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

[piedpiperart]

What I learned from the new Indiana Jones movie:

You’re never too old to punch nazis

#it was awesome #Harrison ford is over eighty and still punching nazis #the main nazi guy towards the end was so devastated it made me laugh so hard #madds mikkelsen #is a good actor #I don’t want to say he was really good at being a nazi but yeah he was a good actor #one quote I absolutely love was when the main girl dropped a Nazi out of a plane and was like sorry but you’re a Nazi 🤷 #freaking loved it #I think we need more anti Nazi movies and shows in current day #because watching my right wing parents be uncomfortable in my joy of punching nazis was also a bonus #I think it helps address the antisemitism rising up again and we need to beat it back with a stick #if people see their heroes beating up nazis they won’t want to become a Nazi and that’s great

[headless609]

Cartman Angst

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

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

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

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

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

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

#art #south park #eric cartman #Cartman angst #I took schizophrenia art as representation

[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.”

#roman roy x reader #roman roy fanfiction #roman roy smut #roman roy fluff #roman roy series #roman roy ff #roman roy angst #roman roy x you #roman roy fanfic #succession roman #succession roman x reader #roman roy #succession fanfiction #succession x reader #roman roy imagine

[starwikia]

suicide cw

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#warning: do not read this post if you want me to be nice to james somerton. i am extremely mean in this post. #before anyone accuses me of shit i legit never contacted him myself or anyone involved. i am someone who witnessed this behavior repeatedly #again. i hope hes alive and well. the fact is him lying about this WOULD BE THE IDEAL SITUATION. BC NO ONE SHOULD GO THROUGH THAT. but. #he HAS to forever be the victim in his eyes. attempting doesnt automatically mean youre free of sin. #its just terrible to see that regardless whether or not he did do it #its very clear his attempts to run away from his consequences are working on some people #we need to acknowledge that if your shitty ex friend can weaponize a threat to kill themselves #so can this internet person after being called out for horrendous shit #like what was the alterative? what were people supposed to fucking do? be nice about it? #yeah as if poc and trans women arent historically given shit for being 'too mean' about wanting justice. #this isnt just the plagiarism this is the fact a white dude has been parading himself as THE speaker for the gays(tm) but has been using hi #gayness to shield himself from his misogyny racism transphobia and antisemitism #its very clear regardless this means that ppl r going to side with him and then give him benefit of doubt #if you cant handle the heat stay out of the fucking kitchen dude. this is the consequences of your fucking actions. #hes a disgusting person who cant handle being told no so hes going to drag everyone down with him #like. idk this entire situation is frustrating to me. #its also frustrating ppl trying to be moral abt it like 'see! i knew this was bad all along!' no you didnt. shut it. #for the record im like mainly talking abt twit watching those spineless uwu cutesy ppl basically saying hes done noting wrong #oh and also alt righters who are clearly weaponinizing this where u know they wouldnt give a shit if a right ytber did this. #james somerton #idk might delete this later its just. ugh...

[tomorrowusa]

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

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

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

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

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

#mike godwin #godwin's law #donald trump #nazis #adolph hitler #republicans #extremism #danger to democracy #internet history #internet culture #election 2024

[misslavenderlady]

A Little Bit Country, A Little Bit Rock ‘N Roll - Chapter 12

Summary: David and Michael are opening their hearts to one another and sharing some rather deep feelings they're both struggling with. Meanwhile, other members of the Emerson family are focused on something far more sinister.

TW: Chapter contains mentions of abuse and vampire hunting

Previous Chapter Next Chapter

“I know.”  

It was such a simple response, but enough to make quite a surprise.  

David was dumbfounded by Michael’s response. He didn’t know what to expect with the sudden shift in tone with his date, but this certainly wasn’t something that had crossed his mind. He was going through endless ideas of what to say. How to explain his behavior and panic from such a small touch.   

Meanwhile, Michael was simply looking back at him with gentleness in his eyes. Like he understood everything, even without hearing a single word.   

“What?” David asked.  

“I said ‘I know’, David,” Michael responded. He softly smiled as he leaned forward in order to take David’s hand in his. Michael’s fingers were calloused from years of hard work on the farm and strumming his steel-string guitar. And yet, it brought David far more comfort than any soft fabric imaginable.   

“I’m sorry I didn’t say somethin’ before, but I...may have overheard some stuff a while back...”  

David’s fear of the truth began to wash away as a sense of confusion took its place. It couldn’t be possible that Michael knew what he was, but part of him wanted to see if he did know some of the truth. After all, the human boy was as sharp as a tack.   

“Really?”  

“Remember the night I came by and gave ya back your guitar?”   

The vampire nodded. It was painful to relive the memory of the earlier parts of that night. Before Michael had come along to see him, his body had burned with the sharp pain that was left behind by Max’s claws. He couldn’t even use human medicine because it wouldn’t work. Only excessive amounts of blood would heal him, and even then, it was a terribly slow recovery process.   

Having Michael by his side was the only thing that had made him feel better.   

“Well....I overheard the boys talkin’....” he admitted. “And they mentioned Max....hurtin’ ya real bad...”  

David’s jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. That certainly was part of what had happened between the Sire and Childe. His curiosity grew stronger as to what Michael knew.  

“They said how you’re his own blood and that he’s been doin’ this for a while now! That he would hurt the others if they stepped outta line. I was scared to death for y’all...”  

The more Michael shared details of what he had overheard from the others, the more David wondered if he truly was close to finding out the truth of the vampirism he and the other Lost Boys had. It was so obvious to him, but to Michael, it was more akin to a case of domestic violence.   

“That’s....um....what you heard?” David pondered, wondering if there was even the slightest hint that the final piece of the puzzle would be put into place.   

“Yeah. I know they lied about you gettin’ into a fight with a surf nazi. They didn’t want to share somethin’ ya didn’t want me to know about. But don’t be fooled! I ain’t no bonehead. I know good and well when my kin are in a heap of trouble!”  

To his own surprise, David was actually disappointed that Michael hadn’t learned the whole story. It was so frustrating, going back and forth between wanting to come clean about what kind of creatures they all were and wanting to keep it a secret so that there was zero risk of their new relationship being ruined.   

It certainly didn’t help that Max was still messing with his head. Everything would be so much easier without the bastard around.   

“That’s why I....well....I ruined his party down at the country club..”  

David perked up even more.  

“What?”  

“Ya promise you won’t get upset?”   

The mere idea of getting mad at the human boy didn’t even sound right to David. He didn’t think it was even possible to feel such a way. He nodded, letting Michael speak.  

“I wanted to take away any power he had over you. Knock him down a peg or two so he’d see he’s nothin’ but a big bully who can’t get away with that kinda treatment. I didn’t wanna go directly to him and risk him doin’ worse to ya, but my mama and I figured if we kill ‘em with kindness and southern hospitality, then he wouldn’t be all high and mighty.”  

