#all three of them are my dads actually

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed [ pt 4 ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, furina, lyney {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood {☆} word count 3.7k {☆} previous [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

Fontaine was bathed in darkness, not even the moon daring to illuminate where the common man fears to walk. The streets were bleak and empty save for the constant, rhythmic ticking and clanking of machines marching on endlessly, dauntlessly wading where even the bravest dared not to venture. Not even the sharp click of the Gardes boots followed the occasional hisses of steam as they walked the barren streets.

It was haunting, and it'd been like that for days now. It showed little signs of stalling in the slightest, too. Every inch of Fontaine was practically crawling with Gardemeks– like a swarm of rats skittering about.

Arlecchino had secluded herself in the Hotel Bouffes d'ete for days at this point, waiting– biding her time. Her nails clicked against the wood as she tapped at the table in a stilted rhythm, the subtle click of the clock mixing into the clanking outside, weaving in and out of earshot as the patrols slipped by. She reached forward after a moment of thought, reaching for the white king.

She leaned back against the chaise, tilting her head just enough to catch a glimpse of a patrol of Gardemeks as they vanished behind the rows and rows of buildings. It wasn't enough to keep her attention for long, however, her features twisting in disinterest as she glanced back to the chessboard– and the letter neatly resting beside it. The seal was unmistakable and a sobering sight, demanding her attention– the soft hues of blue etched into the shape of a dragon stared back at her in a way that almost unsettled her.

She had already parsed through it's contents hundreds of times, but she was met with only vague, flowing script that only served to irritate her more then anything– it filled the page top to bottom yet managed to say nothing at all. Her hand reached out again, but instead of reaching for the letter she plucked the black rook from the board, setting it down with a soft click.

Arlecchino had all the time in the world to sit back and observe her prey, but all that time would be useless if she lacked the information to act.

And he was quite tight fisted about it, evidentially. None of her inquiries or attempts to decipher any potential codes in the letter left her empty handed. She could not act without even knowing the reason for his summons– it was almost worded like a personal affair rather then one would expect for a foreign diplomat. In truth, she'd expected a scalding report on her operatives, but it lacked any mention of anything of the sort.

She was no stranger to people masking hostility behind pretty words and compliments, not that it was ever unwarranted per se– the Fatui did not create connections through honesty and genuine kindness. They have strong armed more then their fair share of people into cooperation to the point distrust is all the Fatui are met with outside of Snezhnaya. Every word was meant to conceal the deceit, every action meant to conceal the price later paid.

So she had been..skeptical of the letter, to put it lightly. She doubted the Iudex of all people would offer a hand to the Fatui without a price attached– a trap, perhaps, meant to lure in the most powerful piece left on the board. Her eyes narrowed, reaching for a white rook and moving it to the right.

Or he was hiding something. Something that he simply couldn't risk getting out to anyone, not even the Divine themself. A tempting prize, whatever it was.

..A dangerous prize, too.

She'd considered burning the letter and forgetting it all together– the risk was great, and she couldn't risk getting caught up by whoever else the Iudex may have on his side of the board. But she could hardly pass up the challenge and the prize that he fought so hard to keep from prying eyes and ears. Even her agents came back empty handed each time. She lazily picked up a black rook, sliding the white pawn aside.

"Lyney," Arlecchino drawled, crossing one leg over the other and turning her gaze to the door as it slowly creaked open. The pale visage of Lyney stepped through, though his siblings were noticeably absent. The weariness that weighed down on his shoulders was apparent in the slightest furrow of his brows and the subtle creak of leather as he clenched his fists behind his back. "Father." He choked out, the title dragged out by the sharp inhale and shaky exhale.

He looked out of breath, she noted.

The silence that lingered after the small exchange was punctuated only by the click of another chess piece being moved. She sets aside the black rook, letting it sit among the dozen other pieces that had been wiped off the board. She can see the conviction glinting beneath the fog of exhaustion, but if he would utilize it was another matter all together.

He had seemed to make his choice quickly, at the very least.

