words they were saying were sinking in slowly, but he couldn’t let himself believe them. Not yet. He was afraid to.

“We didn’t just know you as a manager,” Pierre said, his voice growing softer, more vulnerable. “We knew you more than that. You were always there for us.”

Esteban felt his chest tighten, the words slicing through him like a blade. The lump in his throat grew bigger, and he felt like he couldn’t breathe. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. He was just Esteban Ocon, the guy who had been left behind. The guy who had nothing.

“We tried to make it right,” Charles said, his voice full of guilt. “We wanted to... we wanted to be with you again, back in our lives. We couldn’t... we couldn’t just leave it like this.”

Pierre nodded, his eyes intense and full of something Esteban couldn’t quite name. “We even thought about going to Mercedes, just for you. We didn’t care about anything. We just wanted to see you again.”

Esteban’s heart stopped. Mercedes. He had been so far removed from everything that he hadn’t even realized that they had thought of him like that. They had come so close, and yet... And yet they were still here. Still, somehow, a part of his life.

“You became a manager, Esteban,” Pierre continued, his voice now tinged with warmth. “And when we found out you were working with me, it was like... like everything came full circle. We wanted you back in our lives, not just as a manager, but as... as... As someone we care about.”

Esteban could feel the tears starting to well up in his eyes, his face flushing as he struggled to keep himself together. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Not like this. He hadn’t expected any of this, especially not from Pierre and Charles. But there they were, telling him that they still cared.

That they missed him.

Esteban’s chest tightened as the tears continued to flow, his heart racing with the overwhelming flood of emotions. He could feel Pierre and Charles surrounding him, their arms comforting, their presence grounding him, but there was an unspoken tension that lingered in the room—one that made his throat constrict even more.

As Pierre’s hand gently rubbed his back, Esteban felt a strange heat in his chest, a mix of longing, guilt, and confusion. The warmth of their embrace felt too familiar, yet too foreign all at once. His mind was racing—too many thoughts were fighting for attention. His feelings for both of them, for what they had shared, for the spaces they once occupied in his life—it was all so much to process.

“I—” Esteban’s voice cracked as he pulled away slightly, wiping his eyes, still not trusting himself to meet their gazes directly. “I didn’t think... I didn’t know you two were—”

Pierre’s hand, still resting on his back, paused for a moment before he spoke softly, his tone steady but tender. “We’re together, Esteban. We’ve been together for a while now.”

Esteban’s heart skipped a beat, and the weight of their words hit him like a ton of bricks. He’d suspected something had been different between Pierre and Charles, especially lately—something had shifted in their dynamic. But hearing it, hearing it confirmed out loud, left him momentarily breathless. His stomach churned with a mixture of disbelief and something deeper—something he was still too scared to face.

Charles, sensing Esteban’s hesitation, leaned in a little closer, his voice gentle. “We know you’ve been... distant. And we’ve seen the way you look at us, Esteban. The way your gaze lingers when we’re together. We’re not blind.”

Esteban’s face flushed crimson, his mind reeling. He had thought he had been subtle, or at least that his feelings for them had remained unspoken. But clearly, he had been wrong. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his hands trembling slightly as he clutched the edges of his tea cup.

“You don’t have to be scared or hide it, Esteban,” Pierre added quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “We know you have feelings. We know what you’ve been going through. And we... we want you to be with us, too. We want you to be a part of this.”

Esteban’s heart skipped again, and he swallowed hard, trying to process their words. He had always felt a pull toward them—both of them, in different ways—but he had never allowed himself to acknowledge it. He had buried those feelings, buried the longing that he thought could never be reciprocated. But now, sitting there with Pierre and Charles, he realized that maybe he had been wrong.

“But—” Esteban started, struggling to find the right words. “But I don’t... I don’t want to ruin anything. I don’t want to... make things complicated. You two are already together, and I don’t know if... if I could—”

“You wouldn’t ruin anything, Esteban,” Charles interrupted softly, his hand gently brushing against Esteban’s. “We’ve missed you so much. And we care about you—more than just as a friend. We always have. This isn’t about complicating things. It’s about us, together, and wanting you to be a part of it.”

Pierre nodded, his eyes softening. “We want you, Esteban. We want all of you. We always have. Don’t you see? It’s not just about us being a couple. It’s about us, the three of us. The bond we had. The one we’ve always shared. It’s still there. And we want to bring you back into that. We’re ready if you are.”

Esteban’s heart raced, a sudden wave of dizziness sweeping over him. He hadn’t expected this. He hadn’t expected them to want him, to want this. The idea of being with Pierre and Charles, the men he had spent years with, the men who had become his family despite everything that had happened... it was almost too much to process.

He stared down at his hands, still trembling. His mind felt foggy, his thoughts swirling. He couldn’t tell if he was dreaming, or if this was real. But in the pit of his stomach, he knew that this was more than just an offer to be close again—it was an invitation. An invitation to love, to trust, to share something deeper than just a friendship.

“I—” Esteban’s voice faltered. “I don’t know what to say... I never thought this... I never thought you would—”

“We are saying it,” Pierre interrupted gently, his thumb brushing Esteban’s knuckles. “We want you, Esteban. We’ve always wanted you.”

And just like that, the walls Esteban had carefully constructed around his heart seemed to crumble. His tears, which had started as a quiet flow, began to pour out again, this time with a sense of release. It wasn’t just the weight of his fears anymore—it was the weight of everything he had held back, everything he had kept from them.

The love they spoke of, the love they shared, was so much bigger than he had imagined. It was a love that wasn’t confined by the boundaries of their past, by the pain or the distance. It was a love that could embrace all three of them, if they let it.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, Esteban allowed himself to believe it. To believe that maybe, just maybe, they weren’t too far gone. That the three of them—Pierre, Charles, and Esteban—could find a way back to each other. That they could rebuild what had been broken and make something even more beautiful from it.

As Esteban finally nodded, allowing himself to believe in the possibility of something more, Pierre and Charles both reached out, their hands hovering for a moment as if unsure. The air between them was heavy with unspoken words, but there was a softness now, a tentative understanding. Then, without another word, they both moved in, their arms wrapping around Esteban in a tight, almost protective hug.

Esteban, still unsure whether this was real, melted into the embrace. His heart raced, but in a way that felt comforting, not anxious. He was squeezed gently between the two athletes, their bodies solid and warm, contrasting sharply with his own smaller frame. His panda onesie, the one he had worn for years to seek comfort, suddenly felt even more absurd, but also oddly perfect in the moment. It was soft, worn, and innocent—a stark contrast to the rough callouses of Pierre and Charles' hands. The feeling of their hands pressing against the fabric, the roughness of their skin against the softness of the onesie, made him feel vulnerable in a way that was strangely reassuring.

