#actually this counts as my first kieran comic

[rodentrap]

ogerpon ptsd payback which was not planned or intentional....

....and was not meant for this super strong reaction as much as it would be nice to see the mc have a taste of his own pain

[ladyhindsight]

Hey, I really love your take on some of more controversial aspect of tlh. I enjoy cassandra books, but I kind of feel that dawnwolders are incovinient to her, because she do not make any of them main character anymore. The only dawnwolders that are main characters are half-nephilim or no longer ones. Tlh do not have any and in my opinion won't twp have one ( ash doesn't count as he is some sort of hybrid of demon, fearie and nephilim). This is especially noticable in james case. The one that train james was not warlock but silent brother nor he seek to connect to dawnworlders community (his parabait is the one who fit more with them) also tessa only acted as warlock between her marriages. Vampires have not been present in the plot for 7 books.as a characters that have any influance on it). Luke and maya are the only warewolfs that are in more then 2 book. The only ones to have some page time are fearie and even then it is not much outside some ship drama( I really do not care about kierarktina and cristina, because cristina literally despait claiming that she wanted to help fearie didn't do anything for them but cry pity until she become atracted to mark and kieran. Then she helped only them). Do you think we will have at least one new main character who is dawnwolder in twp, like full blood dawnwolder not kit or ash that are part nephilim?

Hii!

Thinking back on it, this has been rather continuous theme from the very beginning of the whole chronicles. Magnus has been the only Downworld character that's been consistently featured in almost every book and every series, and you can see that Clare enjoys writing him. But let's consider someone like Maia who becomes a major side character in TMI. Maia first appeared in City of Ashes, because that random nameless mention in City of Bones doesn't count, but her story was aimless.

Her point of views were unnecessary and did not contribute to the story at all. The narrative and as such the cast treat her terribly, and even though the narrative in City of Ashes prefers us to think that she’s an essential character, it still fails to conclude her story. She just disappears. She serves a plot point and anything beyond that is forgotten as inessential. City of Glass has barely anything to do with her, and in City of Fallen Angels her role in it is as essential as that of, say, Alec, which is not at all. Her impact on the plot is minimal if even that.

Of course, there is Jordan who arrives to introduce Praetor Lupus, because Clare managed to concoct another concept to tie The Infernal Devices to The Mortal Instruments and actually work on the worldbuilding, but why is it all so minor compared to the focus Maia and Jordan's relationship receives. A relationship that begins with no point and ends with no point.

Luke, for one, is there for the connection to Clary and Jocelyn and acts as the eyes through which the past and truth is eventually revealed because Clary herself is (naturally) disconnected from the Shadow World. But to be honest, I don't know if this is an issue of these characters in TMI being Downworlders or that they simply fall into the same role as every other character that is not Jace or Clary. Because no one else has any business with the main plot for a major part of those books.

But with The Last Hours, the Downworlders just act as the backdrop to the "forbidden" parties the Nephilim characters attend in Hell Ruelle. They assist the plot development, some are comic relief, but there's no major character that is Downworlder (aside from Magnus but at this point he doesn't count). The Mortal Instruments and The Infernal Devices probably featured more Downworld characters, The Dark Artifices somewhat as well, but none that was new or major. Malcolm was the villain, Magnus is obligated feature, whatever faerie there is is to be vague and not give straight answers as to the plot that concerns the Nephilim characters.

It's not as surprising that Downworld characters are so sidelined when the worldbuilding is basically in its infancy still. Clare somehow thought that it is realistic that New York vampire clan rules over the rest of the world, that there are no vampire characters, factions, inner politics at all. Similarly to the werewolves. It's a very tiny circle that even gets room on the pages. Now that Raphael as the only major vampire character is gone, Lily has taken his place and serves the sam role as Maia does for the werewolves.

Now that you mentioned Cristina, I kinda laughed because I didn't realize how little she did in the end actually do. Her ambitions were great but in the end she found herself in a relationship with an Unseelie king and a half-faerie Shadowhunter. Regarding The Wicked Powers, I don't think Clare is going to come up with any major character that is fully Downworlder because the only one she can consistently manage is Magnus.

[dalishious]

25 Dragon Age Questions

I was tagged by @lelibela :P

1. Favourite game of the series?

DA:O - the nostalgia factor is strong.