David had to admit, he was impressed by Michael’s dedication. He knew some kind of elaborate planning had to go into getting all of those guests to overtake the party, but he never realized it had all been for him. That Michael was willing to take down Max in order to make David feel happier and safer.  

It was....the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him. Standing up to someone like Max. It made his heart swell with a long-forgotten sense of kindness.   

“You...wow, I can’t believe you did all that....for me.”  

“David, I’d do anythin’ for you.”  

Michael released the vampire’s hand in order to place them on either side of his face. David’s muscles relaxed, enjoying the sensation of warmth on his icy skin. It was such a gentle touch.   

“Gettin’ to know you and have you an’ the others be a part of my family...it’s made me the luckiest fella alive. I want to keep ya safe. Keep ya happy. You deserve better than a dad who hurts you.”  

David softly smiled before leaning in to kiss Michael again. Before meeting Michael, he could never imagine being so vulnerable and honest. To not put up walls and act like the mighty vampire that he wanted to prove he could be. But Michael accepted everything about him. Wanted to do everything he could as a friend and as a partner.   

He couldn’t deny it wasn’t a little scary. Dangerous things had already happened to him with Max. The idea of such pain ruining Michael and the rest of the Emersons terrified him. This was all going so well so far. He couldn’t ruin this. He WOULDN’T ruin this.  

“Michael,” he whispered, breaking free from their kiss for only a moment. “Let me be the one to worry about you. Let me take care of you. After everything you’ve done, it’s my turn now. You trust me to do that, don’t you?”  

Michael could feel a sense of sadness in David’s voice. All that confidence the blond put on for show was something he could see through. But he wouldn’t let the secret out. He’d let David do whatever he needed to do to feel safe.   

“Of course, I do, Huckleberry.”  

“Then let’s just enjoy things how they are now. Don’t worry about Max. He can’t really hurt me when I’m with you,” David promised.   

The two boys stayed in their embrace. It was quite a whirlwind of emotions for a first date. David was trying to protect Michael from the truth about Max and Michael in turn was going to protect David from being hurt further.   

But at that moment, neither of them minded that. There was a bond between the human and the vampire, and all they wanted more than anything in the world was to let this new sense of romance grow. Just the two of them and the beautiful night above.   

Nothing else would matter.  

“So, what did your brother say?”   

“Oh hell, he’s wound tighter than an eight-day clock! He ain’t gonna listen to a word I say!”  

Though Sam had tried his hardest to hide the thick, southern accent ever since moving to California, he had a habit of letting it slip when he was flustered. That certainly was the case as he and the Frog brothers shared theories about vampires in the dead of night.  

The three of them were at the Frog household, sleeping bags and pillows scattered over the living room floor to act as the main setup for their sleepover. Edgar and Alan's parents were out late yet again, no doubt eating laced brownies and dancing at a beach concert. The boys didn't really mind though. It allowed more privacy to talk about their theories.  

"Of course, he wouldn't listen," Edgar responded to Sam between sips of Pepsi. "His judgment is clouded by his love for the Billy Idol look alike. We can't let that kind of shit get in the middle of serious matters like this." 

"Can ya blame the guy? Ever since the move, he's been real blue. Heart was achin' for some company."  

That was a surprise to the Frogs, as they had only seen the side of Michael that was always smiling wide and crooning country songs during work hours on the farm. He didn't really strike them as the homesick type.  

But Sam knew better. He knew his brother good and well. The older boy hid his heartsick feelings so he could be strong for the family. The "man of the house" to take their neglectful father's place. Michael was more of a parent to Sam after all. A good role model who could balance work and play.  

"Yeah, but there's a good chance that if he's a vampire, so is David," Alan pointed out. "We have to be prepared if that's the case. Children of vampires are quite loyal to their dark masters." 

"If I didn't see that silver burn for myself, I'd think y'all were nuttier than a fruitcake," Sam teased. He tossed a piece of popcorn into his mouth to chew in between his snickering.  

The Frogs weren't laughing though. To them, this was all as serious as a heart attack. It made the Emerson boys' giggling quiet down.  

"Anyway….whatcha reckon we do 'bout it?"  

"Simple. We run more tests of Max. If he fails any of them, then we've got a nosferatu on our hands. Everything we need to do can be found right here." 

Edgar reached under one of the old, ratty blankets to reveal a long, rolled-up piece of paper he had been hiding away. He unraveled it onto the carpet, letting Sam get a clear look at it. The paper was covered with various pieces of comic book material. Pictures of vampires, descriptions of the powers they had, and advice printed on how to hunt them down.  

Edgar and Alan had taken the liberty of marking the entire thing with red lines, connecting important information together. It was like looking at a war plan made by a general.  

"Sam, you've got a good, fighting spirit in you. With all that work you do, we trust your ability to take down some foes. If we train you properly, then we'd be an unstoppable force against those bloodsuckers." 

Though Sam had his worries and doubts about what would happen to David if the test came back positive about his father being a vampire, he couldn't let his emotions get the better of him.  

His brother could be in danger, and he had to step up and take care of his family. Michael had done so for a long time now. It was time to pass on the torch and be the one to look after everyone. A vampire was nothing to take lightly.  

"Let's get to work, fellas." 

A night like this couldn't have been any more perfect. A clear sky, a light breeze in the summer air, and the quietness that came with being at the top of a hill all made for the perfect backdrop for the budding romance.  

David and Michael hadn't paid attention to the time at all. After their little heart-to-heart earlier in the night, they had simply enjoyed their time together. The boys talked for hours and hours, sharing stories and conversations with one another.  

They felt comfortable enough with each other that they would snuggle up, trading kisses between the moments when they gazed up at the stars in the sky. Their fingers were constantly entwined, human heat and vampire coldness canceling each other out while they held hands.  

It was a rare moment of peace for the both of them. Michael was always so reckless and wild during the times when he wasn't hard at work. He switched between those two settings quite often, but it was nice to change it up in favor of just being in the moment. For David, he shared the same joy of running wild, but to a more extreme extent with his vampiric nature. That, and he had finally gotten his mind off of his Sire for a while. All he wanted was to enjoy the night with Michael.  

Though perhaps he had enjoyed it a little too much.  

The two boys were lying back on the grass, their coats being used as makeshift blankets to relax on. As time went by, the two of them got a bit more drowsy. The sense of peace was enough to eventually lull them both into a nap.  

David was aching to stay like this. Just rest with Michael by his side. But dawn was approaching, and if he wasn't careful, he wouldn't get to the cave in time.  