As they pulled him into the hug, Esteban felt how small he was in comparison to them. Pierre’s broad chest and Charles’ muscular frame dwarfed him. He felt the difference in their heights, the way his own thin neck seemed to disappear between the two, his body feeling smaller, almost fragile between their strength. Pierre’s head rested just above his, the heat from his body radiating into Esteban’s, while Charles’ chin was nearly on top of Esteban’s head. Their bodies framed his, and in that space, Esteban felt like he was both insignificant and the most important person in the world at the same time.

He tried to bury his face into the softness of Pierre’s shoulder, but even then, he could feel the contrast between his thin neck and the solid muscle of Pierre’s, and then the roughness of Charles' collarbone against his cheek. The physical distance that had once felt so insurmountable now felt like a comfortable, solid presence, as if they had closed the gap that had stretched between them for years.

"Esteban," Pierre murmured, his voice muffled but tender as his hand gently cupped the back of Esteban’s head. "You’re not alone anymore."

Charles, his voice soft but steady, added, "We’re here. All of us. Together."

Esteban closed his eyes, letting their warmth seep into him, the once-hidden fears slowly starting to dissipate in the embrace. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he allowed himself to feel cared for, loved, and maybe—just maybe—he felt like he finally belonged.

His voice cracked as he spoke, barely above a whisper. "I never thought I could have this again... not after everything."

Pierre squeezed him tighter, his other hand brushing lightly against Esteban’s back in reassurance. "We’ve always had this, Esteban. We just didn’t know how to see it."

And for that moment, with the soft warmth of the hug enveloping him, Esteban allowed himself to believe in it—the love, the possibility, the future they could share. Even as the weight of the past hung heavy in his chest, the three of them, standing together in his small, humble home, felt like the beginning of something new.

The contrast between Esteban’s smaller, slender frame and their sturdy, muscular bodies felt strangely fitting. As they stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, the bond that had always been there between them seemed stronger than ever before. In the safety of this moment, the outside world seemed so far away, and all that mattered was the connection between the three of them.

For the first time in a long while, Esteban didn’t feel like he was running away from anything anymore. He was finally home.

[mariacallous]

Garrett Ventry, who will be joining NBC News’ Election Night coverage as a Republican pundit on Tuesday, is a registered foreign agent of Qatar, TheWrap has learned.

Ventry is the head of GRV Strategies, a lobbying firm that provides “strategic advice about navigating Capitol Hill legislation and investigations,” according to its website. The firm also helps clients “land persuasive pieces in the conservative and mainstream press that will influence policymakers and the public.”

Qatar has been called Hamas’ most important financial backer and foreign ally. The former head of Hamas, Ismail Haniyeh, had resided in Doha since 2016 until his death in 2024.

It’s unclear if Ventry or NBC planned on disclosing his ties to Qatar; the network, as well as Ventry, did not immediately respond to TheWrap’s request for comment.

Prior to that, he was the chief of staff to former Colorado Rep. Ken Buck, and a senior advisor to New York Rep. Elise Stefanik.

In September, Ventry registered as a foreign agent with the U.S. Department of Justice, with the International Media Office of State of Qatar listed as his Foreign Principal. Ventry, his filing said, will perform public relations and communications work on behalf of the Qatari government’s media wing.

O’Dwyers — an outlet dedicated to PR news — reported Ventry’s deal with Qatar is worth $960,000 for one year of work.

Election Night won’t be the first time Ventry has appeared on NBC. Earlier this year, Ventry was brought on as a “Republican strategist” to talk about the Iowa Republican Caucus and the January 6 Capitol Riot. He also appeared on “Meet the Press” last year. Ventry has been a guest on Fox News as well, appearing on a handful of shows and writing two opinion stories for the outlet, including one from April titled “Trump is right: Republicans need to reframe the abortion debate.”

On X, Ventry has been fairly bullish on Donald Trump’s odds of heading back to The White House.

“Trump is in a stronger position polling wise than in 2016 when he won, and 2020 when the election was decided by tens of thousands of votes in a few swing states,” he posted last month. Ventry has not posted once about Qatar, it appears, on X.

Beyond its Hamas connections, Qatar has been criticized for its draconian treatment of women, among other abuses.

According to Human Rights Watch, “Women in Qatar must obtain permission from their male guardians to marry, pursue higher education on government scholarships, work in many government jobs, travel abroad until certain ages, and receive some forms of reproductive health care.”

Additionally, “Unmarried Qatari women below 25 require their guardian’s permission to travel” outside the country, and “unmarried women who report sexual violence can be prosecuted for non-marital sex if authorities do not believe them with a penalty of up to seven years’ imprisonment, as well as floggings if they are Muslim.”

[igotanidea]

Edit : Matt Murdock x fem!avenger!reader

Summary: reader is an avenger who gets shipped with daredevil. And she's familar with all those TikTok videos of them together but made her mission to never let Matt know about them. Even if she would be more than happy to make them reality. It only takes two slightly nosy friends to slip that secret out......

A/N: reader hero name is Shadow. A snippet of her story is here and here.

@somest1 hope you'll enjoy that.

"Matthew."

"Karen." something was definitely on. She never called him by his full name unless she was going to drop him some news that she knew he was not going to like

"Do you know what TikTok is?"

"Vaguely. Is it that app when teenagers do some crazy dance?"

"Crazy dance?" Foggy scoffed "CRAZY dance? You my friend should really get educated on the latest technology news. tiktok is the place where you can express yourself freely, not only by dancing but also by creating edits of the people you know or fictional characters you like....." he started ro rumble, for a while unaware of his friends' shocked face expression." Sorry." only then he realised how he exposed himself "please, continue Karen."

"I'm actually glad for your little lecture, Foggy" she laughed "makes it easier for me to present my case."

"Present your case? You definitely spend to much time with us." Matt smirked "you became a lawyer rather than a journalist."

"It's useful at times." she shrugged "but if it ever were to happen I know Y/N would stop me. She uses a lot of modern words I never knew existed so my vocabulary is expanding in many fields."

"She has to be up to date with that. After all, she runs social networks and is in charge of the PR. No one would be interested in her company if she was using words like "thy" or "thou".

"Speaking of Y/n....."

"What did she do this time.....?" Matt sighed, seemingly annoyed but his ears became just slightly reddened at the tips. "And most importantly, does it have to do with her civil indentity or the Shadow one?"

"A little bit of both I suppose. She's been the object of interest of late."

"What interest?" now Matt was up, not realising that the mere thought of Y/N getting too much attention made his Darevil instict kick in. "I.... I need to stretch my legs...." he awkwardly tried to cover up for the mistake, both Karen and Foggy noticed.

"I didn't mean it like she's in danger or anything like that." Karen scoffed.

