#roman kinda being a dick

[joannasteez]

crying, laughing, loving, lying - being comfortable is no good

pairing: roman reigns x angel (black oc) warning: this little chapter is all angst and unfortunately barely features angel. but i'm giving backstory!! no other warning besides swearing and talks of divorce. authors note: i love imperfect characters. so yummy. first chapter found here. word count: 1700

roman loves his job. he loves the campus. and he loves his office —which to him, despite seth's modernistic sneering, is wholly traditional—outfitted tirelessly to suit a timeless sense of taste. dark wood furnishings and overly warm lamp lights. deep shelf walls and old brass ceiling fans. the neat clutter of sports paraphernalia surrounding unread midterm papers —which detailed in their own ways and intellectual fashions, the steady rise of sociopolitical tensions of pre-world war-two society through a 1936 olympic games lens — and once looked over defensive plays meant for forthcoming football games. and this here was his little heaven, his peace, but said peace was being tainted. squandered and spat on. because of all the days he'd chosen to settle in at the office on campus versus doing work from home, she, had stopped by to see him this day. to parade around that pitiful frowning in her lips and the beautiful, un-useable ring she'd never bothered to just get rid of.

and he was very specific about not getting it back. about not wanting it back. about her even selling it, if thats what she wanted. since she'd always done what she wanted anyways. what difference would it make if she sold the eighteen karat in exchange for whatever dress or lamp or table caught her eye? roman really couldn't give less than a shit what she exchanged it for, just as long as he'd never have to see it again. because all the memory is stored there, in the all those beautiful cuts of diamond. but then again, as he said to himself, 'amina does what she wants', including showing face when showing face was exactly what he didn't need. 

he seems to be the only tired one in all this. the only struggling survivor, hell the only survivor really. amina's face feening to look written in a perpetual state of guilt which was complete, utter bullshit. but then again disingenuous was her forte. and roman was sure that the divorce lawyer was the happiest they'd ever been. maybe even eating off the money they'd made at the expense of his failed marriage. but who knew. at this point, who fucking knew. 

his glasses give the ring clarity. a shine. making his jaw twitch and his foot shift till his knee jumps. all of which are involuntary. and this burns his core, the very base of his belly, because why does the discomfort take him so wholly?   unsullied and lacking compassion as it travels his skin. 

he can feel her eyes fixing into him. screwing hot over every line and detail of his freckled face as she waits. and oh does roman make her wait. letting the silence drown the room till theres nothing but the whipping spin of the ceiling fan and the warm lamps singing with a buzz.

"are you gonna say something?"

and all he can remember is his bed. the distress of the sheets and the boiling heat in his body. her moaning and then the absolute fright. the guilt as she forced her body away into the wall, the sheets surrounding her, drowning her up to her neck. his fingers cold from the breeze. 

the ring still on her finger. why even keep it on?

something in roman's skin flares. a burning irritation. an anger bought on by the existence of anger itself. because why should he be reduced to something this wild and ill-controlled? why should he be the one suffering, feeining stability. why should a simple ring bother him so much. he was, is, better than this, better than the pity written in her eyes. he hated this. why didn't she just fucking sell the damn ring. 

"hows terry doing?", that name like poison on his tongue. the whole memory of it coming up to dry his throat till he's tasting bits of bile. his fingers flexing as he takes to fingering over the stacks of papers at his desk. "still enjoying my headboard?" 

"don't do that...", amina's eyes averting. guilt, guilt and more guilt. "...don't, don't bring him up like it's on him". 

"oh?". a scoff but a laugh too. disgust and amazement. but he's irritated too. surprised. "is this accountability? are we in the end times finally?" 

she sighs exhausted. "roman". 

"amina", exhausted too but wryly so. to dig into her skin in any way he could. 

and when she takes her beat, which he finds annoyingly dramatic, staring into his eyes with all the sincerity drawn up from her gut to say "i'm sorry", he still can't find the will to care. 

and he tells her as much.

"i. don't. care", pushing the ring with his finger over toward the edge of his desk. the fast motion threatening to knock it off the surface if not for amina snatching it mid drop. "take the ring back. pawn it. sell it. shove it in an envelop and burn it", rising from his seat to take a stack of book at the side of his desk to the deep shelf wall. his body tall and wide and rife with anger. "i don't give a shit. i don't want it". 

he can hear her shifting to get up too. her heels clicking small. cautioned steps. not so far but not too close. and now he's sees that's just been the regular state of affairs for everything concerning them. an arms distance of romance. 

"it belongs to you". 

one of the books tighten in his hand. a hard cover stress ball. "the simple fact, that i keep saying i don't wan't it, and you keep shovin' it in my face, really just lets me know you’re here to twist the knife". he shelves the books impatiently, the slotting of them ending, each, with a thud into the wood. "just give me this one thing. listen to me this one time". 

amina takes her turn to bristle. to advance at him and laugh. mirthless and mocking. 

"you wanted the wedding in the summer, so we planned it for july. you wanted to move back home, so i followed you", each click of her heel harsh against his office floors. straining to creak till it's edging into his skin. "you wanted the bigger house and you didn't want me to work and you didn't want me to hang around certain men. i always listened to you". 

'no', roman thinks. whipping away from the shelf. his ears scorching. "wrong", his pointing finger toughing into his chest. "i didn't want you around terry because he was a dog in fucking heat every time you were near him. and everything was always negotiable. i never forced anything". his blood pumping sharp and wild. "you liked me making decisions. you liked being taken care of. i made shit a playground for you, and you ran it to hell till you got caught". 

"negotiable? really?", amina's voice shrill and wavering. "like its a fucking business deal? well so much for a fucking merger of equals”. the ring clutched in her fist, her balled fingers pushing into his chest as she clicks up to him. no longer an arms length away. "you just knew that you knew what was best all the time". 

and when he refuses to accept her forcibly pushing against his chest, the ring falls. 

"and the one thing i didn't know?", his face a breath away from hers. the warmth of vanilla filling his nose. making his screen cringe and his jaw tighten. "that my wife was getting fucked cervix deep in my bed by terry, every other weekend since the night of our wedding". 

"it wasn't every other weekend". 

he laughs. from his belly and with a soft trembling in his nerves. his body uncomfortable still. bothered by the shake of his own anger. "but it was in my bed, in the sheets i bought".

she sneers. her eyes rolling harsh.

"everything with you is always, i and me". 

"yes amina", his tone patronizing. "because you cheated on me. you never even tried", his head shaking. "im not the villain in this". 

her eyes glisten. welling to threaten the breaking out of tears. 

"i had no voice. no say. no room to make mistakes with you. everything was always handled. i couldn't breathe". 

"why not say something?"

"you wouldn't have listened". 

he scoffs. "you don't know that", walking briskly to his desk. collecting the stacked papers to shuffle them inside the thick leather of a messenger bag. he needs desperately to leave. to come from under the thick air of the room. "because you never considered trying. and thats the one thing you can never say i didn't do. i always tried to make you happy. making things comfortable". 

"being comfortable isn't this good thing you keep making it out to be". 

he was over it. over the heat boiling his skin. over the aching in his chest. the lumping in his throat. the sharp pricks in his eyes. the mindless way his jaw twitched to tighten. and he was over seeing amina. he needed something liquid, strong and relieving. and he had papers to grade, he didn't need this. not now. not ever again. 

"if no one has ever told you before, i need you to know that you are filled with a concerning amount of bullshit". 

amina snatches up the things she came to his office with. being sure to leave the ring. "well look at us being two peas in a pod". 

her heels click out of his office. the silence enveloping him again. his shoulders heavy and his eyes tired, from the lateness of the day and the threat of tears. 

and the ring is still there. still and unmoving. his fingers curling to fist but lacking the heart to pluck it from the floor. 

his phone buzzes. angel's name popping up against the screen. a warmth fighting greatly to overtake him as he opens up an image she's sent, but it fails to do anything worthwhile. the chill in his bones icing over so easily that his nerves feel beholden to deaden with a cooling. 

text message | angel : ready when you are

and the heart to reply is void in him. more piqued that amina had destroyed his mood so much that it'd left him hollow enough to leave you unanswered. and God was the urge there, just not great enough to overcome the anger pushing deep in his skin. 

[whisk3ysugar]

A Warrior's Daughter.

Pairing:

Emperor Geta x General's Daughter! Reader

Warnings:

Not really any yet, but next chapter shall be 18+, so proceed with caution.

Summary:

You assume that by being the daughter of a well respected general it allows you immunity. A breath away from the rulers and the empire as a whole. And oh how wrong could you be.

So, so wrong.

Emperor Geta sees to branding you if it’s the last thing he’ll do. If it means owning a general like owning a slave, he'd do it. And, if it means exploring the depths of unknown territory for the sake of power and greed, he would do it.

Authors Note:

This is my first time writing something in a WHILE.. It's not proofread and I wrote it on a plane ride. I was just wayyyy too caught up on Geta and I love him a ton but I wanted to capture that dick side of him (which is like all of him) and kinda write it out! Most of this is kinda backstory for reader, but the next part will be more shut and romance and tension.. Whatnot. Hope you enjoy!

The general served the region as a protector. A safe haven for the serfs and slaves whom lurked the corners of every street in Rome. Made for the people by the people, shaped to be a man capable enough to bare burdens and scars left by the empire. To be held accountable for the mistakes of the corrupt emperor, Geta. A horrid man who’d murder for the sake of entertainment. A man who’s veins ran cold with toxins more potent than venom. A poor excuse for a leader and an even worse human.

And a dangerous case to be noticed by. For fun, for pain, for greed, for it all because Geta never settled for less.

Being the daughter of a fighter, blessed directly by Gods of War, had given you false security. Something you’d conjured in your mind long ago in times of danger. To soothe you. Make you feel untouchable. Because in reality, that was the case. Back then, atleast, you’d been the daughter of THE General Acacius. Born with the blood of a real leader. A piece of someone with true power and courage who’d been loyal and an inspiration. The head of the Roman Empire beyond the grasp of Emperor Geta or Caracalla. In retrospect.