"Michael?" he whispered, nudging the boy. Instead of an answer, he got a soft groan as Michael nuzzled further into his shoulder.  

That settled it. He was going to have to do this the sneaky way.  

Doing his best not to disturb the sleeping human, David pulled himself off the ground and lifted Michael up into his arms. It was perfectly easy to do considering he could bend steel bars without breaking a sweat. The tricky part was getting the horses to follow him back down the trail. He’d never tried his power of persuasion on animals before, but it couldn’t hurt to try.  

“Help me get Michael home, you guys,” David spoke to the horses, his eyes flashing gold. 

Thankfully, it seemed to work in his favor, as Bambi and Bo trotted over, obediently following the vampire as he moved down the path. Part of David wondered if his powers weren’t doing anything at all and that they were just following Michael like they usually did. Either way, at least they were getting home safe and sound. 

With every passing moment, the sun was threatening to show up. David wasted no time ushering the horses back into their stables just as he’d seen Michael do a hundred times at this point. When the animals were secure, he made his way into the house, taking a shortcut by flying up to Michael’s open window and slipping inside with the boy in tow.  

By some miracle, Michael was still snoozing away, his hat tilted down over his eyes. His breathing was slow as he dreamed away. 

“Didn’t realize you were this tired, cowboy,” David chuckled, amused at how Michael stayed so still. Thankfully, he stayed that way as the vampire helped get him into bed. He slipped off the boy’s boots and hat, setting them to the side so Michael could get comfortable. To his surprise, it was the sensation of him settling into bed that actually made Michael stir.  

“Mmm....stay with me....darlin....” 

It was a good thing David’s heart had long since stopped beating because it surely would have melted. Hearing Michael call him that sweet name in his sleepy drawl was swoon-worthy. It had David chuckling softly as his face grew warm.  

“Shhh...I’ll be back again soon,” he whispered, his voice twisting as he drew Michael back into the warm embrace of slumber. “Rest, beloved.” 

It had been decades since the last time David heard such a pet name being used. But he wanted something special for Michael. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so happy, and Michael deserved to know how much he meant to the vampire. Over a century of life had already been experienced by David, but it felt like a whole new adventure was beginning. It could be truly beautiful.  

David planned on disappearing into what was left of the night. The last few minutes of darkness would cover him as he flew home. Just like Michael, he would dream so peacefully.  

The only flaw in the plan was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs as he snuck out of Michael’s room. 

“Good morning, David.” 

He froze in his tracks, eyes going wide at the sight of an old man with a scruffy beard, dark blue headband, and an old robe tied around his waist looking up right at him.  

Grandpa Emerson.  

“Oh! Mornin’, sir,” David greeted. “Sorry, I was just saying goodbye to Michael. Gotta head home now.” 

He would have to leave on foot for now, lest he wanted to draw any suspicion. That plan was crushed the moment the old man reached out his arm and pressed his hand against the end of the banister, blocking off David’s only exit.  

“Why don’t you stick around for breakfast, sonny? Get a little fuel for the road.” 

David’s stomach churned. Time was running out, and now Mr. Emerson wanted to play host. What was with this family and insisting you stay all the time?? 

“I'd love to, but I’m kinda in a rush.” 

He still didn’t budge. The grandfatherly man wasn’t looking so warm and fuzzy right now. He was serious with a sense of focus in his eyes. Like he could tell David was up to something. The blond didn’t want to believe he knew something, but then the old man decided to drop a bomb on him. 

“What’s the matter? Are ya ‘fraid of burnin’ in that sunlight?” 

He had to be bluffing. Just joking around. There was no way he knew. David opened his mouth to speak again, but a hand was held up, silencing him before he could even get a single word out.  

“I think it’s about time we had ourselves a talk. Man to man. After all, you are dating my grandson now.....and I never thought my own flesh and blood would be with one of the monsters I used to hunt back in the day. But you know all about blood, don’t you?” 

David’s veins ran cold. Grandpa smiled right in his face. A smug little “gotcha”. 

“Oh yes, David. I know.” 

Tag List: @silvermaplealder @michael-after-hours @legal-lost-boy @britany1997 @ria-coolgirl @crustyraccoon @ghoulgeousimmaculate @kurt-nightcrawler @auntvamp @sunshine-wylan @thelostsouls1987 @pixielostboy @thornthehellhound @solobagginses @6lostgirl6 @american-idiot-jpg @bloodywickedvamp @anxiouslittleweirdkid @juss-soupp @bloodsuckingfiends @peachpixiesstuff @bezinful @oceansrose2002 @piratesangel

#the lost boys #tlb #my fic #au fic #southern michael #michael emerson #david the lost boys #michael x david

[prettyrealm]

how does matty healy feel about his recent scandals?

how did he feel about...

rumors of him dating taylor swift?

on one hand, i think he feels happy and triumphant, like “yeah i dated her and you all hate me but I’m still that guy” & he may have thought this coming out would be good for his career/image in the beginning. now, i think he feels like the timing was all wrong and they should have kept it a secret longer (maybe taylor pushed for this news to come out more or encouraged them to be more open with promises that it would look good for both of them) he may feel tricked or lied to about the response to their relationship. he feels like people are being dishonest about who he is because of this and it may have made parts of the relationship suffer.

people calling him a nazi?

he was very surprised by these comments and he didn’t see this coming at all. he feels like this is a case of friendly fire or like he’s being attacked by his own team. it’s kind of like “no way you guys are calling me this, i’m literally on your side!” he’s really unhappy people are saying this and feels misunderstood. it made him him want to retreat & rethink things. he thought he should be more careful with his actions and more cautious in the future.

the clips of him discussing p*rn on a podcast?

i don’t think he sees anything wrong with it or that he was doing anything wrong either. i think he thought it was a funny situation or conversation and he feels as if the people calling him out for this are just looking for things to be mad about. he knows people feel extremely strongly about this and he may also feel pretty embarrassed about it. but overall i don’t think he sees or understands the full issue.

people calling him racist?

i don’t think he has a lot of thoughts on this other that he thinks it’s stupid. he’s confident that he’s not and feels as if people that matter in his life can attest to this. this doesn’t bother him too much because he thinks the accusation is thoughtless and dramatic.

rina sawayama calling him out?

another obstacle and another embarrassment, but i think one or more people have his back here. he knows there are people there to help him still. i think he thinks rina is being immature, stupid & unfair or just that the whole situation is in general. he expects even more bad (or worse) things to come out about him due to this or even legal disputes in the future. he thinks this all stems from greed and that he may even be being used as a scapegoat it’s like “yeah sure, bring this up when it’s easy to attack me.” overall, i think he feels this is all coming from a dishonest place.

rumors of taylor only collaborating with ice spice to protect him?

he feels as if it’s obvious that this is true and thought that taylor is a smart and ruthless business woman for even going to those lengths for the sake of their relationship. he knows that the collaboration didn’t have honest intentions, but he was he was very happy and maybe even felt cool or like “the man” over this regardless. like it was a major ego stroke. he may have also felt ice spice was sweet for this and saw it as her lending them a helping hand whether it was purely business for her or not (assuming she would know how it looks)

#matty healy #tarot #celebrity tarot reading #celebrity tarot #answered #the 1975 #tarotblr #taylor swift #ice spice #rina sawayama

[ink-flavored]

ask game ask game! 🐙🧠👩‍💻

thank you! gonna do P&J since it's what I've worked on most recently

🐙 share a snippet where the character is being a brat/smartass

Envy narrowed her eyes, ashy smoke pouring over her flawless platinum curls. “Listen, I didn’t come here to bitch, but I’m great at it.” “Oh, please,” Pride scoffed. “I can bitch way better than you. I’m the bitchiest. I can bitch you in circles. Bitch.”