2. How did you discover Dragon Age?

My brother got it from the second-hand bin at EB Games.

3. How many times you’ve played the games?

I have no idea where to even begin guess this LOL. Too many.

3. Favourite race to play as?

I’ll give you one guess. :P

5. Favourite class?

Mage mage mage mage mage

6. Do you play through the games differently or do you make the same decisions each time?

While there are some choices I’ve never made, because I cannot bring myself to make them, and while there are some choices that I most frequently make, I do like to go through the games differently. 

7. Go-to adventuring group?

DA:O - Zevran, Alistair, Morrigan

DA:2 - Merrill, Isabela, Fenris

DA:I - Sera, Iron Bull, Dorian

8. Which of your characters did you put the most thought into?

Definitely my canon Inquisitor, Amaris. No questions about it. Unless you count the character Ethena in my Journey’s End fic? Because if so, she might well win that contest, actually.

9. Favourite romance?

Isabela!

10. Have you read any of the comics/books?

Yeah, all of them. Well, I’m only partially through Last Flight yet.

11. If you read them, which was your favourite book?

Last Flight is by far the most competently written, skill wise. So when I say The Masked Empire is my favourite, that is not the same as saying it’s the best, LOL.

12. Favourite DLCs?

If the Awakening expansion counts as a DLC, then Awakening. Otherwise, Mark of the Assassin, probably!

13. Things that annoy you.

Ridiculously placed shards that you have to fucking parkour your way up to get. Maps full of nothing that take ages to travel in. The damn Requisition Officers. 

14. Orlais or Ferelden?

What kind of question is this LMAO Ferelden of course???

15. Templars or mages?

Mages of course???

16. If you have multiple characters, are they in different/parallel universes or in the same one?

Mostly different universes, but with a few exceptions. For example, while not mine by my brother’s Lavellan is my canon Inquisitor’s brother. :P

17. What did you name your pets?

Boss and Bruce. (It’s a tradition at this point, ever since when I first played while listening to Springsteen.)

18. Have you installed any mods?

So many asldkhasgj

19. Did your Warden want to become a Grey Warden?

At first, yes; in her head it was an exciting adventure outside of the alienage.

20. Hawke’s personality?

I tend to avoid limiting the dialogue choices to the colours and instead pick based on the text, so Dalia is a range of all three. But dominantly purple. 

21. Did you make matching armour for your companions in Inquisition?

No; I like to recreate their iconic/starting looks with most of them. 

22. If your character(s) could go back in time to change one thing, what would they change?

Tathas would go back and murder Vaughn before he ever got hands on Shianni. Dalia would save Bethany. Amaris would go way back and try to stop the Exalted March of the Dales, even knowing full well it would likely mean ending her own existence.

23. Do you have any headcanons about your character(s) that go against canon?

I’d say the biggest against canon one is that Tathas did the Dark Ritual with Morrigan, not Alistair. Kieran is a magic baby made from magic in a world where there is magic and dragons and demons and magic.

24. Who did you leave in the Fade?

Stroud LOL by Mr. Chevalier dude

25. Favourite mount?

Desert Lightning dracolisk!

[hello-imasalesman]

Can we please be blessed with headcannons of a pining Arthur? He’s such a soft boah 💕

Arthur puts pencil to paper and every time, the results don’t come out the way they’re supposed to. It’s not that he’s never seen something in his head and have it come out different on the page— that’s nearly every time, that’s what drawing was, trying to sketch his best approximation. But everything that’s coming out is wrong, a disconnect between his hands and his brain. The horses’ legs are crooked, the flowers look flat, the landscapes are lopsided. 

“You’ve had your nose in that thing for ages,” Marston calls, too close, behind his head. Arthur startles, perched on a covered crate in front of the fire, though he doesn’t close the journal in time, not before John’s gotten a good look. “Who’s that supposed to be, anyway?”

Arthur huffs in annoyance. “Trying to draw you, actually.”

He’s drawn John, Hosea, Dutch and even Grimshaw more times than he can count. They’ve been together so long, their faces are familiar, even when he’s not staring at them like he usually does when he sketches. But on this page, Marston looks lopsided and uneven, his brows furrowed and his scars lost to the smear of lead. 