"Our contacts and operatives within the Fortress of Meropide have gone silent– all we have is their final confirmed missive.." His voice is confident, but it is rigid as the words spill from his lips. He takes a sharp step forward, unfolding his arms from behind his back and opening his hands– the small, water stained and messily folded note catches her eye, plucking it from his palms with a half hearted interest. "They believe the Duke left the Fortress of Meropide..and that he may be coming to the Court of Fontaine."

Her eyes narrow dangerously, nearly crumpling the thin paper in her hands– yet just as quickly, she collects herself.

But she cannot get rid of the bitter taste on her tongue, lingering as she sets down the note and slides it to the side, her lips pursed into a thin line.

So the Iudex had shown one of his pieces..she tightly grasps a black rook, tipping over the white rook, letting it roll against the board.

If the Duke was involved, things were much more complicated then she expected– he would be a problem, she was certain. She couldn't blame the lamb for fearing the wolf, either. Whether her agents had been killed or captured by the man mattered little. He had his ways, and he was a force that could instill fear in even them.

Which meant the possibility that her operation was already compromised was far too real.

What had the Iudex so concerned he had gone through the trouble of bringing in the Duke and herself? The Fatui was one thing, but to specifically request one of it's Harbingers..

The Prophecy? The thought had her clenching her fist, but..no. If it were to rear it's head now, the Iudex could simply not afford to waste time on his contacts deciphering his nonsensical script– If the prophecy were to be the issue, there time would be limited to mere minutes in the worst of cases. Which meant it was worth biding his time in order to ensure absolute secrecy.

So if not the prophecy, then what?

Her next moves were..limited. She was already walking on eggshells considering her position and the reputations of the Fatui– especially with a Harbinger in the midst. If they caught wind of her operations, they'd weed out her operatives and be on guards for any snakes that lingered in their garden.

She reached for the chessboard again, picking up one of the white rooks from the board with a scowl. The sharp click as she sets down the white rook and sets aside the black pawn draws a shaky inhale from Lyney as she moves another black pawn, the dull click of the pieces drowning out the distant clinking of machines.

..A draw, perhaps.

The pieces were all falling into place– the players of this game were slowly being revealed. Whether she could secure her victory..she was unsure.

She wasn't even sure who her opponent was. Only that the Iudex himself was but another piece in their game.

Arlecchino reached for the board again, yet this time she hesitated. Perhaps she could still swipe the win from beneath them, if she played her cards right.

She would simply have to capture the king– or, if need be, let it end on a draw. Either way, she would not concede. She could not afford to concede. Down to the last piece, she would drag out this match until she was in a position to force their hand into the outcome she desired.

She stood slowly, picking up the king piece and observing it for only the briefest of moments before she set it down on the table, taking measured steps around the table and across the room. She was hunting a much more dangerous quarry today– it would be no simple runaway traitor this time.

"Do you remember the directive?" She inquired coldly, her hand lingering on the door for that long, tense moment. "..Yes, Father." Lyney faltered, taking a hesitant step back and bowing at the waist. "Then do not stray."

All that was left was the silence and click of the door shutting behind her as she disappeared down the hall, her boots clicking harshly against the floorboards. The rest of the agents knew better then to linger in her path as she stepped down into the lobby, adjusting the cuffs of her sleeves. She barely even acknowledged the Fatui agent standing at the ready by the heavyset doors, their gloves hands held out with her cloak held loosely in their palms. She quickly snagged it from them, tugging it over her board shoulders and clasping it around her throat.

With a quick tug, she brought the hood up over her head to conceal her sharp features, lifting her hand and placing a neatly folded note within their waiting hands. She had only one chance to make the right moves and secure her victory– no matter the cost.

Each piece had it's purpose.

Oft, that purpose was a bloody and horrible end– but for the grand goal of the Fatui built on the backs of the dead, it was an honor.

She didn't bother speaking a word as she dismissed them with a wave of her hand, pushing open the heavyset doors and stepping out into the barren, damp streets. The rhythmic clink and whir of Gardemeks was still distant– she needed to move. Her boots clicked and splashed in the rain soaked stone of the streets as she slithered between the buildings, ducking through the openings in the patrols.

It was almost too easy.

She tilted her head back, taking in the towering Palais Mermonia with a scowl, her hands clenched into fists. The final moves were being played– the king was within her reach, yet she felt no more confident then when she began.