I used to have a joke about "the Bitch King of Angmar" in there before I realized Pride wouldn't know what Lord of the Rings is.

🧠 share a snippet where the character realizes something important

“I also have a good time goading people into public arguments. Come on, you knew who you were inviting.” “I know, I guess I…” Justice leaned against the wall, brow furrowed. “I was trying to prove something to myself.” “Like what?” He didn’t answer right away, picking at his nails. “I know you don’t want a relationship with God,” he said, slow and deliberate, “and that’s fine. I would never ask you to. But I don’t think that means you have to be abandoned by me—by us. We can still get along, we don’t have to be separate to coexist. Does that make sense?” Pride worked his jaw for a second or two. “Not really.” Justice slumped, wearing a resigned smile, and he rushed to add, “But thanks. You know. For trying.”'

Pride realizing people care about him for real <3

👩‍💻 share a snippet that you worked on for a long time or struggled with

Problem is that most P&J things I have written are in a partial state of completion—but here's the most recent thing I've written that I've wanted to write for a long time but for some reason just didn't until like last night lmao

Pride rolled the offered cigarette between his lips, letting his lack of lungs make up for the fact that he didn’t know what to do with it. The woman slouched back, sighing a cloud of smoke, and carded a hand through her short, electric blue hair. He inspected her a little more, up close and personal with a human he didn’t immediately despise for the first time. Sitting next to her, the blunted tips of spikes on her the shoulders of her jacket came into view. All the colors and odd shapes were patches sewn into the leather. A flag with rainbow stripes sat on top of her shoulder. Another flag on the opposite shoulder had pink, blue, and white stripes. A small white circle on her chest read SHE/THEY in black thread. He scanned the collection of patches he could see—ACAB, read one. NAZI PUNKS FUCK OFF, read another. PROTECT TRANS KIDS, “QUEER” AS IN “FUCK YOU”, symbols with arrows, fists, and a large “A” in a circle. Pride had only the vaguest idea what any of it meant. “What?” she asked, guarded. “Nothing,” Pride replied. He tried to copy her, blowing a cloud of smoke. “I like your jacket.” Whatever she’d been guarding behind her intensity, it melted away. “Thanks. I made it myself.” “All of it?” “Most of it—basically anything with a picture I had a friend help me with, I can’t draw for shit.” She pointed to the patch with the drawing of a fist, raised to the sky. Pride nodded along. “Cool.” “Yeah, thanks.” She stuck out a hand suddenly. “I don’t think I ever got your name. I’m Olivia, friends call me Ollie.” He took the hand to shake. “Pride.” It must have been a weird thing to say. Olivia gave him a funny look. “’Pride’ like—” “Like the sin.”

[send me a snippet ask]

#annika talks #answered #ask game #Pride & Justice #P&J: Snippet

[five-rivers]

Life's Great Lie 9

In case you need a refresher on this work, here's a link to the AO3 and a different link to the TV Tropes page.

.

“Let me get this straight,” said Jazz, voice stressed to the point of breaking.  “You want me to steal a bunch of stuff from our parents so that you can help an alien lead an invasion of Earth, because, and I quote ‘he doesn’t really want to do it.’  You’re seriously asking me to do this.  While you’re being mind-controlled by said alien.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Danny.  “You definitely can’t trust anything I’m saying.  Couldn’t even if I’d slept at all since this happened.  I fully encourage you to sabotage anything and everything you give me.  Like, he’s hijacked me pretty well, asking me to help him and all.  I’m pretty sure he’s being mind-controlled, too, though, so…  You know what I’m like.  You know what I spend all my time doing.”

“Danny, you being part of a mind control pyramid scheme does not give me any confidence in your judgment.” 

“That’s fair.  But consider!  You’ll know where I am!  And when!  Great time to do some stuff.  Or not.  Up to you.  Don’t tell me anything.”

Jazz sighed.  “Run through what you want again.”

“All of Mom and Dad’s spare portal stuff.  Porta-Portal if it’s available.  Shields.  Make sure they can hold in physical items, not just ghosts.  I mean.  Since humans are the ones most likely to stop us.  They’ve got Captain America, and he’s not dead!  The spy dudes Mom and Dad are working for now, I mean.  SHIELD.  They have Captain America.  Oh!  We also need—” Danny rattled off a list of components, “—and the ecto-converter.”

“Why do you need the ghost torture device?”

“To be fair, most of what Mom and Dad make are ghost torture devices.  I will also need the ecto-dejecto.”

“Are you planning on plugging yourself into the ghost torture device to power this thing?  Tell me you aren’t.”

“Hahaha, la la la, I can’t hear you, come drop the stuff off or don’t, bring whoever you want with you or don’t, tell anyone you want or don’t, but remember this isn’t my first circus or my first rodeo and be aware that arrow boy will probably try to steal the stuff directly from Fentonworks if you don’t.”

“For the love of—” snarled an older voice, and there was the sound of a brief struggle before the line went dead. 

“Well,” said Sam, who had been silent for the whole call.  A good choice, in Jazz’s opinion.  “That was… not expected.”

“No kidding,” said Tucker, who was trying to stick his staff in his duffle bag.  “So, how are we going to interpret that?”

“Not at face value, that’s for sure.”  Jazz drummed her fingers on the steering wheel.  She had pulled over when Danny called, so she wasn’t driving, but she’d needed something to throttle in lieu of Danny, and the steering wheel was right there.  “He was definitely trying to give us clues.”

“Yeah,” said Sam.  “But it sounds like he doesn’t know that SHIELD is connected to Nazis.”

“You’re not wrong,” said Jazz.  “But…”  She made a face.  Would he fight with Nazis if it meant saving the world?  She certainly didn’t want to.  “How connected are we talking about?  And how?”