"And even if she was, she knows how to handle herself better than Dare...I mean, you, my friend" Foggy added. "She's an avenger after all."

"What is it then?" Matt insisted

"She's a role model for a lot of people. Teenagers. Kids. Who actually use the apps. And they make edits of her. Different edits. And....ships."

"What now?"

"A little edit with a pairing of people who the author believes are good fit." Foggy explained, quickly catching up where Karen was heading with her explanation. Oh, yes, he saw those little videos posted everywhere on the social platforms. I mean, how could he not, they were trending for a couple weeks not.

"Ok. And why exacly are you telling me this? It's not like I can or want to see them." Matt turned away from his friends so they won't see the look on his face. Meaning he actually had something to hide.

"Maybe you would be more interested in the matter if you knew who she's being shipped with....."

"That's her personal bussiness. I have nothing to do with it. Besides, I should be getting back to work, so if you excuse me......" he turned around on his heels and dissappeared in the office, closing the door.

"Foggy?" Karen looked at the other lawyer, silent cry for help in her eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. For a lawyer, he can be one hell of an idiot outside of work not getting the hints. "

***

"Hey gyus!" Y/N peeked through the door to Nelson & Murdock law firm. Clearly she was already done with her civil work for the day and came to check up if her friends were still alive in that office. After all, it was hella late.

"Y/n! How nice to see you. I though you would be on your vigilante shit already." Foggy raised head from the papers he was burried in.

"Hush! Keep it quiet, Fog, will you? Can't risk getting my secret identity out. Besides, there's no threat outside today. I would feel itdue to my .... you know, powers" she waved her hands and a thread of shadow appeared. "And if anything happens, Kate and Peter would call upon me. Those two cannot work together, they are both chaotic....."

"I see." Foggy hummed.

"What?" Y/N frowned, feeling that there was something he was not telling her.

"Nothing!"

"You're one bad liar, Franklin Nelson." the girl sat on the chair on the opposite site of his desk and bored eyes into him "Talk."

"Stop doing this."

"I'm not doing anything."

"And who is a bad liar now, huh?" Foggy bridled "I can feel your.... shadows luring me."

"One thing, Foggy. I don't use them for such petty reasons, all right. I know better than to abuse them. My shadows can be a bit ... moody at times. It;s not a force to play around with. So, cross my heart, I'm not doing anything."

"You try to interrogate me in my own office!"

Y/N sighed deeply and rubbed her forehead.

"It's sad you see it that way, but I understand. Maybe we can have some take out instead. I bought some Chinsese." she motioned towards the huge bag, now sitting on the floor. Only now, Foggy realised the smells coming from the package. And the fact that he has not eaten for like 10 hours.

"You're heaven send."

"The upper might disagree with that."

"Foggy? Did you see the latest.... Oh, hello Y/N" Karen walked right into Foggy's office with the phone in her hands and smile on her face, probably due to the video she was watching.

"What put a grin like that on your face Karen?"

"Nothing."

"You two are in collusion with something, aren't you?" the girl rolled her eyes "fine. keep your secret. I will find it out sooner or later and ...."

"Something smells nice here...."

"And here he is. The third musketeer. Hello, Matt."

"Y/N." he muttered, gaze fixed on the floor like he was trying to avoid any possible contact with her, even if he could not see her "what's the scent?"

"New shampoo, I suppose? Do you like it?" she laughed knowing he had super sensing with things like this. "But seriously, I bought some spring rolls and dim sums. Figured you workaholic forgot about lunch. And probably breakfast. And probably yesterday's lunch."

"Did you bring....?"

"Your favourite noodles? Sure I did, Matty." she smiled and he reciprocated with the brightest smile Karen and Foggy has seen on him for the whole day.

"Shall we then?" Karen moved to sit by the table and her gaze crossed with Foggy's who only smirked knowingly.

***

It's been barely an hour since her arrival at the Nelson and Murdock when she jumped at the signal of her phone.

"Damn it! It's Peter" Y/N cussed

"Peter like that spider guy?" Foggy almost choked on his food "When can I get to meet him?"

"Sorry guys, seems like there is in fact an emergency tonight. And while I would love to stay, someone else I know is desperately needed out in the streets, so rain check?" she schmoozed hoping her friends would understand.

"Just go!" Karen waved her hands, already used to such situations.

"Wait. I'll go with you." Mat stood up as well

"Why?"

"I'm bored. I need some action." he shrugged and she smirked .

"Jealous of me getting more attention than you? You don't want me to steal the spotlight, right?"

"Were you thinking anything else?"

"You're just the devil of hell's kitchen, Matty. A local hero. Are you sure you're not beyond your pay grade, trying to deal with the Avengers?" Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly trying to spite him.

"Young avengeers" he clarified.

"And that makes you even more out of the league." she smirked

"I see the open spot as a team leader. Maybe I should take that instead."

"Over my dead body, Murdock!"

***

Regardless of their constant bickering, Matt and Y/N made quite a good team. Even if they were both individuals, during the years they knew each other, they learned how the other thought and how to avoid a fracture and internal fights. And as much as they would rather die than admit it out loud, it was nice having backup from time to time. Or someone to tend to your wounds.

Did they trust each other? Yes, on some deeper level that only waited to be discovered.

Were they friends? Well, if you were to ask them that question both of them would say yes, but... something more was lingering. And now, after the fight, when the adrenaline was pumping, hearts beating rapidly and they weren't Matt and Y/N but Darededevil and Shadow, Murdock had less inhibitions about her being at his place, resting and getting patched up. Normally, she would just go back to her place, but this time, his apartment was closer and it was wiser to dissapear from the fight scene faster. She really had no counterarguments to that. So she made sure Peter and Kate made it home safe and now, she was just laying on Matt's couch in shorts and tank top, legs dangling freely over the armrest, fresh dressings on her abdomen and an ice pack on the shoulder.

"I actually had fun this time." she chuckled and Matt frowned.

"Dislocated shoulder and a knife to the stomach is fun for you?"

"Not as much as standing against the Chitauri, but yes, it is."

"Stop bragging, will you?" he rolled his eyes, grabbing her legs and taking a spot on the couch, so that her limbs were now resting on his lap. And it was strangely comforting and .... domestic.

"Bragging? Me? You know I would never. Just pointing out at some past events here."

"How old were you when Loki attacked New York? 5? You were not really fighting!"

"I was 15!" she huffed sitting up "And I was already a SHIELD agent! Where were you, huh? High school? I can absolutely imagine you as an awkward teenager "

"You know what..." Matt started but chiming of her phone stopped him from finishing.

"Ugh! I'm not done with you!" she squirmed and reached for the device checking who has the audacity to interrupt her fight with Matt.

"Who's that?" he asked.