The air carried a sense of unease, thick and heavy, filling her lungs until she felt her breath still in her chest– listening to the empty, bleak night that seemed so..quiet.

She'd done her fair share of research, had more then her fair share of her agents try to peer into the Iudex's office or the Archon's supposedly hidden chambers, but every attempt was a failure. She had to give them credit, they were quite elusive when they wished to be. Though now she only thought about it bitterly– this was all a risky gamble, in the end, and only time would tell if it paid off.

With minimal effort, she'd managed to pull herself to the flat, tiled roof, eyeing the massive tower peaking out of the center cautiously. At least here the wandering patrols down below weren't likely to notice her..she could hear them passing by the spot she'd been in only a few minutes ago, just beneath her. She pulled the hood further over her face, peering through the sheer darkness of the night for any oddities, but it was almost impossible to see in the dark.

Her boots clicked softly against the tiles as she approached the tower jutting out from the Palais, her hand gliding along the smooth stone, pressing against odd indents or crevices. If it was for the Archon's chambers, she doubted they made it very difficult– she'd only met the woman once, but she doubted the Iudex make it all that complex just from a brief glance. And it surprised her little when one of the stones sunk into the wall, gears whirring as the walls split open to reveal a stairwell straight into an inky black hall. Only the barest hint of light peaked under the door at the bottom, but it's occupants must have heard her, considering it went out not a moment later.

She cautiously stepped down into the small crevice, her breath visible in the bitter cold air– her shoulders tensed at the subtle sound of muffled footsteps behind the door, her vision flaring with a molten heat between her shoulder blades as she reached for the worn handle of the door. The heat of her vision was enough to just barely heat the metal, her vision flaring like a quickly building inferno.

Arlecchino was prepared for a fight, if it came down to it.

The door creaked as she pressed against it, shoving it open with a grunt of effort and surveying the room with narrowed eyes and a biting remark on the tip of her tongue– the lavish opulence was expected, she supposed, but the lack of the towering figure of the Iudex was not.

Yet before she could get a word in or even take in her surroundings properly, the light flickered back on and she had to squeeze her eyes shut with a hiss at the sudden brightness. She could hear the door being shoved closed behind her, the hurried footsteps retreating just as quickly as her eyes adjusted to the light.

..This was a joke, wasn't it? It had to be.

She'd expected the Iudex, perhaps even the Duke if she'd been unlucky, not the Hydro Archon. She had half the mind to test her worth as an Archon then and there, her temper flaring like an uncontrollable blaze, barely kept at bay. It took all her self control to force herself to smile politely at the woman rather then snarl.

"Miss Furina," She sneered beneath her hood, x shaped pupils locked onto the startled, trembling Archon with thinly veiled contempt. "What a..pleasant surprise. You'll have to forgive my manners, I assumed I was meeting with the Iudex." She observed her body language carefully– the way her eyes darted about like a frightened rabbit seeking escape, the slightest tremble of her lips..

Arlecchino opened her mouth to offer another scathing remark, but her jaw audibly clicked shut as her entire body seemed to lock up. Even her vision went cold against her back, a chilling feeling creeping up her spine as someone, or something, crept up behind her. Their footsteps were almost silent, the slight rustling of their clothes the only thing she could hear over her heart pounding against her ribcage.

Arlecchino had always prided herself on being on the other end of that sensation– she was the monster, and her target was the prey frozen like a deer between the hunters crosshair.

It was a chilling feeling to have the dynamic shifted on it's head.

She couldn't even swallow, her jaw clenched so hard she could hear it creak as she tried to reason with her quickly splintering mind– a futile effort, her joints locking up almost painfully. Black spots were quickly swallowing her vision from the lack of air in her lungs, the sound of shuffling behind her barely audible over the ringing in her ears.

For a moment – a moment too long to have only lasted the seconds that it did, yet so quick it gave her whiplash – she thought she would hit the floor dead before she could even glimpse her assailant.

And then it was gone. She came crashing back into reality with a startled inhale, her lungs burning and her knees nearly buckling under her. The instinct to lash out and kill whoever had done it was intense, yet she couldn't bring herself to move even a finger– it would be so easy to twist around and ignite them with searing flames, but her feet were rooted in place.