You had been someone. Protected. Praised. Seen beyond the façade which draped over the rest of Rome’s shoulders. Someone more, like your father. Looked upon like a woman unafraid of a challenge, despite your lack of royal status. A trained fighter, a kind soul, a brave heart, a person with morals held higher than the injustice of war and fighting.. You were everything emperors and empresses despised. Everything Geta lacked.

And although you could trace your attributes back to your father and your deceased mother, you’d always been bad at hiding true nature. Completely opposed to your father who valued safety over any personal opinion. A good man. Forever loyal to whomever sat upon the throne so long as it provided survival for the ones he held deep in his heart. For you.

A dog.

Commitment you admired but never wished to possess. Your rebellion engraved and scarred into your values forevermore, fueled by the promises of a better future. A better leader. And.. fueled by the fantasies of being safe. Or really, safer than the rest.

Something you’d grown to consider, contrasting your development into a real woman, had relinquished into realization. Realization that no one was safe. You weren’t, the city wasn’t.. Your father wasn’t.

It had been something you were quickly struck with when he’d been stripped of his title. Reduced to nothing more than a fighter, battling for another day to live, just for the entertainment of people more fortunate than he. Scarred and beat because that was his duty to his emperor. His duty to you, to ensure a life away from Geta and Caracalla. Away from the wretched mistakes that were the emperors.

Marcus Acacius had done everything humanly possible to keep you away from Geta. Or rather, to keep Geta away from you.

He’d lied, betrayed, gone against orders and cheated to keep your identity secret. Pure dishonor to his name merely for the sake of having you stay safe. He could handle it. The punishment, burden, everything. So long as you were alive, un-harmed, and out of the hands of not-so-noble nobility.

It was wishful thinking. As wishful as your fantasies of being safe, and courageous like your father.

There were suspicions that the general had been sheltering someone in secret. Perhaps a slave, maybe a new wife, but a daughter? No one could’ve ever suspected that. Much less the emperors. And, you supposed it could’ve remained secret if it weren’t for your own foolishness. For your mistake of unveiling yourself around the general.. in public. You’d never stood side by side with the man in view for anyone other than the most trusted.. So with your stupidity came the revelation that it was an unmistakable resemblance. Too genetically duplicate to the man to condemn. And as much as you’d prayed to every and any God to suppress the gossip, it’d been no use. To no avail.

You’d been caught. You’d both been caught. And matters couldn’t have gotten worse.

Except it did. Things got entirely worse.

Once word had been released that the general was harboring a daughter.. Especially since he was harboring a daughter.. and lying about it.. he’d been quickly suffocated with degradation. Bombarded with questions. Attacked with hate and pure confusion, because Gods forbid the GENERAL lies about anything, solely because he is the man that everyone trusts. Or the man everyone trusted.

Everything had gone from 0 to 100 in about a day. And from 100 to 1000 within seconds. When you’d lost your life and been stripped of your dignity, just like how your father had been stripped of his. All when the emperors in the flesh took it upon themselves to barge into the safety of your home, only to be greeted with the sight of truth. You. The daughter of a general, real, present. The consequence of love which everyone figured Marcus Acacius was too corrupt to conceive. The explanation to a general’s loyalty beyond the curtains of reality.

A rage to the nobles. A rage to the civilians. And an enrapturing woman to the emperor. To Geta.

The upper hand. The solution. Leverage to dangle above a superior’s head like bait. And a treasure far more priceless than any jewel or ore he’d ever been offered.

The daughter of a supreme leader who wielded no real power. No real riches. Only the comfort of kin and a reason to fight.

The catch of the millenia.

Your life was ripped away from you. Your father was ripped away from you. You were left with nothing but the orders to obey, and to marry.

For the sake of your father. For the sake of your life. At the cost of your freedom.

The life you’d planned to live was left behind as a memory. A fragment of the person you hoped to be. Replaced with the promise of a ‘better life’, and the safety you’d always fantasized of. Promised to you by your own father.

“You shall live a better life, my sweet girl. I know,” he sighed heavily. His voice shakey and laced with regret as he uttered each syllable to you. Eyes brimming with disgraced tears. Disgrace in himself for failing you.

“—I know I will not be able to keep you safe myself, but I promise you.. you will be protected. The emperors will protect you, so long as you listen. Obey.”

He’d sacrifice anything to avoid having this conversation. To return to your lives without the notice of townsfolk, without the eyes of rulers searing into your skin, and without the torture of having to leave each other behind. But there was nothing he, nor you, could do. You were to be engaged. To be compromised. To a ruler with no sense of dignity, no sense of humility nor a sense of respect. Only a power feign with no remorse.

Your father thumbed at your cheek, wiping the tears which streaked and seeped into your skin. Sorrow filled eyes longing for a daughter to hold, only to be met with the familiar face of a forced bride-to-be...

“Please, I beg of you to save yourself, father—Fight and get out of this country. You could die.. You could be tortured or murdered and I—I can’t handle any more pain.”

Your voice came out breathy and silent. Barely loud enough for your father’s ears, but just enough. Enough to get your point across, and to urge him away from what was to come.

“I fear Geta. I fear him with every bone in my body, but I fear losing you far worse. I will marry him. I do not know what he sees in me, but I know he craves your demise, and I will not stand around and bare witness to a further downfall.”

You craved a minute more. A second to tell your father how you love him so, and you couldn’t blame him for a moment in your life for how things are to turn out. But you couldn’t. The guards had arrived, and that was your cue to be dragged away. To struggle and sob as you’d be ripped away from your father, once a general, now a helpless gladiator. To call out for him as you’re hoisted out of the room by guards too rough to handle, only to be faced with Geta. Your emperor. Your ‘betrothed’. Smiling. Baring his teeth like a rabid dog at its prey. He was proud of his work. Proud of that sliver of ‘kindness’ he’d dug out. And he’d awaited praise.. for allowing you to share your last moments with your father. Geta expected a string of ‘thank you’s’ or sobs proclaiming everlasting loyalty. He expected obedience and nothing more. But, he was met with none. Not a single mumble of praise because you’d rather die than give him any.

“You will be.. such a fine empress. You shall bear my children and produce an heir fit for the throne. And, your father shall be our entertainment.”

His words make you want to gag. Make you want to fall to your knees and sob, but you knew that if you were to do so, he’d only be spurred on. He'd feel powerful. He’d feel like a winner. And you were never going to allow him that pleasure.

“You will learn to be a good wife and do as I say when I say it, you hear?”

A quick nod was all you gave him. No words, no emotions. You were aware of how unstable you were at the moment, and your façade would soon crack if you uttered a single syllable.

And, he was not content with that response.

“Answer me. Let me hear your voice or you shall be punished severely.”

Your cheeks flushed pink. You wanted so badly to cry and flee forever. But you couldn’t. Your options were entirely limited. You could escape.. or ‘obey’, as your father had said.

And obey you shall.

“Yes, your highness. I hear—I will bear you a child and you—”

You were risking everything. You should stay silent, evaluate your options. Realize that you weren’t at liberty of speaking your mind any longer. But you are the daughter of a general, and his courage is your courage.

“You will ensure my father’s safety. You must.. allow him to be the most glorious gladiator..”

Always the challenger, never for peace. Just as your father had been. Forever a threat to the rulers and still with the promise of punishment for rebellion, you pursue. It angers him. Makes him seethe. He grinds his teeth and his jaw tightens as he considers how exactly to deal with you.

No room for murdering you like he’d normally do to other subjects in a fit of rage. No chance to attack you ferociously. No time to scream at you.

He’d settle for showing you how your power paled in comparison to his.

Your feet stumble as he lunges forward at you, quickly slithering his hand up the scruff of your neck to fist at your hair. A tingling pain sets in at the roots of your strands, stinging, and bruising as he handles you like a pest. It nestles uncomfortably, and it taints the feeling of abuse you’re enduring at his doing.

Yet, you’re forced to push it aside as he replaces the feeling with.. something different. The feeling of his lips crashing into yours. Latching on and gnawing gently in a battle of teeth and tongue. His saliva tastes different than any liquid you’ve drank. It’s almost heavenly, offering life to its victims. To ease the pain burrowed within you. It’s feral. Animalistic, really. But how could you have expected anything less from a tyrant.

After all, Geta gained power from making others submit. And it always worked. But forever the fighter, you’d always put up a battle.

Eyes pressed tight together as you inhale him, and everything that made him. His scent, almost musky but perfumed and pampered, his taste, a tinge of alcohol and deliciously fruity, just the feeling of him on you. Everything. He filled you with his presence. Geta overtook any space you’d left empty. And, part of you wished the circumstances could be different. Where in some other world this could be considered love, and Venus could watch upon your blooming romance. In some alternate world you’d drop your persistence, settle in his embrace without a care in the world and let him have his way.

But, you’re in this world. And in this world you haven’t the luxury of submission. Atleast.. total submission.

So with enough passion to fuel your senses. Your morality. You unravel from your sentience and glide your hands along the luxurious red that is his tunic, tracing upon the engraved designs, all the way to the treasures that were his jewels and golden accents, absolutely littered all over his garments. And, with a boost you swallow down the feeling of disgust to feel empowered rather than useless. To taste him back and contribute to the battle between your lips.

You fight for the power you deserve. The power your father earned for the both of you which should’ve never been retracted. You’d show this emperor who you were. How you weren’t a servant, nor a slave, and you’d never be reduced to a mere concubine. You were your own soldier, and you would not be conquered.

You pull away, his grip still firm on your neck. Its unsure if your bravery is attractive, or completely rejected, but the swell on Geta’s lips, and the saliva connecting you two is enough to tell you that regardless of what it resulted in, it was worth it. You had showed him who you were, and where you stood. He both loved and despised it.

“Get out of my sight. Go to your chambers. We will speak tomorrow.”

The tight grasp he had on your neck faltered, and you could feel the mark forming as he removed himself from you. His voice was as breathy as yours on the nights you’d pray to the Gods, pleading for forgiveness for whatever crimes youd committed. Breathy like your sobs for your father to hold you, keep you. Hell, you’d almost forgotten about how you were practically stolen away a mere few minutes ago. Deep down you hated yourself for indulging in the man you were to marry.. but you knew it had to be done. And if you enjoyed it.. well you’d convince yourself he’d corrupted you, somehow. Someway.