"Why so interested all of a sudden?"

"Someone might have mentioned somethign about you getting attention on..... Tiktok?"

"Yeah, trust me, all the heroes and vigilantes do." she muttered

"You know about it?"

"For crying out loud, Matt." she moved her legs and sat up making him miss the contact "I work with the apps! No matter if I want it or not, I came across some of those videos. Some of them are really, really good, those kids have skills, but I try not to search for them. Sometimes you come across some things you wish you could unsee....." she tensed a bit at some distant memory

"I don't think I will have a problem with that" he smirked and her shoulders relax at the joke.

"I bet! It's Karen by the way, speak of the devil. She send me some link. Might be that thing she was watching in the office that got her smiling like crazy." without any hestitation Y/N opened the link and much to her suprised she was put through TikTok .

"She's spending work time on the Internet? Maybe I should reprimand her ..... Y/N?" he felt the change in the atmosphere when Y/N started the edit.

"Oh, no..... " she whispered muting it immediately so that Matt won't hear the music. Heat waves. Used as a soundtrack to her, i.e. Shadow's ship with Matt, i.e. Daredevil. However she was not fast enough.

Sometimes all I think about it you......

"Damn that fucking device!" she almost threw it across the room.

"What is it?" he asked suddenly getting a lot of mutually inconsistent vibes from her.

"NOTHING!"

"You can't lie to me, you know."

"It's nothing, Matt. Forget it." she exited the site, not wanting to see more and put the phone on the table. "Can we go back to our argument?"

"I....." Matt opened his mouth but once again her phone started to ring.

"Ugh!" Y/N cried and picked up.

"Looks like someone's addicted." Matt teased

"Shut up! Hello? Peter? Did you get home safe? Good. Me? Yeah, I'm fine, I'm hanging at Matt's place. You what? Ok, all right I guess." she covered the phone "he wants to go on speaker. You don;t mind, right?"

"Since when do you care about my opinion?"

"It's your apartment. Even I can respect the host boundaries if...."

"Do it. I like that kid."

"Mr. Daredevil?" Peter's voice came through

"Hey kid. You good?"

" Pretty fine."

"No troubles on the way?"

"No, sir. But I .... um..... Can I say something?"

"Keep it rational, Pete" Y/N rubbed her forehead. Parker was like a youger brother to her, but sometimes he acted like a total teenager. With all the worst things coming from it.

"I've been going through your fanpage, Y/N...."

"My what?" the girl raised her head, eyes widening. She knew about the videos and stuff but fanpage? "I can't remember appointing you the head of my personal PR!"

"Let him talk, Y/n. this is going to be fun" Matt slapped her leg playfully and she stuck her tongue at him.

"Um... thanks, Mr. Murdock. So like I said, I;ve been running....."

"And?" she was getting impatient

"I just gotta ask. Are you two together? Cause there are a lot of comments about how good you would fit and.... Y/N? Mr. Murdock?" poor boy was clearly discouraged by the silnce on the other side.

Fuck..... y/n thought. And to think that mere minutes ago she was fighting that Matt would not hear that song. Now it was out.

"Do they?" Matt dwelled, using his lawyer skills to trick the teen. "what exactly do they say?"

"For example......"

"Ok, this is enough. Thank you for calling Peter, this was extremely enlightening. I'm gonna hang up now, take care"

She disconnected, not sure how to act now. The best way out was probably to shrug it off, but since she was emotional before it might not work. However, being casual was worth a shot.

"Well that was a hell of an evening" she stood up and streched her back, a bit of skin showing. "I think I'm gonna head out to my place."

""Y/n" Matt grabbed her hand and made her spun. "Can you explain?"

"Explain what?" she took a step back but he followed "Peter's tosses? I think he's projecting, I swear I saw him hit his head during the fight and....."

"Did you know?"

"About his mental incapabily and wanton imagination?" she was trying so desperately to cover the heat she felt rising towards her cheeks, heartbeat picking up, hands starting to tremble.

"Y/N." his voice became soft, his touch lingering on her skin "Don't do this....." he brush a strand of hair behind her ear, so damn tenderly it made her shiver.

"Matt, I ......"

"Please, talk to me. Did you know?"

"I did." there was no point lying. He would know.

"Were you ok with that? with those videos? You mentioned seeing something you did not like and ...."

"I never consider any possibility of this becoming real...." she confessed "it was just a fantasty and ....."

"And what about now?' he whispered getting even closer

"Now?" she gulped "did anything change?"

"A lot. Now I know too."

"And?" she asked that question so quietly that it made her doubt if he even heard it.

"You should have told me sooner...." his hands wandered onto her waist pulling her close, slowly, carefully, giving her time and space to back out even if they both knew she wouldn;t do such thing. "Can I?" he brushed his lips over hers.

"Mhm....." she mummbled trembingly.

And when he finally closed the gap between them she wished she told him sooner. The way he was touching her, holding her close to him, kissing her..... It made her feel wanted. Loved. Not just as the Shadow, but as Y/N. She felt all. Happiness, relief, joy, sense of belonging, peace..... And a bit of fear and uncertainty if this was right. But that quickly melted away when he deepened the kiss and her hands instinctively moved towards his hair tugging at the roots making his groan.

"I think I'm gonna have to pay more attention to social sites from now on...." he pulled for air and rested his forehead on hers, one hand cupping her cheek, the other on the small on her back, preventing her from getting to far away.

"shall I remind you, you can't see....?"

"Oh, honey, I can imagine. From what I get that song from before.....?"

"Mhm. It was the soundtrack." she muttered "But you can catch up on it all later. Now, can you kiss me more? Please?"

"Don't need to ask me twice, baby." he smiled and captured her lips in his.

@pinksirensong

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Hey I have trouble with sending asks so if you see this twice pls disregard. I just wanted your opinion.

In regards to the “Tour” post, I’d love to see it actually. I’d love if the big four break up the states in one big visit to cover more territory. Nothing against C&C. If anything they should handle the DC, New England elite circle.

Will & Cathrine can take Appalachia. Kate has drug addiction patronage, if it’s not too touchy (hard to avoid though) they can also listen to the addiction problems that plague the indigenous & rural community. Cathrine can deal with education and early years and Will can touch on the biodiversity stuff.

Sophie & Will can touch on the Civil Rights south. I’d love to see them partner up again. Very touchy, I’d know 👋🏾 but better to face it and get the backlash then keep avoiding it. Sophie does a lot of visits on the African continent & well, William is the heir, of & Tusk.

I can see Edward & Sophie in the northeast, maybe going to meet the migrant community. Visit some of the fruit farms. The US still sends fruit/food to the UK right?