“What the fuck, Arthur.” John responds first with anger, and then almost barks out a laugh as he leans over him to look closer at the page. “You made me look like Bill.”

Arthur shakes his head, pinches the bridge of his nose and tries to swallow a peal of laughter that threatens to escape down. “What?”

Sketch-John has a stern countenance, though with Arthur’s current inability to draw, its less stern than sour, like a child trying to act tough. His eyes are uneven, too. Arthur idly tries to correct it as John looks on, but it just makes sketch-John look like he has one black eye, his pencil scratching uselessly against the page.

“Yeah, yeah.” He tries to lean over, press a finger to the page, but Arthur’s sitting up and leaning away from Marston before he can smudge a greasy finger on it. “I ain’t that ugly and my beard don’t look like that.”

“What beard?” Arthur snaps his journal closed, looking over his shoulder at Marston’s frown. “You can grow one of those? I thought that shit on your face was from the dog.”

“I could say the same of you!” John shouts, unsuccessfully, because Arthur is staring at him with raised eyebrows and an amused smirk that’s just-visible beneath the mustache that’s in a sore need of a trim, before the hairs curl over and into his mouth. He doesn’t have to say anything, barely gets out a giggle before John’s hands are thrown up into the air, “Look, I don’t have to deal with this.” And he stomps off with Arthur’s laughter at his back. He keeps that sketch, at least. Will probably tear it out and leave it on John’s pillow, when he finds the time, just to antagonize him a bit; all in good fun, until Dutch tells him to play nice because his favorite son is cussing and stomping around instead of choring.

But still— as amusing as the doodle is, Arthur can’t draw. Or, at least, nothing is coming out well in his eyes. It’s been weeks now. Flat and lifeless, crooked lines. Between hauling bags of grain, he crouches next to the chicken coop, watches the birds scratch at the ground. He sketches one of the chickens, and then aggressively scribbles over it when the texture of the feathers looks, too on-the-nose, like chicken scratch.

“What’re you drawing?”

Kieran asks like he’s been rehearsing the simple sentence in his head for too long, and still, his voice cracks at the end as Arthur fixes him with a look over his shoulder. He always forgets how tall Kieran is until he’s sitting somewhere in Kieran’s vicinity, and he has to look up to meet his eye. He doesn’t carry his height well, perpetually slouching, unless he’s dealing with the horses. Then he has to draw himself up, if only to get them to behave.

“Nothing.” Arthur admits with a grumble, because it feels like he’s been drawing nothing over the past few days, just series of lines and shapes that don’t connect together into anything tangible. Kieran’s smile goes uneasy, baring his teeth with uncertainty as he takes a step back and away from Arthur. 

“Sorry to bother—“

“No, no, it’s fine.” Arthur rushes to clarify; he hadn’t realized his tone had been rough enough to have sent the other man almost scurrying off. Kieran flinches, stands and stares at his hands. “Frustrated with myself, is all. Nothing’s coming out right.” He hesitates, for a moment, before he turns and moves in closer, so that Kieran can see. His eyes go a little wide, glancing up towards Arthur’s face before he looks at the proffered journal.

“It all looks real fine to me.” Kieran says, almost sweetly, hesitantly flipping back to a previous page. Makes something in Arthur’s gut twist. “I- I think you’re being hard on yourself, is all. I could never get anything to look like that.” He taps below one of the sketches of the horses, careful not to actually touch it, “That’s a real nice one. Nell?”

“Yeah,” Arthur confirms, huffing out a chuckle. “Stands still long enough to sketch. Just like Uncle, actually.”

Kieran laughs, genuine, the corners of his eyes creasing, tucking strands of hair behind his ears. Arthur laughs, too, even if it’s not the funniest thing he’s ever said, but its infectious when he hears it from him. “It’s true,” Kieran says, “Oh, he can be real awful, even if he’s a sweet horse. Always rolls around in the dirt after I brush him through...”

Arthur flips through his journal, showing Kieran a past page of Uncle in various states of sleep around camp, his face an exaggerated, comical caricature, drool from his lips. Kieran laughs again, hides his mouth behind his knuckles pressed against his lips, setting the edge of his teeth against the cracked, rough skin there.

