#I don’t want to say he was really good at being a nazi but yeah he was a good actor

[piedpiperart]

What I learned from the new Indiana Jones movie:

You’re never too old to punch nazis

[headless609]

Cartman Angst

Ah Cartman, the bigoted, racist, sexist, overweight, bully, bullied, and a victim. Cartman is my favorite character and it’s not just because he is hilarious. If you watch the show and really looks into it, you can see why Cartman acts the way he does. Let’s start with the obvious. Cartman is fat. We see the show make fun and jab at his weight sense season 1. We see side characters such as Liane and his eye doctor to the main characters aka Kyle, Stan and Kenny making fun of his weight. Especially Kyle. I don’t think people realize how fucking mean Kyle was to Cartman (and Cartman hadn’t even done anything evil yet btw). Kyle is always and stills calls Cartman ‘fatsss.’ Speaking of the earlier seasons, remember Cartman’s eye doctor? Y’know, the one who had no chill and continuously bullied Cartman by calling him porky and just being devious? Yeah him.

Next I want to talk about Cartman’s home life. And it’s bad, like it’s as bad as Kenny. Not only is Cartman quite poor but his dad is gone and his mom is a prostitute. Not only does Cartman not get scolded by his mom but his mom brings in men that are there for sex. Sound bad? Yeah, you can imagine a guy finding Cartman’s room. And you might think, ‘Dude, you’re reading into this way too seriously.’  

We see that Cartman has been assaulted by his cousin and his Uncle, Jessie. We see this in Le Petite Tourette’s and in Fun with Veal. And this is just two of the many other occasions. 

Everyone knows the episode Scott Tenorman Must Die, where Cartman snapped and went batshit crazy. But most people don’t remember the banned episode where we see Scott again. Where we learn a dark truth. Cartman and Scott were step-brothers, Cartman had killed his own father, the father he had cried himself to sleep wishing he’d come back. And when we see him admit that he’s crying because of him being half ginger to his friends, all I can think is , ‘ Really? After all the tears that your pillow soaks?’ But then you think, would you tell some kids that have always bullied you because of your weight and you thought only hung out with you cause you bully people with them why you’re actually sad? HELL NO! Cartman may be crazy and a sociopath but he ain’t stupid. The reason he is able to stay with the gang is that they think he is cool (which they don’t) heck the only reason why they became a friend group was because Cartman bullied Pip! And with all that piled up, Cartman becomes insecure about himself and to make him feel better lashes out an everyone else, believing he is a victim in every scenario and everyone deserves to pay. 

And that is the debrief of the monster, Eric Cartman. The most hated South Park child in the show. 

There is so much I want to say about Cartman, and I tried to fit it in one Notes page. And I hate it whenever one says they hate Cartman because he is a nazi and all that shit. I understand, but please peel his onion skin and you’ll understand why Cartman is such a good character. This one is the longest one yet so thanks for those who were able to read the entire thing. 🥲

[ichorai]

hell, yeah ; roman roy ; part four (m).

pairing ; roman roy x f!reader

synopsis ; pain was an old friend for the both of you.

words ; 18.0k

themes ; fluff, angst, drama, slowburn, smut, childhood friends to lovers

warnings / includes ; depictions of mental and physical abuse, mentions of death, unprotected penetrative sex, a lot of sexual/suicidal jokes and general foul language, tons of business talk, talks of nazis/fascism/conservatism, really morally grey shit, roman’s implied demisexuality, kendall & reader's popsicle war, mencken himself is a warning

series masterlist. main masterlist.

A conservative political fundraiser weekend was the last place on earth you wanted to be, but hell—Logan wanted you there, so who were you to say no to the boss? Besides, hubs like this were always good to sniff out who would be the most dangerous people on the red spectrum.

The hall was decked out in lavish decorations—chandeliers and golden ornaments and marble statues every which way you looked. It was full to the brim with mingling politicians of all kinds: the kinds being old white men, or…

Hm. Seemed like it was practically all old white men other than a handful of women wandering around. White women, of course.

You and Shiv locked eyes for a moment. Though the two of you shared many common political interests, at least much more than the rest of the family, you often found yourself on the opposite ends of agreement. But today, in a sea of men with confederate flags for dicks, the two of you found solace in one another. 

“You can smell the panic,” she told you. “Berlin Bunker vibes.”

“They’re scrambling,” you replied. “Nobody was expecting this. Maybe they should’ve.”

Beside you, Roman cuffed your shoulder. “Ooh��the libtard and the soc-commie. How does it feel to be spelunking in the elephant’s asshole?”

“Calling me a communist isn’t the insult you think it is,” you told Roman, rolling your eyes.

“Mmh. I’m sure they would’ve loved you in the 1930s.”

Shiv crossed her arms. “We’re just corporate observers.”

“The weekend isn’t over yet—we’ll get our white cis-male stank all over you,” Roman commented snidely.

It was then that Greg came up to the group, expression muddled with confusion. “Hey, guys, some guy with an undercut just called me a ‘soy boy’. What, uhm, I don’t really know what that means? What is this, actually? Like what’s everyone here for?”

“It’s just a nice political conference of like-minded donors and intellectuals,” Roman told his cousin.

“I wouldn’t call them intellectuals, exactly,” you said with a frown. You were pretty sure half of these men owned podcasts talking about how toxic masculinity is fake, and the other half were so old they didn’t know how to turn the brightness up on their own phone. 

“We’re picking the next president,” Tom piped up, which made Shiv arch a brow.

“That’s not… that’s not really how it works.”

Roman shrugged. “No, sure, but… it kinda is.”

“Is that—is that constitutional?” Greg queried, looking around worriedly, suddenly wondering if he was participating in yet another illegal activity.

“Welcome to the one percent, Greg,” you told him with a sigh. “Where you don’t have to worry about the constitution anymore.”

Roman pinched your cheek. “Awh, look at you, embracing the right-wing traditions! I love that for you.”

Wrinkling your nose, you swatted his hand away. “Six months till election day and still no candidate. Surprised everyone hasn’t unanimously agreed on putting the vice prez up on a pedestal.”

“Steady old plow horse, huh?” Roman said, directing his gaze to the old vice president, Dave Boyer. “He licks his lips too much. Like a—like a cartoon bear when there’s a picnic hamper nearby.”

You laughed at that, and Roman shot you a grin. 

“I’m going to go take a tour. Check out the fresh meat,” he told you, and you nodded. 

“I’ll be near the entrance if you need me.”

With that, he set off to mingle, hands shoved into his pockets to stop him from his habitual itching and scratching.

“Who are you thinking?” Shiv leaned forward to ask.

“Boyer. Seems the most obvious, easiest choice,” you replied, meeting her scrutinizing stare.

“Are you saying that because he is the easiest choice, or because he’d be the easiest to win against?” she asked with a sharp smile.

There was a momentary pause. “Why, who do you think they should put up?”

“I say we go blue.”

Your mouth fell open as you struggled to find the words to respond with. “Shiv, that just—that’d never work.”

“Why not?”

“You realize ATN is fucking—it’s fueled by everything right-wing! For us to suddenly bat for dems would bring nothing but angry conservatives and we’d lose a fuck-ton of shareholder money.” You shook your head. “Look, Shiv, I don’t like them as much as you do. But forcing your dad to swing blue is just a terrible idea.”

Her features hardened. “The least we could do is try. Right?”

Before you could respond, Roman came hurrying back, phone clutched tightly in his hand. He shoved the screen up against his sister’s face. “Did you know about this, you withholding bitch?”

“Uh, what?” 

“You know Glyn, the, uh, the Brexit pervert?” Roman said, gesturing to the tall British chap with a large nose. “Yeah, he just sent this to me—apparently our mother is marrying Peter Munion.”

Both you and Shiv doubled with surprise. “What?” she asked. “Who’s Peter Onion?”

“I don’t fucking know. I wonder if that first-born fucker knew,” Roman said. 

“I mean, if you guys didn’t know, I’m sure Connor wouldn’t have known, either,” you ventured, glancing over at the eldest sibling chattering to two other politicians about abolishing taxes.

Snorting, Roman replied, “No, the other first-born fucker. Kenny Dick.”

“Ah. Right.”

“Call him.” Shiv nudged her brother.

With a hum, Rome whipped his phone out and called his brother, putting it on speaker phone for the two of you to hear.

“Yeah, what?” Kendall’s voice came through on the second ring.

“Hey. Just wanted you to know that new dad just dropped.”

There was a brief crackle of silence. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Mummy’s getting married, you dingus.”

“Did you know?” Shiv leaned forward to query.

Roman snickered. “Of course he didn’t know, Ken bores the shit out of mom.”

You remembered one Christmas when you were children, the family was exchanging gifts—Kendall had set down a little red box in front of Caroline so she could open it. Something hand-made? You’d always wondered. The wrapping was shoddy. It was forgotten and pushed off to the side in favor of prettier, more expensive-looking presents. You were pretty sure Caroline hadn’t even seen the gift. Or maybe she did. Maybe she just didn’t care to open it. Nonetheless, Kendall, thirteen years of age, didn’t try to give it to her again. That night, when the servants were tossing away all the stray wrappings and ribbons, you caught sight of the crumpled red box chucked into a black garbage bag. You didn’t dwell on it, because Roman had heckled you away soon after to ‘watch’ Shiv play with her new dollhouse.

“What are you even talking about?” Kendall asked. He sounded angry. “You mean, she’s marrying Rory?”

“Uh, no. She took the view ‘Fuck Rory’,” Shiv said, glib.

Sneering, Kendall abruptly changed the subject. “Hey, Shiv, is it true you’re at the hate-fest? Burning books and measuring skulls down in Virginia?” 

“Yeah,” Shiv deadpanned. “What are you doing with your weekend? Planning to send us all to jail? Your favorite past-time?”

Before it could escalate into a full-on argument, Roman pulled the phone close to him and said, “Alright, just wanted to let you know that Mummy still doesn’t love you. Bye, Ken!”

With that, he hung up.

“Do you think your mom is going to invite me to her wedding?” you asked, wrinkling your nose at the prospect of going all the way across the ocean when you had so much work piled up. “And would she be offended if I didn’t come?”

“Oh, she’s definitely inviting you. You know how she is. Needs everyone who knows of her existence to see how rich and pompous she is. She’d have a grudge against you if you didn’t come,” Roman told you.

You frowned, and Roman laughed.

“We can be each other’s date. It’ll be fun. Don’t worry about it.” He rubbed your shoulder, and began leading you off to the bar to get some drinks. 

“Your mother would love that. Us, being each other’s dates? She’d gloat in our faces that she’s known all along,” you mused with a grin, before leaning against the counter and asking the bartender for your preferred drink.

“Or she’d be too self-absorbed to notice. And it’s okay for her to be that way because it’s her own wedding.” Pulling a sour face, Roman shook his head. “Blegh. I can’t believe she’s actually marrying someone named Bunion.”

You laughed softly. “Munion.”

“Whatever.”

Before either of you could say anything else, a figure approached the bar, standing just beside Roman.

“Hey guys,” said Mencken. “What’s up?”

Both you and Roman turned your heads to him. He shot you a glance, noting the unimpressed raised eyebrow.

“Oh, okay. Yeah, it’s the—it’s the ghost pepper. The spicy new flavor, Mencken.” Rome gave the taller man a onceover, drawing a long sip from his glass.

Mencken’s keen eyes darted from Rome to you, and back to Roman, scrutinizing. Burning. You couldn’t quite gauge what he was thinking, but knowing all the hot bullshit he liked to spew on the internet, you were sure it’d be nothing good.

Him as president? That’d be like putting a mask on Hitler and crowning him King of the nation.

“So what’s your deal? Most people here want to fuck me or kill me.” Mencken asked, leaning against the bar. “I’m hoping it’s the former.”

You weren’t quite sure if that was directed to you or Roman, but you were disgusted, either way. 

Roman clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth. “Ooh, wow. I always found it hard to care about politics, so… I trust in Y/N to have enough opinions for the both of us.”

He gave you a fond pat on the shoulder and you spared your friend a stiff smile.

“Right, Y/N. It’s nice to meet you,” Mencken said, sticking his hand out. 

Staring down at his extended palm, you took a second to consider flat out ignoring him. But, not wanting to cause a scene, you shook it firmly, nodding curtly. “Likewise,” you lied.

When you pulled away, you made the conscious choice to discreetly wipe your palm onto your pants.

“I’ve heard a lot about you. The both of you, actually.”

“Oh, really?” you deadpanned, straightfaced.

“Tabloids never shut up.”

“They hardly ever do.”

Mencken crossed his arms. “To be honest, I always thought you two were just a PR stunt. You know the vibes… look away from all the sexual harassment, because the prince and princess of Waystar are being all snuggly at a charity event! But now that I’m looking at you in person…”

His words struck a nerve within you. A muscle in your jaw twitched. 

Roman laughed, nervous. “We aren’t—we aren’t, like, a thing. I mean we—we kind of are, but we’re also not really—”

The older man whistled sharply, lifting a hand to stop him, as if he were a dog. “No need to explain to me. I’ve been down that road many, many times.”

“Roman and I are close,” you told him, voice steely. “The details are none of your, or the public’s concern.”

The way Mencken smiled was wolfish. Greedy, almost. 

“Alright, here’s my party trick,” he said to the two of you. “Tell me who your enemy is, and I’ll tell you who you are.”

A part of you wanted to laugh. Where did he get that from, an alpha male, raw meat-eating youtuber’s podcast?

Roman sucked in a breath, amused. “Oh-kay. Let’s put a pin in that one.” He took another sip. “I’ve seen your poll numbers. You’re dark-horsin’ shit. Are people buying your whole… thing?”

Facism. That’s what Roman was alluding to. This man was a fucking fascist. The two of you were entertaining a fascist! You couldn’t believe what you’ve come to. 

Mencken chuckled. “They better buy it. Or I’ll send them to the Gulag.”

“Jesus Christ,” you hissed, wrinkling your nose. 

“No, no, no. Not work camps. Just—summer camps. It’ll be like summer camps,” Mencken said. 

“Summer camps but with beatings, right?” Roman asked, unsure if the man beside him was joking or not.

“No, no. Shh—no beatings.”

Mencken winked. He fucking winked! To your surprise, Roman laughed, genuine and chesty. 

“Wow. Tough crowd, huh?” Mencken said, meeting your unamused eyes. “You always struck me as the quiet little country mouse. No wonder you’re sticking to the big-gun citymen.”

“Well, I’m sorry if I don’t find labor camps all that funny,” you remarked, drumming your fingers along the countertop. 

“I’m just kidding. We’re joking around.” He elbowed Roman’s arm. “Is she always this uptight?”

You had to admit that it stung just a bit when Roman tipped his head back and laughed. “It’s what I like most about her. Ain’t that right, schnookums?”

You sniffed in disdain, shrugging off his hand when he placed it on your shoulder. You weren’t a huge fan of how… warm Roman was to him. It felt vile, and it felt wrong. 

Tilting his head, Mencken smacked his lips together and started up, “So, uh… do you guys know yet? Who takes over?”

Roman stopped sipping his drink and set it down. “What’s that?”

“When they send the old battletoad off to the hoosegow.” His eyes glinted. “Your dad, Logan. Admiral Grope Boat.”

“Yeah, no, he’s not… that’s actually not happening,” said Roman. He scratched at the back of his head. 

Mencken cackled at that. “Hah, yeah, that’s right. Stick to the line. That’s good.”

The two of them smiled at each other.

A sudden pit of nausea started curling within your stomach. 

Boyer and Salgado approached the bar, striking up a conversation with Mencken, effectively roping his attention away from the two of you. You downed your drink and leaned against Roman with a mild hum.

“I really thought this event would be more interesting,” you admitted.

Shoulders shaking with his chuckling, Roman asked you, “What, did you think there’d be a gun-slinging showdown? Old western-style?”

“Well, yeah. What else do conservatives do?”

The two of you snickered under your breath. 

It was then that Shiv came to stand by you, ordering a drink for herself. “Hey. What’ve you guys sniffed out?”

You offered her half a shrug, glancing over at Mencken. With a lowered voice, you said, “A lot of rotten apples in the orchard.”

The siblings both hummed at that—Shiv in agreement, Roman in amusement. 

“Look at us, playing nice,” you overheard Salgado tell Mencken. To your credit, they weren’t quite using their inside voices. “People might think we liked each other.”

“Hey, I’m a conservative! I like tradition,” Mencken protested. “I doff my cap to vice president Boyer’s years of loyal service.”

“Thank you. I believe you used to call me Martin Van Boring.”

Mencken grinned. “Hey, come on! No, I still call you that.”

Nodding, Boyer shifted to speak to everyone else gathered around the bar. “Listen, Mencken and I may differ in some areas, but, uh, we both agree that this is the party of the working class now.”

Shiv pulled an incredulous face, scoffing loud. 

“What? You don’t agree, Shiv?” Boyer asked. “All the richest counties in America are blue. The Democrats and tech hold all the wealth.”

“Oh, yes, because everyone here is scrounging through their couches for loose change,” you snidely commented, coolly meeting Boyer’s gaze. 

The old man licked at his lips, gesturing vaguely with his hands. “Come now, I’m talking about the general public. We don’t count.”

Why not?

“I just think some of us get so high off of owning the libs, we forget to talk policy,” said Salgado.

Mencken snorted. “Yeah, Rick loves to talk policy! What he does is he memorizes a National Review issue from 2012 and then recites it back to you. Cool policy, bro.”

This made Salgado frown. “Mmh, Jeryd hates to talk policy because it would mean, you know, having one.”

Roman whistled sarcastically. “Sick burn, brosef!”

“Oh, no, no. We’re kidding. We are!” Mencken insisted. He smiled at you and Roman. “We like each other. I listen to his speeches every night. Yeah. They help me drop off.”

Out of the three politicians, you had to admit that Salgado was the most appealing. Sure, he was a pushover and really only concerned about his public image rather than what he was promoting, but it was better than Mencken the fascist and Boyer the conservative lip-licker. 

“Maybe it’s boring talking about populist solutions for working families,” said Salgado.

“Rick, come on! You jerked off to Reagan’s headshot for thirty years, and now you’re Tom Joad?” Mencken jeered.

Rolling her eyes, Shiv told you, “God, this shit is so fucking boring.”

Overhearing, Mencken gave the woman a onceover. “What’s that?”

“Hm?” Shiv met his gaze. “No, I’ve just—I’ve seen your thing quite a lot.”

Mencken uncrossed his arms and then crossed them again. He was frowning, brows knitting together—evidently he didn’t quite like being tested.

“And what’s that? What’s my thing?”

“Youtube provocateur bullshit,” Shiv told him with a bitter laugh. “Aristo-populism. ‘Rape is natural, it’s all red pill, baby.’ I’m just—I’m just so fucking over it.”

“Have you read Plato?” asked Mencken. 

Oh, God. Was he really pulling the philosophical literature superiority card? Was he being serious?

“Yeah,” Shiv said in a mocking voice. “Remind me, what happens?”

“Oh, read Plato! Read Plato!” Mencken told her, his manner condescending.

“Don’t want to!” Shiv exclaimed. “I don’t fucking want to!”

Salgado cut in, “See, he doesn’t actually want to have a conversation. He just wants to yell loud enough to get on ATN.”

“Nah! Fuck ATN,” Mencken said. The room fell silent, and all eyes were on him. For a moment, he looked at you and Roman, the two of you watching him with muted interest. You wondered if he was seeking both of your approvals. “No, really, ATN is treated as a bulwark, but it’s dead. It’s basically a pudding cup at 5 PM in the nursing home. It’s status quo bedtime stories to maximize shareholder value.”

Though you didn’t want to agree with any of Mencken’s sentiments, you had to admit that his take on ATN was a valid one. ATN was hardly a reliable source, with its heavy right-wing influences. To you, it was merely a station to feed into the delusions of the older conservative generation. At the thought, you looked over your shoulder to Logan, seated on a table not too far from the bar. You only saw his back, but you wondered if he was listening in.

“Honestly, it doesn’t speak to me,” Mencken continued on. “Doesn’t speak to the people I talk to.”

“And who is it you talk to?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Mencken stared at you for a moment before answering, “People who want to see the truth. See the natural order of things.”

“Natural order. Wow,” you whispered under your breath. With that, you ordered another drink. You couldn’t listen to all this bullshit sober. 

Mencken nodded. “Logan Roy was an icon. But, you know… he’s no longer relevant.”

“Do you recognize this fucker?” Roman asked, shoving the phone in Shiv’s face.

“Nope,” she said.

You peered over his shoulder to see the wedding invitation on his screen, zoomed into his mother’s fiance’s face. 

“Fucking jelly-boned, low-T, pip-pip cheerio fucker,” Roman muttered as he shut the phone off and slid it back into his suit jacket’s pocket.

You pressed the button on the elevator to go up. Logan had called all of you up to the royal suite to discuss options for the next red presidential candidate—something you weren’t at all looking forward to. “He doesn’t look all that bad. Do you think your dad knows?”

The doors slid open and the three of you filed in.

Roman tilted his head. “No. But we have to stop the wedding, right?” 

Both you and Shiv exchanged incredulous looks. 