She almost didn't notice the surprisingly gentle hands unclasping her cloak, tugging it off her shoulders, if not for the sheer intensity of the presence still lingering behind her. Her mind was still fractured, struggling to right itself after the ordeal, and it had her seething.

"..Are you certain you held back enough?" Furina croaked, the normally soft lilt raspy and almost hoarse. "Not– not that I doubt your capability, most Divine!"

Arlecchino felt her nails dig harshly into her palms, heat swelling beneath her skin– Divine? Had she lost her mind? The Divine was..

The Divine was upon their throne where they belonged. She'd seen them!

"Hm. Well, maybe? Sorry, I didn't think it'd affect you too." Their voice was sickeningly soft as they stepped around her like she wasn't even there, focusing their attention on the Archon who seemed more then delighted about it. "What gave you that impression, most Divine? Aha, I..was completely unaffected, as you can see! Perfectly fine."

Furina let out a small squeak when they pinched her cheek, but the almost affectionate smile that tugged at their lips revealed the lack of malice behind the action.

"You're a bad liar, Furina. You might want to sit down..please?" They didn't take her protests for an answer, gently pushing her to sit on the bed before abruptly turning to face Arlecchino once more, a forced smile on their lips. "Oh, good, you're..uh, not dead. That's good. I thought I fried your brain. Sorry?"

..Had she hit her head on the way here? The Divine should still be on their throne, yet she couldn't shake the weight of their stare– it felt tangible. She felt like she was standing face to face with the stars– galaxies and constellations bearing down upon her.

She grit her teeth and clenched her hands until she felt the sting of her nails against her palms, grounding herself in the pain through the sheer overwhelming nature of their existence.

"You.." She croaks, reaching out with a shaky hand and grabbing them by the collar of their shirt, lifting them up until their feet left the floor– she pays no mind to the startled protests of the Archon. Arlecchino would crush her like a bug before she even got the chance to intervene and they both knew it. "You shouldn't exist– you aren't them, and yet you..you're the imposter, aren't you?" Her grip tightens yet they face her without an ounce of fear, meeting her unyielding glare with a pondering look.

Arlecchino wanted to make them bleed just to see if she could, the urge to sink her teeth into skin welling up in her chest to the point she visibly snarled, her mask of politeness long . "You're the imposter." Her expression falls for a moment before she schools it into one of apathy, setting them back down and holding them there for a moment, finally releasing them after a tense moment. "Or you were supposed to be."

Hers brows furrow– she wants to demand answers, to throttle them for damning them to being nothing more then dolls for the supposed Divine to break at their whim, but none of the words come to her.

"..Why now? The current Divine has been in power for years, yet you descend now?" Her shoulders tensed, lips pursed into a thin line– it's impossible to ignore the truth that lay before her. The Divine is a fraud and this..imposter is the true Divine. How many years had they been in power, now? How many years were they waiting? Why did they wait? Was the suffering of Teyvat not enough? Was the blood that painted the steps of their stolen throne not enough?

She'd personally been on the wrong end of the Divine's wrath– she wonders..had they watched? Had they seen the cruel hand of their imposter and turned their back on Teyvat?

"I.." They hesitated. It made her seethe, her hands clenching into fists at her sides– her vision flickered, flames swelling within it's casing just to be smothered by the presence of the Divine. But once that spark had been lit, she refused to let it go out. "I didn't know."

The answer does not satisfy her. There is an itch beneath her skin that she cannot scratch, a fire that burns in her chest so hot it scorches even herself.

"And what about now? Are you content to cower like prey in the safety of the Palais Mermonia?" She snapped, taking a step forward, her brows furrowed and her glare intense– she can see the slightest bit of worry in their eyes. She revels in it. "Will you let them use your acolytes like pawns? How many more need to be broken on the steps to your throne before you act?"

Again, her vision flares and dims– it refuses to be used against the Divine that created it.

"Have you no answer?"

The room is silent. They do not speak and neither does she.

Even the world itself seems to quiet in the face of her accusations, fury boiling to the surface so hot it incinerated all it touched.