Kieran’s always busy working. Arthur is, too, even if Dutch don’t see it, browbeating him whenever he lingers too long in camp, the moments in-between where Arthur catches his breath. He stays for a day or two, at the cusp of outstaying his welcome, then heads off; hunting, carriage theft, house robberies, whichever the road takes him towards. Keeps his hands occupied with violence instead, hoping once he’s sufficiently wrought enough destruction he can create something again.

Camp pulls him back, like it always does; he cleans before he returns, for Grimshaw’s sake, but ice cold river water can’t rinse off the dark shiner he’s sporting before he rides into camp and leaves his horse in the pasture. He has to walk through camp to reach the stewpot, loading up the cleanest bowl he can find with Pearson’s pottage. By the time he’s finished eating standing  next to the fire, spitting the most inedible bits of gristle to the ground, someone’s left a salve by his cot. A metal tin promising pain relief, among a long list of other cures, the label blurred under the oils of nervous fingers ceaselessly worrying the paper. Arthur rolls it over in his hands. Mulls over who gave it to him as he smears the thick lotion around his eye, under his shirt and the deep bruises across his ribs. The greasiness sticks to his fingers, and is an easy excuse to blame when he settles back into his cot that night and his pencil slides uselessly over the pages, and it snaps in half between his fingers.

The next morning, Kieran leaves him another gift when he tacks up Arthur’s warhorse, tucked into his saddlebags. Arthur doesn’t notice the two pencils wrapped carefully in a scrap of fabric, pre-sharpened, until he’s nearly in New Hanover.

Arthur returns a week later with he sun at his back, his shiner healed. He doesn’t draw attention to himself when he makes his way to the tithing box, pulling a stack of cash and two watches from his satchel. He has a necklace, too, delicate and brilliant glass beads, but he puts that back into his satchel when it comes out tangled with the watches; that’s for Tilly.

With the sun setting, there’s precious few hours of light left in the day, though they’re longer and longer with each sunrise. Arthur hates the heat that clings to his brow, but loves the hours of daylight summer brings. Sweating oneself dry was a small price to pay for more hours in the day. But they’re running thin, the sun disappearing in a fireball beyond the water’s horizon; Arthur has only a few minutes to find Kieran. He wasn’t in the pasture when he dismounted his horse; he’s not at the scout campfire, either, and Arthur’s hands feel sweaty in his gloves. He almost misses him, on his second walk through the camp; near the chicken coop once more, sitting beneath the large tree there, quietly smoking in its roots.

“Kieran.”

Kieran looks flushed, the ember of the cigarette throwing his face into stark shadows. His eyes shift upward as he stubs it out against the bark. “Arthur?”

“‘Fore the sun sets,” Arthur starts, trying to calmly stress his limits, the strange feeling that their time was quickly waning. It doesn’t make much sense; Arthur could always show him tomorrow. But there’s an urgency that’s gripping his lungs, as he reaches for his satchel, “Look.”

Kieran stands, using the tree as support for his wobbly legs. Arthur opens his journal, paging to the ribbon holding his place.

He has to rotate his journal, and Kieran pulls in close, looking over his shoulder. It’s hard lines in some spots and soft smudges in others, thumbs and knuckles used, the side of his pencil washing shades of grey. The soft shadows mottled underneath Kieran’s eyes, purple and blue, somehow rendered perfectly in the soft smudge of lead across the page. The greasy knots of his hair. Kieran’s smile, crooked and easy. It’s all there.

“Oh.” Kieran clutches at Arthur’s sleeve, where he’s rolled it up to the elbows, in the folds of fabric there. Buries his fingers in and scrunches his grasp in tight. “Oh. Arthur, I—“

He sounds almost on the edge of tears, maybe. Or some other emotion swirling thick in the back of his throat. The sun slips slowly beyond the trees, the clouds drifting fat overhead speeding up the pace of darkness falling over Clemen’s Point. The campfire has been allowed to dwindle down further than it should, and it barely casts any light towards where they stand behind the coop and the shadows of the trees. Kieran steps forward and Arthur steps back, lets him box him up against the rough bark of the big oak before he grasps Arthur by the front of his dress shirt and kisses him. Kieran tastes like tobacco, mostly, when he parts his lips to let Arthur lick into his mouth, suck on his bottom lip until Kieran whines and his knees buckle against Arthur’s legs. When they part, Arthur’s eyes opening, it’s almost too dark to see Kieran’s smile, the redness splotching across his cheeks. Another picture to sketch, another page in his journal.