“Stop obsessing over Mom’s new husband,” Shiv told her brother. “Just get over it. Who cares?”

Narrowing his eyes, Roman asked, “Get over it? It just fucking happened. My mother’s marrying some dickhead, crooked-toothed turnip man.”

“His teeth looked quite nice in the picture, actually—” you began, before falling silent at Roman’s loud groan.

“What’s wrong is how little you care about it, you frozen bitch,” Roman commented off-handedly, making Shiv roll her eyes.

“Oh, poor Rome! His dreams of porking Mom are slipping through his little lubed-up fingers!” she leered, snickering a little.

A frown crossed your features. “It’s okay to care about it, Shiv. I mean… it’s your mom.”

“Something she often forgets,” she murmured, and that marked the end of the conversation.

The elevator rolled to a halt, the doors opening once more to a grand hall. The door to the suite was all the way down, and the three of you made your way there in contemplative silence. Logan was inside to greet you, along with Tom, Hugo, Connor, and Greg (who was awkwardly lingering by the curtained windows). 

“There’s a lot of chat flying around. A lot of flapping,” your godfather said once everyone had settled in. “We need one voice on this, or we could fall apart and hand it to the fuck-fuck donkey gang.”

Donkey gang, obviously meaning the democrats. You spared Shiv a look—she was seated away from her husband, frowning down at her hands.

“So… who do we like?” Logan asked.

Shiv cleared her throat and said, “Shouldn’t we kick it around for a bit? Feels like it’s poised, so if you and Petkus come together, and the other donors follow, it just—”

“Exactly,” Logan deadpanned. “We’re picking. We haven’t got all night.”

Occupying one of the long sofas all on his own, Connor put forth, “I like Connor Roy.”

The room lapsed into silence for a few seconds. Roman smiled, amused.

Calling back to the short conversation you had with Shiv earlier, she said, “Honestly, Dad, I think you go Dems.”

Immediately, the two brothers in the room reacted with incredulity.

“Wow,” Connor scoffed.

“Jesus Christ! What, are we all going to hold hands and sing kumbaya next?” Roman exclaimed. Then, he sat up straighter. “Uhm, I… I kinda like Mencken? But—I know he’s kind of shitty, so if it’s now, I guess I’d say Boyer. But can I also just say that I don’t like Boyer?”

Though you were not at all happy that Roman was leaning for Mencken, you had to agree that Boyer was a safe choice. You crossed your arms. “Hard pass to Mencken. I say we go Boyer. Vice is nice, no?”

Shiv sighed loudly.

“What? What’s with the fucking attitude?” Roman asked.

The redhead held her hands out. “Okay, look, no disrespect, but Boyer was yesterday’s papers. The Dems will run on change and blow him away.”

“Ooh, Mrs. Politics,” crooned Roman. “How many big races did you win as a consultant? Four? Three? Did you win two? One?” He held up his middle finger.

She scowled. “Roman, Boyer is not a winner, and we know that.”

“Okay, then, should we talk to Mencken?” he asked. “See if we can deal?”

Vehement, Shiv said, “Uh, can I just say something? Mmh, no. Mencken is an integralist, nativist fuckhead. He’s toxic! He’s fucking—he’s ‘medicare for all, abortions for none.’ And his idea of diplomacy is shooting roe deer with Viktor Orban and then starting the trade war with China! Look, I know that there’s the carnival bark, and there’s the fucking show, but he’s outside the American political tradition. I think we have a responsibility as Waystar—”

She was cut off when Roman began humming the national anthem.

“Fuck you, Roman!” she spat out.

You put a hand on his arm, and he stopped humming. “I know my opinion here means little to nothing, but… I don’t like Mencken. He’s radical, and he’s dangerous. I’m not saying we swing blue, either. I’m saying we stay safe with Boyer. Our position right now is… precarious. It’s the best option we have.”

Logan studied you, and nodded twice. He was never one for safe options, though. You knew that full and well.

Both Roman and Shiv burst into an argument then, lobbing insults back and forth at each other. Tom stared blankly at the ground, looking even more exhausted than he usually did.

“Stop being a dirty little pixie whispering swastikas into Dad’s ear!” Shiv ground out.

“Boom! There you go again! So fucking route one!” Roman exclaimed. 

The scowl on her face deepened. “I’m not saying it’s going to be the full Third Reich, but I am genuinely concerned that we could slide into a fucking Russian Berlusconied Brazilian fuckpile!”

Raising his brows, Roman shot back, “You have a trophy husband and several fur coats. I think you’re gonna be fine.”

“Tom,” Logan said, seemingly unaffected by the harsh bickering. “Who do you like?”

“Me? I, uh… I think Shiv talks a lot of sense. I also jibe with Salgado.”

Blowing out a breath, Roman said, “You jibe with him? Pretty sure that’s racist, Tom.”

“Salgado is another safe alternative,” you said. “Just not… not Mencken.”

This made Roman nudge his elbow into you. “I thought you were all about giving people chances! Mencken, he’s… you and him have a lot of beliefs in common, actually!”

“Oh? And what’s that?” 

“You’re, uh, both against free-market capitalism! That counts for something, right? Why don’t you just give him a chance?” 

You pinched the space between your brows. “Rome—”

Before you had a chance to finish, Roman was addressing Logan. “Dad, I know you came to the market to get a nice milk cow, but we found ourselves a fucking T-rex, okay? He’s box-office. The guy is fucking diesel. I mean, he’s good on camera. He’s fun! He’ll fight. Viewers will eat out of his hand. No downside.”

“Uh, right, no downside. Let’s just invade Poland, Dad!” Shiv scoffed. “His chief of staff broke a kid’s jaw at a rally!”

“If we don’t come to an accommodation, we get outflanked and we lose the ATN dollar machine when we need cash to fight Tech. Right? Shiv wants her way, I want my way, Connor wants his way, so that’s even.”

Vehemently, Shiv protested, “It’s not fucking even! My opinion counts for more!”

Everyone looked to her, miffed. She sounded more like a child than anything. 

“No, it does! It just fucking does! I know this! People hate Mencken. They fucking hate that guy!” Shiv lowered her voice, as if just realizing that she was yelling a notch too loud. “You have to look at the climate.”

 From the windows, Greg raised a hand. “Do I—do I get a vote?”

“Oh, sure, buddy. You get to vote at the election with all the other folks,” Roman told his cousin, humorously.

“Yeah, well, I just thought I’d get a… bigger vote in here?”

Ignoring him, Hugo said, “Boyer is likely to be flexible over the DOJ.”

“Not if he doesn’t win,” Shiv said. “Which… he won’t.”

“Isn’t that what you want?” you sighed. “You’re blue, Shiv.”

“My personal politics and the company’s values are on opposite ends of the spectrum,” she clarified. “I have to put the company before myself.”

“Okay, we’re hearing rumors that the case is weakening,” Hugo said. “No one big is likely to do jail time. With the notable exception of Tom, of course. Sorry, Tom.”

Visibly, Tom’s shoulders seemed to stiffen, but he nodded nonetheless. “No, please, Hugo… understood.”

Shiv turned to address her father again. “If you don’t go blue, Dad, then at least we have to be backing Salgado.”

This made Connor audibly groan. “Ugh. Señor Dickless. Captain of the Tampa Bay Cuckaneers.”

“Look, I don’t like him. He’s a neocon pretending to be a paleocon, but he at least talks base!” Shiv said. 

Roman clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Wow. I think you’re so brave for picking the brown man. I think that we should get you a medal! A special medal for white women who like brown men.”

“Wow, okay. You’re just being racist! You’re being racist now!” Shiv said, swinging her incredulous gaze from you to her father.

In a mocking tone, Roman said, “Oh, yeah, I’m a good girl! I pretend to care about people because nobody ever cares about me!”

“Hm. Roman, do you have anything you wanna tell Dad? A message from Mom, maybe?”

He recoiled, frowning. “Uh, yeah, wow. Fuck you! Thanks, I do.” Roman looked to his dad, and he could feel the familiar fear creeping up and seizing his ribcage. It helped that you’d shifted your hand to lay over his, but only barely. “Mom’s getting remarried.”

Logan nodded, contemplative. “Hm. To Bertie Woofter?”

“Ooh, no. To Peter. Peter, uh, Peter Munson.”

“Munion,” you whispered.

“Peter Munion,” Roman corrected. 

Anger clouded over Logan’s eyes. “You’re fucking kidding. The seat sniffer? Christ. He’s been hanging around for forty-some years!”

“Yeah, and, well, she’d love it if you came to their big Tuscan wedding.”

“Ooh, La-di-da,” Logan said, sucking in a deep breath. “And they sent you as their messenger boy?”

He laughed and laughed. Roman shrugged.

“Okay,” the old man finally said. “Back to it, then. Who are we picking?”

“I guess there are other names,” Hugo offered. Connor coughed pointedly into his fist, but nobody paid him any mind.

Firm, Logan said, “We have to be united on this. It’s a disaster if we splinter.”

“Salgado has great narrative,” Shiv said.

Scowling, Roman spat out, “Quit butt-huffing Salgado! We all supported your little DC lemonade stand, but this is the real fucking world. This actually matters.”

Lip curled, Shiv replied, voice dripping with venom, “Roman, you just love the boot because you like to be kicked by it.”

Clearly hurt, Roman sucked in a deep breath and picked a piece of lint off his pants.

Connor coughed again, and Logan finally asked him what was on his mind.

“Nothing,” the eldest son said. “No, it’s nothing.”

As if to entertain a ludicrous notion, Logan smiled. “What about Connor?”

“I do believe that idea has good promise,” Connor exclaimed. “I do!”

“I could see it,” Logan said. It was strange seeing him smile in such a way. You couldn’t quite decipher its genuinity. “Kids?”

With a slight snicker, Roman raised his brows. “Uhm… sure, I don’t know.” After a pause, he straightened and asked in a more serious tone, “Wait, but, like—really?”

“It feels very…” You winced, sending Connor an apologetic look. “Very nepo baby? Very rigged.”

Roman shrugged. “They’re all fucking weirdos, anyway. Why not?”

“I mean, he’s a good-looking kid,” Logan said. “He’s smart… in his own way. Fucking Joe Kennedy did it for his boys, no? So let’s get him in there with a smile and a shoeshine and get Ron and everyone behind him.”

No way the matter was settled. Shiv crossed her arms, eyes darting every which way in an incredulous manner. 

“I would fight so fuckin’ hard for this family, Pop,” Connor told his dad, warmth spilling over his features. 

Logan casted his gaze over to his daughter. “Siobhan. As a political consultant… what do you think?”

“Well, no huge name ID, but the family name will be a factor and… uh, he’s got no track record.”

“Nothing to beat me with,” Connor emphasized with a charming grin. “I’m a clean skin!”

They yammered on some more, and Roman rubbed his knuckles along his hairline, seeming stressed. He pulled out his phone and shot out a few texts really quickly, thumbs flying across the keyboard.

Finally, once he put the device away, Roman shook his head. “Okay, but, are we being serious about this? We’re talking about trying to make Connor president?”

All the warmth drained from Connor’s face, replaced by a marring frown. “It’s a big tent, Roman. Why don’t you just come in?”

“Sure. Right. I might just call the guy who waxes my balls, he would be a great president, don’t you think?” Roman retorted.

Shiv interjected once more. “If we’re talking about this seriously, I really think we need to take a look at Salgado. Can I bring him up here without being fucking shot?”

Connor rolled his eyes and Roman groaned.

Finally, Logan’s eyes landed on you.

“You’re for Boyer, Y/N?”

You sat up straighter. “I think he’s safe. Most conservatives like safe. Or, at least, the illusion of safety. Boyer can give them that.”

There was a second of a pause, before Logan nodded. “Hugo. Call Boyer.”

“Well, if Shiv gets to bring up soggy Salgado then I wanna see if we can tame Mencken, okay?” Roman asked just as Hugo handed Logan the phone. In a quieter voice, Roman leaned forward to whisper to just you, “I arranged a meeting with him tonight. Come with?”

You reared back, eyes narrowing. “What? No, Roman.”

“Please? Just… you don’t even have to say anything. Just hear him out. What if he’s not all that bad?”

You blew out a steely breath. Meeting with a fascist was certainly not something you ever thought you’d agree to do. 

Begrudging, you muttered, “Fine. But please, Roman, don’t be serious about him. I’m begging you.”

Roman gave you a half-shrug, which didn’t quell any worries you had one bit. “We’ll just see how the dice rolls.”

When Boyer finally picked up the phone, the two of you lapsed into silence, listening in on the conversation. His voice was groggy, as if he’d just been woken up. He didn’t sound too happy at Logan’s request to come to the room.

“Oh… and my fridge is empty, Dave. I don’t suppose you could bring me a Coke?” Logan said. You raised a brow in surprise whilst Roman smiled down at his lap. It was a power play—a reminder to Boyer that he ate out of Logan’s palms.

“Did you mean to call room service?” the vice’s voice crackled through.

“If you don’t have a Coke, is there something else? Could you, perhaps, fire the deputy attorney general?”

“Fire the deputy attorney general?” Boyer parroted, twinged with disbelief. 

Logan smiled, laughing. “I’m kidding. Come on over. Have a chat. If it’s convenient, of course.”

Five minutes later, Boyer was at the suite’s door. You had no time to listen to his talk with Logan, because Roman was already up and pulling you out the door. He spared no explanation to Shiv, who watched the two of you leave with suspicious eyes. 

You took the elevator a floor down, where Mencken’s room was. 

Roman was the one that knocked, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet anxiously. 

“Come in!” you faintly heard Mencken’s voice say. Both you and Roman exchanged looks, yours warning and his pleading, in a sense.

He wanted so badly for your approval.

The two of you stepped in, met with an empty hotel room. It took you another moment to realize that the bathroom door was ajar, Mencken standing in front of the mirror with just a towel hanging over his hips, shaving foam shadowing over his chin and jaw. He was dragging a razor through the white foam, a smile to his lips upon seeing the both of you.

“Hey, guys. Glad to see you again.”

Roman smiled back, leaning against the bathroom’s door frame while you lingered behind him.

“So… I—we just wanted to chit-chat a little bit. That was funny earlier, by the way. You tripping the light fantastic on Grandpappy’s nutsack.”

Mencken hummed. “When I called your dad bullshit? Did that bump?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve never seen that before. That was fucking hardcore,” Roman commented. “Y/N isn’t a fan of ATN either, as it turns out.”

For a moment, you sent Roman a half-hearted glare. He’d said that you wouldn’t have to say anything.

“Ooh. Waystar’s princess, not liking Waystar? How meaty.” Mencken tilted his head back to shave the nooks and crannies that were harder to maneuver around. “Good for you, though. The thing is… this monkey don’t dance.”

Roman laughed, pointing at him. “This monkey right here? The monkey shaving in a hotel bathroom?”

“That’s right.” Finally, Mencken rinsed off the last bits of foam from his face, wiping off the excess dampness with a towel. There wasn’t a single nick on his face—you thought of the many times you’ve watched Roman shaved, when he always somehow managed to garner a dozen or so tiny cuts along his jaw. Mencken turned to face the two of you. 

“Listen, I did want to talk to you about something. Fuck it, I’ll just come right out and say it.” Roman eased into the bathroom, leaning against the wall opposite Mencken, tugging you in as well. It was a strange feeling—you’d never had a meeting in a bathroom before. Wrinkling his nose, Roman said, “Fascists are kind of cool… but not really. So, is that, like, gonna be a problem? Will it be a thing?”

It unnerved you when Mencken sighed, stepping closer to the both of you. So close, in fact, that you could smell the shaving cream he’d used. Your brows furrowed in distaste and fixed your stare on the tile down below your feet.

“Seriously? Me? I just… I don’t have a lot of boundaries.” 

Evidently, you wanted to snap. But you kept quiet.

“St. Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, Schumacher. I’ll borrow from anyone. To restrict me to that label is just… it’s not right, is it? You know, if Franco or H or Travis Bickle had a good pitch, fuck it!”

This made you tear your gaze away from the ground, meeting Mencken’s stare head-on. He was much closer that you realized, and that made you all the more uncomfortable. 

“H?” you finally croaked. “As in—?”

He spared you a wolfish smile. “I’m a fully-fledged, small-dicked Democrat.”

“I don’t think you are,” you challenged. 

This made him tilt his head and bark out a laugh. “Which one? Small-dicked or a Democrat? Because I can tell you now that neither of those are true, sweetheart.” Your unamused countenance seemed to only fuel him further. “A well-regulated election is a transmission frequency for God’s grace, really.”

“Holy shit,” Roman whistled. “You really are a Christian, aren’t you?”

“Well, no, no, my only thing is like—who’s the stakeholder, right? I’ve been tending my little garden for a hundred years, and then forty new guys show up in the back of a truck, playing their boombox. When it’s put to a vote, they decide to, uh, give my farm to themselves. I mean, it’s ridiculous, right? Maybe we should be putting in before we get to take out.”

There was so much to pick apart with his ideology. So many flaws, so many weak-links. But you didn’t say anything.

Instead, Roman asked, “Okay, well, who gets to join?” 

“People trust people who look like them. That’s just a scientific fact. They will give more tax dollars to help them,” Mencken said. “And I know you look nothing like me, ma’am, so I’ll just say it plain and clear. I don’t trust you, and you don’t trust me. But that’s just part of the thrill, no?”

You recoiled back into Roman. “What the fuck are you talking about? What thrill? Can you just—back up a bit? You’re all up in my fucking personal space.” 

Your scowl loosened just a tad when Mencken raised his hands and took a step back. He snorted. “Sorry. Don’t cancel me. Or do. I don’t think it matters much, right?”

He was right, but you didn’t say it.

“I like this country,” Mencken admitted. “I do. I like the people in it.”

“Not all the people, though, right?” you carefully asked.

“Of course, not. And don’t get all high and mighty on me. You can’t say you like all the people in it, now can you?” You opened your mouth to say something, but he cut you off. “We aren’t too different, you and I. Roman… I see why he’s taken a liking to you. You have some sense about you.”

You gave Roman a questioning glance, wondering what on earth he’d said to Mencken through text.

You clenched your jaw. “I’m not here for you,” you finally breathed out. “You can’t sway me, Mencken.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that, sweetheart.”

Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Roman finally intervened before you could get too heated, “In terms of, you know, this thing we have… there’s a thing here, right?” 

“Mhm.”

“I get it. You’re fucking 6G and we’re Betamax, but you need us, I think. Our news, our viewers, those fucking almost-deads. That’s a big slice of pie,” Roman explained. 

“Well, if I’m the nominee… are any of them really going to vote against me?” he asked.

Half a shrug lifting one of his shoulders, Rome said, “No, but… it’s going to be a fucking shitshow going into the convention. I think you could really use our push.”

You weren’t happy about any of this. But Logan had already called Boyer. The deal was done, right? You’d walk back up to the suite, and the next red-wing electee would be picked. This was all… for nothing.

Right?

Mencken nodded. “And I think you could use my push.”

“Maybe,” Roman admitted.

“Where are you in all this?” Mencken asked Roman, curiously. “What’s the little forgotten Prince doing?”

Roman made a nervous, whooshing sound. “I’m, uh, you know. I’m creeping on the come-up.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mencken glanced at you, as if to decipher whether or not he was telling the truth. You betrayed nothing, looking back down at the tiles.

“I’ve got some ideas for ATN. Sluice out the fucking porridge and add some sriracha. Poach some of those TikTok psychos, you know? E-girls with fucking guns and Juul pods. Give me some straight-shot blacks and latinos. That’ll get a few generations turning heads. No more of this fucking… pillows and bedpans. We’re strictly bone broth and dick pills. Deep state conspiracy hour but with, like, a fucking wink, you know? It’ll be funny.” Roman clapped his hands together. “The whole show is kinda set up for the star. President Jeryd Mencken.”

Your face soured.

“I like that,” Mencken said, stroking his freshly-shaved jaw. “I like that a lot.”

“Well, I don’t. Good fucking luck, Roman.” With that, you straightened your shoulders and marched out of the bathroom, needing to get away from the two of them. You needed air. More importantly, you needed to get up to the suite and ask if they’d settled for Boyer.

The two men stood in the bathroom, silent for a few moments.

“I think she likes me.” Mencken smirked.

Roman scratched at the back of his head. He was really hoping you’d see the better side of Mencken, like he did. He just hoped that you weren’t too angry with him. You hardly ever got mad, but when you did, it always felt like the end of the world to him.

“Right… can you, uh… come up and say hello or something to him? My dad?” Roman glanced at the door. “Oh, and bring a can of Coke with you.”

Logan chose Mencken.

That night, you crawled into the cold hotel bed and cried. You felt so… so trapped in a life that you didn’t want to live. You briefly wondered what would happen to you if you quit your job entirely, but you pushed the thought away almost as quickly as it came. It wasn’t something you liked to entertain.

Half an hour later, you could hear your door opening. 

Right. You’d forgotten that Roman had asked for another set of the key card to your room. You quietly wiped your tears away, grateful that it was too dark for him to see.

He slipped in behind you, sliding his arms over your waist and pressing his nose into the back of your neck. 

“Are you mad at me?” he asked.

You chose not to reply, pretending to be asleep.