“Don’t know,” said Tucker.  “Didn’t have the time to entirely parse what I managed to get into.  I found a lot of mentions, though, and I don’t know that there are all that many good reasons for a hate group to talk so much about a bunch of supposedly dead Nazis.”

“And SHIELD?”

“Also unclear, but, like.  Both the GIW and SHIELD are government things, right?”

“Right,” said Jazz.  “Okay.  You’re right.  We’re going to have to account for that somehow.  But what Danny’s saying…  It sounds like they don’t have enough power to run their portal.  On the surface, this is a way to get that.”

“The surface of the mind control.  It’s like a fig leaf,” said Sam.

“Yeah.  But everything he said about shields…”

“Do you think he was trying to get us to contact SHIELD?” asked Tucker. 

“Maybe, but…  It’s also an opportunity for a trap.  Shields can work both ways.  If you put the portal generator on the outside, it’s basically a cage.”

“A way to trap him and whoever he’s with.”

“Which includes at least the evil space clown,” groaned Tucker.  “Whoever else the guy can brainwash, too.”

Jazz nodded, but she was thinking about something else.  “What about the army?”

“What about the army?” asked Sam.  “It doesn’t sound like we actually have to fight it, just keep the portal closed.  Danny’s only saying he has to do this because, you know.  Mind control.”

“Yeah,” said Jazz, “but…  That still leaves an army out there that wants to attack the Earth.  One with the resources to send Loki in the first place.”

“One that doesn’t matter if they can’t get here,” said Sam. 

“They sent Loki,” said Tucker.  “So, they must have some other way to get here.  It’s probably just harder than using the portal.”  He pointed at the Scarab Scepter.  “Kind of like how I can use that, but it sucks.”

“Do you know how Loki got here?”

“Again, no.  I really need to get back in front of a computer…”

“Okay,” said Jazz.  “Will Danny’s be good for that?”

“I practically built the thing, so, yeah.”

“Great.  But back to the army, what if this is more of a ‘choose where you fight’ thing?”

“Except Danny, or whoever is pulling his strings, picked the meeting place,” said Sam. 

“I’m not sure how important that is,” said Jazz.  “He gave us a lot of information.  I’m not the best with portal physics, but there’s probably a limited number of places that could produce the same amount of power as the ecto-converter.  And then there’s what he said about ‘arrow guy.’”

“Maybe we’re supposed to catch arrow guy in the act or something?”

“I don’t know,” said Jazz.  “It isn’t like Danny to put us in harm’s way.  I think we’re missing something else.”

“He does put us in harm’s way, though,” said Tucker.  “Like, every time we go out on patrol, there’s a chance something will happen.  He tries to keep us safe, but the risk is still there.”

“Plus, if this is an apocalypse-type thing…  And he’s not exactly thinking clearly.”

“That does complicate things,” said Jazz.  She sighed.  “We’re missing something.”

“Well,” said Tucker.  “I recorded the conversation, so we can replay it as much as we want.”

“Great,” said Jazz, starting her car.  “Let’s go.  I want to get home and have some words with my parents about working for sketchy government organizations.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Tucker, with a nervous laugh, “speaking of, we never got to tell you why we had to teleport into your car, did we?”

Jazz took a very deep breath.  “How bad is it?”

“Well…”

.

“I’m not telling you who ‘supplies me,’” said Valerie, crossing her arms.  “Not until you tell me what this is really about.”

“Valerie,” said Damon Gray, his hands tightening on the back of Valerie’s chair. 

“I’m afraid that’s classified, Miss Gray.”

“Not that classified,” said Valerie.  She’d trained herself to fight the dead.  She wasn’t afraid of this guy in a suit.  “I already know it has to do with ghosts, otherwise you wouldn’t care.”  She rolled her eyes.  “I don’t know why you think you’re clever, rolling up with a different acronym or whatever, but I know you’re with the Guys in White.”

“Pardon?”

Her father cleared his throat.  “The Ghost Investigation Ward?  Government sponsored ghost hunters?”

“There are no government sponsored ghost hunters,” said Agent Coulson.  His expression had barely changed, but… 

Valerie blinked, a spark of red tracing over her vision, highlighting small details in the way the agent was holding himself.  She’d done her research, and micro-expressions and body language weren’t to be trusted – law enforcement astrology, some people had called them – but expressions were signaling devices.  Completely ignoring them was also stupid. 

“They’ve got a whole shiny new building as headquarters right outside of Amity Park,” said her father, disbelief coloring his tone. 

“Do they now,” said Coulson with no inflection whatsoever.  “We’ll need to look into that.  But I think we can conclude that you aren’t being supplied by the Fentons.”

Valerie jolted.  “What?”

“At this point, you wouldn’t be hiding it if it were them.   Their interests are too well-known.  But to be honest, your equipment isn’t our chief concern.”  He leaned ever so slightly forward.  “How well do you know Danny Fenton?”

“He’s a classmate,” said Valerie.  She didn’t like where this was going at all. 

“But not just a classmate.  You two were romantically involved.”

“Is there a point to this?” asked her father, the strain in his voice indicating that he’d like nothing better than to throw these men out of their apartment.

“He’s been kidnapped,” said Coulson. 

“What?” said Valerie.  “How?  When?  Why?”

“You don’t think Valerie has anything to do with that,” said Damon, incensed. 

“No.  We’re fully aware of who was involved and who wasn’t.  But considering the circumstances, we aren’t sure if we can rescue him without your help.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ghosts are involved,” said Coulson.  “You would get more of a briefing if you agreed to help.”

“Help how?” asked Damon, darkly.  “You aren’t recruiting my teenaged daughter to fight for you.”

“We’d prefer to have the name of her supplier.  But if that’s impossible, we would like to offer you a consulting position, Miss Gray.  Ghosts are outside our area of expertise.”

Damon leaned forward.  “What exactly is your area of expertise?”

Coulson let himself smile.  “Homeland security.” 

“And you’re interested in a kidnapping because…?”

“A threat may be involved.  Miss Gray, as you might imagine, this is a time sensitive matter.”

Valerie Gray frowned, then opened her mouth to respond.  “I—”

“I think Valerie and I need to have a private discussion,” said Damon.  “If you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” said Coulson.  He left the apartment and waited.  It would have been very easy to eavesdrop.  Trivial.  But he didn’t need to. 

Valerie Gray walked out.  “About that briefing.”

“Excellent.  If you—” His earpiece chirped. 

“We have a reported sighting of Loki in Amity Park.  Correction, make that two Loki sightings.”

.

Unfortunately, nothing short of a Loki sighting was going to get Jazz’s parents out of the lab, so that’s what she manufactured.  Tucker was upstairs, working on hacking government agencies from Danny’s computer and Sam was keeping an eye out for the ‘arrow boy,’ which left Jazz to try to put together the tools they’d need to fight a space clown army and maybe also secret government Nazis. 