[fashiontrendin-blog]

Kieran Culkin's Shirt Is Off

https://fashion-trendin.com/kieran-culkins-shirt-is-off/

Kieran Culkin's Shirt Is Off

When Kieran Culkin first started reading the script for “Succession,” he wondered whether it had been sent to the wrong person. The HBO powers that be originally thought he’d be a good fit for the character of Greg, a bumbling nitwit who gets high in his first scene and spends the rest of the first season failing to sidle his way up the ladder of a massive media and entertainment conglomerate owned by his great-uncle, Logan Roy.

Almost from Greg’s first line, Culkin knew he was wrong for the part. “He’s already a lot younger than I am, and just the voice ― I was, like, this is not me. I am not right for this.”

When I met Culkin at a small restaurant in the Noho neighborhood of Manhattan last Monday, it was just as clear to me as it was to him that he’s too old to play a character like Greg. But something in the Roy family’s dark saga held Culkin’s attention anyway. He said he kept reading the script, which follows the foibles of the billionaire Roy clan as its individual members vie for power within. A few pages later, Logan’s overconfident third son, Roman, appears, led into a meeting by a man hired explicitly to burn sage.

“Hey, hey, motherfuckers!” Roman proclaims to a room full of his father’s business associates.

“And I was, like, ‘Oh, who’s this fucking guy?’” Culkin said.

Culkin eventually got the part of Roman, an incompetent and lazy man-child who believes he wholly deserves the title of chief operating officer, even though he has little interest in doing any of the work that comes with it. Among the many nefarious faces that make up Logan’s Waystar Royco empire, Roman stands out as perhaps its most cynical ― a ratings-obsessed media executive motivated solely by profit. At one point, in his interpretation of corporate disruption, he takes off his shirt in a meeting, flexing and joyfully screaming “Blood!” at the thought of layoffs. During another, he gleefully tells his sister about a new viral video that is “evidence of precisely the kind of disgusting, liberal, metro butt-love that makes our viewership angry enough to buy pharmaceuticals.” To Roman, nothing could be better.

Culkin can’t say exactly what drew him to the morally depraved heir, described by his father as a “moron” and his brother as a “walking fucking lawsuit.” But it’s not hard to imagine some small part of Culkin was intrigued by the idea of playing such a sneering member of a media empire.

After all, Culkin’s distaste for the tabloid industry is beyond well-established. (“No matter what’s written there, it’s a total lie, even the person’s name, lie, lie, lie, lie, everything’s a lie,” he once told New York Magazine.)

But let’s not lump Culkin into that hyperpartisan Level 10 “FAKE NEWS” category of 2018 American paranoia. Mostly because when he told me “Now it’s a thing, ‘fake news,’” and I said, jokingly, “Fake news. You’re a believer,” he got nervous and pushed out a quick “no,” immediately realizing the millions of different ways such a quote could be aggregated, recirculated, quoted out of context and otherwise misinterpreted. You can almost see it now, can’t you? “Kieran Culkin Joins the Chorus: Media Is ‘Fake News.’”

Culkin’s distrust is of a more justifiable form, born out of a lifetime of his surname showing up in headline-grabbing tabloid fodder. From the moment his parents, Kit “The father from hell” Culkin and Patricia Brentrup, entered into an ugly, obsessively covered custody battle to when the National Enquirer proclaimed his eternally famous brother, Macaulay, had “6 Months to Live” in 2012 (he’s still alive), Culkin’s last name has served as a way to move and make paper ― the most intimate moments of his life repackaged as factually questionable entertainment content to sell ads against. 

Ron Galella via Getty Images

Macaulay and Kieran Culkin at the fifth annual American Comedy Awards back in 1991, just months after the release of the blockbuster hit “Home Alone.”

“There are things that are out there in the world as fact because it was written in print that are just completely false. My brother did not divorce his parents. They did not fight over his money,” he said. “But that’s out in the world as fact.

“I learned at a very young age to be, like, ‘Oh, I get it: It’s bullshit,’ shit that’s written in print.”