“It’ll be good,” he said, eventually. “He’ll be good. I promise. His dick is big enough for the both of us.”

You shifted your foot just a bit, but that was enough for Roman to know that you were awake.

“Stop ignoring me.”

“I don’t want you here,” you murmured.

There was a shuffle behind you. Roman cleared his throat. It was so unbearably tense.

“If it’s Mencken you’re worried about—”

“I don’t want you here,” you repeated, a warbling edge to your voice. “I love you, Roman. Please leave.”

He went stiff. One second, then two, then three. 

“I love you, too,” he finally said. It was said with no joking tone, no playful quips, no inappropriate remarks. It wasn’t often that Roman told you that he loved you, at least compared to the number of times you’d say it to him. Maybe it was because he never knew if you meant I love you, or I’m in love with you.

And with that, he slowly slipped his hands off of you, and got back onto his feet. He made a show of leaving the key card on the nightstand, before making his way out of your hotel room.

He shut the door behind him, standing in front for a minute. A part of him wanted you to open up and beg him to come back. An even more delusional part of him expected you to do so.

Instead, Roman could hear your muffled sobs ricochet from behind the door. Something within him seized up. He turned on his heel and left.

Kendall had invited you to his birthday party, to your surprise. After all that transpired between the two of you, you hardly expected to be wanted at his party. Though, from what you heard, it was hardly a personal affair.

It didn’t seem like your kind of event, honestly, and you hardly had a reason to go. You loved Kendall, but you could tell him that any other day of the year, when he wasn’t surrounded by fucking vagina-entrances, childhood treehouse replicas, and miniature Wu-Tang dancers. Though, Kendall told you to keep that last bit on the down low. The dancers were meant to be a surprise.

But you weren’t at all planning on going. 

That was, until Logan decided otherwise for you.

There was a problem with GoJo, and Logan was pissed that Matsson hadn’t shown up. Something about blatant disrespect, he’d said. 

“He’s going to this fucking party, isn’t he?” Logan had barked. “Huh? Where is he? Getting his nails done? Asshole whitened?”

Roman squinted at his dad. “I think we just have to court him a little, is the thing—”

“Bah. No. It’s bad fucking juju to start like this,” Logan snippily said.

You quirked a brow, knowing Logan was never one to be superstitious. 

Shiv and Roman both tried to broach more options, but Logan shut them all down. “The deal makes sense. It’s a great deal. But he won’t make the deal because he’s being an arrogant prick.”

“Fine. Yeah, sure, Matsson’s an asshole. But should we really burn our only parachute because of that?” Shiv stressed.

Logan leaned back in his seat, regarding his daughter. “It’s just smart business, Shiv. I don’t want to pay over the odds. And eventually, the market will make him make the deal.”

You shook your head. “The market has plenty of better hands to deal him.”

“Someone can make a better offer, and we’d be screwed,” Roman agreed. 

“Dad, we have a scale issue. Our streaming platform is for shit, and we have nothing that looks like growth,” Shiv added on. “This gets us consequently into streaming, into sports betting—social media! We have a little window. Miss this, and we end up being pilot fish nibbling leftovers from Bezos’ fucking teeth. Dad, please. If you don’t want to talk to Matsson, fine. But let me.”

“Let us,” Roman interjected. “We can all do it. He’s gonna be at the party, right? We’ll go.”

“You’re going?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow at Shiv.

Her eyes darted from her father to her brother. “Mhm.”

Heaving out a breath, Logan nodded. “Y/N, you go with them. Don’t go in too strong. This is a black box, and I don’t want to overpay.”

You wondered if Logan wanted you there to help broker the deal, or if he wanted you there to make sure Roman and Shiv didn’t start clawing at each other’s throats.

Shiv nodded, muttering something under her breath, and darted out of Logan’s office to make some preparations. That just left you and Roman standing in front of Logan. The air between the two of you was still tense since the whole Mencken debacle.

You were about to step out as well, before Logan said, “Since you two are going, might as well give him this in person.”

He slid over an envelope. The three of you, along with Gerri, had discussed its contents: an offer for Kendall to cash out of the company for good. Roman glanced at you, and you used your head to gesture for him to take it. 

“You think he’ll like it?” Roman asked his dad, who offered him half a smile and a shrug.

When he turned to look at you, the glass door was ajar and the spot where you were standing a moment ago was vacant.

Roman’s palms were sweaty. This was about the fifth time he’d wiped them down the front of his suit’s pants, hoping they’d just air out on their own by the time he got to your door.

They didn’t, but Roman found himself shrugging it off. You’d seen much worse than sweaty palms when it came to him.

It was an hour before the party was supposed to start—more so if he wanted to be fashionably late, didn’t want to seem too desperate—and he rang the bell.

It’d only been a few days since the two of you properly spoke, but Roman missed you. He found his nights staring at your number, thumb hovering over the call button. He’d sent about a dozen texts since then, but none of them were replied to. Sure, the two of you had gotten into fights every now and then but they never lasted long. 

And Roman was determined to get you to stop ignoring him.

When the door swung open, you peeked through, not at all ready yet for the party. Roman snickered upon seeing your eyeshadow only done on one eye, curlers in your hair.

“Looking hot, fuck-face,” he whistled. To his relief, your features softened, and you stepped to the side to let him amble in. Even in your current disheveled state, you knew he was telling the truth.

In truth, you’d missed him more than you could ever admit. It took a great deal of self-restraint not to reply to his strings of texts, especially once you were given time to cool off after what had transpired in the hotel bathroom. He was your Achilles’ heel, in a way.

“What do you want?” you asked, not even bothering to face him as you shut the door and made your way further into your home, standing in front of your mirror vanity to resume doing your makeup. 

Roman watched your reflection in a near somber manner. “Well, I was just thinking, since we’re going to Kendall’s little birthday bash, we could go togeth—”

“No,” you found yourself saying without a second thought. “I can go myself.”

With a sigh, Roman stepped forward, leaning against your vanity so he could look at you instead of your reflection. “I just want to talk. This—whatever’s going on between us—it fucking sucks. I miss you.”

For a second, you let your eyes meet his. You didn’t say anything, simply carrying on with drawing your eyeliner. 

“You’re not gonna say you miss me, too?”

“Of course I missed you, Rome.” There was a sort of bitterness to your words. “That doesn’t make me any less mad at you.”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry I went down the Mencken road. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you. But, cross my heart and hope to die, I genuinely believe he can help us. And, like, what’s the worst he can do? Just because he becomes president doesn’t mean he can do fuck all. I’m just with him because we’d all benefit from him helping out the company.” He scratched the back of his head whilst giving you, as he would so eloquently put it, fucky eyes. 

There was a long stretch of pregnant silence. You’d finally put down the eyeliner, shifting to stand directly in front of him, your chest brushing against his. 

“What can I do?” he whispered. He couldn’t help it—his eyes were fixed on your lips, parted and glossed. “What can I do to make it up to you?”

You smelled so damn good too—Roman felt like he was going delirious. He chalked it up to not being around you for a long while. That was probably why. His hands reached out to rest over your hips. 

“Not much you can do now. What’s done is done. Your dad settled on Mencken—there’s no changing his mind.” You tilted your head, so close now that your nose was brushing against his. He briefly wondered if you could feel the way his heart was slamming imprints against his ribs. 

You were just a hair’s breadth away from kissing him. You were so fucking close—

Until you pulled away with a smug little grin, far enough so that his hands fell away from you, going right back to fixing up your makeup. “I can look past Mencken for now. Mostly because I can’t see someone like him actually winning the election. But I’m absolutely not saying that I’m with you on this. I’m just saying we can put aside our… differences. If he just so happens to win, I’m counting on you to have your hand up his ass, and my hand would be up yours. So we’re good, for now.” 

“You fucking tease,” he grumbled, chuckling slightly. “What was that about your hand up my ass?”

“Awh,” you said in a mocking tone, one of your feet kicking up to knock against his shin. “Did you manage to get a hard on without me even touching you?”

Roman rolled his eyes. “Fuck off. And no.”

He was lying. He definitely had an erection, and the both of you knew it.

“Did you want me to kiss you?” you asked abruptly, starting to pull out the curlers in your hair.

His mouth went slack. His mind was moving too fast for him to formulate any coherent sentences. Instead, he laughed a bit, before it tapered away awkwardly.

“Yeah?” he finally replied, more of a question than anything.

“You don’t sound sure.”

“I’m sure,” he haughtily replied.

“Okay,” you said, though you didn’t look convinced. Another roller came out. 

“Don’t believe me?” Roman placed his hands over your hips once more, and yanked you close. “I’ll kiss you right here, right now.”

A brilliant smile danced across your features. “That a promise, Romey?”

With that, Roman leaned forward and slotted his lips over yours. It was tentative and soft and—surprisingly sticky. Your lip gloss, he registered a second later, tasted like strawberries and honey. A content hum slipped from you and you wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him back with just as much vigor. Your nose slanted against his, foreheads knocking together. 

You were the one to pull away first, laughing lightly at his hooded eyes and the way he chased after your lips. A second bout of laughter overtook you when you saw the glossy, tinted smudges across his mouth. 

Shoulders still shaking, you pulled out a makeup wipe and handed it over to him, silently gesturing to his lips. 

“The color doesn’t suit you,” you rasped, though you kissed his cheek to leave a faint mark there, as well. “That’s a first for us, you know?”

“What?”

“Kissing.”

Roman looked at you strangely as he wiped away the remnants of your gloss. “We’ve kissed millions of times. Mostly you, because you’re obsessed with me.”

“Yeah, but… not like that. Mouth to mouth. It was always a line I didn’t wanna cross, you know?”

He toyed with a brush laying on your vanity. “Why not?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit more unsure. “You afraid I’m gonna give you cooties?”

“Well, because we’re…” You paused, gesturing between the two of you. “We’re friends. With occasional benefits, I guess. I didn’t know if you were okay with it.”

Lifting a shoulder, Roman offered you a smile. Friends didn’t sit quite right with him. Not anymore, at least. “Well now you know. You can kiss me all you want.”

You huffed in amusement, before pulling out the rest of the rollers in your hair. All you had left to do was put on your outfit, and you were good to go. You wondered if Kendall would be happy seeing his siblings at his party, when you knew for a fact that he hadn’t invited them.

“I’m gonna go change. You want me to help you out with that?” You looked down at his tented pants with a raised brow. “No blow jobs, though. Don’t wanna ruin my makeup.”

This time, Roman was the one that laughed, loud and chesty. He sucked on his teeth, as if debating his options. 

“How much time do we have?” he asked.

You glanced over at a small clock hanging on the opposite side of the room. “We’ve got forty-five minutes, maybe? If we wanna get there before Matsson gets bored and leaves.”

Roman clapped his hands together. “Great! More than enough time.” 

The two of you ended up fooling around for a bit longer than you’d anticipated—he’d humped your ass with you bent over your couch, then finished by jacking off onto your back. You were grateful that you hadn’t yet changed into your outfit for the party, having stayed in a comfortable white shirt that you shucked off and threw into the laundry bin.

To your surprise, he seemed earnest enough to want to try fingering you, and you shyly told him to go for it if he wanted. A permanent flush fixed over your cheeks as you gently guided him to do what felt best. His thumb over your clit, his fingers sheathed deep in your cunt. He was good at it, mostly because he was clinging onto your every plea like it was gospel. You came with a drawn-out moan and your teeth sinking into his shoulder. 

You managed to squeeze in just one more handjob for him since he somehow got hard again while fingering you, whispering filthy nothings into his ear as he whined, eyes rolled into the back of his head. To your curious delight, you’d found that Roman really liked being called a good boy.

Only after all that did you manage to change into a semi-formal dress, touching up on your makeup since a lot of your lipstick had smudged onto Roman. In turn, Roman headed to the bathroom to wash up a bit, comb back his hair, some strands had come loose during your little excursions, and straightened out his suit.

“You ready?” you asked, peeking into the bathroom. The two of you were a bit later than you would’ve liked. “I want to make a stop at the corner store before the party.”

“What for?” he asked, curious.

“Last minute birthday gift,” you replied, hopping slightly as you strapped on your shoes. “Let’s go, Rome. You look hot, I promise.”

He smiled at your reflection, and took your outstretched hand. 

Upon arriving at the large venue, the woman in front asked to take everybody’s coats and phones. To which, Roman told her, “Yeah, fuck off, I’m not doing that,” and walked right past her. 

You gave her an apologetic smile, shedding your coat and handed it to her. “Sorry, I can’t hand you my phone. Company policy.”

With that, you jogged to catch up to Roman, chatting with Connor, who had also chosen to cling on tightly to his coat. Beneath it, you saw that one of his arms was in a sling.

“Oh, Con, what happened?” you asked, waving hello to Willa.

“Nothing, nothing. Just ranch stuff,” the older man replied, nonchalant.

Roman snorted. “What, a horse didn’t want you to fuck it?”

“He had a fall,” Willa said, and Connor immediately protested.

“You make it sound like I’m ninety years old. No, Maxim and I just got some polling results. We shared a Cognac, and then I slipped doing a little Irish jig.”

“Oh, okay. Ranch stuff. Got it,” quipped Roman. 

You stopped in front of a tunnel-like entrance, the walls lined with soft pink. 

 “This feels disgustingly Kendall,” Shiv said, and the two of you laughed as you strolled in. “So… where’s Tabs, Rome? She busy?”

Arching a brow, you looked to Roman. You knew that his relationship with her had fizzled out, especially after the… corpse sex debacle.

“Yup,” Roman said, clearly not comfortable discussing it with her.

She grinned, snickering. “Again? Did you kill her?”

“We’re actually—we’re not really seeing each other anymore. She was just a bit boring. That’s all I’m saying,” Roman said. His eyes darted to you, and you offered him half a smile.

“Mmh, yeah. Because you find sexual intimacy boring, don’t you?” Shiv pressed, which made both you and Roman frown.

“As if you’re the catch,” Roman snapped back. “You’re more fucked up than me, you know! Seems like Y/N and I are nicer to each other than you are to your own husband.”

Shiv looked between the two of you, expression immediately souring. “You’re so fucking annoying,” she muttered, before turning to mutter something to Tom.

By the end of the pink tunnel, a woman dressed in a cartoonish nurse uniform greeted the group. “You’ve just been born into the world of Kendall Roy!” she announced.

“Oh, Jesus,” Shiv huffed.

Roman turned back to look at the pink tunnel. “Oh. So if we’ve just been born, then that must be mom’s…?” He shifted his weight back and forth by the exit. “You’re telling me I’m repeatedly entering my mom’s vagina right now?”

You snorted in amusement, nudging Shiv. “These your mom jokes just keep getting better.”

She hummed. “Cold and inhospitable. It seems to check out.”

“This is my mom’s cooch, just so you know,” Roman told the nurse. “And you’re implying that it’s massive, so, uh, might wanna get Kendall to see if you can tighten my mother’s vagina.”

The group shuffled off, leaving the poor nurse to gather her wits and greet the next few guests approaching. 

“Where’s Matsson, you think?” Shiv asked.

“Probably standing in a corner somewhere, monitoring his biometrics from his watch,” Roman scoffed. 

“Don’t you think we should find Kendall before trying to find Matsson?” you queried, looking around the crowded room in hopes of finding Kendall somewhere amidst the dancing throng. “I mean… it is his birthday party, after all.”

Nodding, Roman said, “Yeah, good thinking. Let’s just get it out of the way.”

Shiv managed to track down one of Kendall’s assistants, asking her where he’d be. She pointed up the stairs, where the VIP section was. Thanking her, the three of you made your way up the stairs whilst the rest of the group stayed down to mingle. 

The second floor was a bit less packed, but there were still dozens upon dozens of famous figures mingling about. It wasn’t hard to find Kendall amongst them, sticking out like a sore thumb with a birthday crown perched on his head, laughing with his girlfriend, Naomi Pierce, by his side. 

His eyes met his siblings’, and he scrambled to take the crown off, dropping it onto the nearest waiter’s tray. 

“Woah, woah, woah. Wait a second. Who let you guys in? This is friends only!” he exclaimed. 

Shiv made a pitying noise. “Awh. Shouldn’t it be empty, then?”

Roman cackled. “She beat me by one second.”

“Happy birthday, old man,” Shiv said, giving her older brother a sharp smile.

“Just to say, I’m only here because I heard there was going to be a five-dimensional catastrophe, and I want to watch you crash and burn,” Roman told him.

Features mellowing, Kendall stepped forward and spread his arms out wide to give Roman a hug, which he reciprocated with no complaint.

 However, he did have to squeeze in, “Man, it even feels like you’re old. You sure you’re only forty? You look like shit.”

Despite his harsh words, Kendall pulled away with a genuine smile. He was happy that his siblings were here, even if he hadn’t invited them.

He hugged you next, and you reached up to kiss his cheek with a smile. “Hey, Kenny D. Happy birthday—I brought you a little present.” You reached into the cheap plastic bag from the corner store, brandishing a strawberry popsicle, still in its wrapper. “It’s probably a bit melted but if you popped it into the freezer for ten minutes or so, it should be good as new. Sorry it’s not much.”

Kendall’s expression seemed to soften, recalling how the two of you would always argue over the last remaining strawberry popsicle during the summers you were still little children. When you would grab it from the freezer before he could, he’d tug on your pigtails and call you mean as you denied ever taking them, and you’d hide the wrappers in Rome’s room so he’d never know it was you. But he could always tell from the sticky red on the corners of your mouth and your sugar-highs that seemed to last for a little too long. 

“No, this is…” He took the popsicle from you, staring down at the wrapper. “This is perfect. Thank you. I really appreciate it, I do.”

You nodded, pointedly watching as he pocketed the popsicle. “No problem. I promise not to take this one from you.”

Kendall laughed, then looked to his brother and sister. “Really? No card? I’m disappointed.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t find one that said both ‘happy birthday’ and ‘get well soon’,” Shiv crooned. The smile on Kendall’s face faltered.

“Well, I’m glad you guys came. It says a lot,” he finally said.

“It was a ten minute drive,” Shiv deadpanned. 

A part of you wondered why Shiv was being particularly brutal today, especially on Kendall’s birthday. Nonetheless, the two of them awkwardly hugged, Shiv patting her brother’s back a few times.

Connor and Willa ascended the stairs a few seconds later, waving hello. They greeted the birthday boy with hugs, and the smile returned back to Kendall’s face, though it wasn’t quite the same as before.

“So, what do you guys think? Sick party, right?” Kendall asked, arms spread.

Squinting, Roman glanced back downstairs. “It’s cool, but, uh, did you ask for Mummy’s permission to use her, uh… squatch?”

Kendall shook his head a bit, seeming puzzled. “What, from, like, a copyright perspective?”

“Well, it’s just, you know—call me old-fashioned, but I think you should ask before constructing a giant replica of someone’s vagina,” Roman off-handedly said.

“I’d definitely want to be informed before someone decides to make an artistic rendition of my privates,” you chimed in agreement.

“Duly noted,” Roman said in a faux British accent, and the two of you giggled under your breath like schoolgirls.

Kendall, miffed, nodded a few times. “Yeah, okay. Yeah. I can—I can send mom an email. But, relax, will you? Yes, Roman, you can take it home with you.”

Roman pumped a fist into the air at that, and you both burst into another round of giddy laughter.

Rolling her eyes, Shiv said, “Okay, so, tell us. Who else is here?”

Kendall made a show of looking around at the dozens of famous celebrities loitering around the VIP section. “Who isn’t?”

“Your dad,” Roman said.

“Your mom,” Shiv told him.

“Your wife,” Connor added.

“Your kids?” you put forth, more as a question than anything. 

“Any real friends,” Roman chimed again.

With a smile, Shiv said, “I mean, business folks, sure. Stewy? Honestly, we could do with building some bridges. So, uh, Lawrence Yee? He here? Lukas Matsson?”

There it was. She name-dropped the golden goose.

“Yeah, yeah. They’re all here, somewhere,” Kendall assured, gesturing around vaguely. “I have something to show you guys, actually. Come on.”

The siblings and you followed him down a winding hallway, which gave way to black-out curtains, and past that, it seemed to be an art gallery of sorts.

“Hey, Dad wanted me to give this to you,” Roman said, handing Kendall the envelope. You eyed it warily, wondering how Kendall would react to the offer.

“What is it?” the older brother queried, shaking it lightly, as if expecting something inside to rattle.

A dismissive sort of smile fell over Roman’s face. “It’s, uh, an iTunes gift card and a couple of your baby teeth. It’s nice. We hope you like it.”

Kendall looked at you, silently asking for confirmation. You nodded, hesitant, but that seemed to satisfy him enough—he pocketed the envelope to open up for later. 

“Okay, guys, let me show you some shit. C’mon.” He beckoned everyone into the art gallery, before spewing into a long tangent about all the people he had to collaborate with in order for things to work out.

Instead of paintings and sculptures, which you’d typically see hung up in galleries, there were newspaper articles and headlines plastered over the walls. 

The Cincinnati Standard: Waystar Chairman, Kendall Roy Elected President of World Federation!

Boston Daily Express: Wife of Tom Wambsgans Arrested In Sweep of City Street-Walkers!

The Correspondent: Connor Roy Elected President [of shitting his bag]!