Regardless, you’d remained obedient. Like your father begged of you. Like Geta had reminded you to act. And if that meant scurrying off to your room.. your own room without his intoxicating presence, well then you’d do it in a heartbeat. It’d leave you to think. To plan. To lay in your bed and wait till you’d, (most likely), be called upon by a greedy emperor.

Most of all, though.. You’d remind yourself what you’d done, and how this was your fault. And you’d do anything to fix your mistake.

[queer-ragnelle]

Understand is is a very weird question to get out the blue so no offence taken if this gets left in the inbox, but I was wondering how (if at all) to integrate transgender knights into arthurian retellings/adaptations ect while trying to keep it vaguely true to the medievalisms of the whole thing? I know its easy and liberating to just go 'fuck it everything queer' and its a totally valid way to go about it, but (as a trans person) I like having a narrative examine queerphobia and other structual issues with the setting - gives the whole thing a bit of meat (in my personal tastes). That being said, it feels like its a nightmare to try and have a transmasc knight stay stealth in this place! Everyone feels like theyre getting stipped and tended to after breaking a rib in a joust or merlin shows up and is a dick about pronouns and outs you to get you married to a Roman king. Stuff like that - things that feel a little easier to dodge when its a civillian character, not an ruling class.

Is this a 'kill the cop in your brain' kinda deal? As a queer storyteller yourself do you have any tips or strategies or tools you use to crowbar this kinda stuff a little easier together? Or do you know any stories/retellings/academic texts ect that cover these kinda things (even if its in a 'for the love of god, don't do that' way). Love the work you do for this fandom a lot, regardless of your answer! Hope you have a good day.

Hello anon! This is a great question.

Now let me preface this by saying I’m not transgender and I’m not a medievalist. There are plenty of trans medievalists on tumblr, but I’m not one of ‘em. So my answer is coming from a queer but cis author and enthusiast perspective. I'm going to provide lots of links to read things as well so everyone can draw their own conclusions from the material.

I think a large part of this does come down to “kill the cop in your head.” But at the same time, I’ve been exactly where you are wondering, “How can I make this story feel authentic to its era without torturing the trans characters?” Because you’re right, there’s a lot of nudity and close proximity interaction between knights in the medieval stories and Merlin is totally the type to be a dick about pronouns. I've also searched and struggled to find a medieval-set story that manages to incorporate queerness in a period-appropriate way (so far as we can guess) while balancing the narrative as to not tip into something deeply unpleasant for the target audience to read. (See: the series by Lavinia Collins, which has great queer rep, yay! But tons of horrors previously unseen and still unnecessary, boo!) So where does that leave us?

Well first I’m going to give you an example of how not to handle transness in an Arthurian story....

The book Once & Future and its sequel Sword in the Stars by Amy Rose Capetta and Cory McCarthy went with the phenomenon you already described as, “fuck it, everything queer.” It doesn't take place in the past, but does use the medieval stories as more than reference, it's not as divergent as something like Port Eternity by C. J. Cherryh, the reincarnated characters do interact with the past directly at times, so I'm using it as an example.

Anyway most characters are either gay (umbrella term) or trans. Except the way trans characters are treated sucks majorly (in my opinion). I completely lost faith in book 1 after the introduction of Lamorak, a gender fluid knight who uses they/them pronouns. Merlin misgenders them and gets corrected by Kay, to which Merlin does this whole self flagellation routine about. Lamorak is also disabled, missing their left hand. (Why isn't it Bedwyr? Anyway not the point...) Lamorak gets no dialogue here whatsoever, all agency is completely stripped from them regarding their disability and their gender identity. Double whammy.

This is worsened when Percival gets introduced, as Merlin then makes a point of asking for pronoun clarification in the most obnoxious way possible. To which Percival takes no offense at the weird slight against his sibling and tells Merlin his pronouns.

But what about the sequel? Surely these two queer authors improved with time.....

Is this a joke? Is this the best way they could indicate the inclusive realm of Avalon? Why not just describe the women as they are, all shapes and sizes, and let the reader figure it out? The authorial intent would be so obvious by this point. Instead they say it… like that. Gag.

It only gets worse when Mordred is born. Then they're weird about a literal infant.

What in the bio essentialism? If the characters have been living in a future that’s broken out of the gender binary, the baby’s genitals should be irrelevant. Gwen’s literally saying Mordred is going to fulfill the evil prophecy because he was born with a penis. Even if this is intended to be a teaching moment, I hate how it’s handled. These quotes are in order of appearance in the books, so after the subtextual implications of all that came before, this last part really doesn’t sit right with me. Sorry I find these books completely abhorrent. They've won awards, they’re beloved by many. Maybe it's me. But no thanks.

Honestly, so long as you're not blatantly offensive with your handling of such things, I think you'll be fine. It's important to remember that even if one is part of a demographic they're depicting, it's always a good idea to hire sensitivity readers and take that feedback seriously. Not everyone will love your work, there will be advice you don't utilize, with time you'll be able to weed out the bad faith feedback, (the "all depiction is glorification" crowd) and ignore it. But it's so important to open oneself up to constructive criticism so you can learn and your work can develop into the best possible version of itself.

Now let's get to some ways you can go about researching a way to do this that fits in your story. It’s important to remember that throughout human history, many people lived stealth their whole lives and we don’t know about them for that reason, not because no transgender folks ever lived authentically and happily in medieval times. So it’s never impossible to incorporate a trans character into a story who experiences no direct violence, even if the world they live in isn’t presented as a queer utopia. The other thing is that public opinion regarding queerness, cross dressing, etc have varied a lot over the centuries and were vastly different depending on location. Not every “woman” found in armor would have been treated as poorly as Joan of Arc. So there’s lots of wiggle room for interpretation when you go about writing these narratives. The majority of my examples deal with the ruling class so they address the concerns you mentioned with added scrutiny a noble would face if they were to experiment with gender presentation compared to a commoner. I’ll be spoiling the plots of everything on the list to make clear why I’m suggesting them.

My initial advice would be to read medieval literature with queer themes followed by essays on the subject. The best examples I know of are:

Yde et Olive

Transmasc knight (good ending). 12th century French romance. Yde’s mother Clarisse died giving birth to her & later when Yde reaches maturity, her father makes advances, so she disguises herself as a man & flees. Yde becomes a successful knight & is married to the king’s only daughter, Olive. When it comes time to consummate the marriage, Yde must confess the truth of his identity to Olive, who vows to keep it secret. This is overheard by the king who then attempts to uncover Yde’s identity but is stopped by an angel who chastises the king for harassing such a good vassal. Then Yde is transformed into a man, the king dies, & Yde is able to have a child with Olive. They name him Croissant as if it couldn’t get any more French than it already was. Anyway the story alternates pronouns for Yde given the situation which is pretty neat & in the end he gets to live his best life! Yay!

Le Roman de Silence

Transmasc knight (bad ending). A 13th century French romance about a baby girl named Silence. Silence is raised as a boy because King Eban won’t allow women to inherit property. Like many medieval romances, the hero's adventure is often punctuated with personified emotions (Dame Fortune, Lady Love, etc) but Silence is tormented by Nature & Nurture as he comes into adulthood. He becomes a knight & eventually takes on an "impossible" quest, to capture Merlin, which supposedly can only be done by a woman. Content warning for the ending, it does not go well for Silence. Merlin reveals his backstory, & he’s forced to take a feminized version of his name, live as a woman, & marry the king to keep his lands.

Wigalois by Wirnt von Grafenberg

A 13th century German romance that follows Gawain’s son, Wigalois [Gingalain], but this ain’t about him. There’s a character Marine who fights as a knight. She’s consistently referred to with she/her pronouns, but she’s renowned for her knightly virtues & fights alongside the men in the war. She’s treated very well narratively & dies in battle after apprehending a high-value hostage. Everyone mourns her & there’s a big funeral held in her honor. So even if Marine never presented herself as a man the way Yde or Silence do, she provides an example of a female thriving in a male role. Food for thought.

Parzival by Wolfram von Eschenbach

Another German banger from the 13th century. This one’s about a cis male knight but Parzival has transmasc vibes. Trust me. Here’s my favorite article about it called The Clothes Make The Man - Parzival Dressed & Undressed by Michael D. Amey that really illustrates what I mean.

After that, you can check out these retellings:

The Story of Silence by Alex Myers

I bought this but haven't read it yet. It’s a retelling about the aforementioned Le Roman de Silence. This book uses neutral they/them pronouns to refer to Silence, which I can say from experience sometimes causes confusion with readers, so it's good to study how this author did it & determine if that method feels right for you. (If you ever decide to do something like that with a character.)

Spear by Nicola Griffith + Spear's Author's Note

I enjoyed this one, beautiful prose. It didn’t feel like the most comprehensive Grail Quest retelling, but Peretur can be interpreted as a butch lesbian or transmasc, it’s ambiguous. She only uses masculine pronouns when stealth, otherwise using she/her, but it has a happy ending! It’s firmly set in the era & felt authentic on that front while letting the queer characters relax. Peretur isn’t alone. (A/G/L enjoyers keep winning + sapphic lady of the lake ftw + the other hotties Peretur pulled.) Definitely worth checking out.