Why was their life such a mess?

Jazz picked up one of the Fenton Boo-Staffs and made a face.  She was proficient in its use, but, honestly, they were having enough trouble with magic staffs, weren’t they?  Sure, the Boo-Staff was designed through science, not magic, but the two were converging at a rapid rate. 

Still, she couldn’t turn her nose up at a weapon because of something that boiled down to superstitious associations.  Speaking of associations… 

She turned it over in her hand and gazed contemplatively at the portal.  Danny wanted all the spare portal stuff and the Porta-Portal.  She’d thought that it was because he wanted to cannibalize it to make the alien portal, but that didn’t completely make sense. 

How had this alien been planning to invade if he hadn’t come across Danny?  If he had an army waiting in the wings, there had to have been a great deal of planning for this already.  He must have at least one way to bring the army here that didn’t rely on the work of two obscure scientists and their half-ghost son. 

That wasn’t quite the right angle to approach this from, either. 

She went back to the weapons.  Portal things.  Shields, physical and ghostly and possibly SHIELD the acronym as well.  The ectoconverter.  Danny making references to Circus Gothica and Freakshow—

Wait. 

Not his first circus.  Not his first rodeo. 

Not his first invasion.  Not even his second.

And how had he solved those?  What was the clue here?  Should she even be trying to find clues in what he said, considering the mind control?

She picked the blaster up off the table and fired directly behind her.  There was a cracking sound as the ectoblast hit something physical midair, and Jazz dove for cover. 

“Arrow boy, I presume!” she shouted, because she might as well annoy whoever this was while she had the chance. 

Something thunked into the table next to her, and she rolled away just in time for the metal table to be electrified.  The ectoplasm canisters on the table cracked, bubbled, and started to smoke.  A few of them moved, sluggishly, as if uncertain if they should self-animate or not.

Screw it.  “Activate Security Authorization—”

Something hit her shoulder, toppling her. 

“—Psychic Record!” she finished.  “Red Rover Protocol!”

“Authorization accepted, Jazzerincess!”

At that point, she started to feel the pain.  Arrow boy had, evidently, shot her with an actual arrow. 

Despite humans like this existing, people somehow thought ghosts were outliers.  What a joke. 

She crawled under a different table and listened to the lab’s defense systems activate… and get demolished with the accompanying twang of a bowstring. 

This guy was good.  Which was bad.  Very bad. 

And Jazz was bleeding.  It really hurt. 

A hand pulled her up out of her hiding spot.  “I prefer Hawkeye.”

“You’re going to have to get used to being disappointed,” said Jazz, as cheerfully as she could manage.  Over his shoulder, a figure appeared in the swirling ectoplasmic smoke that had enveloped the room.  “My brother must have told you how bad I am at names.”

Arrow boy didn’t look amused.  “Where’s the portal equipment?”

“You know,” continued Jazz, mostly stalling at this point, “people can fight mind control.  I’ve been working on a study of it.  Most reported successes happen when people are asked to do something they’ve never done, or never would do…  But I guess you’ve killed people before, huh?”

“The portal equipment.  Or I start talking to the kids up—”

Sam whacked arrow boy over the back of his head with the Fenton Creep Stick.  He dropped like a bag of rocks. 

Jazz sighed in relief.  “You’ve gotten better at sneaking.”

Sam, meanwhile, was staring at Jazz’s shoulder in horror.  “Not the time.  Oh, God.”

“I’m okay.”

“You are not.  Who uses arrows?”

.

“You think Danny’s Phantom?”  Valerie shook her head.  “You think Danny is Phantom?”

“Our intel is very good,” said Agent Coulson as he drove. 

Valerie was, possibly, starting to regret agreeing to come.  “You’re sure he isn’t just being overshadowed?”

“Positive.  We have the transformation on tape.”

Okay, that was something. 

“It’s a very impressive lightshow.  Reminiscent of classical Japanese magical girl anime.”

That… sounded way too much like Dani for Valerie’s peace of mind.

“… Assuming you’re right,” she said, slowly, “that means this Loki has all of Phantom’s firepower.”

“That is the problem.”

“And you don’t have anything that can work against him?  Are the Fentons refusing to help or something?”

“The opposite, but none of their weapons seem to work against him.  Possibly he simply knows some weakness in their technology that he hasn’t exploited until now.”

“Danny is smarter than people give him credit for,” said Valerie, leaning back in the car seat and chewing on her thumbnail.  “So, you want my tech to try to fight him.”

“That would be ideal.”

“You aren’t going to get it in the next ten minutes.  If Phantom is there, I’m fighting.”  Best to think of him as Phantom, for now, not Danny.  She’d figure out if Coulson knew what he was talking about later. 

“Miss Gray—"

She scoffed and interrupted him.  “Forget Phantom, an ectopus could completely screw you over if you don’t have reliable tech.”

“A what?”

Unbelievable.  These people had no idea what they’d gotten into, did they?  “Ghost octopus.  Whatever.  My point is that I know how to fight ghosts.  You don’t.  And considering that the world might end if we don’t stop this guy, I’m going to fight and you aren’t going to stop me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I—Wait, really?”

.

“Why do you like using yourself as a distraction so much?” asked Danny. 

Loki rolled his eyes.  “Who says I like it?”

“You keep doing it.”

“Because it’s strategically viable.”

“No one had any idea we were here in the first place.  I think you just like messing with people.  Because you’re a jerk.”

“And I think you are simply upset that I sent Barton to retrieve our equipment without giving your sister the time you wanted.”

Danny was upset about that.  He would probably die upset about it.  That didn’t change the fact that Loki was the jerkiest jerk to ever jerk. 

“She would never have helped us.”

“You don’t know that.”

“She as much as told you no while you were still on the phone with her.”

“That’s just what Jazz is like.”

A collection of black vans, military vehicles, and police cars shrieked to a stop on the road in front of them.  Danny could hear the distant but rapidly approaching whine of something airborne.

“Agent Hill,” said Loki, spreading his arms wide and casually twirling the staff.  “What a pleasant surprise!”

.

“Coulson, the Loki on Park and Amity is the real deal.  Phantom is with him.”

Valerie leaned over.  “Is that Park Park or Park Avenue?  Or Park Street?  Or, wait, do you mean Park Building on Amity Street?  Because that isn’t actually on Park, it’s on the corner of Garden Drive—”

The car went over a bump.  “Send me the coordinates,” said Coulson.  The GPS beeped. 

“Oh, Park Street and Amity Avenue.  No one calls that Park.”  She rolled down her window. 

“What are you doing?” asked Coulson. 