It would be cool to see Artsy Cathrine & Edward in something art related. You can find that virtually anywhere in this country, bonus points if they avoid Hollywood. Visit some small local theaters. They can also meet up w\ The Princes Trust and definitely with some to the celebrities that work with the organization.

Will should definitely visit some public transportation systems. Places like NY, LA & even Chicago are likely out of the question because of the safety risk, and they’re well used but Sacramento and South Florida and even Atlanta would be good to visit. That would be nice to encourage more cities to adopt/expand a light rail/buss system. I know Florida needs to.

I would also absolutely, embargo this whole trip. Only mention that “members of the firm are coming” in advance then state the trip\visit the day of or the day before. Then have the big four with C & C meet up in DC for a very glam visit with the president( whoever it is) . By glam I mean, PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE bring out the tiaras. The president or First Lady should borrow one from and American jeweler too. Americans may not understand royal visits and what it is the Firm can do for charities but we understand bling and how much we love-hate to see it. Like the MET Gala and all those Bridgeton shows people go crazy for.

Cathrine in Diana’s sapphire choker in DC & possibly the Wales kiddos on a school bus would be the absolute highlight in the fanfic tour of mine. ( I wouldn’t bring them for the whole tour, just DC). Make a school stop, early years plug or something. Especially in DC since the government is often talking about expanding maternity leave and Woman’s (reproductive) Rights.

So much potential but it’s worth it because it’s such a big country. It sucks to mention the obnoxious two but I’ve always dreaded them here (im over it now) and sometimes I’m surprised at the things they didn’t do. I’ve always expected them to do a “Harry learns America” type thing to win over the nation. They put out more PR about how much “America” was their new forever home and how much “the country” loves them, than they actually did visiting anywhere and showing it. Might have done them more good than going all the way to Nigeria and Columbia. Also, I don’t just mean LA & NY. Their NF (granted I never watched it)deal could’ve been all about that. Make visits in smaller overlooked places etc. I guess they went to Texas & allegedly partied with the wealthy in Wisconsin was it ?but that was always for their own photo op on a situation that others were already paying attention to. ( ex: Texas school shooting & some race in Miami, Just like this hurricane. It’s so inauthentic but that’s not new to them. Oh & I guess he’s surfing now. For all their loud mouth talk about colonialism and how evil the firm is they visited no plantations, no soul food restaurants to have well “SeAsonnED FoOD”? They really capitalized on the pre-existing anger we rightfully have against the firm and the blame its current members have inherited but there were so many other effective ways they could’ve really hammered the nail in. The best thing about these two is how shortsighted they are, because it does more to sabotage themselves better than anyone else could.

*********

It's a nice thought but it's never going to happen. If Charles, Camilla, William, Kate, Edward, and Sophie are all in the US at the same time, that means Andrew, Harry, or Beatrice will be deputized counsellors of state, alongside Anne, since the law requires 2 counsellors of state to act in the King's absence. So no way, no how.

I'm not going to lie - I really did expect one of the Netflix projects to be a "coming to America" docuseries where Harry adjusts to life in California all the weird idiosyncrasies that comes with living in America and being American, only because the Beckhams did it and Meghan is nothing if not a copycat.

(I deleted your comments about Kamala because it's going to rile up tempers but I did want to address one of them: "the powers that be" determining who the president is is the American public that goes to the polls and votes. If you think there's something, or someone, else choosing who the President is, then this is really not the blog for you.)

[crystal-overdrive]

Thinking of pushing on the class aspects of Towards Tyranny a little more.

Idk if it's really obvious in the text at all but Tavarina's motivation is really informed by class dynamics. She rejected her heritage to make a life free of its trappings, one she genuinely sacrificed a lot for and worked hard for, yet she leans so hard into the (unspoken) rules and standards of that noble background. She loves luxury but thinks that others who flaunt it are gauche, she hates how defined by rules the nobility are and yet judges others for not following them, she holds taste and intelligence as a supreme measure of worth.

Her position as Enver's PR draws so heavily on this, her kill-them-with-kindness, polite-but-firm, sit on your hands and bite your tongue style of leadership that maybe we don't actually see that much of because her patron drowns it out.

I think there's a really interesting dynamic in Enver having more money and power than Tav, but none of the background, none of the education, the taste, the trappings, the knowledge of the unspoken. She is absolutely beholden to him in the material sense, but according to the system she grew up in, one she might claim to rationally have disavowed but hasn't truly in her heart, she is better than him. Or she should be.

Tav thinks a lot of her politics are for the greater good and there's an obvious wrongness to this when she's talking about kangaroo courts and militarisation, but I think she's almost most interesting in the early chapters when she's observing the people coming together to rebuild but then drinking expensive imported tea and telling herself that's what she deserves. And those sorts of ideas will sit quite naturally alongside one another until she's confronted by her own hypocrisy. I want to show that she fights for the people and is yet disgusted by them, particularly those who rise above their station financially but not in true class terms. She doesn't believe in the populist platform Enver became Archduke with, just knows she can use it to further her position.

Like, ultimately, there's disgust for Enver himself there, but I don't think she'd notice that because she's not very emotionally intelligent.

[tomhardystories]

Part 3

As the end of summer approached, New York City buzzed with anticipation for one of the season's most prestigious events: the Education Excellence Gala. Hosted by a high-ranking official from the U.S. Department of Education, the event celebrated the city's outstanding achievements in education. Several schools were to be honored that evening, including Jules’ language school, which had recently gained recognition for its innovative teaching programs.

When the invitation arrived, Jules was thrilled. It was the perfect opportunity to network, celebrate her school’s success, and, of course, bring her friends along. Over brunch, she excitedly extended the invitation to Samantha, Miranda, and Charlotte.

“This gala is going to be the event,” Jules said, scanning the glossy invitation. “I need my girls there to keep me sane.”

“We wouldn’t miss it,” Miranda said, nodding firmly.

“Will there be an open bar?” Samantha asked with a sly grin.

“Most likely,” Jules replied, laughing. “And I need your help, Sam.”

“Of course, darling. Picking a dress? Practicing your speech? Finding you a date?” Samantha teased, her eyes sparkling.

“Well, yes to the dress part, but also... I need you to work some of your PR magic,” Jules admitted, taking a sip of her coffee.

Samantha’s brow arched. “I’m intrigued. What kind of magic are we talking about?”

Jules hesitated, then leaned forward. “I need you to get me Tom Hardy’s phone number.”

The table went silent for a beat before Charlotte gasped. “Wait, you’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” Jules said, her tone firm but her cheeks betraying a faint blush. “You’re always saying I should put myself out there. Consider this me… stepping out.”

Miranda chuckled. “Bold move. I like it.”

“You really want me to track down his number?” Samantha asked, clearly amused.

“Yes,” Jules said, straightening up. “You’re the queen of connections, Sam. You can make this happen, right?”