The Bright Sword by Lev Grossman

This book just came out in 2024. Including it here is already a spoiler given the topic but I’m going to spoil fully from this point on so ignore this if that’s a problem. This is the best example I can give for your reading/writing tastes based on the ask; Dinadan is a trans man. His transness isn’t revealed in the main character Collum’s pov, but in Dinadan’s backstory pov, opening in his childhood. He & his twin brother were sent to different schools but young Dinadan would leave the girl’s school to practice knightly skills with the fay, which retroactively explains why he has a fairy sword that Collum was admiring. In exchange for this training, the fay ask that Dinadan slay Merlin. Which he agrees to while never believing he actually can, but the wrath of the fay in the afterlife is worth his ability to live as a knight. I love how it was all handled firstly because Dinadan has a fighting style that works for his smaller frame & because every knight has a different fighting style (Dagonet’s is “If it sucks hit da bricks.”) Dinadan doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb yet his physicality is accounted for. Secondly Dinadan explains the lengths he goes to in order to stay stealth from obvious ones like binding his breasts to pretending to shave his face every couple days & wearing a packer. Later on, Dinadan’s secrets are revealed when he goes swimming in the ocean with Palomides (who evidentially already knew) & Collum joins them. Collum had no idea, which I think brings up an interesting point about all of this which also reminds me of Gawain not recognizing that Beaumains was Gareth—the power of expectation. Just as Gawain expected to find a kitchen boy & would have no reason to assume his brother (who hit puberty since they last saw each other) would be stealth in the kitchens so therefore didn’t recognize him, Collum expects to find men as knights of the Round Table, so when Sir Dinadan is introduced, & Collum had heard of him before, Dinadan’s stature & high voice don’t register to Collum as anything but traits that this guy Dinadan happens to have. Learning Dinadan’s secret in the presence of another knight who already knows & is chill about it also encourages Collum to be accepting too. So giving Dinadan at least one ally in his corner throughout the story went a long way. In the end Merlin, who can only be killed by a man (which is why Nimue had to settle for sealing him away) is stabbed by Dinadan. So it’s like a reverse Silence/Éowyn situation that Dinadan’s gender is affirmed in his ability to kill Merlin. This book also includes the part from Le Morte d’Arthur where Dinadan’s forced to wear a dress, which in this context is very transphobic, but that’s the point. It’s made better when Dinadan gets to go insano style on Merlin so he gets payback. Just a heads up about that.

Some fantasy/scifi that’s not Arthurian but may help, as Arthuriana is largely fantasy to begin with, this may help you determine where on the spectrum your taste/writing falls regarding the bending of reality/history to fit your narrative.

Orlando: A Biography by Virginia Woolf

1928 novel about a character named Orlando living during the reign of Elizabeth I. Orlando is born male, then at some point in his early adulthood, falls into a deep sleep from which he awakens the exact same person, now metamorphosed to be female. Orlando, for her part, adopts this new role immediately & keeps on moving. She lives for 300 years as such & has many adventures, including an instance where she then presents as a man to elude marriage. Transitioned so she could cross dress in the other direction. She would’ve done numbers on tumblr. Ultimately, Orlando does marry… a gnc sea captain! The success of their marriage is attributed to their similarities in gender non-conformity. Even though this book only remains in the late medieval era for the opening, I think it’s a poignant example of a transgender individual living their life in their time & still getting to enjoy themselves without excessive suffering that may provide lots of inspiration.

The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K Le Guin

1970 Hugo & Nebula award winning novel. A fascinating examination of gender from the point of view of a cis man named Genly Ai having to reconcile his interpretation of the gender binary when confronted with a society who operates outside that. His travels with ambisexual Estravan challenges what Ai understands about the universe. His ignorance forms the backbone of the narrative as he grows close to a person from this other society. Even if it’s not a medieval setting, it may help you develop a narrative voice regarding this subject you’re able to bring to your work. Also it’s just really good.

The Privilege of the Sword by Ellen Kushner

2007 Locus award winner, Nebula & Gaylactic Spectrum nominee. High fantasy medieval setting. Katherine is a country girl brought to the big city Riverside by her uncle the Duke where she’s offered the opportunity to train as swordsman (ie cross dress) instead of political marriage. She’s unsure of the reasoning behind her uncle’s motivations for doing this, but goes along with it & kicks ass. A preview is available on Google books (linked).

The Realm of the Elderlings by Robin Hobb

This is my favorite series ever. It spans 16 books published between 1995-2017. The fandom on tumblr & ao3 is hugely active. (Avoid tags to dodge major spoilers or check it out for amazing art & many quotes!) The series has many gnc characters in a fantasy medieval setting. First & foremost, The Fool, who’s in all the books & whose gender ambiguity is mentioned book 1, to which he says, “None of your business.” The character ever. Without getting too specific, there are several trans characters including gender fluid characters who will alternate between masc/fem presentation & pronouns. This is my favorite example of gender fluid characters in any fantasy I’ve read, especially since there are several & each feels unique. In The Liveship Traders trilogy, Amber coaches another woman how to hide her period while pretending to be a ship’s boy by using a sock, so if anyone finds the blood on it, she can say she cut her foot. Little things like that really deepened the realism in an otherwise fantastical story for me, because addressing those details answers questions my overly analytical mind would ask & wonder about if unacknowledged.

Lastly I'd like to suggest the article Armour of an Alienating Identity by Jeffrey Jerome Cohen. While it doesn't mention Parzival (the text), it does mention Perceval (the character), as well as Gareth Beaumains, Lancelot, Gawain, Yvain, and even Arthur himself. It goes on to reference endless examples to support its thesis including Greek heroes such as Achilles and Odysseus with references to many different medieval stories from Old English Beowulf to the Irish Ulster cycle to the works of Geoffrey Chaucer. Most (if not all) of the texts mentioned in this essay can be found on my blog for cross reference if you desire, although the article already contains many quotes.

Okay I think that’s all I got. I’ve given you a ton to think about and read. Ultimately I don’t think there’s a clean cut answer for this. Nuance, you know? Having hired an editor and many sensitivity readers myself, it really is just a professional a vibe check sometimes. You write what you want to the best of your ability, then other people weigh in, and you keep tweaking it until it’s as good as you can possibly make it. During development, and even in its final form, there will be people who don’t enjoy your story and that’s fine. It isn’t for everyone, it’s for you and your audience. No single experience in this life is the same so each fictional depiction emulating life will also be unique, there’s no “right” answer on how to write this or anything else, only the way you want to.

Hopefully now you have some tools to help you learn how best to express your vision. I know they gave me a lot of insight and ideas I lacked before when writing trans characters in my books. Thank you for trusting me with this question and good luck with your project! Take care! :^)

[salparadiselost]

Lore anon here! I really enjoyed the latest New Gods chapter! I was wondering, is there any extra stuff you can tell us about Bruce's kids that's not spoilers that you won't have space/time for in the fic itself?

Hi! So glad you're enjoying it! It's really taken over my brain and kinda became the only thing I want to work on lol. I'm not sure how much additional lore there is, because so much is being folded into the actual story, but here's some random bits which I'm not sure will come up but they live in my heart.

The gods can turn into animals, they just don't like to do it because animals are 'gross and weird'. Humans are their favourite little guys and cannot fathom why they wouldn't want to be human-shaped. It's the best shape!

Steph has definitely had Tim turn into all types of animals just because she wanted to know what they feel like.

Speaking of Steph, she loves the Manor. She loves exploring their house and going through all the stuff they have picked up over the centuries. Family dinners can be weird though because everyone has a possibility of looking like literally anything.

Steph has never seen Jason look older than fifteen.

Steph runs a TikTok account called "TheWorstParentInJersey" that's entirely committed to have Jason running around as an eight year old and saying 'fuck', 'shit', 'ass', and 'bitch' and doing extremely dangerous-for-a-child activities while Bruce looks placidly confused in the background.

At first Steph thought Augustus was like a dead name for Dick, but it really isn't. He changed it when the Roman Empire fell out of grief, and now it's been two thousand years since he's used it so it just isn't his name anymore. Bruce will even sometimes call Dick Augustus. When she figures this out, she tries to call him Gussy but laughs too much about it before she can make it catch on.

Dick does learn how to float like Clark! There's about a fifty year period before the fall of the Roman Empire where he doesn't touch the ground once. Bruce is so glad those days are over.

Tim is the only one of the godlings that came to Bruce instead of the other way around. He tried to be 'helpful' by showing Bruce exactly how different humans died and Bruce :) hated :) it :). His godhood isn't even particularly violent or dangerous to humans, Tim's just so weird he almost got killed for it.

Bruce always called them 'his little birds' as a nickname because of how they would follow him like ducklings as they grew. That eventually became how other gods knew them, as 'Bruce's Birds'. The Birds eventually evolved into 'the Butcherbird', the Mourning Dove' and 'the Vulture' due to the Birds' natures and how other gods see them. Bruce hates the Butcherbird, Mourning Dove and Vulture names with a burning passion. He hates that the little loving pet name he gave them turned into something so ugly.

[gilverrwrites]

yknow, something about dick grayson—golden boy, beloved, etc—falling for the forgotten sionis!reader feels entirely poetic for both of them that I love it so much

Dick Grayson/Sionis!Reader [Post in reference] gah yeah I love them, I'm so glad ya'll are seeing my vision! 💙 Like you said, theirs just something so ✨ about them

Here's a 1000 of fluff/Dick being a simp just cause I was thinking about them today. Like, they're getting ready for their first public event since they told their families; you're so nervous about seeing your father again since he’d snapped at you, telling you (to paraphrase from Roman’s much more colourful language:) no daughter of his would date a Wayne and he didn’t want to see you again until you'd come to you senses, which Dick thought was awfully rich from a man who barely made an effort to see his daughter anyway.

That night Dick is in a bad mood. He hasn’t really enjoyed these functions in years, of late he’d only ever made the effort to go when Bruce had asked him to; the silver lining always being that he might catch a glimpse of you. But you’d insisted on going tonight in order to keep up appearances. It drives him mad that even after everything they put you through, even after they’ve practically cut you out, you’re still trying so hard to please them. Him. Roman. He never deserved you for a daughter, none of them deserved you. But it’s not his call to make, he said he’d support you, whatever your decision and he wholeheartedly intends to keep that promise.

He's adjusting his bowtie in the warped reflection of the toaster for the fourth time when you emerge from the bedroom in a dress he hasn’t seen before, and trust that he remembers every dress he’s ever seen you in. It stops him mid-fold, compelling him to twist on the spot to soak you in. It’s mesh, with a tasteful amount of sparkle, a whole lot of delicate embroidery and it’s a very familiar shade of deep blue to boot.

“Is that new?” He asks, unable to stop his mouth from falling open.

“Um, kinda. New to me. Clarissa from wardrobe let me borrow it.” You explain as you give him a perfectly posed twirl, offering him a better look. The tulle skirt rises as you do so, like you’re his very own fairy princess. “Do you like it?”

“Clarissa from wardrobe.” He muses dreamily as he strides closer, stretching his arms out toward you. You reach back for him, but he dodges your embrace, locking his hands on your waist and hoisting you into the air for another spin. “Remind me to repay her with our firstborn.”