"I will kill them myself."

Their words are quiet, but they are not soft– there is a vindictive, searing anger that explodes out like dying stars within their eyes. The sight of constellations replaced by a void that would not be . The smell of ichor grows stronger– to the point she feels almost lightheaded.

"..I am aware that I have failed in preventing this, but I had no choice in the matter. Still," They muse, their voice like the tolling of bells. A solemn melody that stills the swelling fury burning in her chest, if only for a moment. "I will rectify it– I will tear down their throne of lies and let not even the earth tarnish itself by burying their corpse among it's soil."

They pause for a moment, holding out their hand– scarred and bandaged by the weapons of the devout, yet still they take upon the burden of dirtying their hands to save those who did not save them.

"Do you trust me, Arlecchino?"

Did she?

"Will you help me?"

She exhales heavily, meeting the starry iris' of the Divine with a scowl still tugging at her lips. Arlecchino trusted no one but herself.

"..Yes."

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

with a few minutes' reflection and a second conversation with my parents I have realized that I may have overblown things and overreacted a bit and also in some ways they're correct even if I think they're also harsh about it

[lilacerull0]

i would call my dad to apologise, but knowing him it would just hurt him unnecessarily to be reminded of that because he's not really good with bluntness which is what caused this whole thing and the other issue is that i know i will impulsively act like this many times in the future, so i guess the best thing i can do is continue to be as kind to him as i can be

[b4kuch1n]

more sk8. I think the cindereki stuff is extremely stupid but I am not immune to trying to conceptualize a princess gown in any setting

[hershelwidget]

A collection of things I’ve screamed into the void with mild hope that the void would scream back (it did. on several of these)

I am so sorry but every single word uttered here is canon to YLS’s already insane lore. yes even the one about Jack Skellington. yes even the one about Dimentio. yes even the one that ties into MSM/TBoCI. yes ESPECIALLY the one about Captain Barnacles.

[geee-three]

here's my overly complicated shinonomes/hanasatos/tonos/hayakawas headcanons. btw.

[butnotbubblegum]

using the tags to vent my current emotional state into the void bc ig story feels like a bad plan for this, read at your own risk.

[fictionadventurer]

All the tour groups in Springfield should be very proud of me for how well I refrained from sharing all my fascinating Lincoln facts.

[seilon]

If i don’t get an update soon on my god damn top surgery insurance negotiation im going to lose my fucking mind

[werepuppy-steve]

had my stepdad's funeral today (not my current stepdad) and hoooooo boy the abandonment issues are in full swing :)

[fingertipsmp3]

Had a dream that this woman I vaguely know (I used to help her husband with spelling and reading and stuff before he turned to a life of crime) randomly had a vendetta against me and I told my mum and she was like “okay you need to either learn martial arts or leave the country”

[pynkhues]

So I know you’ve discussed this a little before and not sure if you’ve seen this (or care that much lol) but recently Jesse Armstrong confirmed that Logan treated all the boys the same when it comes to physical abuse. Link here to the clip if interested [just remove the parentheses https://twitter(.)com/princekendalll/status/1696683862976336042?s=20]. This aligns with my own read of the show too which is nice but if you listen to the clip Jesse further clarifies that the reason it (the physical abuse) stays with Roman in the present is because he feels like a victim or like he was bullied whereas Kendall and Connor have found a way to like…slot this into their worldview, I guess. I found this interesting because I tend to read Roman as having something of a victim complex but I also think this brings up a few other interesting ideas I’d love to hear your views on if interested.

If we think of Roman as understanding himself to be a victim or bullied within the family unit, do you think Roman is aware that his brothers have had similar experiences with Logan’s physical abuse, or does he think of himself that way because he think’s he’s had a unique experience? Further, how do you think Connor and Kendall were able to move past it. I tend to read Kendall as just…not thinking he was abused. But Connor’s the one that I find kind of fascinating in this context because his past is kind of a black box – narratively we have no one to give us little nuggets of his childhood the way the Trio are able to recount childhood stories of each other to shed light for the audience.

Thank you so much for sending that, anon! I hadn't seen it / heard it, and as someone who's always felt Logan was physical with all of the kids, but especially the boys, it's pretty vindicating.