The NY Globe: Failed Youngest Roy Sibling Dies in Tragic Jerk-Off Accident!

Both you and Roman stopped to stand in front of his article. You shot him an amused glance. “Who were you jerking off to, do you think?”

“Don’t worry, fuck-face, there’s a lot of Roman to go around,” he said, leaning closer to read the smaller text.

Your grin grew wider, gesturing to the paper. “Not for long, according to this.”

“It’s not a bad way to go.” Roman bumped his shoulder into yours. “Yours is going to happen any day now, I can just feel it.” 

Your brows raised, and you turned around, surprised to see your own article plastered large and tall right beside Connor’s.

New York Journalist: Disgraced CEO’s Goddaughter Kicked Out of Company—Adopted Into Communist Parties!

“Wow,” you breathed out. It wasn’t all that bad, really. 

“You like it?” Kendall asked the two of you.

“You’ve got people in here picturing me jerking off, so who’s the real winner?” Roman sneered. 

Shaking your head, you told Kendall, “I can’t even imagine why you’d have an entire room dedicated to this at your birthday party.”

“It’s—it’s unique. An extrapolation into the near future,” he said. “People dig it.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Roman replied, clapping his shoulder, before wandering off to read the other articles.

Connor threw a large fit about his article, unhappy with the way he was being portrayed as an unserious candidate.

“You did actually shit your bag, though,” Roman said. Kendall guffawed and the two brothers began laughing together, at Connor’s expense.

His scowl deepened. “Yeah, you know why? Because I took you two fucking assholes on a camping trip because Dad couldn’t be bothered! That’s why! I ate some bad fucking fish! This is bullshit, Kendall!” He yelled that last sentence, to which Kendall quickly reassured him that he’d have it taken down.

You remembered Roman telling you about the camping trip, the both of you only barely teenagers. It was harder then, being friends with them—boys were particularly mean at that age.

You remembered asking if you could come along. Kendall told you that it was a boys trip. Only boys were allowed, and you most certainly weren’t a boy. 

You remembered Roman asking if you could somehow fit into the cooler so he could sneak you on the trip. Even now, you weren't quite sure if he was just joking or if he was being serious. Nonetheless, you pushed him away and told him to have fun sleeping on rocks and eating stale jerky that tasted like dirt. When you sniffled, Connor put a hand on your shoulder and told you that there’d be many more camping trips in the future. To your knowledge, they never went again. 

“Alright, guys, I gotta circulate. Lots of people to talk to. We can check in later, yeah?” Kendall rubbed his hands together. You briefly realized that this was the first time you’d seen him genuinely happy in a long time.

“Yeah, yeah, you go on ahead,” Shiv said, urging him on.

“It’s a great night. I’m happy you guys are here. Fucking… best birthday ever.”

With that, Kendall hurried off. You and Roman exchanged glances, mirrors of pity and guilt.

Half an hour of asking around later, Shiv managed to snag down Matsson’s location in this never-ending venue of birthday bash.

“Don’t fuck this,” Shiv warned Roman, to which he rolled his eyes and gestured for her to lead the way.

The three of you traversed up a couple more flights of winding staircases, turning left into a massive hall, where a giant replica of a treehouse was erected, leading into what looked like another secret passageway. You narrowed your eyes, seeming to recognize the little carvings on the wood by the base of the tree. Younger Kendall often went into the yard whenever he was angry, whittling away his frustrations onto the bark. You and Roman used to play pretend that they were ancient runes when he wasn’t around to hear you.

“I think a forty year old man who rebuilt his childhood treehouse should immediately go on the sex offender registry,” Roman snidely commented, eyeing the massive structure. 

Two burly guards blocked the entry way.

“We’re with Kendall,” you said as you tried to sidestep them, but one thrust his arm out in front of you.

“Do you have a rainbow band?” he gruffed.

Roman guffawed. “Yes. I’m a walking fucking rainbow band.”

It was then that Kendall’s head emerged from behind the guards, eyebrows raised.

“Hey, guys. You done downstairs?”

“Mhm. These guys aren’t letting us in. Ain’t that crazy?” Roman asked pointedly. “Do you mind if we took a gander around your mental disorder?”

Kendall laughed, though it sounded forced. “Hah. Yeah, good one. That’s funny, Rome.”

“So are you gonna let us in, or what?” Shiv butted in, clearly impatient.

“That’s, uh…” Kendall smiled, almost apologetic, almost triumphant. “That’s not possible.”

You tilted your head, wondering if Kendall somehow found out that the three of you were after Matsson. “Not possible? Why’s that?”

“You hiding something from us in there, Ken?” Roman jeered. “Nude selfies you don’t feel comfortable with showing? The angsty romantic poetry you wrote when you were seventeen?”

A frown flickered across his face. “Well, okay, the thing is—the treehouse is for cool people, and you guys… you guys aren’t cool. Sorry, Y/N. You know, I would’ve given you a band if they weren’t here with you.”

“I’m flattered,” you said in a flat tone.

“Wow. The coolest grown man’s treehouse I’ve seen in quite a while,” Shiv snippily retorted, which made Roman snicker.

Holding his hands out in a placating manner, Kendall told the three of you, “Okay, no, seriously guys. Sorry, but, like… all jokes aside, there’s actually a real issue here, and I need to be discreet, because there’s a lot of celebrities around, and if you guys were in the treehouse, it would be kinda—kinda wouldn’t feel like the treehouse, y’know?”

Shiv scoffed.

“You’re a nazi lover,” Kendall deadpanned, pointing at his sister. He jutted his finger to Roman, then you. “And you’re a nazi lover. And you’re heavily affiliated with them. Me, on the other hand, I’m a defender of liberal democracy.” 

“Lovely. You afraid of getting canceled on Twitter, Kendall?” you asked, crossing your arms. You let the words spew out without really thinking over them. “Or are you scared to show all your ad-sponsored, money-grubbing buddies up there who kicked you to the ground and spat on your corpse? It’s not a good look, is it?”

Appearing crestfallen for a moment, Kendall shook his head. “You’re being—stop. I didn’t expect you to stoop down to their level, Y/N.”

“Jesus, are you going to let us in or not?” Roman huffed.

“What, to see Matsson?” Kendall finally asked.

There it was. He knew.

“That’s why you’re here. You’re trying to push a deal,” he muttered. 

“Who fucking gives a shit?” Roman asked. “What’s the difference to you? I just want to talk to him.”

Shiv nodded. “You know what’ll happen if we do talk to him? Either we strike out with nothing, or we succeed, Waystar benefits, and your net worth goes up by several hundred million dollars.”

“You’re welcome,” retorted Roman.

“Okay, yeah, but I have to weigh that against the consideration that no losers allowed,” Kendall said, shrugging.

“God, you’re such a fucking child.” You rolled your eyes, the two other siblings following suit.

Trying to step up again, Roman said, “I’m going in. This is fucking stupid.”

Kendall grabbed at his brother’s shoulder, pulling him back, and turning him around to face away from the treehouse.

“Oh, my God. Did you see that? I just got moved.” 

Roman tried again, and the two got into a catty, near indiscernible argument. Kendall pushed, and Roman stepped back, before leaning in again. 

“You really gonna get so worked up over a treehouse?” Kendall hissed. “That’s fucking lame, man.” 

Finally, Roman stepped away, his shoulder bumping into yours. “Fuck. Wow.”

“Don’t let these guys in. This is my treehouse, and they shouldn’t be here,” Kendall warned the guards, before slipping between them, making his way back into his treehouse. “Oh, and, thanks for the offer, guys. Great headfuck from Dad. Really fucking cool of you.”

You thought the buyout would be good for him. A naive part of you had even thought that he’d simply accept it with no complaint. Lord knew it was more than enough money to sustain him several lifetimes.

“Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable,” Roman groaned. “Now what?”

Curious, Shiv looked over at the two of you. “What was Ken talking about? What offer?”

You and Roman exchanged looks. “That was nothing,” Roman dismissively replied, shrugging. “It was just a little move to ease him out of the holding company.”

“What? And—you two didn’t think to tell me?” she just about snarled, brows drawing together.

“It’s just an offer, Shiv. You would’ve found out eventually,” you sighed, rubbing the spot between your brows, the beginnings of a headache starting to fight through. 

“Whose name was on the paper?” she asked, head tilted.

“Mine,” Roman sighed. “It’s just a name, though. It’s nothing.”

“Okay, so why wasn’t I the name if it was fucking nothing?” she demanded. “Historically, who owns the fucking company has been of some interest. It’s not nothing.”

Tired of the conversation, Roman told her, “We handled it. You wanna figure out the financing, or something? It’s all there.”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “Yeah, that’s fucking great. You guys are so adorable. Fuck you. Fuck this.” 

She stormed off, heels clanging loudly against the staircases’ steps.

A few seconds of silence lapsed by before you reached out to take Roman’s arm. “You ready to go steal some rainbow bands?”

He used his free hand to cup your face and tug you closer, landing a loud, obnoxious kiss onto your cheek. 

“I fucking love us,” he hummed.

The two of you began to walk around, eyeing all the guests who happened to have bracelets on. 

“I do, too, Rome. I do, too.”

Eventually, the two of you managed to snag down a handsy couple who looked much too busy sucking off each others’ faces to care about their stupid rainbow bands. They handed it to you two with no question and you thanked them with a smile whilst Roman snidely told them to use protection. He was one to talk, really.

The guards also gave the two of you a lot of trouble, but after a bit of charm from your end and a bit of light threatening from Roman’s end, the two of you were finally in the damned treehouse.

“I’m scared we’re going to see detailed exhibits of Kendall’s sex life up there,” you uneasily said. 

“Nah, I think I just saw Anne Hathaway passing by. No way Kendall would embarrass himself like that around this crowd,” Roman snorted. After a second, he tacked on, “But I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Almost at once, your eyes landed on Matsson, huddled up in a dingy corner and playing a shoddy tapping game on his phone. He looked next to miserable, utterly bored out of his mind.

“Bingo,” you whispered, nudging Roman with a grin. 

Once the two of you approached him, his eyes didn’t even bother lifting from his screen. But his brows raised in acknowledgement upon hearing Roman’s voice.

“There you are, fucking hiding from us. You little sneak, you. Like a human VPN.” Roman took the seat adjacent to him, and you sat across from the two. “How you doing?”

A disgruntled noise fell from Matsson’s lips. “Eh. I’m alright. I’m just, uh… you know. You fill in the blanks.”

Your lips downturned slightly. You hadn’t spoken to Matsson personally before, but the two of you had gone to the same conferences before in the past—you were never overly fond of his character. Lazy, erratic, a pure dick-jerker. But you knew he was integral to hold up the company, so you swallowed any and all complaints you had about him.

“I hear you. Yeah. Fucking life, right?” Roman drawled in response, attempting and failing to mimic Matsson’s nonchalance.

“I just wanna find a good pussy and get out, you know?” Lukas muttered. For a brief moment, he looked away from his phone, to you. “You down?” he asked.

Rearing back in surprise, you briefly wondered if he was high on something. He probably was.

A nervous laugh slipped out of you, and you gave Roman a wide side-glare. “I’m not here to get laid.”

“Hm. Pity.” There was lust in his gaze, and you felt a wave of nausea roll over you.

To diffuse the tension, Roman quipped in a high voice, “Yeah, well—pussy’s great. Mhm. You see my mom’s at the front, there?”

Matsson snickered lowly. “Yeah. You seen my mom’s? It’s not… it’s not great.”

Roman laughed, and you begrudgingly cracked a smile at that, too.

“Wow. Yeah, sure, I’m not gonna delve too deep into that one.” Roman leaned forward. “Question—my old man got a little bit grumpy this morning, but you weren’t trying to humiliate him, right? I mean, fucking everyone says we’re the last big legacy content library, and you’re the last fucking super app streaming platform. We fit, obviously. Right?”

Finally, Matsson put his phone down to regard the two of you. He pulled a contemplative frown.

“People say we fit, yeah.”

You eyed Matsson warily, partially worried that he’d get bored of the two of you and go back to his phone. “You help prop us up, and we’ll turn GoJo into a gold mine. A tooth for a tooth.”

With guarded interest, Matsson sat up just a bit straighter. Instead of replying to you, he faced Roman and said, “She’s a bit… how do you get anything done with her around?”

An embarrassed, frustrated sort of flush heated your skin. It was beyond demeaning that he spoke to Roman as if you couldn’t hear everything he was saying. Was it because you were a woman? Because Matsson so clearly saw you as a piece of ass and nothing more?

Though Roman sent you an apologetic, slightly confused glance, he said, “Well, I don’t, really. But, uh, what are you thinking?”

Half of a shrug. “I mean, that’s great and everything, but I do have one small concern.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?” Roman asked.

“When will your father die?”

Roman’s brows flew up in shock. “When will… when will my father die?” he parroted, blinking himself out of his stupor. “Uh…”

The blonde man gestured vaguely towards him. “Like, I don’t wanna be rude, but—what kind of shape is he in? Are we talking less than a year or is it more like five years? ‘Cause if it’s five, that’s… that’s a long time. It would be better sooner, wouldn’t it?”

Roman broke out into a fit of laughter. A nervous habit, you knew.

“No, yeah, I’m laughing here, but, like—that is my dad, so, you know. Go easy there, tiger.”

Though you were well aware that Matsson clearly had a hard time speaking to you without getting a raging boner, you felt it important to voice, “Is Logan’s position on top a problem for you? For this deal?”

The corner of his lips twitched up when he spared you a look. “No, it’s just that I don’t like the idea of a man hanging over me. It’s not my world, media. Not my thing. But Logan’s death, it would… it would clear space.”

Clear space. How airily he threw about the term. A quick peek at Roman told you that he was just as uncomfortable as you were. He scratched the back of his head rather aggressively.

“Uh, I mean, we’re all obviously… hugely looking forward to my father dying,” Roman started, tapering off into a hum of forced laughter. “But, hear me out, there’d be another shape to this. How about you never ever have to speak to him? You could work out of Austin, Geneva, London, Stockholm, wherever. Totally separate corporate identities. And StarGo, we burn, obviously.”

This seemed to please Matsson immensely. It was no secret how shitty Waystar’s streaming platform was.

“Yes, yes. Please. Burn the codes and fucking acid bath those servers.”

Roman cracked a smile. “We can do that. We could do that together. I mean, GoJo, full bore. Our library, our firepower, our relationships for content. And, like, good shit. Not, like, gay moms and wheelchair kids liberal crap. Actual, popular, shit.”

A frown crossed your expression briefly. You never liked it when Roman got political. Nonetheless, you could see now that Lukas was listening intently to what the two of you had to offer. 

“You won’t have to communicate with Logan whatsoever. None of your decisions would be intercepted by him—it’d be filtered through Roman, if need be. And, you know, if it’s beneficial for you, it’d be beneficial for us,” you told him firmly whilst maintaining eye contact. You wanted him to know that you were more than capable of holding your own. 

It didn’t last long, however, because Matsson rolled his head back and blew out a sigh. “I hope you know that StarGo truly is a piece of shit.”

“It’s a huge piece of shit, yeah,” Roman agreed.

“I like to open it just to see how long it takes for the landing page to load,” Lukas said, lazily smiling. A quick glance in your direction, and he slapped at his knees. “Hey, Roman, you wanna go and take a piss on the app?”

A second’s pause. “What, like, literally?”

“Yeah.” Lukas got up to his feet.

Roman hastily stood as well, sending you an apprehensive look. “Yeah, okay, uh—” before he could finish, Matsson was already striding away. 

God. You already couldn’t stand that man.

“Go,” you told Roman. “He thinks I’m distracting. I know. I’ll be around. You just go land a meeting with him, okay? Keep him interested.”

“Okay. Yeah. Are you—? Yeah, okay. You’re great, y’know? So fucking great.” Roman squeezed your shoulder once, before he shoved his hands into his pockets and jogged after Matsson, who was already halfway to the men’s bathroom.

A heavy pit sank to the bottom of your stomach. Everybody was dancing around you, the music pounding so loudly you could feel the base vibrating the ground. There was a distinct sting to the very top of your nose—a telltale sign that you were upset, even though you were doing your very best to push it down. It was times like these you hated being a woman working in an industry made for and surrounded by men.

With pursed lips, you got up to leave the treehouse, feeling incredibly out of place in there.

And so you wove through the crowds, until you saw Kendall walking down a hall with Naomi, his shoulders tensed.

“Hey, Kendall?” you called out, quickening your pace to catch up with him.

“What do you want?” he asked, bitter. “You wanna ask for a condom so you can go fuck Matsson in my treehouse? Sorry, I don’t have one.”

He did—he always kept one in his wallet, but you didn’t need to know that.

“Yeah, no, Roman’s doing that already.” You fiddled with your hands and his eyes softened just a tad, drawing his own conclusions that you didn’t care to spell out. “Hey, uh, sorry, this is a really douche-y thing of me to ask, but… could I have the strawberry popsicle back?”

Dumbfounded, Kendall fixed you with an incredulous stare. “What?”

You cleared your throat nervously, feeling your nose begin to sting more. You weren’t quite sure if those were tears pricking your eyes, or if you were just tired. “I’ll get you another one, I promise.” 

The wrapper was still sticking out of his pocket. Melted, you knew for a fact, but you didn’t care. You wanted it, and you wanted it now.

“What? But this—this is my gift. You said you wouldn’t take this one.”

You were being an asshole. You knew it, and he knew it. “Kendall, just—just fucking give it over. It’s a popsicle! I can get you a million others after this.”

Then, you tried to reach for it, but Kendall sidestepped away from you, bumping into Naomi. 

“Yeah, but this one’s mine. You gave it to me. What is with you?” 

Your lip warbled as you inhaled sharply. “Please? I just—I really need it right now.”

There was a momentary pause as Kendall looked down at the wrapper sticking out of his pocket. In all honesty, he’d forgotten it was even there until you brought it up.

“No,” he finally said. “There’s refreshments and desserts all over this fucking place. You don’t need it.”

You bit down on the inside of your cheek. “Fuck you,” you eventually mustered, tears welling up over your waterline.

A large part of Kendall felt guilty, but he consciously took a step back away from you. “I have to go. My kids gave me a present. Rabbit wrapping. I gotta find it.”

“Eat a dick, Kendall.”

With that, he left.

You harshly wiped away any lingering dampness that spilled over your cheeks and hurried away. As you rushed to get to the bar, you caught sight of Shiv wildly dancing in the middle of the crowd, feet bare and hair tousled. 

It wasn’t long before Tom came to join you, seemingly in a glum mood himself. He was saying something about Greg and his new fixation on Kendall’s assistant, but you weren’t quite listening, merely nodding along at regular intervals.

About half an hour later, Roman finally appeared, grinning so wide it was a wonder his face didn’t split in two. By then, Shiv had joined you and Tom by the bar, breathless and cherry-cheeked.

“You okay?” Roman preened. “Onlookers reported you having some sort of breakdown. People were anxious that you might have swallowed your tongue.”

A frown crossed her lips. “I was dancing.”

“Hm. I heard it looked like a cry for help. That right, Y/N?” Roman casted a look in your direction, noting your glum atmosphere. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Before you could reply, Shiv shook her head. “Fuck you. Did you speak to Matsson?”

“I’m trying to console my friend here, Siobhan—”

“Did you speak to him?” she gritted out again, completely disregarding his initial rebuttal. 

Rolling his eyes, Roman leaned against the bar, his arm brushing yours. “Yup. I spoke to him.”

“And?”

“Don’t worry about it, Shivvy. I’ll handle it,” he snidely remarked. His arm pressed firmer up against yours. In a lowered voice, he asked, “You sure you’re good? You look all—mopey dopey over here.”

You didn’t quite know how to explain to him that you and Kendall had gotten into a tiff over a stupid popsicle, and you were sick of being reduced to the pretty woman men couldn’t take seriously. Even if you had vocalized all that, a large part of you doubted that Roman would understand any of it. He’d look at you all guilty and puppy-eyed, one of the few ways he tried to convey sympathy, and you’d kiss his cheek and tell him it was fine. That was usually how things went between the two of you, anyway.

“No, seriously, Roman,” Shiv just about growled. 

“I’m being serious,” he shot back, clearly growing agitated that Shiv just wouldn’t buzz off. And also because you weren’t talking to him, and the two of you knew well how terribly he coped with that. “I’ll talk to Dad and see if he wants to loop you in, okay?”

The aggravation written plainly over her features seemed to deepen. “Just fucking tell me! This is important, and I might need to finesse.”

“Oh, you need to finesse? That’s so kind of you to offer! But, uh, how would you finesse something that’s already done, exactly? By ruining it?” Roman jeered, crossing his arms. “Yeah, y’know what, I handled Matsson. I understand him. I’m not sure you do.”

You simply watched Shiv’s face cave in with unbridled frustration. In a way, you understood exactly how she was feeling. Though, you supposed you were more folded in than she was, given Roman’s trust in you.

“You know what, if you wanna show off to somebody, maybe show off to someone who gives a shit. Look—even Y/N doesn’t wanna hear about it!”

The two siblings looked at you, and you lifted a shoulder in a shrug.

“If you landed it, that’s all I care to know,” you gently told Roman.