Despite his good humour and admiration. Dick is now actually in a worse mood. You’ve been so stressed the last few days. He both hates and understands how you allow your family to have that kind of power over you. He hates that he has to share you with a room full of pompous old men, and a family that can’t see past their own noses, and now has to do it while you look like that. While all he really wants to do is take you to a real dance hall, or a magic forest full of talking woodland creatures, or hell, back into the bedroom.

“So, that’s a yes?” Your voice is high and giggly as he drops you back onto the floor. Holding tight still, he brings you close to his chest, nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck and planting kisses along your collar. This is the most relaxed he’s seen you all day and he wants to make the most of it. Instinctively, your soft hands travel up his back, resting on his shoulders, and he can’t help but rock your bodies side to side as he continues to speckle his affections along your chest.

“Like it, I love it!” He murmurs into your warm skin. You haven’t put on your perfume yet, he can tell. He likes the aroma of your chosen fragrance, but even more, he loves your natural scent, and he relishes it as he works his way up your neck until you’re face to face once more. It’s you who kisses him, decisively planting your soft, painted lips on his and causing him to stop his sway in its tracks. When you pull back and look at him with your brilliant eyes, through those soft lashes, he can’t help but blurt his mind. “Are you sure you want to go to this thing?”

“Oh.” You hesitate, and it’s answer enough but he lets you finish anyway. “Yes… I’m not giving up on my family, or you.”

Your determination is endearing, commendable, and hopefully not as futile as he believes. Accepting Black Mask as his future father-in-law may not be easy, but if you mend that bridge, he’ll make it work. Whatever way he has to. He thinks this as he watches you retract from his arms, he doesn’t let you go however, holding onto your hand and following you back into the bedroom.

You settle at your vanity, clearing up your makeup and Dick crouches behind you. The side of his head rests against yours as he watches your face in the mirror. You try to swat him away, presumably to make whatever finishing touches you need to your make-up, but he refuses to go, grinning ear to ear as he dodges your beauty blender.

Eventually, you give up, starting on the other side instead. He sticks his tongue out in triumph, and you roll your eyes at him despite your begrudging smile.

You turn away from him to search your drawers for something and he notices the top button of your dress has come undone. His touch is gentle as he strokes the back of his knuckle from your nape, down to the hem of the dress, and he grins to himself when his finger evokes a serene sigh from you.

“Welp…” He starts, but you're barely with him, losing yourself to his caress. Your pretty lips jut out in a pout when he halts in order to refasten your button. “Welp, if you change your mind, and wanna go for ice cream on the pier, or, well, do anything else instead; the code is ‘fuck this, let's get out of here’.”  

Your pout does not subside, even as he resumes massaging the stress from your muscles. Not until he leans in to kiss your shoulder blade and promises; “Whatever you decide, I’ll be with you every step of the way.”

[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.”

[evergreenalice]

I'm going to do something controversial

and defend Paris of Troy (well... sort of... he's still a dick, fuck that guy... but like... also in a very unenviable position)

reminder, there isn't really a mythological "canon", I do not intend to deliver to you the 100% canon accurate interpretation of the story of Paris, because there is no such thing.

Moving on, Paris' situation was kinda fucked, and I think there's some interesting things to be said

let us first explain who Paris is for those unaware, most of what I'm about to say is recounted in PseudoApollodorus' Bibliotheca

Paris was born to Hecuba and Priam, queen and king of the city of Troy

before he was born his mother had a nightmare that she would birth a torch that consumed the city in flame, and it was decided that this meant her son would bring the downfall of Troy

they wanted to kill him, but the guy they had kill him chickened out and chose the human option... of leaving him in the wilderness to die, as one does. You know what they say, if can't use Plan B, Plan C it is.

now luckily (or rather unluckily) he survived, and came to be raised as a shepherd. Interestingly according to Ovid, and I believe nobody else, Paris actually was a slave during this period of his life, though it makes sense, many abandoned children did get enslaved, to my knowledge, this was especially common in Rome, so this may be Ovid viewing this through a particularly Roman lens here.

According to PseudoApollodorus, Paris was pretty cool in his childhood, getting the name Alexandros, "defender of men" for being cool, and fighting off bandits and shit.

Eventually, through details we sadly lack to my knowledge, Paris fell in love with a nymph, Oenone. Sadly, there's not a ton attested about her, but what we do have seems to portray a genuinely positive relationship, though Oenone prophesied its eventually end due to the love he would develop for a foreign princess which would be his undoing.

moving on to the famous Judgement of Paris. Hera, Aphrodite, and Athena appear before the young Paris, and ask him which goddess is the most beautiful, and each offered him something in return for his answer being them. I want to note... there was no good answer here, I've seen people say "well [insert answer] would've been better." there wasn't a good answer, it would always have pissed off two of these goddesses, and also most certainly lead to Paris' and Troy's downfall, because that is what the Fates foretold, you can't just get out of a prophesy, any action would just lead you back to it.

In many ways, his choice of Aphrodite for the hand of Helen is actually a really genre-savvy answer from one perspective. He's promised power, glory, or love, and he chooses love. In many stories this would be the right answer, forsaking those other things for what really matters, love. Of course, this ends up being bad because... well first of he's cheating on Oenone, and, oopsies, Helen is married, and anyone who kidnaps her is going to be invaded by basically every Greek!

Thing is... did Paris know this? Did the shepherd/maybe slave know who tf Helen was? Realistically no. It's very possible in this situation to with no context, think, "Oh the last one seems like the least likely to blow up in my face."

as for the cheating thing, let me remind you... Aphrodite is the goddess of love, her retinue, the Erotes were generally believed to be able to overcome people with immense romantic feelings

In the Fall of Troy by Quintus Smyrnaeus, Paris tells Oenone as he dies, that it was not of his will that he abandoned her

now, the easiest way to take this is Paris is begging for his life, and is trying to present himself as a victim to evoke empathy to convince her to help him

however... considering the gods involved... yeah no it's possible he's being genuine here

In Ovid's Heroides, Oenone says this "Your tears fell as you left me – this, at least, deny not! We mingled our weeping, each a prey to grief; the elm is not so closely clasped by the clinging vine as was my neck by your embracing arms." which certainly strengthens the idea that Paris was heavily conflicted but moved by divine will

admittedly, I don't have much else to say, but idk, just some interesting things I don't see mentioned that often in reference to Paris (I also learned that Ovid called him a slave once? I did not know this, I learned this while looking for sources, oddly I've never seen anyone talk about this, I'm more interested in this now than anything else, like, I know it's just one line, but damn now I'm really curious what stories Ovid had access to that are today lost that made him say that.)

oh yeah also, you're welcome for siting my sources, because so many other sites I found talking about Paris that I read as a refresher, just didn't have sources, not even Wikipedia for a lot of that! I'm still mad about that so I made sure to mention my sources, if anything due to being petty and wanting to be better

[trippinsorrows]

okay. watched the interview and ommggg, i can't lie, it's kinda cool listening to him describe himself as not an introvert, per se, but maybe being shy because that's somehow similar to how i imagine ltye roman? like, he's a dick and hates people, but deep down, there's also this kind of quietness about him/influence from the fact that he doesn't really know how to interact with people. 😭

[yinora-evergreen]

Hiii could i request some headcanons about reader being Dean and Sam's sibling who's coming out as a lesbian???? :3

pairing: platonic!sibling!Dean Winchester x fem!Winchester!reader, platonic!sibling!Sam Winchester x fem!Winchester!reader

warning: coming out, reader is stressed, the closet might have a glass wall, Sam kinda already knows bc he's smart, Dean being oblivious, mentions of John, headcanon style, mentions of reader wearing lipgloss/lipstick, Winchester genes aka reader has similarities to the brothers, spoilers for season 7, minor spoilers for season 8, Dean is bi, idk if i mentioned it but i headcanon that Sam is pan though i left that up to your own interpertation, kinda feel like this is shitty writing bc idek

a/n: i am SO sorry that it took me litterly forever to get this done, i've suffered of writers block and i think i finally got over it. i personally love this request! i loved writing these and lmk if you'd like an actual imagine written too, and if so, should it be more serious or maybe a little more funny/crack/casual?

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

let's say you've had secret girlfriends growing up, hiding it with the title "close friends" whenever John or your brothers asked about it, and it worked most of the time.

Your dad simply didn't really bother checking, simply strictly reminding you that hunters can't get too close with people.

In your teenage years, you observed Dean to kind of learn how to talk to other girls if you wanted to flirt with them, and Dean being who he is, was always oblivious to it, telling you how he got girls to makeout with him in janitor's clossets without hesitation and with a smug smirk on his face whenever you asked.

Sam however, did certainly notice when you'd be in class a little too late, hair a little more messy than it was from a girl's hands gripping onto it and lipgloss a little smudgede.

He didn't bother asking about it though, he knew you'd cover it up with some excuse such as that it was windy outside when you went there during break or that you didn't realize and that you must've accidently smudged your lipgloss when wiping something off your face, and at first he thought it was from kissing boys anyway.

later on when you three were hunting together again, after you and Dean had gotten Sam from Stanford, on a case, Sam had noticed a look on your face when you were questioning the victim's sister. a look he's seen plenty times before, on Dean's face, when he was looking at women in bars.

and in his mind, something just clicked.

Sam never mentioned it though, he wanted to let you take your time, if you ever decided to come out to them, he wanted you to have that part of your life in your control.

Dean however, was as dense as a brick wall with extra isolation and a thick layer of paint and wallpaper.

he would blatantly mention how good the waitress' ass looked in those jeans, and you'd agree, and he wouldn't bat an eye to it, he'd just give you a cheeky grin and Sam would roll his eyes in response.

eventually, later on, you three met Charlie!

When you first met her, you two got along amazingly, as if you have been friends for ages, rather than the fact that you met a day before.

When she agreed to help out with hacking into Dick Roman's computer, and she had that earpiece in, and she blatantly told you and your brothers that she liked girls and couldn't possibly flirt with that security guard, you closely watched your brothers' reactions.

it both comforted you and made your insides twist when you saw that they quite litterly didn't really care. should you come out to them?

even later than that, you desided that finally, you'd come out to Sam and Dean.

you had spent nearly all morning in your room in the bunker, pacing around and thinking through how you were gonna tell them.

when you finally did come out of your room, both Sam and Dean were sitting at the table, and when Sam saw the look on your face he instantly went worried brother mode.