Which is - - y'know, a weird thing to say about a topic like this ,I guess, but it's always nice to think your read of something is what was intended.

I'm pretty fascinated by victim complexes in general. This is a bit of a personal aside, but I'm really close with my uncle, who's my mum's baby brother, and he's bright and funny and has lived such an interesting life, but he's definitely got a victim complex. For him, he knows it, and he's trying to work through it, and it probably comes from a not dissimilar place to Roman now that I think about it - my uncle never felt like he was enough of a man to his father, and when his father died when he was just 17, he joined the army reserves to 'prove' himself, which went.

Not Well.

That kind of snowballed into a very complex relationship with his own masculinity, especially as my uncle was pretty heavily engaged in counter culture and queer and punk scenes in his twenties after being in the reserves only to get into rural journalism which - - y'know. Certainly didn't help his sense of being targeted and bullied, particularly as the organisational culture in rural newspapers as he was coming up were aggressive to say the least.

My point though is that his sense of victimisation is really tied pretty deeply to his sense of not feeling like enough of a man, which was a sentiment established by his father, reinforced by the army and further abused in male-dominated rural towns that he was reporting in.

While Roman, of course, doesn't have the latter, it's an interesting thing to think about in the sense of the first two with Roman clearly feeling his masculinity under threat by his father, and there is an argument to be made about that being reinforced by St. Andrews, but funnily enough, I kind of feel the opposite about that particular point.

Probably because I disagree with St. Andrews being a military school at all.

So let's talk about St. Andrew's

It's pretty widely accepted, I think, that when the show named St. Andrew's they were referring to the St. Andrew's-Sewanee School in Tennessee, in no small part because there were no other St. Andrew's it feels like it could've been. This is a wealthy school (in fact their school fees, with boarding, are almost exactly the same as Buckley without boarding where Kendall canonically went), and the show's attention to details like this feels too deliberate.

And I think it works in no small part because St. Andrew's had stopped being a military school in 1971, about a decade before Roman could've been born (in my timeline I will one day post, haha, probably when nobody will even want it, I think we can pretty cleanly put Kendall as being born in 1979/1980, so Roman at the earliest would be born in '81). It was also during the 1970s, long before Roman would've gone, that St. Andrew's became co-ed.

Of course, this is an area ripe for speculation, but I think it rings true of the show for the kids to treat St Andrew's like it was a military school when that was a fragment of a past (and not even technically a part of St. Andrew's past - it had merged with the Sewanee School, which was the military school). What St. Andrew's became was not the school that Roman actually went to, but a symbol of this sense of being victimised and ostracised. Cast out, in a punishing system, which - - looking at this particular school, while bougie is also co-ed, outdoorsy, freer than Buckley, but that doesn't matter.

Roman's not fixated on the conditions of it, he's fixated on the othering of it. He sees Kendall and presumably Shiv too going to school near Logan (although I doubt Logan was there all that much) in Manhattan, while he's out in the midwest. I kinda think you could argue he played up the military history of the school to perform a strength and masculinity for his brothers and sister he felt he lacked, which could also be a part of why the narrative stuck.

But yes, that's not your question, haha.

Do I think he's aware that his brothers have experienced similar abuse? Yeah, actually, but I think it probably has its ebbs and flows and takes on different meanings depending on the moment or the circumstances, right?

An Aside

So my best friend's grandmother's was in an extremely violent and abusive marriage (I promise this is relevant), and every now and then, he would hit their two daughters too. He died young and unexpectedly, when the girls were still teenagers, a blessing to everyone, but the elder of the two girls - my bf's aunt - has developed a very complex and sometimes hostile relationship with her sister and their mother.

She feels their mother should've protected them better, that she should've left their father years before he died, and she deeply resents her sister for forgiving their mother so easily.

That's warped over the years - both daughters are in their 50s now, their mother close to 80, they're genuinely all pretty close - but it's gotten to the point where the elder daughter feels she was The Most Abused.

I know them all pretty well - me and my bf have known each other for almost 16 years - I've vacationed with them, gotten drunk with them, been involved in multiple weddings, not just my bf's but other members of her family's too.