In person, Culkin ticks most of the boxes of adulthood: In his 30s. Takes his coffee black. Enjoys talking about his favorite East Village dives. Married five years. Nice watch. Clothes that fit. Hair slicked around his head just so. Like Roman, Culkin drops a “fuck” or “shit” every ninth word or so, as when he said to me, “Hold on, I’m going to eat the fuck out of these pickles. You say something for a minute, ’cause I’ve got a mouth full of shit.”

But no matter how many fucks he lets out ― and by my count, he let out around 25 over 40 minutes ― Culkin remains stuck with a membership to the official Former Child Actors club. Macaulay, or Mac, if you’re in the know, was always the main draw ― history’s most famous kid actor without a drink named after him. But Kieran was there too, in “Home Alone” and “Home Alone 2.” He found himself on the stage of “Saturday Night Live” before the age of 10, and schmoozed with Jay Leno on “The Tonight Show” before his voice dropped.  

Which is probably why ― and here I’m guessing ― Culkin might have been a bit annoyed when HBO suggested he audition for Greg.

But after 10 episodes of watching Culkin-as-Roman take part in his family’s imperious game of human chess, it’s hard to imagine the actor playing anyone else. If Jeremy Strong ― who plays Kendall, Logan’s cocaine-addicted second son ― is the show’s tragic star, Culkin is its nervous energy. There’s something in the way he pushes out a phrase like “What a pathetic beta cuck,” or belittles doctors and waiters alike.

What sealed Culkin’s interest in his character came in the first episode during a family softball game, when Roman points to a kid on the sidelines, the son of the site’s groundskeeper. Everyone grows quiet as Roman whips out his checkbook and starts writing a check for $1 million. Hit a home run in their game, Roman tells the boy, and the money is his. For the child and his family, it’s a potentially life-changing moment. For Roman, the child is nothing but a momentary subhuman toy to mess with and cast aside. After the child is tagged out at home, Roman can’t control his laughter. “I’m sorry, I can’t give it to you,” he says as he tears up the check. It is a degrading, truly awful moment of television.

“Oh, I get it,” Culkin remembered thinking, “he’s a fuck face.”

When Culkin filmed the scene, he embodied evil, letting out a cackle so cruel it sets the show’s moral compass for the remaining season. Culkin himself is not sure where his ability to play somebody like that came from.

“Being able to connect to some degree, not in a positive way, with these characters is odd to me because I don’t know the multimillionaires, I don’t know the super-rich, yet I know assholes like that,” he said. “I can’t even quite specifically pick out who I know that is exactly like that, but it’s weird that you can still, for me, relate.”

“Succession” suffered from a slow start, only truly hitting its stride around Episode 6, when Kendall leads the board in a tense vote of no confidence against Logan, who’s recently suffered a stroke, unleashing a sequence of events within the Roy family that are both comical and horrifying.

Culkin owns up to that. “The first three episodes to me, it’s not like they’re unwatchable,” he said, “but it’s not quite the show yet.”

Which, according to him, is fine. Some shows don’t grab you on first watch, and one in particular in his opinion: “I probably shouldn’t even say this on record. The example I have is actually [the British comedy] ‘Peep Show,’” which was coincidentally also developed by “Succession” creator Jesse Armstrong.

But the first season of “Succession” gained enough momentum before concluding Sunday evening for HBO to pick it up for another season ― making this the first time Culkin has ever been part of a television show that made it to Season 2, according to his IMDB page, a small victory in his more than two decades on-screen.

Culkin’s most acclaimed role came in 2002, when he earned a Golden Globe nomination for his role in “Igby Goes Down.” But that time the victory led to a full-blown existential crisis.

United Artists via Getty Images

Claire Danes and Kieran Culkin talk at a coffee shop for a scene from “Igby Goes Down.” Culkin entered an existential crisis after the film and took a breaking from acting. 

“[I] found myself at the age of 20 with a career I never chose, [and I] freaked out,” Culkin said. “I think everybody around that age has some sort of crisis. Usually, it’s like a straight-up ‘Oh, I don’t know what I want to do.’ Mine is, ‘I don’t know what I want to do with my life, yet here I am doing it.’”