A nod, and a hum. “It’s all good. Matsson peed on my phone, but we got it. And listen, Shiv, you’re having a very bad day, I know that. What with hearing that you have to continue sharing an apartment with the old meat wardrobe, but, you know—try to keep your wig on.”

There was a certain fire to Shiv’s eyes, darting between the two of you angrily. “I’m the one in a functioning relationship. You guys are fucked up emotionally and using each other as crutches to feel better about yourselves.”

Now that… that struck a nerve. She was right, you knew it, but you never liked facing your and Roman’s codependency head-on. It was an uncomfortable truth that the two of you were quite comfortable not dwelling on.

“Oh, really?” Roman retorted. “I thought you were thinking about all the dick you were gonna ride while he was behind bars? Hm?”

“Oh, my fucking God,” Shiv hissed in incredulous disbelief. “You know what? Nobody likes talking about me fucking guys as much as you do. Why is that? Is that because you’re the COO who can’t fuck?”

This seemed to stun Roman into silence. His eyes flickered over to your silent form, staring down at your half-empty drink. Shiv caught the way he looked over at you, a cruel scoff hitching in her throat.

“Huh. Can’t even get it up for Y/N?”

A deep breath in, and Roman was quick to push the argument back onto Shiv. “Did you think Tom was going to go to jail?”

“No. I’m happy he’s not going.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are! You look really happy. Fucking rainbows and sunshine plastered all over you. Did you think he was, though? Just a smidge? Maybe Dad would go to jail, too? Oh, and maybe I’d go, too! And because Kendall’s all fucked up in the head, you’d… oh, you’d be able to sit on your little throne. It’d be all about you. You thought it was ladies’ night and they were playing your song, but guess what? You were wrong! All the men got together in the man club and we decided, sweetheart, everything’s fine, so just—”

A cord within you snapped.

“Roman,” you sternly barked out. “Shut the fuck up. We get it.”

“Don’t talk for me,” Shiv haughtily told you, before fixing her brother with a fiery glare. “He’s just using you as a messenger boy, but as usual, you’re too fucking dumb to see it.”

“Right. Mhm. It’s difficult for you, I know. It’s hard to have to do the dance for Dad because you just suck at dancing,” Roman sneered. 

“You’re a piece of shit,” said Shiv. 

Clearly on a roll, Roman just kept talking: “It turns out he loves it when I do the Daddy dance, but I guess that’s because he loves me.” He was feeding himself lies. Logan didn’t even have to do it anymore—Roman was desperate enough to believe it. “He loves fucking me, and he just doesn’t want to fuck you anymore.”

“What are you even talking about? You’re so fucking gross!” Shiv just about yelled.

The two fell into more bickering, but it faltered away when Kendall showed up out of nowhere. You glanced at his pocket—the popsicle wrapper was gone.

“Oh, shit. Look who it is! It’s birthday boy!” Roman greeted in a condescending manner. 

Kendall looked upset—far more upset than when you’d confronted him about the popsicle.

“Neither of you should be here,” Kendall gruffly said. “You shouldn’t be at my fucking party.”

“Oh, God, you’re right. Someone call the cops. Intruders have breached the masturbatorium!” Laughing, Roman took your drink and finished what was left of it. You stared down at the empty glass with pursed lips.

Finally, you looked up at Kendall. “You find the rabbit wrapping?” you quietly asked him. 

He didn’t answer your question. Instead, he stared at you for a moment before slowly saying, “I threw away the popsicle. Melted.”

That hurt a lot more than you would admit it did. “Oh,” was all you said.

Roman looked back and forth between the two of you, wondering what on earth he’d missed while he was up watching Matsson piss on his phone.

“You guys are full of shit,” Kendall said. “You came here to fuck me behind my back. You’re ghouls, and you’re disgusting.”

“Sorry. Whoops,” Roman replied, though he didn’t sound sorry at all.

Then, Kendall turned to call a few security guards lining the walls. “Can we get them out?”

“It’s a little late for that, buddy. I already spoke to Matsson. He hates you, by the way—laughs at you constantly,” Roman harshly quipped. 

Shiv shook her head. “Just stop, Roman.”

“What? Go easy on the birthday boy?”

Stone-faced, Kendall stepped closer to his siblings. “Did you come here to see me at all? You didn’t, did you?”

Shiv spared him a sharp, unapologetic smile. “Well, we haven’t been getting along that great recently, so what do you think? You surprised?”

A mutter and a shake of his head. “GoJo was my idea,” Kendall said. “You stole my idea.”

Raising his brows, Roman jeered, “What are you, fucking six? Dude, you lost. No big deal, no need to cry about it.” 

“None of it would matter if you bought out, Kendall,” you said, only barely loud enough for him to hear. “You don’t have to keep biting the hand that’s feeding you. The cage is open.”

A crackling silence. Kendall looked pained, for a second.

“You’re just a stuck-up cunt that can’t bear to see me win,” Roman said, deciding he wanted to have the final blow.

Kendall sized up to him, getting up close to his face. “You’re not a real person,” he said. “You know that? You’re not fucking real.”

Unflinching, Roman stared up at his brother. “Come on. Why don’t you hit me, maybe?”

“Rome—” you began, but he made a protesting noise.

“Come on, shitty Jesus! You know you want to. Just fucking hit me. Do it!”

Kendall watched his brother, eyes empty. Or full of despair. It was the same either way. With that, he stepped away and began to walk off.

“Ugh, look, I’m sorry, okay? Happy birthday—” Roman strode up to him and placed a hand on his back.

Accident or not, Roman pushed, and Kendall fell. He laughed, then apologized, then laughed again. Connor was there, all of a sudden, telling them to lay off each other.

All this time, you hadn’t moved a muscle. Maybe you were still mad about the popsicle. Maybe it was Matsson. Maybe it was the dysfunctional fucking family you were stuck in between.

Kendall forcefully yelled at Connor to take his coat off, and stormed off. Shiv left a few minutes later, mumbling out how much of an asshole they all were. 

“I want to leave, Roman,” you told him, and his giggling subsided, finally.

“Oh, yeah—fuck, yeah. We did what we came here for. Let’s go.”

Down the stairs, out the vagina (or was it in?), and back into the real world. Roman was saying something, but your ears were buzzing with the aftershocks of the loud music.

You hadn’t even registered Roman telling the driver to fuck off, that he wanted to walk you home. Chivalry wasn’t dead, after all. 

Once inside your house, you tugged your shoes off with a sigh and shed your clothes as soon as you stepped into your room. You just wanted to go to sleep.

Roman peeled off his suit jacket, before sitting down at the edge of your bed. “Hey, I have a proposition for you.”

At first, you genuinely believed that whatever he wanted to say was business-related. But upon looking at him, his dilated pupils, his mussed hair, his spread legs—his proposition was very obviously far from professional intent. 

It was a distraction. A good one, one that you were more than willing to take. You clambered onto the bed, straddled his thighs and leaned over him, your nose brushing his.

“Yeah, Romeo?”

“Let’s have sex. Like, actual peen in vageen type of situation.”

You weren’t drunk, but you were tired, and yet you found yourself nodding with hooded eyes. 

“You sure?” you whispered, low and raspy, as if you’d swallowed a handful of gravel. 

High-pitched, he affirmed with, “Uh-huh.”

You brushed your lips over his, only barely there. Roman jerked forward to kiss you properly, but you leaned back. “Say it, Roman.”

He swallowed, throat bobbing. “I’m sure.”

With the green light, the two of you began to peel away the few remaining articles of clothing you had on, your mouths slanted hotly against one another as you ground over his growing erection. It wasn’t exactly a kiss—more like the two of you were just breathing each other in, sighs and pants and whimpers all.

His hands seemed unsure what to do. Clenching at the bedsheets, grazing over your side, groping at your bare breasts, pressed up against him. His mouth fell away from yours with a particularly loud whine, sinking lower to dig his teeth into your shoulder. You smelled like honey, but you didn’t taste like it. Saltier, more human. A breathless curse fell from his lips, muffled into your skin.

“Inside,” he pleaded. “Fuck, I need—please turn around—can I?”

It was hard to think straight when you could feel his dick twitching, the tip continuously brushing against your clit, sending electrifying jolts throughout your whole body. You hummed, rolling your hips over his one last time, before crawling off his lap towards the center of the bed, your back facing him. A part of you wondered if there was a reason why Roman wanted to fuck you in a less intimate position for your first time together. The other, more lust-addled part of you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Roman’s hands slipped over your waist, and he sank his throbbing cock into your slickened cunt with a pitching groan, tapering off into a whine. 

“So fucking good, Rome,” you cried out once he began unevenly thrusting, pawing at your hips as he grew more desperate—close to his release even though he’d barely even begun.

The sex itself was—it was quick, to say the least. It was clumsy, as well—but he managed to reach over and rub tight circles over your clit, which elicited a choked cry from you. At one point, you swore you felt his lips on your back, but you couldn’t be certain.

When he came, fucking spurts of hot spend into you, you shuddered violently as your orgasm crashed not two seconds later, gasping into your sheets. He thrusted into you a few more times—he liked the overstimulation, your rumbling moans, the way his cum began to trickle down your thigh.

And, finally, he eased himself out, wincing as he sank into the spot beside you. 

He panicked, just a little bit, when you pulled yourself away, getting onto your feet. 

Noticing his jerky demeanor, you offered him a soft expression. “Bathroom,” you said as a form of explanation.

That made Roman relax a bit. 

When you returned, you’d pulled on a comfortable white shirt, before slipping beneath the covers. The two of you laid together, staring at the ceiling, staring at each other, staring at your hands—intertwining together on top of the blanket.

“I’m sorry,” he croaked out, after ages of silence.

Your eyes darted up to meet his, molten brown downcast with shame. 

“For what?”

A click of his tongue, a roll of his eyes. “For—for the shitty fucking sex.”

You barked out a laugh, and Roman appeared mildly offended. 

“It was great, Ro. I actually came, which is more than what I can say for most people I’ve been with. Kudos to you,” you said, grinning cheekily.

“Really? It wasn’t too—was I—?”

“Roman. It was good,” you reassured, shifting closer so that you could press your nose to his cheek. “What do you want me to say? That I saw stars? My throat hurts from how much I screamed your name?”

This seemed to crack Roman’s insecure exterior, and he guffawed lightly. “You bitch. Fuck you.”

“Fuck you, too.” Another moment of silence. You let go of his hand, watching him carefully. “Roman?”

“Mmh?”

“Did you fuck me to prove a point? Because of what… what Shiv said?”

The air crackled with uncertainty. Roman squinted at nothing in particular. 

Eventually, Roman crooned, “You know I’ve been wanting to stick my dick in you ever since we hit our first fucking round of puberty. You know that, right? That means we were little baby teenagers and I was fucking—fantasizing about dicking you down when I should’ve been doing my homework.” 

It felt like a weight lifted off your chest—a weight you hadn’t even known was there. “Ew, Roman. You’re gross.”

He groaned loudly, dramatically tossing an arm up to cover his eyes. “Don’t say that. I’ll get hard again.”

[thenightshadowqueen]

Livestream thoughts

This is largely just stream-of-consciousness (and it’s very long) and was written mostly for me, but I figured I’d share it because I always love reading these from other people

Sam’s London Eye bit during the intro is amazing

“One hit, it’s in the hole” I heard your fucking double meaning, Tom

“I’m really French. And because of that, I’m going to surrender immediately.” Who else thought of, “We are French. We are very good at surrendering.”?

“You clutched my foot and stood on my nipple” Sam immediately trying to make that position???

“Now look at me” and then Sam moaning is just so on brand for him

Tom and AJ just almost kissing between scenes for no reason came out of nowhere

Is Angel Station always closed? Because they’ve brought that up in multiple shows now

“I’m still wet—and not in the good way” Sam

Sam fucking with the way Letters works killed me—honestly, I think they should play that way again, because it was great; it was kind of a combination Letters and Timewarp

Also the overstimulated public transport user? Very relatable.

“Oh, it’s one of those letters” got me so badly

The weird incestuous direction of the letter was concerningly not surprising

The immortal economy brothers??? are amazing

“I don’t think you want to say it, do you? But I think I might have to insist at this point. And once I’ve insisted, I might regret it.” I adore it when they break character to fuck with each other

“We get a shovel and a high-quality camera, and we dig up the Queen” Sam is on fire today oh my god

“We’ll do a sepia filter” why????

“Well, I don’t see any problem with that” brilliant, Tom

Nonbinary parrot!

“I’ve never been able to walk ever since” oh my god, AJ, way to raise the fucking stakes

“Next Christmas” TOM

Sam getting to correct Tom’s English? What reversed alternate universe do we live in?

Watching this the same day I finished the second season of Interview with the Vampire, and when Sam is raising Tom from the dead in Puppets, all I can think about is that line about how no one ever asks Lazarus if he wants to be resurrected (I don’t know why this is what went through my mind, but it is)

“I kind of want to see how karaoke goes” Sam’s fucking face oh my god

The sapphic exes in Book Game????

Also Tom third-wheeling the sapphic exes in Book Game (“this is really hot”)

AJ’s character smashing a glass and Sam moaning is, again, so not surprising at this point

Also what British Prime Minister was nicknamed “pretty fanny”????? I feel like I’m missing some context as an American

“…Daddy” SAM fucking hell

“~Funky~” the way he said that????

“I will miss your nipples pressing into my nipples” what the fuck

“You wanted to join the Nazis” Sam “edgy joke” Russell, everyone

Sam standing there with his hand on AJ’s head and laughing before he could get his joke out was phenomenal, but AJ going, “don’t—shut up” killed me

AJ making the bald joke for them never gets old

“There’s a new handhold here” good god, Tom

AJ just jumping on Sam… I’m honestly not surprised at this point

“Listen, Luke—” honestly I really want to know what AJ was going for

“It’s salty” TOM oh my god

“I will give you Sexy Mates” I mean, I’d watch that (I’m so sorry; the joke has to be made)

I so seriously thought they were going to reveal they’d met before in the first scene of the longform

“I’m not good at social interactions” me neither babe

“I’m a mortician” that was so out of pocket

“I’m embarrassed to say this, but what is that?” I feel like that was a genuine question

Sam, I’m pretty sure morticians do not determine cause of death

I feel like Sam was going for his character being a killer at the beginning, which is interesting in the context of the full play

“You’ve not said anything funny yet” damn, Sam

“You remembered my name!” “Yeah.” “I didn’t!” AJ remembered a name that Sam didn’t???

“Why does this always happen?” Tom elaborate????

Tom just having to lie there behind the curtain sends me

“I go inside a lot of dead people” ah, there’s the necrophilia joke we were all expecting

“You make my life better” babe you just met

Sam killing AJ with his horrible French pronunciations took me out

Monsieur Pamplemousse, the Swiss waiter

“I’m just a rat” I love Tom

I love Sam just refusing to help Tom by playing the second driver

Gay train driver husbands!!!!!

Sam pushing the Scottish accent down reminded me so vividly of Caravan

I love AJ not knowing what to name himself

I love Sam forcing Tom to continue talking and then immediately regretting it

“Two sides of the same coin” AJ AJ AJ AJ YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO MY MERTHUR HEART do you have any idea the way I choked when I heard that

The power of Scotland! (Moist and Magical flashbacks, anyone?)

There’s been a lot of audience singing in recent livestreams, hasn’t there?

“Title of the play I don’t remember” SAM

Also okay so this play was amazing but it had absolutely nothing to do with the title

I had an amazing time as always

[starwikia]

suicide cw

look i have been in this area before mentally. it sucks and i wouldn’t wish this on anyone. but, and this is going to sound callous, but i don’t feel any sympathy for james somerton. even if i hope he’s like. not dead. But thats all the amount of goodwill im willing to give him. The more i think about this really, the more angry i am. 

ngl this entire situation is another example of how white people weaponize their mental illness to avoid consequences. Im seeing it in real time.

this man has a continuous habit of using self-harm as a get-out-of-jail-for-free card. in both of his apologies, he has worded his supposed attempts in ways that were clearly meant to guilt people who displayed his plagiarism and overall horrendous history of racism and misogyny. i say supposed because, while i’m not saying those are lies and this would he such a fucked up thing to lie about that i don’t want to think he has, unfortunately, it’s been proven again and again that his word can’t be trusted, as he’s known to lie to try get out of consequences. Hes a proven liar. him lying about this is actually the best case scenario, because no one should go through this entire situation, wouldnt wish this on anyone, but you can only do this so often before people stop sympathizing with you. is this callous? Yeah, but like. I’m actually fucking angry he cant straight up take no as an answer. that this is how he reacts realizing he cant be one of the Cool Kidz™️ on youtube anymore. he acts like he DESERVES a career, like its not a privilege hes lost due to his own actions.

He lied about apologizing and forgiving people, he lied about giving the money to hbomberguy to give to ppl he ripped off (yknow, instead of doing it himself), he lied about the jessie gender situation and rewrote the narrative to make it so he isnt the bad guy, and hes the victim all along actually!

you can’t tell me that supposed last message of his isn’t meant to be a 13 reasons why esq attempt to deflect the blame “look i’m going to kill myself and it’s all YOUR PEOPLES FAULT for not letting me achieve my DREAM of being filmmaker IN PEACE!!! I just wanted Nick’s (the guy who I have thrown under the bus again and again) portfolio up!! Im just being a good friend dont you all FEEL BAD” he refuses to take ANY ACCOUNTABILITY of any of his actions and he IS STILL trying to shove the blame over to other people again.

it’s also pretty ironic people are like “uhhh well hbomber’s fans harassed him!!!” like hbomber outright told people NOT to HARASS JAMES!!! ALSO acting as if james doesn’t have a very real documented history of STRAIGHT UP sending his fans to harass and threaten smaller creators, more notably women, trans, and bipoc creators. especially after he’s stolen typically very personal anecdotes so he could profit from them. so why can he do it but the second people are like “hey this guys an actual piece of shit.” and he can’t handle it suddenly people are trying to white knight his shit? like no he doesn’t get that. he doesn’t get that at all just because he couldn’t handle the consequences of his actions. 

what? were supposed to stay quiet about a man profiting off of other minorities because he wanted to be the spokesman for all gay people? people tried to solve this on a smaller, more private scales for YEARS and he kept doing it. it was clear that the giant public video was the ONLY way to get people to notice. HE WOULDVE GOTTEN AWAY WITH STEALING 87 FUCKING THOUSANDS WORTH OF DOLLARS. HE CANT HANDLE THE FACT HE CANT GET AWAY WITH IT. 

am i supposed to feel bad for the guy who basically threatened a trans woman with the police? i don’t care what anyone says, it’s so fucking obvious that he threatened jessie by implying he was getting the police involved in their conflict. what am i supposed to act like that didn’t happen? are we supposed to pretend like he didn’t glorify nazi’s and outright said that gay people made up a good chunk of the nazis? That he didnt say america joined ww2 bc they were jealous of the NAZIS. WHAT WOULD POSSESS YOU TO FUCKING SAY THAT. but then? He gives women (not even women most of the time, he misgenders nonbinary ppl constantly) shit for writing mlm. are we supposed to act like he doesn’t straight-up sees himself superior and better than people of color and steals their works to put himself on a pedestal? Are we supposed to act like he didnt spit on our elders by saying “only the boring gays survived aids” like man! Fuck you! He BLANTANTLY MAKES UP HISTORY TO PUT HIMSELF ON A PEDESTAL!! HE ACTIVELY TRIED TO REWRITE LGBT HISTORY TO SUIT HIS FUCKED UP NARRATIVES!

yes this sucks ! no one deserves this but no one should be making him a martyr. Thats what he fucking WANTS! He wants to be immortalized as a victim!! (again, supposedly, it was reported hes alive but its not confirmed).

The shit he got isnt near the amount of fucking callous behavior hes done again and again. Again, to drill this point, EVEN IF HE DIDNT CALL THE POLICE HE THREATENED A TRANS WOMAN INTO THINKING HE DID!!! The fact he tried to use a head injury to justify years of the outright ghoulish shit fucking astounds me. Why the fuck did anyone in his life thought it was a good idea to let him TRY to come back. in the end, he had options. he didn’t need to try to make a comeback. HE DIDNT NEED TO FUCKING LIE OR IGNORE THE SHIT HE WAS CALLED OUT ON the reality is, he wanted to come back thinking he could shove it under the rug, was told that no dude, you’re not allowed to be a youtuber anymore. you’re done. you need to move on and went full nuclear. it’s not on anyone’s hands but his own. HES BEEN DOING THIS TO HIMSELF!! But nah man we cant call his shit out bc hell may or may not kill himself. Fuck the other minorities who have the same issues but worse and sometimes BECAUSE of him. This is going to SUCKKKK so bad when other ppl, specifically white gays, are going to weaponize this shit to get away with their stuff.

[tomorrowusa]

Mike Godwin is an internet legend. He was the first known person to use the word meme in its internet context. He's also the originator of what's become known as "Godwin's Law".

In a recent interview, Mr. Godwin stated that comparisons of Donald Trump to Hitler or Nazis are fair and appropriate.