One night, I was chatting to her mum after she and her sister had had a fight at a party - my best friend and her brothers had gone inside looking after their grandmother - and she just said her sister couldn't move past it. That they all knew what their mother experienced was unimaginable, that he hit them every now and then, but what he did to their mother was so much worse, and that she just didn't see what the point was with holding onto any of that pain when they can just push forwards.

More than that, when you can move on.

My bf's mum became a neonatal nurse, and she thinks she can see it sometimes. Men like her father, absent usually from delivery and controlling or too physical in the ward after, and she feels it too. The way she can throw lifelines to women who are ready for them, or just let women who aren't know where the lighthouses are. It's not a perfect system, but she loves her job, and this part of it - - I think she finds it healing too.

My bf's aunt was a receptionist to a guy who works high up in a bank, and she married him.

She hasn't worked since they had kids 25 years ago.

But back to your question

I think one of the interesting things about the show is that it's showed Roman as typically fairly directionless. He's out of the company at the start of the series, and doesn't seem to have any other thing he's driving towards. Shiv has politics, Kendall has the company, but even Connor has Austerlitz and his water planning before he jumps on his presidential campaign.

I do think a lack of purpose probably can become a bit of a feedback loop psychologically which has caused him to stew in resentment and has probably rationalised his abuse as 'worse', because if it wasn't, then why's he the fuck up? Even just of the Golden Trio.

Probably helped by - as you mention - Kendall's unwillingness to acknowledge it, and the fact that none of them take Connor seriously.

With Kendall and Connor - - yeah, I think Kendall is, in many ways, a caged animal constantly trying to claw his way out of his own head. I think he distracts himself with projects, or people, or drugs, and leans into the whatever, it happened, hey, but right now... of his own circumstances. He knows what happened to him, but he can never talk about it, not to a friend at a funeral or to his own father on his death bed. Kendall's stutter exists I think in his own thinking too, a record scratch that lets him start the song where he has to instead of where he wants or needs to.

He's not quite disassociated, but he's not quite connected either.

And with Connor - - gosh.

I mean, it's interesting to talk about him in this sort of context, because as you said, his history is so much more of a black box. I do think him having a period of absence from Logan plays into his acceptance of it. More and more, I tend to think that the three years he talks about in 3.09 was before Kendall was born, and so I think he's stepping back into formal 'Roy' life at 15 with a lot of complexity that shapes his experience very differently.

Not only is there that tangible anxiety of being rejected again if you don't fall in line, but there's also these new and complicated feelings of being replaced / in competition with a new child (always fascinated that Connor so rarely expresses that in the series, but whenever he does it's with Kendall), but also I think naturally feeling immediately doting and protective of this scrap of family offered to you after a period without.

I think in that context that Connor probably long ago reconciled himself with the fact that if he wanted his father in his life, that was what it was going to be like, and that he was prepared to be the failure if it kept him out of the bloodsport between their father and his siblings. I think he does occasionally wish for a higher position, and wonder what it could've been if Dad had ever thought of him in that context, but I also think he, at some point, made the choice that none of the rest of them have been able to make, which is that he can always go home.

[mapsareforbraindeads]

i only got clothes for christmas. clothes that are very much not my size

[chisungie]

.

[nexus-nebulae]

just realised that the first media we consumed that made us REALLY sympathetic for the monster was that fucking point and click Mystery Case Files Ravenhearst game. bc that entire game i was legitimately fucking TERRIFIED of the ghost lady in that game but the second i found out her husband was abusive i doubled down on trying to help her escape. and the ending of that game Did make me cry out of fear but hey at least i did in fact help her escape

[vanweezer]

very very personal, just insight into where im at w my family and things that bother me/have encouraged me to move out

"i know youre moving out so im just gonna say no ones kicking you out and if you feel like this is something you have to do then ok"

thanks! i know im not being kicked out! but yknow i kinda yet a weird vibe when your out of touch husband takes me to a cemetery to yell at me, tell me im just like my father/dont give my father "the time of day", and that im "mean to people who care about me" in front of his dead mother's grave in a poor attempt at guilting me out of speaking my mind. but no yeah thanks for stating the fucking obvious that im leaving on my own terms