Samantha smirked. “Oh, I can. The question is, what are you going to say when you call him?”

“Who says I’m calling? Maybe I’ll just text him.”

Miranda rolled her eyes. “You’re asking Samantha to get you his number, and you’re planning to text? You might as well send him a carrier pigeon.”

The group laughed, but Jules waved them off. “I’ll figure it out. First, I need the number. Then, I’ll worry about the rest.”

A few days later, Jules found herself at Samantha’s office, flipping through racks of designer dresses.

“This one’s stunning,” Samantha said, holding up a sleek emerald gown.

“Too dramatic,” Jules replied, slipping into a classic black dress. “I need something that says, ‘confident, successful, and not at all flustered about calling Tom Hardy.’”

Samantha laughed, leaning back against her desk. “Relax, darling. You’ll look amazing no matter what. And as for the other thing...”

Jules paused, looking over her shoulder. “The number?”

Samantha grinned. “I’ve got it. You owe me a very expensive bottle of champagne for this one.”

Jules’ heart fluttered, though she tried to keep her expression cool. “Thank you. Remind me why I didn’t hire you to do PR for my school?”

“Because you’re too cheap,” Samantha quipped, tossing Jules a wink.

Jules laughed, smoothing the fabric of her dress. “Alright. Let’s do this.”

She wasn’t sure what made her more nervous—the gala or the possibility of reaching out to Tom. Either way, the end of summer was shaping up to be far more eventful than she’d anticipated.

[warystares]

FULL NAME diana felisa ingram NICKNAME(S) di, the fixer GENDER / PRONOUNS trans woman / she + her AGE/ BIRTHDAY 32 / october 7 HOMETOWN new york city OCCUPATION public relations manager @ anunnaki pharmaceuticals AFFILIATION / ROLE unaffiliated ORIENTATION / STATUS bisexual + kinsey scale 4 / single STRENGTHS enterprising + efficient + charismatic WEAKNESSES duplicitous + unsympathetic + rapacious

HISTORY.

TW brief + vague allusion to transphobia

❝ THE WORLD DOESN'T OWE YOU ANYTHING, AND NEITHER DO I. ❞ cruel words with which to raise a child, but for a young diana ingram, a HARSH TRUTH eventually becomes a MANTRA ; a code of conduct to LIVE BY. she doesn't come from MONEY ; her childhood home is not a STABLE one. it's not LOVING. she is not BORN diana felisa, but do not make the MISTAKE of trying to discover who she USED to be. that person — the person she WAS has not been BURIED in the past ; no, more than that, diana has LOCKED that person away neatly inside of a box and swallowed the key ! the diana that you see TODAY is born at the tender age of fifteen. there are no PARENTS to bring her into this world ; they cling instead to the GHOST of a child that is no more. everything diana wants, everything she NEEDS, she must earn for herself.

the climb to the top is STEEP when you're starting at the BOTTOM ; the shadows of a CONCRETE JUNGLE are enough to swallow the WEAK whole. but diana ingram is made of polished steel, she's STRONG. solid heels dig into asphalt and propel her forward, UPWARD ! ( she wants out of poverty, craves stability ! ) it helps that she's got a QUICK WIT and an INHERENT & INSATIABLE drive to succeed. and although she'll say she's done it alone, it was not entirely without HELP ; she's smart about it, makes connections with the right teachers & counselors to help MOLD her into the perfect candidate for an IVY LEAGUE future. she learns quickly that she's got a GIFT with words ; well-spoken, articulate, and COMMANDING when she speaks, networking comes easily. she can paint ANY image of herself to suit ANY need.

it comes as NO SURPRISE to a young & eager diana when she receives an acceptance letter from COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY ; she's graduated at the TOP of her class with an assortment of hefty scholarships & grants collected over the years from countless essays & extracurriculars. years of higher education are spent amassing all of the knowledge & experience she can land perfectly polished fingers on ; summers are spent in the CITY where diana seeks internship opportunities wherever she can. when she graduates, hard work presents REWARD in the form of a MASTER'S DEGREE in public administration. ( there is NO ONE in the audience to bear witness to the fruits of her labor as she walks across the stage, but diana ingram still holds her head HIGH ! )

the payoff for years of STRUGGLE & SACRIFICE arrives in her mid - twenties ; where her journey begins as a CLIMB, diana is suddenly CATAPULTED into the success she's longed for. or, the start of it, at very least ! she returns to the city from ithaca with OPTIONS ― before she's even laid a hand on her degree, she's built a GLITTERING reputation for herself. the choice of reputable, RESPECTED PR firms in the city is hers, and she'll spend the rest of her twenties building a CLIENTELE for herself that comes to boast some of the most important public figures in new york. somewhere in the whirlwind of it all, diana falls in LOVE with more than just her career ; it's new & compelling, REFRESHING, and in the midst of it all, she gets ENGAGED.

but nobody's story is ALL happy endings ! and diana has never been lucky, certainly not by her own consideration ; anything she's been BLESSED with has been by her own hand, her own work. and maybe that's her TRAGIC FLAW when it all boils down ― she's just always got to work, doesn't she ? for all that her aura to the public is one of warmth & calm, she's always got to be DOING something. doing MORE. striving to be BETTER ! as much as she tries to convince herself otherwise, diana doesn't have TIME for LOVE. when she ends up ALONE, a ring tucked deep in the drawer of her vanity to be forgotten, she reminds herself it's for the BEST. after all, how could she feel any sort of heartbreak over the promise of more time for herself ?

so she gets a cat and a couple of bottles of merlot to convince herself she's NOT LONELY because that feels like the right thing to do, but the truth of the matter ? the SOLITUDE drives her. it INSPIRES her. seeking more change, more experience, she leaves her PR agency to fill a full-time role putting out any potentially disastrous MEDIA FIRES at anunnaki pharmaceuticals before they've even got a chance to SPARK. and she's GOOD at it, too ! she's got a way with diversion, a gift for sweeping things under the rug and somehow spinning into GOLD what she can't hide away. it's a dangerous gift, particularly at the hands of a corporation like ANUNNAKI, but diana's come too far now to place much stock in MORALITY. at the end of the day, she's got to look out for number one : DIANA FELISA INGRAM.

WANTED CONNECTIONS.