Culkin took a break before eventually returning to acting, mostly because he wasn’t sure what else to do. “I was just sort of doing it in the meantime,” he says now. He took parts in movies like “Lymelife” and “Scott Pilgrim vs. the World.” Did two episodes of “Fargo.” Performed multiple versions of a stage play he loved, Kenneth Lonergan’s “This Is Our Youth.” In 2014, he was still apprehensive. “I often think about getting out of this job, but I’m terrified that there’s nothing else,” he told The Daily Beast.

Since then, Culkin said, something clicked. He remembered coming home from work one day and thinking, “Oh, I think I’m actually enjoying this.”

“I think I know what I want to do now,” he said to himself. “I think I should do this.”

Now deep into his 30s, Culkin has established himself as a stronger and more serious actor than the “essentially retired” Macaulay ever did. And in Roman, Culkin has stumbled upon something as special as it is sinister. TV Guide described Roman as “the very definition of the hate-f―k,” but he’s probably more accurately categorized as sexual overcompensation personified. He tells his brother that his “face is drowning in pussy,” despite the fact that his various partners claim he rarely wants to have sex. He masturbates to his office view of New York City while a string of emails piles up behind him. (“It’s to gain some sort of control,” Culkin surmised.)

More interesting than his sex life, though, is Roman’s complex relationship with his manipulative and emotionally abusive father. While most people want to prove their competence to the people around them, “Roman, for the most part, doesn’t give a fuck about that,” Culkin said, adding, “If his girlfriend says, ‘No, but you did a great job,’ it’s like: ‘Fuck you. Don’t patronize me.’” What he wants, Culkin said, is his dad’s approval: “That’s the only person that can get him, the only person that can look at him and make him nervous.”

Logan does exactly that when Roman prepares to stand against the tycoon in the vote of no confidence. With his father staring down at him, Roman can only muster a meek “maybe” before he slouches into his chair like an admonished child and votes with his father. Thanks to Roman, Logan lives to fight another day atop his dynasty, while Kendall is forced, temporarily, to surrender.

Earlier, in Episode 2, Roman finds himself watching as the world repackages his family’s tragedy into viral content. He and his family are huddled together in a New York hospital, awaiting information about their famous father’s deteriorating health post-stroke, like characters in a Gothic novel, when Roman starts scrolling through Twitter. His sister, Shiv, asks what people are saying.

“Eh, rumors, you know,” Roman replies matter-of-factly. “Some of Twitter says he’s dead ― and also a good deal of rejoicing at our father’s potential demise.” He notices a short video of the “South Park” kids yelling, “Oh my God, we’ve killed Logan! We’re bastards!” and asks an employee to “find out who these fuckers are and report them or screen grab their shit.”

When Culkin’s own father was hospitalized after suffering a stroke in 2014, TMZ, The Daily Mail, Perez Hilton all repackaged the tragedy as well. The National Enquirer pounced, too, running a headline that read, “Macaulay Culkin Rejects Dying Dad: ‘Rot in Hell!’” But unlike Roman, Culkin wouldn’t have been sifting through Twitter. “That would never be something that I would do willingly,” he says of social media more generally. “Because already at a young age, there was a public perception of me.” 

Francis Apesteguy via Getty Images

Kit Culkin, Macaulay Culkin, Kieran Culkin and Patricia Bretnup pose for a photo one month after the release of “Home Alone.” The father is now estranged from his children. 

Like Roman, however, Culkin and his siblings have a less than ideal relationship with his father. By all accounts, they have been mostly if not entirely estranged from Kit ever since their mother won custody of the children in the 1990s. Patricia, the mother, claimed during the custody battle that Kit had been abusive, and Culkin’s brother Macaulay has continued to do so throughout his life.

“He was a bad man,” Macaulay Culkin told comedian Marc Maron earlier this year.

When I asked Kieran Culkin if he has spoken with his father recently, he answered with two no’s so quickly that I couldn’t bring myself to ask a follow-up question, only saying, for reasons still unbeknownst to me, “Fuck ’em.”

“Fuck ’em,” Culkin agreed. “I’ll go on record: Yeah, fuck ’em.”

After a lifetime of his last name being splattered across the front pages of tabloids, Culkin seemed ready to move on from the controversies that have dogged him since he was a child actor with moppy hair and oversized clothes. That’s not him anymore.

What we’re looking at instead is Kieran Culkin, age 35 ― no longer a Greg and fully embracing life as Roman.