So to be clear — do you think comparing Trump’s rhetoric to Hitler or Nazi ideology is fair? I would go further than that. I think that it would be fair to say that Trump knows what he’s doing. I think he chose that rhetoric on purpose. But yeah, there are some real similarities. If you’ve read Hitler’s own writing — which I don’t recommend to anyone, by the way — you see a dehumanizing dimension throughout, but the speeches are an even more interesting case. What we have of Hitler’s speeches are mostly recorded, and they’re not always particularly coherent. What you see in efforts to compile his speeches are scholars trying to piece together what they sounded like. So, it’s a little bit like going to watch a standup comedian who’s hitting all of his great lines. You see again and again Hitler repeating himself. He’ll repeat the same lines or the same sentiment on different occasions. With Trump, whatever else you might say about him, he knows what kinds of lines generate the kinds of reactions that he wants. The purpose of the rallies is to have applause lines, because that creates good media, that creates video. And if he repeats his lines again and again, it increases the likelihood that a particular line will be repeated in media reporting. So that’s right out of the playbook. You could say the ‘vermin’ remark or the ‘poisoning the blood’ remark, maybe one of them would be a coincidence. But both of them pretty much makes it clear that there’s something thematic going on, and I can’t believe it’s accidental. The question is why do it on purpose. Well, my opinion is that Trump believes, for whatever reason, that there is some part of his base that really wants to hear this message said that way, and he’s catering to them. He finds it both rewarding personally for himself and he believes it’s necessary to motivate people to help him get elected again.

He adds this cautionary comment about the state of American democracy...

When I was growing up and being taught the American system of government, we would always be taught that the U.S. government has checks and balances in its design, so you can’t take it over with a sentiment of the moment. But I think what we’ve learned is that the institutions that protect us are fragile. History suggests that all democracies are fragile. So we have to be on the alert for political movements that want to undermine democratic institutions, because the purpose of democratic institutions is not to put the best people in power, it’s to maintain democracy even when the worst people are in power. That’s a big lift.

[hyperactivewhore]

How do you think Klaus’s and Hope’s relationship would be like if he was still alive?

I know that when he died, they had a good relationship - but to me, after everything Hope had went through, I don’t find that really realistic. Honestly, if he had survived, I think Hope would be pretty resentful towards him. He did abandon her for years (he could’ve called, texted, or something but he chose to let Hope believe that he didn’t love her). He put her at risk multiple times so he could see his brother while pretending Hope doesn’t exist and ignoring all her calls. He flirted with Caroline while Hayley was in danger. He made Hope believe that Hayley’s death was all Elijah’s fault.

And I’m not trying to deny that growth Klaus had throughout the series. I do think he has changed in some ways. But at the end of the day, he’s still Klaus. He’s still controlling, possessive, and manipulative. He still harbors this secret desire to be the loved the most by everyone around him. He was threatened every time Rebekah dated someone he didn’t seem ‘worthy’. He greatly disliked the fact that Elijah chose to erase his memory and shacked up with some Nazis (mostly because Elijah erased HIM and didn’t love him anymore). He absolutely hated that Marcel fell in love with Rebekah (not because of any normal reasons like Rebekah is his aunt and literally watched him grow up - but because he didn’t love Klaus the most anymore).

I can see him being possessive and monopolizing all of Hope’s time/attention to make up for the years he lost and because he wants her to love him more than anyone else. Which is why I disagree when people say that he would love Lizzie/Josie/Landon/ or any of Hope’s potential love interests. He wouldn’t outright kill them like he he did with Rebekah’s lovers (as I said, he did grow throughout the series), but he definitely wouldn’t embrace them into the family with open arms. At best, he would be standoffish. At worst, he would be one of those annoying creepy parents that tell their child’s boyfriend/girlfriend “I’m the number one person in their life. I loved them first.”

Honestly I’m trying to think of a time when Klaus actually accepted one of his siblings love interests into the family. Marcel and Hayley don’t count. He literally adopted Marcel as a son. He raised Marcel and brought him into the family before Marcel and Rebekah got into their sick little relationship. He first accepted Hayley (not because of Elijah) but because she was the mother of his child and then because he actually grew to like her. But other than Marcel and Hayley, I don’t think he was ever really that welcoming to any of his siblings’ girlfriends/boyfriends. Maybe Keelin? But did Keelin and Klaus even talk?

So, yeah, Klaus wouldn’t disapprove of Hope’s relationships whether it romantic or platonic. But I don’t think he would encourage it or embrace any of Hope’s friends as family. I do think he would fuss and throw a tantrum if Hope prioritized any of her relationships over him. Wasn’t he jealous of the mere idea of Hope liking Elijah (someone he loves and obviously views a family)?

Honestly, if he was still alive, I don’t think Hope and Klaus would have a good relationship. With her resentment towards him for the years of abandonment and his role in the death of her mother, Hope would probably prioritize her friends/school over her relationship with her dad. And I think Klaus, with his jealousy and controlling tendencies, would have a major issue with Hope prioritizing anything else over him.

If the show had good writing Hope would absolutely resent him at first.

I think a good part of why Hope forgave him in canon in season five was because she was gonna die at first, and then he was the one who would die and she was grieving enough, she had already lost her mother a week ago and I dont think she wanted her father to die having a bad relationship with her. She was in pain, she was vulnerable and she knew she was never gonna see her father again, so she chose to let go from all their issues and just spend their last days together.

But it's just so bad developed. I believe Hope resented Elijah not just because of his "part" in her mother's death, but because of how much Klaus loved him as well. Hope was begging for the attention that Elijah didn't want and yet received every single day just by existing, and even her mother was clearly still hung up on him. How would that make a little girl feel? Imagine you grow up hearing stories about your loving uncle, who continously prioritizes family, only for him to turn around, force himself to forget all of you, leave your mother and your father unable to fully move on with their lives and the moment you finally see him again after almost a decade, he hasn't only "killed" your mother, now he's gonna take your only living parent - the one who had no problem ignoring your existence because he was too busy staring at his brother playing the piano - with him as well.

Hope knew Hayley was still in love with Elijah even years after their breakup, her mother basically asked her in the afterlife to tell her uncle she still loved him, her own father endangered everyone in New Orleans, including herself and her kidnapped mother, just because Elijah broke his heart: he did not care he was driving both of them closer to their deaths, his brother had hurt him and he needed to make everyone around him pay, his own daughter included.

In my opinion, Klaus’s priorities have always been very obvious:

Klaus himself

Elijah/Hope

Whatever love interest he feels like entertaining at the moment/Rebekah

His other siblings/Marcel = Hayley, in case he's seeing them as family at the moment

And yes, in that order. Klaus didn't know how to parent his child now that Hayley was gone and Elijah dying no matter what, and most importantly, he didn't want to. He only knew what Hope meant to him, not who she was (which, personally, infuriates me. If you're gonna create a show centered around a magical baby who shouldn't even exist in the first place and the insane maniac who happens to be her father, at least make her father get to raise her).

The Originals being centered around Hope was, in my opinion, a big mistake. Her existence wasn't a problem for me (if anything, I would make her first appearance later in the show, season three/four, perhaps), but for a show called The Originals, the Mikaelson sure don't appear a lot. I think that's the biggest problem people have with the show, not the Mikaelson being out of character, which is ironic, in my opinion, considering only klaroline and kalijah stans seem to believe that.

In the universe's canon, I just can't see Hope having a stable relationship with any of her paternal family, her father included, had he lived. I'm not saying they would've been constantly fighting, but I do think it would be a constant fragile line in their relationship where Hope would just try to ignore how much he hurt her during her early life, only for them to get into a fight about it, and then go back to ignore it. If Hayley had lived or been resurrected, I see Klaus and Hope's relationship being kinda the same as what I stated, perhaps slightly more sour, perhaps not, because I certainly see Hayley being mad at Klaus for being so careless with her life.

I personally believe Hayley and Cami wouldn't have allowed anything of what happened to the family in season five, Elijah and Klaus practically switched personalities, all the klayley and klaroline moments were so obviously meant for Camille and her relationship with Klaus, Caroline was absolutely out of character, and everything was very rushed and poorly developed.

Thanks for the ask!

[moderndayamymarch]

i’m not sure where this idea that dumbledore is the reason tom riddle became wizard hitler came from but i don’t buy it. i know the cool kid thing to do is blame dumbledore for every bad thing that happens in those books, but dumbledore isn’t the reason riddle was like that™️.

by the time dumbledore first meets riddle- he’s already traumatized those two kids in the cave so badly that they’ll never recover, killed some girl’s rabbit and hanged it from the rafters, and is a klepto. the kid literally meets the all childhood behavior indicators of a serial killer.

dumbledore in the meeting with riddle only displays concern for riddle and the other childrens’ well-being. he offers to help riddle and tells riddle that stealing/intimidating other students isn’t permitted at hogwarts. and he’s valid for pointing that out!! riddle admits to intimidating/stealing from the other kids. that’s something dumbledore kinda can’t let slide.

ppl cite dumbledore making a snide comment to harry about riddle wanting to be special as evidence he was out to get tom. current dumbledore made that comment as the result of knowing who tom riddle became. past dumbledore only vows to keep a close eye on him. present dumbledore even says he had no idea he’d just met wizard hitler. and past dumbledore’s not wrong for keeping an eye on riddle. also that’s common practice in the education system. when a child is noted to have behavioral issues (esp when those behaviors concern other students), admin will have a school counselor keep an eye on them or assign them a para. dumbledore also obv didn’t turn anyone against tom. everyone else loved him! so dumbledore’s watchful eye obv didn’t impact riddle’s school career really at all. all of the teachers believed he was a good role model student and he was even named head boy.

also even if, a teacher not liking or trusting you does not mean you get to become a neo-nazi. harry put up with snape’s bs and it didn’t lead to him declaring himself a “lord” and splitting his soul into pieces.

it was also the 1940s/30s and muggles did not have the psychological abilities/knowledge that we do today. wizards 1000% didn’t. if he’d been sent to a psychiatrist then, they just would’ve said some freudian bs about his mother and not actually helped with his problem of lack of empathy/guilt

the reason that riddle’s like that™️ is actually pretty understandable and makes sense psychologically. we know now (and actually by the 50s) that children who are starved of physical contact/emotional connection/and stability in early childhood can struggle to develop empathy, feel guilt, form connections, and that can lead to deviant immoral behavior. riddle grew up in an orphanage in the 40s during wwii with no familial connection. having abilities would make him feel “special” and better than the other orphans bc his abilities are the only thing he has going for him. add that to the above issues, and you’ve got someone that would abuse their powers for their own gain, especially to feel “special”. like tbh riddle’s prob not that different psychologically to like charles manson or jim jones (which is peak irony that a therapist in the muggle world could actually easily be able to explain his psyche while the wizarding world struggles)

my final point is this: dumbledore, while extremely flawed, isn’t the reason tom riddle became voldemort. if anything, slughorn and the old headmaster drove him to that end through their enabling far more than dumbledore did by keeping an eye on him. we even saw in riddle’s diary that “keeping an eye on him” consisted of dumbledore basically asking tom “you good?” when seeing him in the corridor. a behavior that reminds harry of dumbledore’s own interactions with him. and yeah eventually dumbledore called riddle out and was like “i heard you’re a fascist now” but that was after riddle had killed his own father, set a giant snake loose in the school, started calling himself “lord voldemort”, and started the wizard hitler youth

[simpingforcreamsoda]

I think it would be really funny if everyone who’s made a pseudo intellectual post harassing or justifying hatred of Jocat stubbed their toes all at once. Like seriously it pisses me off so much seeing (hypothetical name definitely in relation to nobody) peewhirlpool on twitter go “um, he’s horny but pretending to be wholesome so people should be MAD AT HIM” like touch grass and grow the hell up. You’re malding because someone drew himself on SFW dates with women from a meme template. Because he made a parody video comedically showing off his fictional crushes. Breaking news fucko, sometimes people are attracted to women. Sometimes, just sometimes, people might want to fuck women. Some people have the desire to have sex with women. It’s so crazy how that works, isn’t it? It’s ok, you can come out of the blanket when it stops being scary! I wouldn’t want some widdle Internet funny man with a cute lil puppydog pfp to learn what a sex drive is! Check your arms for any boo-boos, because I fucking guarantee a song cover of Lizzo’s “Boys” and a panel drawing of two people dancing like in Beauty in the Beast didn’t melt your face off like the nazis in Indiana Jones.

Jumpscare! When I was in elementary school I had a crush on Blaze the Cat! Nah that was tame, wasn’t it? Ok here’s a good one— sometimes I’ll see women in real life and think “wow, she’s super pretty.” Sometimes I’ll even think “Wow, she’s hot.” Lock me in fuckin Alcatraz, pissvortex. Oopsie, said the barely hidden name because like be real who’s reading this besides my mutuals. It turns out when you don’t actually harm or harass people in real life, and respect them as human beings, you’re allowed to have feelings.

Not even sure why I’m so mad about this. Maybe I’m not even mad, maybe I’m just baffled. So many people going after some DND and Final Fantasy YouTuber and not only doxxing him off platforms, but trying to mask it by saying “he gives me the ick! I bet he looks at hentai” (believe it or not, you can look at hentai and it’s not a crime also, but clearly some people aren’t ready for that conversation). It’s not even that you’re making baseless assumptions and forcing what you think is sin on an individual who has not made anything nsfw in these things other than a reference to the couch meme at MOST, those assumptions don’t fucking matter! Like genuinely why do you CARE if Jocat likes women? He ain’t doing shit! You’re pissing yourselves over DRAWINGS! So yeah, washed up tumblr funny guys, and everyone else who participates in this bullshit, honestly just shut your fucking mouth. You jagoff.

Oh and yeah, I know some of you are doing this because Jocat is nonconforming to stereotypical masculinity. Maybe a lot of you. I hope next time you eat a tootsie-pop you cut the roof of your mouth on a crack in its outer layer.

am I missing something? Oh yeah, and then hammers fly everywhere, now it’s a a joke that’ll get me harassed by a site mod.

[remylebeaugambit]

So, I decided to wait a little to think this show over. As a Gambit fan I’m still pretty much bitter about it all. However, as an X-Men fan, I can say I understand why people love the show. But I also believe there’s an exaggerated amount of praise due to the fact that we’ve been starving for good X-Men content. 

I was going to write a much angrier version of this text (I actually outlined an angry rant but there were too many fuck yous), however I’m trying to be reasonable here. The animation is mostly impeccable (don’t like the way the women are drawn, but that’s a minor complaint), it’s colorful and vivid and fluid. The action scenes are mostly awesome too. So, yeah, there’s a lot of good in it. Having said that, there’s tons of problems as well and the great majority of fans are willingly blind to them because of, you know, the good and the lack of content for years. 

I want to be bluntly honest and say I’m glad that the showrunner had been fired. I wholeheartedly don’t believe he is deserving of all the praise he’s been getting because my biggest issues with this show come from the writing. It’s amazing and exciting to see scenes from the comics being brought to life in beautiful animation? Yes, definitely. But it’s not enough when the writing is rushed and lacking.

First, I thought I was biased because I hated what they were doing to Gambit, but now I really, truly don’t think this show that amazing. The first half of the season was mostly decent, there were things I didn’t like but that wasn’t enough to called it bad. Episode 5 was when the show peaked (although to be fair Gambit wasn’t in it much, it was the way he went down that made it memorable) but after that it just went downhill.   

All the plot holes, the playing favorites, the inconsistencies, the rushing through storylines, the terrible pacing, the loose ends, the weak motivations, the terrible character development, the retcon to characters’ relationships (so Ororo and Jean are sisters now? Ororo was way closer to Rogue in the original cartoon, but, you know, Rogue had to be isolated for her disgusting retcon and inconsistencies of character and decisions to work out. Newsflash asshole: they didn’t. Rogue was character assassinated. And though I love her in the original show, I wouldn’t be this angry if it hadn’t directly affected Gambit the way it did), and, of course, all the foreshadowing of Gambit becoming Death left to be (hopefully) resolved in the second season. That means there was no payoff. I repeat: the show was mostly curveballs and no real payoff. With a cast that big, you don’t expect all the characters to have satisfying character arcs but in this case if you aren’t a Jean, Scott or Magneto fans you’re left hanging. 

Storm, who has been friends with Gambit, simply didn’t even mention his death. The excuse was that ended up on the cutting room floor, but don’t be fooled, there was enough time for Ororo to smile and hug Jean and later tell her platitudes (what a boring, cheesy speech!). There was also plenty of time for all those insufferable Magneto moments. “You killed more people than the Nazis? Awwww that’s fine, cause you’re family.” 😉 None of it was cut, right? That leads me to my biggest gripe with his show: fucking Magneto. I hate that took so much space and was unironically written as an old man who groomed a teenage girl (they can lie all they want and say she was an adult. She WASN’T. She was a teenager with serious emotional issues), manipulated her, gaslighted her, isolated her and told her pretty things to bang her. I guess that’s what’s called romance nowadays. I mean, the show runner didn’t even try to hide his fetiches for the old creep. All those plot contrivances and conveniences to accommodate someone’s wet dream. 

Ok, so, I don’t want to go ad hominem on the show runner here, but to be fair, he’s been dishonest with us fans this whole time, he’s lied straight-faced, said a lot of stuff that hasn’t panned out, given dubious answers, manipulative and evasive comments, asked for our trust, even though he’d been lying and giving us false hope (trust is earned, dude; I stopped trusting him after the first lie, if ever), and there are people, Gambit fans, still being hopeful and taking his words at face value. Fucking seriously? THAT dress was just another spit in our collective faces. Wake up!), also he’s self-indulgent, and pathetic in his comments about being the master of magnetism (ok, I lied. So what?).        

All in all, I don’t think that show is as good as so many people are making it out to be and I’m way too happy about the firing of the show runner. To him, I say, thank you for tainting the legacy of something dear and pure from my childhood. Good riddance, please, don’t ever come back, sink into oblivion and go fuck yourself (ok, I needed at least one fuck you, he’s had it coming). 

Ps. Romy fans, mark my words, the old creep will be making passes at Rogue and since she has no personality in this, we can expect the worse, like little Charles next season or anything else that is just as irreversible. I’m mean, an old man fucking a teenager is already irreversible to me. But that’s me. 

[thisis-an-original-name]

Here is where I stand with the Global Conflict this week (no one asked lmao)

1. The top priority for me is stopping the genocide in Gaza, and, immediately after that, establishing a Palestinian state/two state solution.

2. Hamas isn’t going to peddle any kind of solution/compromise. Hamas essentially took their “We want to kill Jews” treatise and replaced “Jews” with “Zionists” but nothing has changed. If you can’t see that, you’re dangerous and probably stupid.

3. The hostages need to be freed (if they’re still alive, which let’s be realistic, they probably aren’t.) If Netanyahu actually cared about freeing the hostages, he would have done it by now, and a large number of Israelis recognize that.

4. Recognition of the hostages/ October 7th and recognition of the genocide/ deeply awful conduct of Israel can and SHOULD coexist.

5. Joe Biden is a useless little bitch. Having him as President again would still be better than four more years of Trump.

6. The Met Gala was not orchestrated by Big Zionism to distract from the invasion of Rafah and saying that it was is just blatant antisemitism. That being said, the Israeli military does frequently carry out large strikes on nights like the Met Gala and the Super Bowl when they know that the American news cycle will be focused on something else. Both things can be true. Also, the Met Gala is inherently a stupid thing to get excited about I’m sorry.

7. Student protestors do often fall into traps of antisemitism and say shit that could potentially harm Jews. What else is going to happen, when you gather a bunch of 19 year olds and tell them to yell as loud as humanly possible? That being said, I do have to believe that a vast majority of college protestors have good intentions AND, most of all, even if they don’t, censoring them and spraying pepper spray in their eyes is draconian behavior that the history books will not look kindly upon.

8. I’m so on the fence about boycotts, especially Eurovision. Because on one hand, banning Palestinian flags and keffiyeh’s from the performance is wrong. And I don’t think that Israel should be allowed to compete considering everything that the government is doing, like Russia was banned in 2021. That being said, it does make me sad that this 19 year old girl wrote a song about losing friends and family on October 7th and in response, she’s been booed and told to stay in her hotel room lest the angry mob tears her apart.

9. I do think that celebrities have some level of responsibility to use their platforms for good. That being said, this is such a complex issue that I almost don’t fault some people for not making a 250 character Twitter statement. I don’t think the dying children of Gaza care much if you block Zendaya or Olivia Rodrigo on Instagram. It also gets ridiculous when you go in the comments section of creators with like 100k followers and you see people posting Palestinian flags like yeah I’m sorry that blorbo from my shows isn’t personally flying to Gaza to punch Netanyahu in the face.

10. If you punctuate every single acknowledgement of the genocide with “but what about the hostages!!” or GOD FORBID “it’s sad that Hamas made Netanyahu do this” you have been propagandized by your local Hillel. No one made Netanyahu do this except Netanyahu. There’s no way you don’t know that by now. Wiping out Hamas: another thing that Netanyahu probably would have done by now if he genuinely wanted to.

11. Whenever I see lists of “here are the celebrities/professors/writers/guy on the street to block and throw rocks at because he’s a Mean Scary Zionist” I am reminded of the lists of synagogue goers that Nazis used to track down Jews and their families during the Holocaust. Seriously if you’re peddling lists of “Zionists” ripe for demonization you might want to ask yourself what you’re REALLY doing, and why.