“I told you,” said Valerie, red creeping over his skin, “I’m going to fight!”  Before Coulson could say anything else, she climbed out of the window, summoned her hoverboard and flew to Park Street and Amity Avenue as fast as she could.

.

The only reason Coulson got to Amity Park before Tony did was that SHIELD didn’t give him a ride and he had to fix his instead.  Of course, fixing his suit was the responsible thing to do, he supposed.  He had no fire power and little fighting ability without it.  Martial arts were great and all, but he didn’t think trying to go after Loki bare handed was a smart move. 

And Tony was all about smart moves.  No matter what Pepper said. 

Anyway.

Point was, he was only getting into Amity when the Loki alert went out.  Bad timing in a vast number of ways.  He’d wanted to get his hands on the Fentons’ schematics before round two with the kid. 

“Sir,” said Jarvis.  “There is an unidentified craft ascending at your two o’clock.”

“Magnify.”

Jarvis zoomed in on…  Okay, Tony had officially lost the plot. 

“Patch me to Coulson.  Hey, Coulson, you know anything about little red riding hood on a flying surfboard, or am I hallucinating?”

“Red Huntress is on our side,” said

Tucker hunched over the Ops Center central control panel, trying not to be too nervous about the magic staff that would wake up his super-powered evil side sitting in the bag next to his feet, or Jazz and Sam tying up the mind-controlled government-sponsored assassin behind him.  Oh, he was also trying to hack several different government agencies and also keep an eye out for news about alien invasions, strange lights, Tony Stark, Captain America, Danny, and ghosts, because this was when a ghost would try to stake their claim on Amity Park, without Danny to defend it. 

The staff glittered temptingly, and Tucker pushed it further under the table.  He was pretty sure losing his mind to his jerkish megalomaniac (but very cool) past self would make the situation worse.  How it would make it worse, he wasn’t too clear on, but they already had one guy with delusions of divinity and a staff. 

One was enough. 

(Duulaman was definitely cooler than Loki, though.)

(And better looking.)

“Oh, heck, he’s waking up,” said Jazz, making Tucker jump and twitch towards the staff. 

He managed to abort the motion and prep his lipstick laser instead. 

“I’ll just—” started Sam. 

“You can’t give him another head injury, it might kill him!”

“Jazz, he shot you.  With an arrow.  I don’t really care.”

“Do you want to deal with a vengeful ghost assassin while Danny’s out of commission?”

Sam paused.  “No.”

“We’ve got the Fenton Cuffs on him, anyway.  And the Fenton Chains.  And the—”

“Please stop.  If I hear any more about your parents’ branded torture devices, I might lose my mind.”

At that point, the archer groaned and tried to sit up.  Unfortunately, he’d been attached to the Fenton Balls and Chain (three point five six times better than the original ball and chain!) and sitting up was therefore contraindicated. 

Yeah.  Tucker didn’t know what the Fentons had been thinking, either. 

“Hold up,” said Jazz, kneeling next to the archer, then thinking better of it and kneeling on his chest instead.  He wheezed, almost comically. 

“Uh, Jazz?” said Tucker.  “What are you doing?”

“One second.”  She pulled apart his eyelids with her fingers.  “His eye color is different than it was.”

“Contacts?” suggested Sam.

“I don’t think so,” said Jazz.  “Who’d wear color contacts to rob someone?  I think this kind of mind control must have a visual indicator, like overshadowing.”  She stood up and brushed off her knees, as if kneeling on the archer had made them dirty. 

“Great,” drawled Sam.  “So instead of a Nazi assassin being mind-controlled by an alien invader, he’s just a Nazi assassin.”

“A concussed Nazi assassin,” said Jazz.

“Who’re you callin’ a Nazi?” slurred the archer, squinting up at Sam. 

Sam crossed her arms.  “That’d be the guy working for Hydra.”

“There’s s’meone workin’ for Hydra?  Wha?”

“But more importantly,” said Jazz, “it seems to suggest that unconsciousness may be enough to release Loki’s victims from his control.”

“Like Danny,” said Tucker. 

“Yeah, but then we still have the problem of actually hitting Danny, the Creep Stick’s ability to concuss assassins that use archaic weaponry or no.”  Sam shrugged.  “Maybe if we got all the other people Loki has first?”

“But we’re not limited to the Creep Stick, are we?” asked Tucker.  “That’s why we… went to the museum.”  He rubbed his hands on his pants.  They really shouldn’t be having this conversation in front of the government agent. 

“Yeah,” said Sam, looking uncomfortable.  “But I know that’s… you know.  It’s kind of there for backup.  So we have the option.”

The computer beeped and Tucker spun his chair to look at it, scrolling through his news-scanning programs.  “Ghost Watch just reported a Loki sighting.”

“That’s kind of late, isn’t it?” asked Sam, taking a few steps forward to peer over his shoulder.  “Didn’t you send in that tip over an hour ago?”

“I did, and they reported on it.  This is a different Loki sighting.”  He looked over his shoulder at the archer.  “Is he, like, being a taxi for you guys and then going sight-seeing or what?  Why is he even here?”  The decision didn’t seem to be strategically sound. 

The archer blinked at him.  “Who?”

Great.  Fine.  Not like he’d expected their prisoner to be useful or anything.  He went back to the alert and continued reading, only to close his eyes.  “Danny’s with him.”

“That’s a problem,” said Sam. 

“No kidding,” snapped Tucker.  “At least we know where he is?  We could…”  He trailed off.  “Heck.”  He reached under the table and retrieved his bag. 

“What are you doing?” asked Jazz. 

“Knocking out Danny,” said Tucker, smiling thinly.  “Wish me luck.”

He grabbed the staff- his staff- and let the delicious power of it flow through him.  A gust of sand swept him away and deposited him on the corner of Park and Amity.

It was, of course the wrong Park and Amity, but that was fine.  He was an Amity Park native.  He’d find the right one eventually.  He raised his staff again.    

#danny phantom #dp/marvel crossover #dp/marvel #life's great lie #op!danny x marvel #ectoberhaunt chaos #ectoberhaunt22 #ectoberhaunt 2022 day 4: staff #ectoberhaunt #day 4

[loudsnapdragon]

psst chapter update for On The Sleeve of How It Used To Be (my buckingham Juno fic) 3/5 chapters. excerpt below.

The really annoying thing about Jason Carver is: he asks Robin if she wants ketchup or mustard. Well-bred church choir niceties best whatever confusion he may have surrounding her history with his girlfriend, so he’s perfectly polite as he leans back from the front seat of the Jeep to ask for her order.

He bounces out of the car with a kiss to Chrissy’s cheek and heads inside Benny’s. Chrissy requested a solitary diet Coke, but Robin knows Jason will pick up a strawberry milkshake for her anyway, because he can be sugary sweet like that, when he wants to be.