THE MENTOR — just because diana ingram had to claw her way up to where she is now on her own does not mean she didn’t receive assistance from a few helping hands along the way. this muse met diana when she was young and eager to begin her ascent of the corporate ladder, and for whatever reason, decided to take her under their wing. whether this was via an apprenticeship, a first job, or just networking, this relationship formed the solid foundation for which diana could build her success. she owes them everything, and to this day, sends them flowers on the anniversary of their first meeting. ( 1/1 - marcia ramos )

THE DEVIL ON HER SHOULDER — anunnaki pharmaceuticals has been the perfect platform for diana to build a professional reputation ; the controversial corporation has allowed her ample opportunities to flex her mediative and diplomatic muscles and put herself at the forefront of the map when it comes to public relations management. she enjoys her job, but this muse has been whispering in her ear about the potential for something new, for growth. their offer is alluring, diana can’t lie ; more money, more power. more control. and while she’s always said she never owes anyone anything ( anyone except marcia, perhaps ) she feels an almost moral obligation to anunnaki. or perhaps it’s comfort ? all she knows, is she’s been thinking about this offer more and more as of late, and temptation is a fickle beast. is the devil she knows really better than the devil she doesn’t ? ( 1/1 - liena chen )

THE EX-FIANCE — yes, she was engaged and no, she’s not anymore. it was messy, alright ? the thing is, there’s nothing in this world diana is not willing to sacrifice in the name of her career and its continued success. nothing. if you ask her, she’s a perfect multi-tasker, and it’s absolutely possible to be both in love with your work and in love with someone else. maybe this muse had obligations of their own ( hiding criminal activity ? a similar passion for their career ? ) and that meant neither of them ever had time for each other, or maybe it was the fact that it felt like just diana wasn’t present in the relationship that brought things to an end. either way, as much as she hates to admit it to herself ( and she’d never admit it to anyone else ) she still loves them. she had no intention of ever breaking it off, after all. and yes, she still has the ring. you’re welcome to come get it from her, but she doesn’t do deliveries ( 0/1 / open to f/m/nb )

THE WORK FRIENDS — it’s literally a part of diana’s job description to be good at talking to people, so of course she’s going to have a few friends for some water cooler gossip in the office. maybe they go for drinks after they leave for the weekend to let off steam and talk some shit, or maybe your muse has signed up for one of her several video seminars on mindful speaking and the importance of public appearance — no, they’re not paid, but they are beneficial. and if you’ve got the patience to sit through one, congratulations, you are officially a part of her squad. that means monday morning pastries and friday morning starbucks waiting at your desk with love, matching stationery sets and customized skin care gifts to celebrate the smallest things, and weekly affirmation & goal-making sessions. ( 0/3 / open to employees of anunnaki pharmaceuticals )

THE WORK ENEMIES — along the same vein, there are certain people at anunnaki that diana just doesn’t agree with. maybe their social or professional decisions have made her life harder ; maybe they made a comment in the elevator on a bad morning that wasn’t even malicious but she can’t let it go ; maybe your muse is just perceptive enough to realize that diana is one of the most duplicitous people in the city, and she knows you know. no matter the cause, she’s always cordial and polite with them. rest assured, though, she is plotting their demise. ( 0/2 / open to employees of anunnaki pharmaceuticals + potentially previous employers, open to plotting )

LITERALLY ANYTHING ― friends / fwb / flings / exes / past clients / folks in need of her services . . . like when i tell you i am down for anything, just hit me up and we can plot !!

[cinamun]

One last thing since we’re comparing Indya and Darren to Jerri and Gabby,

If you would’ve asked me or really anyone at the beginning of this story if Indya would ever have get married AND have children I bet you everyone, even Indya herself would have said hell no. Look how wrong we would’ve been! Indya struggles a lot but she is SMASHING this motherhood shit. Her oldest owns a freaking PR firm and is marrying not only the love of her life who is a DAMN GOOD MAN but also the ONLY guy she’s given cheeks to which is the exact opposite of her momma and INDYA is who taught her to value her body and mind above all. She bought her first house fresh out of college, has bestselling books, the list goes on. The twins may be getting into trouble but what teens weren’t? Dira already knows her worth is more than being sexually available to anyone that asks for it from what we saw at prom I know that’s got to be hard for a girl her age just like it was hard for Hope, DJ flew to his sisters side as soon as he heard her in distress. He could’ve easily been embarrassed and distanced himself from the situation. Anyway, Indya relapsed MULTIPLE times. Her nights used to consist of dangerously mixing pills, cough syrup, and wine. Darren used to beat Indya’s ass so he wasn’t man of the year either, but look at him now. The first thing they said when they decided to have Hope was that they would NEVER let her go through what they did because they know what that stuff does to kids first hand. Why do you think her name is Hope?? They give their children everything and STILL check them for privilege and make sure they stay grounded. They aren’t perfect and they’re still learning but if they can grow and change from their bullshit, why can’t Jerri? Also, hello? What about Gabby??? She has been trying to sow goodness into Jerri since the day she met her so how do we know she hasn’t been nurturing Jerri’s broken spirit the way Indya and Darren did for each other?? Some people take longer to want to grow from their trauma and move on from their past, some people never have that realization but who are we to decide that for them?

Oooooo, putting down people that don’t have it as good as other people (especially black people) is one of the fastest ways to grind my gears to dust. I’m done now 😂 still no hate to Nonny! Just some education is really needed.

The way you broke this down is making me emotional istg...

I KNOW ITS LONG BUT read it all to really grasp these characters y'all. Especially YOU nonnyface.

[stargazer-sims]

15 OC Questions!

I was tagged so many times for this, and I love it! This one is for @bl-sims-anime - thank you!

Yuri Okamoto-Nelson

Are you named after anyone?

No, I'm not named after anyone.

When was the last time you cried?

Not that long ago, actually. It's unusual for me, because I'm not generally prone to crying, but I've been very ill recently and I was in a lot of pain. I don't remember exactly when I might've been crying, or how often. The last week or so has passed in somewhat of a haze for me, but I do recall that I cried more than once during that time.

Do you have kids?

I don't actually like children. They're messy and demanding and selfish. Victor and I don't have any, and we're not planning to. If I'm being perfectly honest, I don't really want to share his affection with anyone, and I don't think he wants to share mine, either.

Do you use sarcasm?

Hmm... sometimes, yes. Victor would probably say I use it more often than I think I do.

What’s the first thing you notice about people?

I realize how awful this is going to sound, but the first thing I notice about people is how they present themselves; how they're dressed, how their hair is styled... things like that. I've learned not to make snap judgments about people's personality and character based on their appearance, but even so, I can't stop noticing.

What’s your eye colour?

My eyes are dark brown.

Scary movies or happy endings?

Happy endings, please! I don't like anything scary or violent. My favourite films are historical dramas, with bonus points for romance and beautiful outfits. The endings don't even have to be happy, necessarily, just as long as it's not tragedy, mayhem and carnage. Victor doesn't really like historical romances, but I think he watches them with me as an excuse to cuddle, and I'm certainly not complaining. My happy place is lying in his arms and enjoying some sweeping historical tale of romance and intrigue.

Any special talents?