12. Fun fact about me: I actually consider myself a Zionist. I do think, historically speaking, that Jews do need a safe place and a homeland to prevent us from being killed again like we seem to be every few centuries or so. I just don’t think that place has to be Israel, and I DEFINITELY don’t think Palestine should be subjugated for it to happen. But whenever I hear “Zionism = BAD” I just cringe a bit because… you keep using that word. I don’t think it means what you think it means

[misslavenderlady]

A Little Bit Country, A Little Bit Rock ‘N Roll - Chapter 12

Summary: David and Michael are opening their hearts to one another and sharing some rather deep feelings they're both struggling with. Meanwhile, other members of the Emerson family are focused on something far more sinister.

TW: Chapter contains mentions of abuse and vampire hunting

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

“I know.”  

It was such a simple response, but enough to make quite a surprise.  

David was dumbfounded by Michael’s response. He didn’t know what to expect with the sudden shift in tone with his date, but this certainly wasn’t something that had crossed his mind. He was going through endless ideas of what to say. How to explain his behavior and panic from such a small touch.   

Meanwhile, Michael was simply looking back at him with gentleness in his eyes. Like he understood everything, even without hearing a single word.   

“What?” David asked.  

“I said ‘I know’, David,” Michael responded. He softly smiled as he leaned forward in order to take David’s hand in his. Michael’s fingers were calloused from years of hard work on the farm and strumming his steel-string guitar. And yet, it brought David far more comfort than any soft fabric imaginable.   

“I’m sorry I didn’t say somethin’ before, but I...may have overheard some stuff a while back...”  

David’s fear of the truth began to wash away as a sense of confusion took its place. It couldn’t be possible that Michael knew what he was, but part of him wanted to see if he did know some of the truth. After all, the human boy was as sharp as a tack.   

“Really?”  

“Remember the night I came by and gave ya back your guitar?”   

The vampire nodded. It was painful to relive the memory of the earlier parts of that night. Before Michael had come along to see him, his body had burned with the sharp pain that was left behind by Max’s claws. He couldn’t even use human medicine because it wouldn’t work. Only excessive amounts of blood would heal him, and even then, it was a terribly slow recovery process.   

Having Michael by his side was the only thing that had made him feel better.   

“Well....I overheard the boys talkin’....” he admitted. “And they mentioned Max....hurtin’ ya real bad...”  

David’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. That certainly was part of what had happened between the Sire and Childe. His curiosity grew stronger as to what Michael knew.  

“They said how you’re his own blood and that he’s been doin’ this for a while now! That he would hurt the others if they stepped outta line. I was scared to death for y’all...”  

The more Michael shared details of what he had overheard from the others, the more David wondered if he truly was close to finding out the truth of the vampirism he and the other Lost Boys had. It was so obvious to him, but to Michael, it was more akin to a case of domestic violence.   

“That’s....um....what you heard?” David pondered, wondering if there was even the slightest hint that the final piece of the puzzle would be put into place.   

“Yeah. I know they lied about you gettin’ into a fight with a surf nazi. They didn’t want to share somethin’ ya didn’t want me to know about. But don’t be fooled! I ain’t no bonehead. I know good and well when my kin are in a heap of trouble!”  

To his own surprise, David was actually disappointed that Michael hadn’t learned the whole story. It was so frustrating, going back and forth between wanting to come clean about what kind of creatures they all were and wanting to keep it a secret so that there was zero risk of their new relationship being ruined.   

It certainly didn’t help that Max was still messing with his head. Everything would be so much easier without the bastard around.   

“That’s why I....well....I ruined his party down at the country club..”  

David perked up even more.  

“What?”  

“Ya promise you won’t get upset?”   

The mere idea of getting mad at the human boy didn’t even sound right to David. He didn’t think it was even possible to feel such a way. He nodded, letting Michael speak.  

“I wanted to take away any power he had over you. Knock him down a peg or two so he’d see he’s nothin’ but a big bully who can’t get away with that kinda treatment. I didn’t wanna go directly to him and risk him doin’ worse to ya, but my mama and I figured if we kill ‘em with kindness and southern hospitality, then he wouldn’t be all high and mighty.”  

David had to admit, he was impressed by Michael’s dedication. He knew some kind of elaborate planning had to go into getting all of those guests to overtake the party, but he never realized it had all been for him. That Michael was willing to take down Max in order to make David feel happier and safer.  

It was....the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him. Standing up to someone like Max. It made his heart swell with a long-forgotten sense of kindness.   

“You...wow, I can’t believe you did all that....for me.”  

“David, I’d do anythin’ for you.”  

Michael released the vampire’s hand in order to place them on either side of his face. David’s muscles relaxed, enjoying the sensation of warmth on his icy skin. It was such a gentle touch.   

“Gettin’ to know you and have you an’ the others be a part of my family...it’s made me the luckiest fella alive. I want to keep ya safe. Keep ya happy. You deserve better than a dad who hurts you.”  

David softly smiled before leaning in to kiss Michael again. Before meeting Michael, he could never imagine being so vulnerable and honest. To not put up walls and act like the mighty vampire that he wanted to prove he could be. But Michael accepted everything about him. Wanted to do everything he could as a friend and as a partner.   

He couldn’t deny it wasn’t a little scary. Dangerous things had already happened to him with Max. The idea of such pain ruining Michael and the rest of the Emersons terrified him. This was all going so well so far. He couldn’t ruin this. He WOULDN’T ruin this.  

“Michael,” he whispered, breaking free from their kiss for only a moment. “Let me be the one to worry about you. Let me take care of you. After everything you’ve done, it’s my turn now. You trust me to do that, don’t you?”  

Michael could feel a sense of sadness in David’s voice. All that confidence the blond put on for show was something he could see through. But he wouldn’t let the secret out. He’d let David do whatever he needed to do to feel safe.   

“Of course, I do, Huckleberry.”  

“Then let’s just enjoy things how they are now. Don’t worry about Max. He can’t really hurt me when I’m with you,” David promised.   

The two boys stayed in their embrace. It was quite a whirlwind of emotions for a first date. David was trying to protect Michael from the truth about Max and Michael in turn was going to protect David from being hurt further.   

But at that moment, neither of them minded that. There was a bond between the human and the vampire, and all they wanted more than anything in the world was to let this new sense of romance grow. Just the two of them and the beautiful night above.   

Nothing else would matter.  

“So, what did your brother say?”   

“Oh hell, he’s wound tighter than an eight-day clock! He ain’t gonna listen to a word I say!”  

Though Sam had tried his hardest to hide the thick, southern accent ever since moving to California, he had a habit of letting it slip when he was flustered. That certainly was the case as he and the Frog brothers shared theories about vampires in the dead of night.  

The three of them were at the Frog household, sleeping bags and pillows scattered over the living room floor to act as the main setup for their sleepover. Edgar and Alan's parents were out late yet again, no doubt eating laced brownies and dancing at a beach concert. The boys didn't really mind though. It allowed more privacy to talk about their theories.  

"Of course, he wouldn't listen," Edgar responded to Sam between sips of Pepsi. "His judgment is clouded by his love for the Billy Idol look alike. We can't let that kind of shit get in the middle of serious matters like this." 

"Can ya blame the guy? Ever since the move, he's been real blue. Heart was achin' for some company."  

That was a surprise to the Frogs, as they had only seen the side of Michael that was always smiling wide and crooning country songs during work hours on the farm. He didn't really strike them as the homesick type.  

But Sam knew better. He knew his brother good and well. The older boy hid his heartsick feelings so he could be strong for the family. The "man of the house" to take their neglectful father's place. Michael was more of a parent to Sam after all. A good role model who could balance work and play.  

"Yeah, but there's a good chance that if he's a vampire, so is David," Alan pointed out. "We have to be prepared if that's the case. Children of vampires are quite loyal to their dark masters." 

"If I didn't see that silver burn for myself, I'd think y'all were nuttier than a fruitcake," Sam teased. He tossed a piece of popcorn into his mouth to chew in between his snickering.  

The Frogs weren't laughing though. To them, this was all as serious as a heart attack. It made the Emerson boys' giggling quiet down.  

"Anyway….whatcha reckon we do 'bout it?"  

"Simple. We run more tests of Max. If he fails any of them, then we've got a nosferatu on our hands. Everything we need to do can be found right here." 

Edgar reached under one of the old, ratty blankets to reveal a long, rolled-up piece of paper he had been hiding away. He unraveled it onto the carpet, letting Sam get a clear look at it. The paper was covered with various pieces of comic book material. Pictures of vampires, descriptions of the powers they had, and advice printed on how to hunt them down.  

Edgar and Alan had taken the liberty of marking the entire thing with red lines, connecting important information together. It was like looking at a war plan made by a general.  

"Sam, you've got a good, fighting spirit in you. With all that work you do, we trust your ability to take down some foes. If we train you properly, then we'd be an unstoppable force against those bloodsuckers." 

Though Sam had his worries and doubts about what would happen to David if the test came back positive about his father being a vampire, he couldn't let his emotions get the better of him.  

His brother could be in danger, and he had to step up and take care of his family. Michael had done so for a long time now. It was time to pass on the torch and be the one to look after everyone. A vampire was nothing to take lightly.  

"Let's get to work, fellas." 

A night like this couldn't have been any more perfect. A clear sky, a light breeze in the summer air, and the quietness that came with being at the top of a hill all made for the perfect backdrop for the budding romance.  

David and Michael hadn't paid attention to the time at all. After their little heart-to-heart earlier in the night, they had simply enjoyed their time together. The boys talked for hours and hours, sharing stories and conversations with one another.  

They felt comfortable enough with each other that they would snuggle up, trading kisses between the moments when they gazed up at the stars in the sky. Their fingers were constantly entwined, human heat and vampire coldness canceling each other out while they held hands.  

It was a rare moment of peace for the both of them. Michael was always so reckless and wild during the times when he wasn't hard at work. He switched between those two settings quite often, but it was nice to change it up in favor of just being in the moment. For David, he shared the same joy of running wild, but to a more extreme extent with his vampiric nature. That, and he had finally gotten his mind off of his Sire for a while. All he wanted was to enjoy the night with Michael.  

Though perhaps he had enjoyed it a little too much.  

The two boys were lying back on the grass, their coats being used as makeshift blankets to relax on. As time went by, the two of them got a bit more drowsy. The sense of peace was enough to eventually lull them both into a nap.  

David was aching to stay like this. Just rest with Michael by his side. But dawn was approaching, and if he wasn't careful, he wouldn't get to the cave in time.  

"Michael?" he whispered, nudging the boy. Instead of an answer, he got a soft groan as Michael nuzzled further into his shoulder.  

That settled it. He was going to have to do this the sneaky way.  

Doing his best not to disturb the sleeping human, David pulled himself off the ground and lifted Michael up into his arms. It was perfectly easy to do considering he could bend steel bars without breaking a sweat. The tricky part was getting the horses to follow him back down the trail. He’d never tried his power of persuasion on animals before, but it couldn’t hurt to try.  

“Help me get Michael home, you guys,” David spoke to the horses, his eyes flashing gold. 

Thankfully, it seemed to work in his favor, as Bambi and Bo trotted over, obediently following the vampire as he moved down the path. Part of David wondered if his powers weren’t doing anything at all and that they were just following Michael like they usually did. Either way, at least they were getting home safe and sound. 

With every passing moment, the sun was threatening to show up. David wasted no time ushering the horses back into their stables just as he’d seen Michael do a hundred times at this point. When the animals were secure, he made his way into the house, taking a shortcut by flying up to Michael’s open window and slipping inside with the boy in tow.  

By some miracle, Michael was still snoozing away, his hat tilted down over his eyes. His breathing was slow as he dreamed away. 

“Didn’t realize you were this tired, cowboy,” David chuckled, amused at how Michael stayed so still. Thankfully, he stayed that way as the vampire helped get him into bed. He slipped off the boy’s boots and hat, setting them to the side so Michael could get comfortable. To his surprise, it was the sensation of him settling into bed that actually made Michael stir.  

“Mmm....stay with me....darlin....” 

It was a good thing David’s heart had long since stopped beating because it surely would have melted. Hearing Michael call him that sweet name in his sleepy drawl was swoon-worthy. It had David chuckling softly as his face grew warm.  

“Shhh...I’ll be back again soon,” he whispered, his voice twisting as he drew Michael back into the warm embrace of slumber. “Rest, beloved.” 

It had been decades since the last time David heard such a pet name being used. But he wanted something special for Michael. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so happy, and Michael deserved to know how much he meant to the vampire. Over a century of life had already been experienced by David, but it felt like a whole new adventure was beginning. It could be truly beautiful.  

David planned on disappearing into what was left of the night. The last few minutes of darkness would cover him as he flew home. Just like Michael, he would dream so peacefully.  

The only flaw in the plan was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs as he snuck out of Michael’s room. 

“Good morning, David.” 

He froze in his tracks, eyes going wide at the sight of an old man with a scruffy beard, dark blue headband, and an old robe tied around his waist looking up right at him.  

Grandpa Emerson.  

“Oh! Mornin’, sir,” David greeted. “Sorry, I was just saying goodbye to Michael. Gotta head home now.” 

He would have to leave on foot for now, lest he wanted to draw any suspicion. That plan was crushed the moment the old man reached out his arm and pressed his hand against the end of the banister, blocking off David’s only exit.  

“Why don’t you stick around for breakfast, sonny? Get a little fuel for the road.” 

David’s stomach churned. Time was running out, and now Mr. Emerson wanted to play host. What was with this family and insisting you stay all the time?? 

“I'd love to, but I’m kinda in a rush.” 

He still didn’t budge. The grandfatherly man wasn’t looking so warm and fuzzy right now. He was serious with a sense of focus in his eyes. Like he could tell David was up to something. The blond didn’t want to believe he knew something, but then the old man decided to drop a bomb on him. 

“What’s the matter? Are ya ‘fraid of burnin’ in that sunlight?” 

He had to be bluffing. Just joking around. There was no way he knew. David opened his mouth to speak again, but a hand was held up, silencing him before he could even get a single word out.  

“I think it’s about time we had ourselves a talk. Man to man. After all, you are dating my grandson now.....and I never thought my own flesh and blood would be with one of the monsters I used to hunt back in the day. But you know all about blood, don’t you?” 

David’s veins ran cold. Grandpa smiled right in his face. A smug little “gotcha”. 

“Oh yes, David. I know.” 

Tag List: @silvermaplealder @michael-after-hours @legal-lost-boy @britany1997 @ria-coolgirl @crustyraccoon @ghoulgeousimmaculate @kurt-nightcrawler @auntvamp @sunshine-wylan @thelostsouls1987 @pixielostboy @thornthehellhound @solobagginses @6lostgirl6 @american-idiot-jpg @bloodywickedvamp @anxiouslittleweirdkid @juss-soupp @bloodsuckingfiends @peachpixiesstuff @bezinful @oceansrose2002 @piratesangel

[baelpenrose]

Project Praetorian 40: New Arrivals p2 What they're Capable of

This one focuses on Kimmy, and snaps back to the ride over in the blackhawk. Pretty much all the new arrivals have LAYERS.

Beta read by @canyouhearthelight and @writing-with-olive

Oh, TW for more of Jared being himself, which after last chapter should require no more explanation. Also for Imperator being almost unbelievably evil and ableist. Like, Jared is a prick, what Imperator was planning with regards to Kimmy is horrific.

Oh and see if you can count the layers in the title.

Kimmy

The arrival to the new base wasn’t exactly making a shining first impression. First she’d been yanked out of a wheelchair, had her chair shoved into a shitty chopper, and then she’d been forced to fly for hours with a douchebag white supremacist, a girl who was probably cool but who she couldn’t talk to for language barrier reasons, and a dude who would probably be fine but who was busy having anxiety attacks about flying in a helicopter. 

So functionally her discussion choices were either the neo-Nazi dick or silence. She chose silence. That is, Jared made a snide remark to Micah that even the cripple was keeping her cool better than Micah was. 

“You’re really lucky we’re all strapped down so I can’t slap you. Actually, honestly, you’re lucky my legs don’t work because if they did, kicking would still be an option.” 

Jared sneered. “Half a spine and still more than this neurotic little beta will ever have.” He jerked a thumb at the terrified boy next to him.

“I’m proud of you, you’re evolving. You got through a whole two sentences without a racial slur. If you can get through the rest of the ride with no slurs of any kind, maybe your balls will finally drop and a girl will look at you without gagging.” 

“I got your balls and gagging right here.” “Yeah, but that’s why you’re strapped down, and by the time we land, if you stand up and try something, I’m sure I can get someone to get a proper ballgag in you before you’re halfway through it. Honestly, if you ask real nicely, I’ll pantomime the concept to Mia. All that talk about immigrants fucking our country, there has to be some kind of repression there. If I can find an English-Spanish dictionary and you stop being an asshole, maybe I’ll ask her if she’s down to peg you. She doesn’t even know you’re a douchebag, she doesn’t know what you’ve been saying.”

Jared scowled and finally shut up, realizing that he was losing, and Kimmy smirked, offering Micah a slight grin. Jared was right about one aspect, unfortunately, which was that Micah was neurotic in ways that could be difficult or annoying at times - and certainly weren’t helping him survive this shithole.  

*** 

When they finally landed, it didn’t take long before she was offloaded and put in her chair again - almost immediately drawing looks. One curious - followed by an almost immediately dark, almost terrifying look from a wiry boy with short curly hair. A good-looking black guy who introduced himself as Xavier was already squaring off with Jared - and she wanted, badly, to watch that but found herself pulled aside by two people. One was a girl with teak-dark hair and long skirts, and the other was a person whose every aspect screamed some variety of genderqueer - and who didn’t speak. Until Kimmy recognized that the gestures they were doing were a form of speech, at which point she managed to fumble her way through some of the ASL she remembered from the disability support group she’d been put in after her accident.

The deaf person reacted with obvious delight, signing faster than Kimmy could follow, and Kimmy said, “wait, wait, slow down, I’m not totally fluent.”

The other girl nodded. “Right, sorry. I’m Casey, this is Shiloh. You probably have a lot of questions. So. Welcome to Imperator and welcome to the Praetorians. We get experimented on, given superpowers, and forced to fight aliens. None of that is a joke.” Casey said with a grimace. “We managed to win this cookout as a reward for our first major victory.”

Kimmy felt a flutter of nervousness. “I…knew about the experiments. We’re getting changed to be super soldiers? Can…can they fix my spine? If they can’t…” 

Shiloh winced, then signed something. “What happened to it?”

Kimmy looked down. “I was a gymnast, heading towards regional championships when I was around twelve. I was doing the beam routine, but I…it was a dumb mistake. Twisted a bit. Hit my back on the dismount. Total fluke. Had the twisties, didn’t call it. Near-total paralysis below the waist. I’m lucky in that I had good doctors, and I can…still go to the bathroom without a lot of help, like it didn’t take a lot of work to give me that capacity.” 

“Won’t your parents ask where you went? I mean, you were a gymnast in regional championships, you disappearing is gonna…”

Kimmy winced. “Yeah. Uh. Thing is. They had hopes of me being an Olympian at some point. So, when I broke my back, they put in a lot of work to try to restore me, but when it didn’t work, things just kinda…got more distant. I mean, yeah, I got support groups, but I went from being the thing they were excited about to being a thing they had to deal with. Like at first I was all for the tests, since I wanted to get back on the beam as badly as anyone, I hated being bound to a chair and sorta still do, I want to be able to run and jump again, but after a point, I just wanted the constant testing to stop and the disappointed glares when nothing worked to stop. There’s a reason I wanted to make sure I could handle my own catheter. So then about three months ago, they heard about this new, experimental trial for nerve regeneration pioneered by a Dr. Winters at the Aventine Research Institute, and they signed me up…”

She suddenly went quiet as she noticed that Shiloh had gone absolutely still, their gaze very, very far away and breathing very slowly. Casey wasn’t touching Shiloh, very noticeably, but was quietly signaling someone for help.

“What’s…” Kimmy signed, slowly. 

Shiloh signaled and Casey replied. “They say I can tell you. Your parents signed you over to their mother. For the same reason that their parents experimented on them. It’s a little different, at a guess since you started off wanting to be fixed, and being paralyzed actually did take your sport from you whereas they didn’t really mind being deaf, but…that’s why.” 

Kimmy absorbed that. “What kind of hell is this place?” 

Casey was quiet, clearly thinking about something. 

Kimmy felt cold. “Can they fix my legs?” 

Shiloh didn’t move. Casey was quiet. “I’m not sure.”

“Then what do they want me for? And…what’s the process like?” 

Shiloh signed, slow enough for Kimmy to follow. “It’s terrible. It’s frightening, painful, humiliating. Powers are a crapshoot. Combat is better, mainly because you aren’t helpless. I’m sorry your parents sent you here.” 

Kimmy felt her blood run cold. “But can they fix my legs? So I won’t be helpless?” Underneath that, the real question: what are they going to do with me?