"Are you okay? what's wrong?"

that makes Dean look up immediately.

"Nothing- Nothing, just, i need to tell you guys something..."

Dean closes the laptop, both of them turn their attention to you fully, worried but staying quiet for your sake.

"i uh... i've been walking around with this for a while, and I... well, I'm a lesbian, I like women and only women, and I hope you are okay with that"

most of the worry in the pit of your stomach dissappears when you can see the relief on both their faces.

"Damn, [name], don't scare us like that again" "Dean." "what? I thought she was gonna come out and say she's engaged to some guy or got bitten by a werewolf or something!"

Sam definetly scolds Dean silently.

"It's alright, [name], you're still our sibling, still our baby sister, nothing's gonna change that." Sam reassures you with those puppy eyes of his and that soft spoken tone.

"yeah, well... while we're at it, I swing both ways" Dean takes a swig of his coffee right after he says that, and you're worries dissappear.

"thanks, I don't know why i was so worried, i mean, we fight monsters every other day, i don't know why i thought being gay would sepperate me from you two" you answer with a light laugh, definetly relieved.

"yeah, i uh, know how that feels" Sam answers a little more quietly.

"well, anyway, i'm making burgers for dinner, you gonna join me for a food run?" Dean mentions as he gets up.

"yeah, sure" you answer and get your jacket.

you really can't ask for better brothers.

[ruestheday]

i haven’t been sober since 10am for 4/20 here’s some weed fueled batfam hcs

• tim smokes weed. i think he deserves it. as a treat

• dick bit people (in and out of custom) until he was like 13

• damian also bites people no one knows when he’ll stop

• tim was devastated when dick ran off to blüdhaven bc how was he supposed to stalk him now????

• the only thing stopping steph from completely dying her hair purple is she’d have to hide her hair when she’s spoiler but she looks cunty asf running around w her hair loose

• duke is one of the 7% of americans who thought chocolate milk comes from brown cows. he didn’t really think about it critically enough

• jason relates too much to olivia rodrigo songs it’s kinda embarrassing for him. deja vu comes on and he has an out of body experience

• barbara has seen every episode of south park and can tell you the episode based on a single clip

• cass really fucking likes spongebob to the horror of bruce who really fucking hates spongebob

• bruce uses gen z slang horribly wrong but no one will tell him

• alfred has met god

• dick and jason get their own robin photos confused

• damian couldn’t spell eloquently on one of his fifth grade spelling tests and refuses to ever say the word again

• dick is a stanley girl he has 4 different colors (heather blue, mist green, the target valentine’s day one he almost lost his life over, and lilac purple)

• barbara knows if princess diana’s death was an accident or not and she’s not telling the rest of us

• tim beat candy crush and emailed them begging for more levels and they told him no

• jason will only drink cold water

• cass learned what the word cunty meant and hasn’t stopped using it since but she says it in the most serious tone everytime

• steph is always thinking about the roman empire

• duke forgets he has super powers all the time. someone calls him a meta and he’s like “who???? me?????”

• jason makes fun of dick for being a stanley girl but secretly has a red one to keep his water cold in bc like i said he only drinks cold water

[lo-reads]

All I Need

Hello, good morning, good afternoon, good evening. 🙂‍↔️ I am addicted to this Tik Tok trend. God is amazing. Never skip a video.

I can’t link the video, rude. His page is jittadump if you wanna see 🙂‍↕️

The way I could see all my daddies doing this trend to be fucking teases. The Uso’s, JUSTIN, Roman, CeeDee, Ja’Marr????? I don’t want no puppy, I need a BIG DAWGGGGGGG. #needdat

Kinda based off me and needing to be slutted out. Sigh, I should call him

tw: sweet baby tee then not so sweet baby tee, SMUTTTTYYYYYYY

All I Need by Lloyd has been on replay for about 10 minutes. Except it’s a certain part of the song that keeps repeating and has you frozen. Your man has posted multiple videos of himself and his friends showing off their tattoos. All of them being tatted was not a surprise. Tattoos was a way you bonded as you were also tatted.

What has you frozen is how sluty your man looked in said videos. Tattoos on both arms, entire torso, both legs, low cut Cesars with the deep waves, do y’all hear something purring?! The feeling you felt deep in your belly, you could spend the rest of the night licking every single tattoo on that man’s body and that is what you intended on doing.

You decided to share your reaction to the video of just Tee. No acting needed, that’s how you felt looking at him and others in the trend, but we won’t tell Tee that part. As soon as you post the video, captioning it #needdat, you texted him.

You are such a sluttttttttt! Why would you post that?!

He haha’d your text.

Sweet Baby Tee 💕: you liked it didn’t you?

I loved it, you know that 🙄

Hurry up and come home so I can show you how much I liked it

He sent a omw gif which you laughed at. Even in horny moments, y’all would find a way to make jokes.

**********

While waiting for your man to return home from a day with his friends, you watched fan edits of him then decided to something different. Normally you’d post Day In My Life videos, vlogs, our just sit on lives and have girl talk. People who know you, know your intrusive thoughts are going to win every single time. You decided to film a “Get Ready With Me To Slut My Man Out 🙂‍↕️” video. The wig had to be extra secured because it would be getting pulled. Makeup had to be transfer proof because he will be pushing your face down while giving backshots. And the outfit? Well the outfit had to be easily accessible.

Tracking his location, he was pulling into the neighborhood, giving you 5 minutes give or take for him to pull into the garage. You propped your phone up just in time to catch you jumping into his arms as soon as he walked through the door. He put you down and just looked at you, spinning you around. “I get this for posting some videos showing my tattoos?”

“You know what that does to me….”

“And you know what you do to me” Tee closed the gap between the two of you. “You are so beautiful mamas, you are everything I could ever want” thank God you’re still recording, that will be replayed at least 100 times every time you’re missing him.

Wrapping your arms around his, you replied, “I love my sweet baby Tee so much, but right now, I need rough, dom Tee,” his eyes instantly darkened, licking his lips. Next thing you know, he had you tossed over his shoulder and carried you upstairs to your shared bedroom.

Once in the room, you pushed Tee onto the bed. You kissed and licked on his tattoos before working your way to his lips. This kiss was different. It was full of hunger, full of excitement, full of you need to fuck NEOWWWWWWW.

Tee hovered over you, just looking into your eyes. “Baby you know I love you right?” You nodded. “Good, because I’m about to fuck you like I don’t,” Tee immediately got off you and the bed, dragged you off by your ankle and propped you squatting on the wall.

“I want to see you be a good girl and take the whole thing. No hands allowed,” you nodded, pulling down his shorts and briefs. He completely removed his clothes, leaving his rock hard dick, sticking straight up. Tee grabbed it, putting it close to your mouth. You moved so you could catch it.

Slowly, he started moving his hips to face fuck you. You opened wide, sticking your tongue out so it could glide along the base. As his momentum started getting faster, you didn’t kept your momentum. You’re not a punk, you could take it all. You maintained eye contact while he lost it at the spit bubbles forming and seeing his entire dick down your throat. He snatched his dick away, bending down to sloppy kiss you before putting his dick back in your mouth. He used your mouth as a toy, fucking it while you just sat there and let him. Anything for daddy.

“Use your hands now” you wrapped both hands around to stroke him while sucking on the tip. Every time he deep throat, you’d play with his balls. Tee was like putty in your hands. His moans kept rolling off his lips and it only made you wetter.

“Fuuuuuuck. If you keep going, I’m gonna nut and as much as I wanna want to, I wanna save it for that pretty face,” Tee moved, you releasing him with a pop. He helped you stand up and pushed you towards the bed, slapping your ass. “Lay back and open those legs.”

You were gonna take control but at this point, you were the sub tonight. Tee could ask for your one no, anal, and you’d say yes. Is that all it took? A damn video of his tattoos has you with your legs behind your head getting eaten alive. Tee could quit playing football and only post thirst traps if this is how every night was gonna end.

Tee devoured you, he ate you as if he’d hadn’t eaten today. His tongue wasn’t enough, he had to add 3 thick ass fingers which had you screaming and squirting. As you tried catching your breath, he pulled his fingers out, admiring the glistening from your juices. “Gah damn baby, I love that shit” he sucked his fingers then put them in your mouth while he stuck that delicious dick in you. Your tongue swirled around his fingers, cleaning them off while he slowly pumped into you. You maintained eye contact, his mouth open, memorized by the sight.

At this point, you had lost count at how many times he made you cum. You squirted when he folded you up on the side of the bed. You came when you were bent over, getting fucked in front of the mirror. Now here you were, face pressed down by one hand into the sheets, the other hand was either slapping your ass or holding onto your hips, while he pounded into. He showed no mercy, your whimpers turning him on. You were such a good girl for him. You let this not so gentle giant completely slut you out. He was yours, you were his. Neither of you were going nowhere. Ever.

“Daddy I’m about to cum,” you mumbled, unable to take more.

“Me too baby, give me this last one like a good girl” the angle of his strokes never changed, he slowed it to the right speed to get you there, “that’s it’s beautiful, I got you, you did so good for me, I’m so proud of you baby,” you crumbled under him. Even in the rough moments, he’s always taking care of you and your needs.

“Look at the fucking cream baby FUCKKKKKK, get down here now,” he pulled out of you, you quickly turning so you could be directly under his dick. Sticking your tongue out, he jerked himself a few times before thick ropes of his warm nut landed on your face and in your mouth. You wrapped your lips around his dick, sucking it clean. Watching you do so completed the soul snatching orgasm he just had.

“Dirty fucking bitch, come here,” he didn’t even care about the taste from his seed, you were getting tongued down after that.

************

Your voice was playing off Tee’s phone. You laid on his chest, watching his phone with him. Your grwm voice over was ending with “Byeeeeee, time for me to get slutted out insteadddddddd!” Tee started laughing.

“What do you think?”

“What happened to you slutting me out?”

“I saw how good you looked coming in the house and wanted to cater to you instead,”

“And did, you defffff did. Mmmmph,” he is so sassy

“Oh my God Tamaurice”

[quantumcartography]

Eventually I'm gonna do a deep dive on every name in the Locked Tomb series but I've been sitting on this dissection of The Emperor's chosen name for a long time and I want to put it into the world. So, here it is.