I don't think I have any talents that are particularly special. I'm painfully average.

Where were you born?

Mt. Komorebi.

What are your hobbies?

Probably the one I'm most noted for is playing the violin. I love music, and I've been obsessed with the violin ever since I was a young child and would watch and listen as my mother played. Mama taught me a few things, but I officially started violin lessons when I was five, and I think I was sold on it for life, almost immediately. My other hobbies include playing video games, reading, and writing.

Have you any pets?

Yes. Victor and I have two dogs. We have a Pomeranian named Sango and a chihuahua called Rosie.

What sports do you play/have played?

My favourite sport is snowboarding. I also like to ski, and Victor has taught me how to swim, which I also really enjoy. Back in the summer, when I was feeling much better than I currently do, Victor and I decided to try rock climbing, which I liked but can't imagine myself having the stamina to do seriously. I'm not certain if yoga qualifies as a sport, but I like doing that Oh... and Victor has created a low-impact exercise routine for me that I can do even when I'm not feeling one hundred percent, so we can work out together.

How tall are you?

165cm

Favourite subject in school?

My favourite subjects were Language Studies and Communications.

Dream job?

This is a difficult one. I've never really had a dream anything until recently. Before I met Victor, I think the only real dream I had was to find someone who'd love me unconditionally and help me out of the slump of depression and lack of self-worth that I was living in. I didn't really think about education beyond high school, or having a dream career, or a dream destination or anything like that. All I was focusing on was survival, physically, mentally and emotionally.

It's only been very recently that I've started thinking about my future and the goals I might like to set for myself. At the moment, I work for a PR and communications firm, FutureBright Communications. I really like my job and I'm good at it. I've been given more and more responsibility since I started, and I've gotten some important clients lately. I think I'd like to stay working in communications, and perhaps start my own little firm some day.

______

I'm not going to tag anyone this time, as I've tagged numerous people already and I can't recall who. Anyone who sees this and wants to do one, feel free! You can even say I tagged you. =)

[pynkhues]

Re: the Roy kids and colleges - I think Logan would obviously want Kendall, Roman, and Shiv to attend elite universities to demonstrate their "seriousness", but we also know he has a complicated relationship with that particular strain of American culture, so I think there'd also be a lot of comments around the dinner table about "pointy-headed Harvard f*cks" or whatever when Kendall comes home wanting to show off what he's learned in his macro-economics class. In other words, the kids' relationship to a college degree/experience and the status it brings would range from "i need to do this because I'm going to take over the empire one day" (Kendall) to totally dismissive (Roman). Another thought is that none of them have any real interest in developing social lives or making real connections beyond the incredibly narrow social circles of the 1%, which would definitely affect their choice of school. ie - my headcanon is that Roman either follows Kendall to Harvard for his undergraduate studies or else attends NYU or Columbia, both elite schools that would allow him to maintain a totally separate social life from his "normo" classmates while still showing up to class very occasionally, something that's harder to do at Dartmouth (in the middle of nowhere New Hampshire where it's snowing six months out of the year) or another bucolic elite liberal arts college.

As for Shiv, I could see her choosing the West Coast as a way of putting some space between her and her brothers--Stanford, or USC for their communications school. She wouldn't need a graduate degree for a career as a political strategist, especially not if she majored in political science or communications (I feel like Logan made a call to hook her up at a PR or communications firm for her first "job", which is how she made the jump to the liberal political world).

I totally agree Connor dropped out of whatever university he started attending, and Logan probably didn't notice or care.

(x)

Oh, I loooove your point about Logan's complicated relationship with that part of American culture and how that likely trickled down to his attitude with the kids. I think you're spot on, particularly in terms of his own degree of education. I hadn't really given all that much thought to whether or not Logan himself was college educated, but I'm inclined to think he's not (I imagine he was working for Noah at the print shop from the time he was pretty young), which is an interesting beat in furthering that divide of Logan having been raised working class vs himself raising upper class children.

It makes me think about Logan's fixation on Roman not knowing the price of milk, and how much the internal company management training meant to him. There's a degree of control in that, of course, but it's an interesting shift when you consider Kendall's canonically pretty educated (likely the most educated of the siblings at least), and that narrative choice timing with Roman's ascension in Logan's eyes and the focus on Roman having something akin to Logan's gut instinct - a sort of masculinised trait - while Kendall's losing rank and temporarily(?) locked into an emasculated / feminised role as Logan's handmaid / nurse / sacrificial lamb.

I like your point about their social circles too, and how that impacted the way they engaged with college. I was least sure about Roman, and I think your theory makes a lot of sense, especially with the way he tends to dismiss things out of what I tend to interpret as a fear of rejection. He can't fail if he never tries, y'know? And I can see Roman doubling down on just passing and not bothering deeper engagement if Logan himself is dismissive or snide of college achievements or even the college environment broadly.

Your Shiv point is definitely making me rethink her path too, because while I do think she's competitive enough with Kendall and (despite herself) enjoys a fishbowl enough to do postgrad too, I think you're right that she might want both distance and to get out there faster. I think I've talked about it before, but I'm a little obsessed with Shiv's impatience, haha. I think it's a really realistic character beat for her to constantly be feeling like she has to catch-up and overtake her brothers, both as the youngest and the only girl, and I can see that making her wanting to power through college and get out into the workforce faster. Depending on what you think the age gap is between her and Kendall too (I think I tend to think it's less than most people? I do think the golden trio are supposed to be relatively close in age), she could be gunning to be out in the workforce at the same time as him to give herself and their father the illusion of them kicking off the same starting line for once.

It's such an interesting period to think about!

[lost-in-the-funhouse1971]

How come you are so sure the world only has a 'corruption crisis' and not a climate crisis? Where did you get your information? You yourself don't know anything about the climate right? Didn't even go to college judging from your posts. So you are just parroting Republican PR firms like all the other reactionaries here, getting your knickers in a twist over abortion and trannies and other non-issues and pretending your way of life doesn't affect the planet while telling yourself you are thinking independently and people that don't agree w/ you are idiots. How do you do it buddy? Even the oil companies have stopped denying fool.

I've been around the sun more than once. I remember reading the magazine and newspaper articles warning of the coming ice age. The later as earth day was ramping up in the 80s. They were warning of impending doom from global warming. How even though the ozone layer hadn't been discovered until the 60s it was somehow shrinking and allowing UV light that was going to cook all of us to death. Not one single climate catastrophe that's ever been predicted has ever come true. Later I've read editorials from the early 1900s stating that the polar caps were melting and we were all supposed to be dead by now. I've read plenty of the bloviating articles and supposed scientific papers to know it's nothing but a farce. Designed to scare the simple and uninformed. As for a college education. Nope never went. Yet I'm far more educated than many people I've known with degrees.