Shiloh

Kimmy’s reactions to their answers were the obvious ones, and Shiloh glanced at Casey, and realized neither of them could give the kid the answer she obviously wanted. Couldn’t answer the question she was really asking. Truth be known, Shiloh did know the answer. Had read the medical data out of Koleth’s process because it was really relevant to the body modifications they and their siblings were undergoing and how it impacted their metabolism. Impacted their healing. 

Shiloh looked to Casey to translate. Then began signing, very, very fast. “Short version: theoretically yes, but we don’t know for sure if they can. Yes, it’s possible, but power development seems to be random chance.”

Koleth, in short, had no idea what impacts anything would produce when someone was tested. Merely that all impacts behaved within certain parameters of anomalies, and that there were predictable parameters of mutability in the genome that made someone a Praetorian candidate. Yes, Kimmy’s spine COULD be regenerated by the process - but she could just as easily wind up with a powerset that would be near-totally useless in combat if attached to someone who could not move or could only move from inside a vehicle. Yes, Kimmy could wind up with a powerset that suited her perfectly to being in a support role away from frontline combat and thus made her disability unimportant, like Echo or Shiloh themself, but they could also very easily wind up like Casey or Jonathan or even Vergil, who despite being able to stay back to some degree still needed to be able to maneuver at which point she would be effectively useless to Imperator.

“We aren’t totally sure what we’ll have you do, but Mark? Her boyfriend? The skinny guy with the curly hair? Yeah, he’s the boss in combat, he’ll figure out something. Or you’ll get a power that’s more suited for spying and figuring out the enemy, then you’ll be taking your orders from Echo, the black girl who looks like a model.” Kimmy nodded as Casey translated, even as the other girl glared at Shiloh for calling Mark her boyfriend.

And Shiloh knew Franklin, Stricken, and Gideon too well to delude themself that they’d keep a useless asset, nor even gamble on the possibility of one. Meaning they already had an alternative use in mind if Kimmy developed a powerset that neither reversed her disability nor allowed her to deploy in a way that made it irrelevant.

“That said, if you’re really worried about it, there’s something I can try.” 

And Shiloh knew their own parents, and more chillingly, Koleth, well enough to know exactly what that alternative use would be.  Kimmy would develop the ability perform to the standards of the rest of the Praetorians, or Kimmy would be used as a test subject to determine the outer limits of the mutation process without any of the safeguards Koleth kept to avoid damaging ‘valuable assets’ - like the Praetorians who were definitely useful in combat. 

Casey snapped a look at Shiloh. Then spoke for herself. “You said it was an injury. They straightened it and braced the spinal column surgically, right?”

Kimmy nodded. “Yeah.”

Casey turned to Shiloh. “Are you even remotely sure this is possible?” 

Shiloh signed back rapidly, explaining to Casey what they hadn’t to Kimmy. Then finished, ���worst case, I accidentally put her in shock when the nerves start reconnecting and the shock kills her. Which is still better than what happens if Koleth gets to play with her.” 

Casey nodded. “She should know.”

“I wasn’t gonna start without asking. And we should both eat a lot before I try. This is gonna be one of the hardest things I’ve ever attempted.” 

Casey turned back to Kimmy. “Shiloh is our medic. They can regenerate damaged tissue. They might, might, be able to fix your spine, but they say you both need to eat first. And…they said it might put you into shock and kill you if the nerves connect wrong, because it is going to hurt horribly when they first start. Other hand, you’re in real danger if we don’t and the powers you get don’t make you useful in combat - the people working on us are evil. It’s your decision. I, personally, would trust Shiloh more than I trust Koleth.”

Kimmy glanced between them, then took a breath. “Fuck it, I already do. Just because they asked and they’re used to people trying to fix without asking. Wait, question, do powers usually eat a bunch of calories?”

Shiloh paused. Casey answered. “Seems different for all of us.”

“Makes sense. Okay, so…food, then Shiloh tries to make me walk again.” Kimmy tried to wheel herself over, struggled on the shitty paving of Imperator’s walkways, then based on Casey’s reaction, let loose a truly impressive litany of profanity. Her wheel had gotten caught in a pothole that had been there as long as any of them remembered and was invisible in the bad lighting. She relented, signaling that yes, someone could help her. Casey began helping her wheel over to the meal tables and piled her plate high with a bit of everything, whereupon Kimmy began wolfing food down with reckless abandon. 

Casey

Casey flicked a signal at Shiloh. “I’m gonna go talk with Gideon and be right back. About kidnapping someone to be tested to death.”

Shiloh nodded. Then signaled, pausing. “Check with Echo to make sure we don’t need him alive.” 

Casey snorted. “I’m not gonna kill him. This time.” 

Gideon was talking with one of the pilots by the landing strip, and Casey took her time. She grabbed a marshmallow stick from the fire and heated it until it glowed, then jogged over, heating it and keeping it hot with her power. Something to add a little fear to the situation.

Then Gideon saw her and calmly hung up the phone. “Ms. Martin.”

“It can’t happen again.”

“Are you approaching me with a demand from all your team or just yourself?”

Casey didn’t answer - no point in letting this asshole think she had no backing or that Mark wasn’t in control of the team. “I’m not saying anything the others won’t. It can’t happen again. Imperator can’t scoop someone up for the purposes of testing them to death.”

“How do you know that was our intent?”

“You don’t keep people around you can’t use. If Kimmy couldn’t fight - and you have no way of knowing what powers she’ll develop - you’d have found another use for her. That’s the obvious one.” 

Gideon inclined his head. “Since the process could kill any of you, just that Koleth’s safeguards make it less likely when the asset is valuable - why is this so different? You all risk a bad reaction every time you climb in the tubes.”

“Risk is one thing. Guarantee is another. We’ll fight aliens, but our loyalty is to each other first - and we’re not going to watch another Praetorian tortured to death for Koleth to refine something.”

“You just met the newest one. Your bond isn’t that strong already. Even in such a sentimental group.” 

Casey shrugged. “Maybe not. But we’re in it with her, which we aren’t with you.” Then, with a gesture, the air around the glowing marshmallow stick blazed to life and she waved it like a wand, feeling the heat raise her hair in a wave, lighting the night around them with the force of her fury. “It won’t happen again Gideon. If it does, I’ll burn you alive one layer of skin at a time.” 

His normally inexpressive face went pale at that, and Casey hoped she’d made her point. She felt hollow and shaken on the walk back. The display of power had been so…minor, honestly. The threat was only meant to accompany it to scare him, something that she could imagine one of the villains from one of Mark or Xavier’s nerd movies saying - made credible by the fact that, at least on a physical level, she could actually do it.

When she’d actually said it she’d come to the horrible realization that not only could she do it, she actually would if Gideon ever again.abducted a kid for the sole reason to be tested to death.

She forced herself to walk back to the cookout, and saw Shiloh and Kimmy eating, signing slowly back and forth, even as Molly approached them and chatted with Kimmy, Vergil edging in. She heard Kimmy mention something about rhythmic gymnastics to Molly, and Molly smiling back.

Kimmy

The night was going well - existential terror notwithstanding. The new crowd seemed a lot better. Cute, shy, skinny boy who everyone told her was the team sniper but who seemed like a dork. The cute ginger with the rosary who kept stealing glances at a gorgeous girl who Kimmy could only assume by description was Echo. The girl who’d welcomed her in, the black boy who made Jared back down, the super hot giant dude, Shiloh, and the boy who everyone told her was in charge talking with Micah and actually getting the guy to relax. 

Overall things were looking up on arrival here. 

Then, Molly and Xavier took up a position in the middle of the place and began pumping music and Kimmy found herself clapping and laughing. Okay. If this was going to be my life now, experiments or not - especially if I got my legs back - this might actually be a step up from parents looking at me like a disappointment for getting hurt in a competition I’d been too nervous to back out of when I’d gotten a condition that made even the GOAT back down. 

Then, as the music was dying down, Shiloh handed her a rag, and Casey gripped her hand. As Shiloh put their hands on her spine, Kimmy saw Molly looking at her, curiously. 

Then Casey told her to bite down on the rag. Kimmy nervously put it in her mouth, biting down on the cloth and clenching.

Then her world flashed in pain unlike anything she’d ever experienced - it wasn’t like breaking her back. It was like having hot wires replace the nerves, having them all set ablaze. But she could feel fibers moving beneath her skin, like it itched on the inside. Kimmy screamed into the rag, and bit down. Kimmy was certain she had half-crushed Casey’s hand, and Shiloh stood up. She could hear Casey asking where Shiloh was going and Shiloh flashed an answer Kimmy couldn’t understand. 

Casey whispered in her ear. “Fixing this is taking a lot out of them, they’re grabbing coffee and more chow then they’re gonna come back.” Kimmy felt tears trickle down her cheeks, eyes blurry with the pain - it hurt so much. But it hurt. She could feel the pain.

Kimmy don’t know how long she waited, but Casey was with her, gently stroking her hair and whispering assurances. Then Shiloh was back and the pain flared up worse, but Kimmy could suddenly feel her toes again. The pain subsided, sort of. Though it was there and it was horrible, she could feel the lower half of my body again. 

Kimmy spat out the rag and tried to twitch her legs, which were slowly coming to life like a thousand little pinpricks. The girl shoved the rag back into her mouth to scream again. 

Then, as slowly as she could, she stood up, leaning a little on Casey and Shiloh, and smiled, throwing the rag aside, even as her back ached. Casey said something to her, about how nerve pain took time to heal, how Shiloh was warning her it would take time before the pain went away but that she was actually better.

Kimmy saw the redhead - Molly - looking between her and Shiloh, mouth agape. 

She was overwhelmed, in shock. She was walking. 

She turned, slowly, and looked at Shiloh. 

“Thank you,” Kimmy whispered, throat hoarse with pain and joy at the same time. 

Shiloh signed back. “I couldn’t let them use you up and throw you out.” 

“Even still.”

[she-karev]

A Day in Hell (Amber Karev Angst)

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: One of Six

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

Canon Episode: Season 17 Episode 1

AN: I wanted to do a story to showcase the hardships health care workers faced when covid hit. The doctors and nurses put our health first during a worldwide crisis and we should be forever grateful for that even without a pandemic to prove what should always be known.

Summary: Amber works in the covid unit where she bonds with an actuary patient of hers.

Words: 1087

Chapter Links Here: 1,2,3,4,5,6

April 1st, 2020

Amber stands outside the elevator doors waiting for them to open so she can get to work. She normally goes to work in her casual clothes, but she found coming in already in baby blue scrubs proves to be less time consuming.

Her red plaid fabric mask feels hot against her mouth and nose, but she bears with it since the alternative will get her exposed. Also, her PAPR helmets at work are a welcome relief to her claustrophobia.

It doesn’t make up for the soul crushing despair that comes with working at a hospital during a pandemic, but it makes her breathing easier which is something. The elevator opens to reveal one white woman in a tracksuit wearing her mask below her chin to Amber’s annoyance who ignores it and tries to step in when the woman gasps and holds up her hand signaling her to stop before entering.

“Do you work at a hospital?” The woman asks in fright.

Amber raises an eyebrow at the blonde woman she designates as Karen for obvious reasons with her mom tracksuit and disregard for covid protocols, “Yeah I’m a doctor.”

The Karen gives a grin, “Could you wait for the next elevator?”

Amber looks at the vile woman blankly. Normally she would tear the woman down with her words and maybe a punch if she provokes her. But with covid and her feelings drained before she even gets to work, Amber doesn’t have the energy to put up a fight. So, she steps out of the elevator and back into the hallway making the lady smile.

“I appreciate you!” Amber gives the condescending woman a fake grin behind her mask as the elevator doors close.

Later

Jackson sanitizes his double gloved hands next to Amber in the covid ward where she tells him how her morning went.

“I appreciate you?” Jackson’s asks both disgusted and amused.

Amber bitterly nods inside her helmet, “Yep she said that after she kicked me out when she saw me in my scrubs.”

Jackson scoffs, “Wow I guess a crisis really brings out the worst in people.”

“That lady was probably already the worst before covid. I bet she has a gun in her apartment in case there are kids playing outside her gold coated hallway outside her diamond encrusted apartment where she has a boy toy who’s 20 years younger than her.”

Jackson chuckles, “Maybe she collects nazi art in her free time or scares little black boys on the street with how white and oppressive she is.”

“You know I’ve never been discriminated against for being a doctor before. I gotta say it’s not as fun as I thought it would be.”

“You thought it would be fun?” Jackson grabs a tablet and goes over it, “All right Grey has a lot on her plate working this floor, so I offered to take half her patients, so they don’t get rushed through. First one is Ian Talbert, 64, came in positive with covid three days ago and running on 90 percent on O2. The prednisone and magnesium seem to be working, if his scans are clear we can discharge him to quarantine for two weeks at home.”

Amber sighs, “Finally some good news for once, I’ve been treating him these past two days he’s a good guy. Let’s get him into CT and get him home.”

The duo walk inside Ian’s room where they find him standing in front of a white board writing down equations to Jackson’s surprise.

“Um Mr. Talbert?” Ian coughs before turning to them, “I’m Dr. Avery I’ll be treating you today, you already know Dr. Karev.”

“Hey Ian, another breakthrough?”

Ian caps the black marker, “There’s no time like the present to get lost in numbers Amber.”

“No but maybe you can do it sitting down and conserving your energy so you can lower your risk of having a stroke.”

Ian groans but walks to the bed with Jackson helping him and Amber checking his vitals, “Don’t worry I did the math, the chances of me having a stroke while recovering from a virus is at 12.78 percent.”

Jacksons raises an eyebrow at the precise calculation causing Amber to explain, “Ian’s an actuary.”

“Oh like an insurance guy?”

Ian coughs, “I calculate odds for a living, mostly for insurance companies. It’s basically like being a cross between an undertaker and a bookie.”

“Ask him anything and he’ll tell you the odds of it happening in real life.”

Jackson chuckles and takes a chance, “Okay um odds of my kids contracting a deadly virus.”

Ian thinks, “As long as you quarantine and keep her way from strangers, I’d say more people are killed by lightning I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Jackson is relieved and turns to Amber, “I like this guy.”

“Oh yeah, he’s good. My turn, what are the chances of my friend here getting back together with his ex-wife?”

Jackson looks at her annoyed, “Why would you even ask that?”

Ian faces Jackson, “How would you describe your sexual chemistry?”

“Oh, it’s hot.” Amber answers, “I live with them and it’s like living with two rabid bunnies who took vows of celibacy.”

“Amber!” Jackson admonishes her but goes back to the task at hand, “Okay Ian we gotta check your lungs in CT and if their clear you can go home, and I won’t have my personal life calculated.”

Ian grins, “Let’s get right to it.” Amber nods and latches down the gurney rail, “But if you ever want your stock portfolio analyzed and given the best options to increase revenue my zoom door is always open. I don’t work for cheap though.”

Jackson chuckles, “Thanks but I already got a guy, and he helped me when my family’s foundation was in the shambles after my grandfather’s sex scandal.”

They then move Ian’s bed outside the door and head to radiology, “Hey Ian maybe you can tell me the chances of my resident roommate moving out of my apartment and into her own.”

Amber grins sarcastically, “Funny.”

Ian coughs, “With her salary combined with the predicament were in I’d suggest looking into a hotel for some alone time with the lady you got sexual chemistry with.”

Amber laughs, “See even the actuary you met five minutes ago knows what’s right in front of you. If only you could too.”

Jackson sighs, “This is gonna be a fun day.” They head inside the elevator and press the button for radiology and watch the doors close.

Next Part Here

[prettyrealm]

how does matty healy feel about his recent scandals?

how did he feel about...

rumors of him dating taylor swift?

on one hand, i think he feels happy and triumphant, like “yeah i dated her and you all hate me but I’m still that guy” & he may have thought this coming out would be good for his career/image in the beginning. now, i think he feels like the timing was all wrong and they should have kept it a secret longer (maybe taylor pushed for this news to come out more or encouraged them to be more open with promises that it would look good for both of them) he may feel tricked or lied to about the response to their relationship. he feels like people are being dishonest about who he is because of this and it may have made parts of the relationship suffer.

people calling him a nazi?

he was very surprised by these comments and he didn’t see this coming at all. he feels like this is a case of friendly fire or like he’s being attacked by his own team. it’s kind of like “no way you guys are calling me this, i’m literally on your side!” he’s really unhappy people are saying this and feels misunderstood. it made him him want to retreat & rethink things. he thought he should be more careful with his actions and more cautious in the future.

the clips of him discussing p*rn on a podcast?

i don’t think he sees anything wrong with it or that he was doing anything wrong either. i think he thought it was a funny situation or conversation and he feels as if the people calling him out for this are just looking for things to be mad about. he knows people feel extremely strongly about this and he may also feel pretty embarrassed about it. but overall i don’t think he sees or understands the full issue.

people calling him racist?

i don’t think he has a lot of thoughts on this other that he thinks it’s stupid. he’s confident that he’s not and feels as if people that matter in his life can attest to this. this doesn’t bother him too much because he thinks the accusation is thoughtless and dramatic.

rina sawayama calling him out?

another obstacle and another embarrassment, but i think one or more people have his back here. he knows there are people there to help him still. i think he thinks rina is being immature, stupid & unfair or just that the whole situation is in general. he expects even more bad (or worse) things to come out about him due to this or even legal disputes in the future. he thinks this all stems from greed and that he may even be being used as a scapegoat it’s like “yeah sure, bring this up when it’s easy to attack me.” overall, i think he feels this is all coming from a dishonest place.

rumors of taylor only collaborating with ice spice to protect him?

he feels as if it’s obvious that this is true and thought that taylor is a smart and ruthless business woman for even going to those lengths for the sake of their relationship. he knows that the collaboration didn’t have honest intentions, but he was he was very happy and maybe even felt cool or like “the man” over this regardless. like it was a major ego stroke. he may have also felt ice spice was sweet for this and saw it as her lending them a helping hand whether it was purely business for her or not (assuming she would know how it looks)

[wawamouse]

Oz Rewatch 3: S5E07: Good Intentions

Storylines

Augustus wakes and says DeSanto didn’t sell him the drugs; Redding and Morales get in a fight after Poet directs Redding into believing Guerra sold the drugs; both end up in the hole

Meehan takes up Cyril’s cause, to Ryan’s anger; Cyril loses his case and Ryan rejects the idea of appeals or clemency

Holding up his part of the deal with the latinos, O’Reily provokes Jia Kenmin and gets him sent to the hole where the hacks murder him

Penders orders his dog to attack Lopresti and ends up in AdSeg; Miguel gives Julie to Rivera

McManus decides to search the prison records for an ethnic match to Rebadow’s grandson; rejected, Rebadow decides to search for a faith healer; one comes to him in the cafeteria; Rebadow’s sister (?) refuses to search out the faith healer

Seroy tells Glynn about Kirk’s involvement in the burning of the church and he ends up on Death Row for the murder of Burns; Sister Pete tries to get Peter to name his attackers but he refuses

Robson believes he might have non-white gums; Schillinger calls a AV superior to ask what to do; Dr Faraj quits Oz when he learns Robson wants to see him; he tells Poet about Robson’s gums on his way out and the rumor spreads through Oz

Keller is back in Oz and talks to Sister Pete in the hospital ward; Beecher expresses his guilt over Adam to Said; he sets up an appointment between Adam and Sister Pete but Adam refuses to say anything; Adam is electrocuted trying to escape Oz

Sister: I don’t know why they would go for that when literally all the people in the prison say that. Me: That the hacks are pussies? Sister: Yeah, also, that’s like if I went ‘oh, [Wawa], people are saying you have black hair behind your back….’ What, you’re gonna get mad? Me: Ok, that’s probably not exactly the same… Sister: They should know what the deal is, that’s what I’m saying. And why do they always listen to that guy when he’s acting all innocent?! All he does is lie!

Sister: … Because it’s illegal probably?

Me: Lol… ACAB. Sister: I don’t know why they always think that threatening them like ‘you won’t have a friend in me’ is going to do something. As if any of them are friends??

Sister: Mm… yeah, this isn’t going to go well.

Sister: He doesn’t seem like a guy who just got surgery. Why’s it bleeding, like…? Me: Yeah, his racist gums are rejecting the graft, haha.

Me: Catholic answer. Sister: You know, the Greeks believed that men loving men was what set them apart from animals. Because animals simply mate. Me: She’s talking about the Bible, though. Sister: Yeah, there’s your problem.

Sister: Maybe he should blow up the mail room. Then there won’t be one to work in. Idk, that would solve a lot of his problems, too. All the Nazis in there.

Sister: (bursts out laughing) Only 10 years? (giggling continuously) Only 10 years older….

Final Thoughts

Sister: Why haven’t they found the other guy (Cloutier) and why isn’t it being treated as a continuous mystery or anything? Like, he just disappeared and no one’s talked about it since then in terms of search efforts. Is he behind another wall? Me: You say this every week. Sister: Because they didn’t even show them searching or putting out a statement about it! They just, like, accepted it.

Stray Thoughts

Glynn managing to get Kirk on trial for Burns’s murder really kind of shows that if he gave a shit (which he did in this case because Mukada was harmed), he could actually get shit done in his investigations, especially because half of them fizzle out because he can’t produce witnesses or the witnesses aren’t credible, yet this case makes it obvious that that's not exactly a real problem for him