The Emperor John Gaius, His Celestial Kindliness, the First Reborn, King of the Nine Renewals, Necromancer Divine, our Resurrector, and The Necrolord Prime

“NOTE: He’s just some guy, you know?

NOTE II: Gaius was not the name John was born with. He picked it for himself circa Y100 of his reign.”

These two names have so much potential meaning tied up in them so buckle up.

First, the literal translations. John is a derivative of the Biblical Hebrew Yohanan which is in turn derived from the Yehohanan, which means literally “Yahweh has been gracious.” Gaius is a Latin name that likely derives from the latin gaudere “to rejoice.” This more or less makes the name say “Huzzah! God has been good!” Now, there is one other tweak to this. Gaia is the Greek personification of the Earth (Terra is the Roman equivalent) and if you slapped the Latin masculine ending on it, it would become Gaius. This does provide a tie to the planet Earth in his name (which is far more obvious in Gideon’s name of Kiriona Gaia) and would make sense if he picked it as a memorial to the dead Earth to which he could never return.

Next, modern social interpretation. John for a long time held the title of “most common name in the English speaking world.” I believe it’s since been surpassed by James, but it’s still up there. Gaius, funnily enough, was the Ancient Roman equivalent of John. It was one of the most common given names for so long that it became semi-synonymous with saying “some guy” similar to the phrase “Tom, Dick, and Harry” or “don’t know him from Adam.” These two names make his name something like “John John” or “Jon Doe” or “James Q. Public.”

Next: the strictly biblical interpretation. The most obvious link here is to the book of the New Testament, John 3. This is a letter by one of the many biblical Johns to a man named Gaius concerning some pretty mundane church business of the time and thanking Gaius for looking after some poor missionaries. It’s honestly a supremely drab book of the bible and doesn’t really get into doctrine or legends or exciting apocalypse stuff. It’s just a letter from a church leader to a rich patron. If someone more versed in Biblical history and literature can shed some light on this book, I’d be very thankful.

Next: some name associations. Being two of the most common names in history, we kinda have a wealth of options to pick from. Saint John the Apostle was the one who actually walked with Jesus and was the brother of the Apostle James with whom they made up the Boanerges, the Sons of Thunder. John of Patmos was the likely author of the Book of Revelation and maybe the same as John the Apostle (but probably not.) The author who wrote about the apocalypse seems pretty fitting. Gaius was also the praenomen (given name) of the two Caesars responsible for the death of the Roman Republic and the birth of the Roman Empire: Gaius Julius Caesar and Gaius Octavius who became Caesar Augustus.

Julius Caesar is definitely the most well known Emperor of Rome/salad inventor and also second dictator for life (Sulla was the first so Caesar can’t take that title.) He was an incredibly popular general who was part of an alliance of three figures (him, Pompey, and Crassus) to increase their own power, wealth, and standing. When Crassus died, tensions formed between Pompey and Caesar until Pompey had the senate recall Caesar from his war in Gaul to be removed from command. Caesar knew this would lead to his execution at the hands of his rival so he made his own play, marching his troops into Rome (an act tantamount to sacrilege) to try and capture Pompey which spoiler he didn’t. It sparked a civil war that raged all the way around the Mediterranean for four years and left Caesar as the de facto ruler of the Roman Republic up until an unfortunate accident in the senate where he fell into knives 23 times. He had it coming. This idea of attacking his enemy before they have a chance to attack you only to have your enemy slip away is a notable parallel.

Gaius Octavius had been named as Caesar’s successor in his will and would go on to become the first proper Roman Emperor. He used the newfound power from his great-uncle’s death to form a new three person alliance (him, Lepidus, and Mark Antony) and hunt down Julius Caesar’s assassins and rake in treasure while cementing their political power. Surprise surprise though because Caesar Augustus (the name given Gaius Octavius after he became the Emperor) managed to politically, militarily, and psychologically out maneuver his two fellow rulers and within seven years he had metaphorically put Lepidus in the ground and literally put Mark Antony in the ground. Now, while in life Julius Caesar made a lot of moves to imply that he wanted to be the king of Rome, not least of which was modeling himself as descended from the gods and enshrining himself alongside them as equals. Augustus doubled down on this by starting a massive and complex propaganda machine to make himself equally divine, even within his own lifetime and immediately afterwards.

Both of these men led the Romans into civil wars that ravaged the empire. Both of them committed acts of sacrilege in the ancient world to further their political games of revenge. Both of them lied, cheated, stole, killed, and manipulated to gain more power and remake the world to be what they wanted. They were geniuses who may have even had good intentions and put an end to a long period of political instability, but through blood and steel and no small part vengeance.

Now I would be remiss if I didn’t address the elephant in the room that is Homestuck. I will say that my adoration of The Locked Tomb series has sent me down innumerable rabbit holes. I have researched paper manufacturing, the magnetic forces of Jupiter, Catholic prayers, polygenic phenotyping, Ancient Greek and Roman poetry, national anthems of nations of the world, and the psychology of Among Us. But the rabbit hole that is the MS Paint Adventures Wiki is one too daunting for even me. But in any case, I have no doubt that these characters sharing a name is no coincidence.

Lastly, the use of a Hebrew and Latin name makes this fascinating marriage of opposites. To massively understate it, Romans and Christians did not get along for a long time. Obviously now, the Catholic Church is seated in Rome, but for a BIG portion of the early Christian ministry, the Romans were the ones who captured them and set them on fire or crucified them or other fun and exciting means of execution. More than that, an apostle to Jesus’ monotheistic peace-loving and merciful message being linked with two deified and bloody conquerors of Ancient Rome does create this interesting tension. This tension is something very interesting in modern Catholicism as well as the Locked Tomb’s Empire.

[jimmyscocopuff]

Me after reading your scenarios about Curly and Jimmy both being assholes: I'm so glad they died destitute and penniless <3 AJDKJHGJ But seriously it's really really funny!!! Two sides of the same awful coin...

Did Curly ever grow out of that mindset, or can he just hide it way better? Additionally, what other categories does Jimmy place people in? Do dudes get like 5 or 6 different ones while women get two and nonbinary people aren't even a thought to him?

All I can picture is Jimmy philosophizing like an ancient Roman poet on the nature of men and masculinity, crafting his thoughts like Michelangelo chisels marble... while the concept of women and nonbinary people are the mental equivalent of a poorly drawn stick figure… Kinda like that one Unfinished Horse Drawing meme, if that makes sense!

LMFAOO tbh in a weird way i don’t actually think jimmy is like… (maybe this will be confusing) i don’t see him as the kind of guy to unironically dick ride andrew tate or elon musk or something. i dont even think he would unironically believe all women should be housewives and should be servants to their husband… he probably just fucks up his own relationships with women so often and doesn’t realize it’s his own fault so he acts like women are just so stingy and act so high and mighty now. he’s the kind of guy to say he has a crazy ex and meanwhile he was gaslighting her and manipulating her the whole time and her acting ‘crazy’ was just a fair reaction to abuse

i don’t think curly ever grew out of the mindset if he’s still close to jimmy tbh! i think when it comes to dudes i might struggle with explaining because im not a guy so i don’t fully know their brains but i think with dudes its a tie between seeing himself in camaraderie with them and competition with them (even his own friends, see curly), he definitely sees some dudes as below him (i don’t think he would unironically use the terms alpha and beta but basically ‘beta’ dudes) idk how to explain this but he also just is more capable of seeing men as nuanced in a way that he usually can’t with women

i think when it comes to lgbt people jimmy probably doesn’t care, obviously he doesn’t want to be around gay dudes but i don’t think he’d care that much if there’s a gay guy around if he’s actually chill and maybe even presents more masculinely (he’s just got that mindset of “it’s fine that you’re gay just don’t look at me when we’re showering”) but yeah to be completely honest he would absolutely not see nonbinary people as nonbinary DJFJDJFJCJBDF

[gilverrwrites]

But who’s is who’s? I kinda want to hear your thoughts about having slade as a dom 👀

-🐝

*! YOU'VE ACTIVATED MY NONSENSICAL YAPPING TRAP CARD !*

It could go either way. I was leaning toward Roman/Reader, Slade/Jason, but oh to willingly be at Deathstrokes mercy!

He’s not a mean dom, but he most certainly isn’t soft either. He’s mostly just a dirty old man really.

He’s not like Roman who wants to punish you. When Slade gives you a task, or sets out rules, he expects you to accomplish them. He holds you to a high standard. He takes no joy (well, maybe a little) in disciplining you, but he will do it if needs be.

You’ve gotta be a service sub*; gotta take pride and pleasure in performing acts of service for him. Brats (Jason) are welcome too, he will break tame you. Again, the punishment isn’t the fun, it’s the end result, the needy little sub, desperate for his dick, that’s the fun. (Unless you want to delve into some dead dove, non-con, hate sex talks, but for now were sticking with consensual dom/sub dynamics)

Free use to him, but only behind closed doors. Don’t be fooled, he will ogle you and make details, shamelessly sexual comments in public, but that’s as far as it goes, and if he’s on a job, forget about it. There's a time and a place for everything.

However, he does expect flexibility. You’re at his beck and call, and if you don’t make it to him in a timely manner he won’t be happy.

Other, but not all kinks that speak to me:

Orgasm control, cumming is a reward for a job well done, you have to earn it.

Abrasions and markings. He wants everyone to know who’s in charge.

Choke me, daddy.

He’s just generally rough. Not impact or electro rough, but spanking, slapping, biting, face fucking. The kind of rough he can inflict with his body and nothing else.

He also doesn’t mind you getting rough back, not deliberately but if you need to dig your nails in or bite down on something, you may use him.

Furthermore, size difference, he’s impossibly big and strong so it’s not hard to do; he likes having someone he can pick up and throw around like a rag-doll.

Name calling.

Human furniture; extending from service. Don’t just bring him his drink, look pretty, stay still, and hold it for him.

Mirrors, likes to make you watch while he ruins your body for anybody else, but even more he likes DIY porn. So when he’s away on business he can have you watch yourself being used over and over again, edging yourself for hours, days, weeks until he gets home.

Dare I suggest bathroom control- purely as punishment. Humiliation to remind you who calls the shots.

*Service isn’t just about sex. He also expects things like: helping him dress and undress, grooming him, bathing him, mending his wounds and armour, cleaning his weapons. - This is not a tradpartner thing, it’s about showing respect and admiration for him, or just generally helping him relax.

[iamintoomanyfandomsistg]

My Marauders Headcanons <3

James Potter

Pansexual

Indian<3

Mom friend, super overprotective of remus (especially after the full moon, like he would fuss all over him <3), Daring, a leader and COMPETITIVE

Top ships (in order): Jegulus (agshshrfthh<<<3333)and Jily(<33)

Top platonic relationships: PLATONIC STARCHASER MY ROMAN EMPIRE <33, James and Marlene (The Gryffindor quitch team’s worst nightmare frfr), James and Lily ((platonically)OMG THEIR BANTER THO<3), James and Remus<33, James and Peter (childhood friends and James tried his best to be nice to Peter, especially when Sirius was being a dick), James and dorca (<3 expalined later)

Sirius Black

Dark brown eyes

GAY But had lots of gfs cus he was in denial for years lmao

Kinda a jerk, but yk that happens when you grew up where he did.

Top ship: Wolfstar<3.

Top platonic friendships: STARCHASER, Sirius and Mary (exes who have now met their true loves<3), Sirius and lily (Smoking on rooftops, rivals but they care<3), mary and sirius

Regulus Black

GAY (Much more accepting than his brother lmao)

Grey eyes, curlier hair than sirius

Cold but has a VERY SENSITIVE heart <3

Top ships(in order) : Jegulus, Barty/evan/regulus

Top platonic friendships: Pandora and regulus <33 (mlm & wlw solidarity, they're so sweet), moonwater (Remus and him are so special too me), Rosewater (best friends 😭 Crimson rivers ifykyk)

Lily Evans

Bi-bi-BI

freckles <33

Pookie is like deffo a BADASS BITCH! Like i love her charcaterisation in ‘The last enemy’, ‘Crimson rivers’ and ATYD the best. Feisty but chaotic asf lol.

Top ships (Not in order): Jily, Lily/mary, lily/marlene (from 'The Last Enemy' mostly)

Top platonic friendships: Lily and remus (OMG JUST THEM), James and lily, Mary and lily (in ‘The Last Enemy’), lily and marlene (‘The Last enemy’)

Evan Rosier

Gay asf

Doesn't get attached after sex

Older brother to Pandora's <3

“TEENAGE DIRTBAG”

Regulus's One Comfort Before Jame's  

Top ships: rose killer (perfect toxic couple lmao), rosewater.

Top platonic friendships: ROSEWATER, Dorcas and Evan (IDGAF chill + Teenage dirtbag chill), Evan and James (like idk they would just get along so well, like banter and fake flirting and shit), Evan and Pandora

Mary McDonald

Bisexual

Had a lot of relationships like Sirius but she never toyed with their hearts cus she felt actual attraction for the opposite gender.

She had an on and off relationship with Sirius, and rlly she was just doing this to help get Sirius out of his denial phase and into remus’ bed.

Rlly put together.

Dark skinned, ‘thick’, shirt curls and Blue eyes 😩😫. Like no wonder they all falling for her 😫😫

Top ships: Mary/lily (Chill and put together badass X feisty but chaotic badass)

Top Platonic relationships: Mary and Lily (THEY WORK AS BESTIES TOO 😭😭), Mary and Sirius (let's be rl she was the one who.slapped him and told him to go ask Remus out)

Barty Crouch jr

Bisexual ICON

Has tongue piercing 

He definitely wears skull earrings. Just a piss of his father. Cuz it reminds his father of the dark mark

kinda physco tbfr

Top ships: rosekiller, Barty/regulus/Evan

Top platonic friendships: Barty and Evan (I feel like Evan was Barty's closest friend), Barty and regulus, (Fuck buddies be frfr)

Remus Lupin

GAY. That boy is the definition of ‘the gay best friend’

Smoker<3

Bro is done with life be fr rn

Top ships: WOLFSTAR<33

Top platonic friendships: lily and Remus(THEM😫), James and Remus (like i hc they would get along so well and have this special relationship but no one ever mentions them???), Remus and Peter (He was the only one who included Peter for the first few years + James ig, but sometimes he got too caught up with Sirius) 

As you can see with this one most of my HC are based of ATYD remus.

Marlene Mckinnon

Lesbian

Blue eyes, blondy choppy hair, pink highlights 

Similar aesthetic to Sirius

Surprisingly doesn't smoke<3

Rough and touch girlboss <3

Top ships: Marlene X Dorcas (alot to handle X loves handling it. CAN YOU TELL I'VE JUST READ CRIMSON RIVERS 😭🙏), Marlene X lily (only in ‘The Last enemy’

Top platonic relationships: James and marlene (NO BCS THEY ARE SO BROTHER/SISTER CODED), Sirius and marlene (They have a bunch of pictures of them both in matching leather jackets and earrings, arms around eachother, tongue out, winking and holding out the rock hand 🤘🤟), Marlene and Peter (only one she was always sweet with 😭🥹, this is rooted from lily mentioning that Peter was probably sad bcs of Marlene's death in that letter, he prolly felt even more guilty the bish 😔), and ofc lily and marlene (‘The last Enemy’ especially)

Peter Pettigrew 

Token straight friend LOL

I'm not sure he was like rlly all that much of an ally like sure all of his friends were gay asf, but it's not like he had any other friends??

He was such a cutie patootie 😭🙏

You can't convince me he wasn't such a sweetheart before he betrayed them. Like oh Peter WHY 😭

Top ships: I don't rlly ship him with anyone, but I think he had a few casual gfs throughout his years (CUS HES A CUTIEEE)

Top platonic relationships: Peter and james (peter’s cloest friend, they were childhood friends, and Peter tended to not appreciate remus’s attempts to include him, rather he was over appreciative to every small thing James did), Peter and Remus (the two secondary marauders 😭🙏), Peter and marlene (sweetheart and badass ❤️🙏)

Pandora Rosier

Lesbian

Looks SO sweet, acts SO sweet, but at the same time is a such a badass <3

She swear alot, cant convince me otherwise <3 (gets it from her (HEADCANON) brother, Evan)

Luna is practically a clone of Pandora's (physically and partly personality wise) like xeno’s genes did NOT put up a fight???

I Also hc that xenophilius is gay or aromantic and so they married eachother bcs they were rlly in love but platonically. Plus they always wanted children and couldn’t imagine it with anyone else<3.

Top ships: Pandora/Mary/lily (one of the only polys I ship), Pandora X rodolphus (crimson rivers)

Top platonic relationships: Pandora and xenophillius (expalined above),Pandora and regulus (AHHHAVHSD MY LOVEE <333), Pandora and Dorcas (Dorcas would be so overprotective of her🙏), Pandora and Barty, Pandora and James (James would be another brother figure for her <3).

In short everyone one is super overprotective of Pandora even though she is a GIRLBOSS

Dorcas Meadowes

Lesbian (Though no one ever guesses it lmao)

Long dreadlocks, hazel eyes, siren eyes, long eyelashes; HOT ASF 😩😩

IDGAF energy and #BADASSMF, like Voldemort, HIMSELF, killed dorcas and she put up A FIGHT you can't tell me otherwise ✨

Top ships: Marlene/Dorcas (<<3333 ESP IN CRIMSON RIVERS)

Top platonic relationships: Dorcas and Evan (explained before), Dorcas and Regulus (The reliable older sister), Dorcas and James (Them in Crimson rivers>>>>>)

Dorac and james:  She at first hated James because, for one, he was a jerk in the earlier years,two, he had a prejudice against Slytherin, and three, because Regulus had a huge crush on him and she was overprotective of regulus. But then she discovered how loving and caring James is, and she decided he was perfect for Reggie. She became the one James went on a drink with when he just wanted to relax and not talk.

I didnt write siblings in teh platonic relationships things, cus it just like more than that yk?

Sirius and regulus - So, SO complicated, so much unrseloved problems 😭

They still love eachother DEARLY <3

Srius kept on trying to get regulus to hang with hima nd teh marauders, he tried to stay as close with regulus as he once was. But sirius just coudln’t look at regulus once he got the dark mark 😭. ("What happened to my innocent baby brother who wouldn’t hurt a fly?" )

Evan and Pandora

Evan is so overprotective of her <333

She’s like the only one evan deosnt constantly pick at and be rude with (even with regulus and barty he’s cynical and blunt)

Pandora loves him SO SO much, but wouldn’t talk to him once he got the dark mark. 😭

Siblings are so complicated 😭esp when one of them is on the good side and one is on the dark 😭

Attached are Picrew depictions of what Iheadcanon them to look like <3

[richeeduvie]

I like to think that in Kendall Groomer Wins AU, Kendall sends dick pics to Baby but instead of responding like she does to Roman she leaves him on read bc his energy just weirdly overwhelms her.

The idea of a dick pic overwhelming someone, not out of disgust but out of fear kinda has me laughing. I can just see Baby looking at her messages at seeing Kendall's cock with a near shudder or a lump in her throat before she leaves him on read.

Kendall doesn't force himself to be aware. Not really, that would mean more insecurities - looking at the fact that Baby's not responding to his nudes as a mean to be concerned, to think she's not attracted to him. For Baby's sake, it's a good thing he doesn't see that and that he continues to send them, thinking the whole leaving me on fucking read thing is cheekiness.

So, he's stop sending sexts with them too. He's never really liked to do that anyway. Just the photos. And then Ken will come home to her, because she's always waiting for him. It's a silent agreement to touch each other, to put her under him. She saw the photos, she saw what she'll have.

And Kendall knows she can't say she doesn't like them. He's seen what she's sent to Roman, what Roman's sent to her. He knows...it's not valid, there's no validity in being tense over that. Making a conversation out of it. That was before they were together, and she's lost all of the feelings and need to do it with anyone else but him.

But it wouldn't hurt her to respond. Still, Ken will blame it on the drugs. Then it's his fault, he's made her in messiness. He likes her messy, he always gets to clean her up.