In the backseat, they wait. She kicks at some stray cassettes in the footwell, watches purple shadows shifting over the other cars in the lot as people inside the diner pass the orange lit windows. She spots Claudia Henderson in a long duffel coat, rushing out with a tall bag of food, Jason holding the door open for her, like the well-mannered gentleman he is.

God, Robin hates him.

She raises an awkward hand to wave back when Claudia waves over. Exhaling relief when Claudia drives off without second comment.

‘Do you still feel sick?’ Chrissy asks, pressed up on the far side of the backseat.

‘Yeah, but better now. Thanks… thanks for the chocolate.’

Chrissy smiles to herself, fiddling with her hands.

‘So, um, Eddie?’

Robin sighs. ‘I don’t know, I just…’

‘You got bored.’ Chrissy whispers, like she hopes no one can hear it.

‘What?’

‘Sorry… It doesn’t matter. I know you have a lot to think about, so it makes sense. I think I get why you didn’t tell him.’

‘I should of. I just… I just couldn’t think about it.’

‘That’s okay.’ Chrissy says, but there’s something funny in the way her eyes blink, ‘He’ll get over it. He’s handled worse.’

‘That doesn’t make me feel any better.’

‘Oh, sorry. Sorry.’

And because Jason is running back to the car, Robin doesn’t even try to absolve the guilt.

‘Okay! So, what have we got here…’ He starts, completely unaware, like always. ‘Milkshake for Chrissy, cheeseburger for me, and fries with mustard for Birdie.’

‘It’s Robin. And I asked for ketchup.’

She didn’t, but she’s pregnant, surely she’s allowed to be a bitch, just a little.  

Jason frowns. ‘Do you want me to go get you some ketchup?’ He asks, clearly not expecting her to nod and usher him away with a flutter of her fingers.

‘And a regular Coke too!’ She shouts after him, as he storms back inside the diner.

She dips her little finger into the mustard sachet, licks it off while counting the stitches on the back of the driver’s seat.

‘He was trying to be nice, buying you food.’

‘Yeah, well, I wanted ketchup.’

‘You said mustard.’ Chrissy stares dead-eyed ahead, the milkshake sitting between her legs, condensation from the ice making her inner thighs shine. ‘He’s nice, like, genuinely nice. I don’t get why you have to be weird around him.’

‘I’m always weird.’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘I’m sorry I’m not being cute around your boyfriend, Chrissy. My usual upstanding etiquette must be thrown off by his incredible good looks.’

(Jason looks like the messenger boy who danced with the eldest sister in the Sound of Music, ya’ know, the guy who gave up the singing family troupe to the nazis. That fucker.)

‘Don’t say it like that. He’s cute. And he’s nice. Do you know how many boys are both? Like, none. And he smells good.’

‘He smells like soup.’

‘He doesn’t!’

‘Yeah, he does. He smells like Campbells Chicken Noodle Soup for the Boring Soul.’

He does, but only in the way that all boys smell like soup, well, to Robin at least. Even Steve does when he hasn’t showered that morning.

‘I like Campbells Chicken Noodle.’

‘No, you don’t. You were vegetarian for like, three years, cos’ Chicken Run traumatised you. I know you, Chrissy, you don’t like chicken.’

‘Yeah, well. I changed.’ Chrissy turns, finally looking Robin in the eye. Clicking her tongue against her teeth with a deafening determination. ‘And now, I like soup.’

She takes a sip from the milkshake, accidentally slurping too loudly, hiding her self-conscious wince at the noise with a sharp scowl, that is still, even now, in their soupy crosshairs, stupidly cute.

‘Well… good for you.’ Robin says, let down by her own lack of scathing comeback. Hard to think of something that stings when a beautiful girl is scowling at you with a dot of strawberry ice cream on her lower lip.

Chrissy turns to look down at her green laced sneakers, two bursts of pink under her averted eyes.

‘And I was only scared of Chicken Run because the animation made me feel weird. It’s got nothing to do with eating chicken.’

‘The way they move is kinda creepy.’

‘Yeah, it’s like, sticky. Gets under my skin.’

‘Lutomotophobia. The fear of Claymation.’

Chrissy stays staring at her feet, but Robin feels idiotically proud of the silly smile twitching around the milkshake straw.

‘Of course you know what it’s called.’

‘I mean, yeah, I did my research. For ages I thought you were just scared of birds talking with British accents.’

‘Oh, that too.’ She smirks, ‘Terrifying.’ Then she does this funny exhale, tilts her head like she’s winking, and Robin recognises it. Remembers that small movement, that quick preparation before Chrissy enters the stage with one of her infamous, god-awful, impressions.

Robin waits with bated breath, hears the first tick of a Yorkshire cluck-cluck, and is fondly thrown back to a middle school memory of lemonade spurting out of her nostrils and landing on the Cunningham's patio, the citrus eruption caused by Chrissy’s terrible recreation of Popeye.

Chrissy is many, wonderous, things, but a good actress she is not. No matter how hard she tries these days.

But alas, Robin does not get to witness any wonky British impressions, because the driver’s seat door swings open with an anticlimactic click.

Jason flings some ketchup sachets onto her lap. No soda. ‘Here ya’ go. Hey, what were you girls chatting about?’

‘Nothing,' chirps Chrissy, blinking obedience, spark of wonder vanished, 'Birdie lives on Cherry Lane, it’s just past Springfield Park, the second-’

‘The second exit after Maple Street, I know it babe, don’t you worry.’ 

Jason sings along to the Springsteen song on the radio, and Robin chomps furiously on fries to avoid highlighting how he is missing the political irony laced in the lyrics of Born in the USA, because if she starts, she’s just going to bring up Steve’s affection for The Boss, and just thinking about Steve triggers some anxious greasy indigestion.

She squirts the dredges of her sauce over her fries with practiced clumsiness, an incriminating circle of mustard and ketchup left around her legs, the Jeep’s seats marked with a murderous outline of her body. She hopes it stains.

#stranger things #stranger things fic #buckingham #robin/chrissy #robin buckley #jason carver #was the movie Chicken Run a thing in America? #i truly do not know but it turns out i do note care either #self-indulgent as always

[menalez]

any thoughts on the recent reveal of just how fucking fascist the AfD truly is?

Like I am natively German and have been convinced of them being literal Nazis for ages (like anyone who has the ability to read and look at their party program as well as the rhetoric some member have been spouting since day 1) so it wasn't a suprise but still shocking and I am very much concerned by the seemingly too small public reaction, the high approval ratings for the AfD, genuinely has me scared for the future of any and all BiPOC and international people living here aswell as my own safety and the safety of other LGBT members.

yeah they are really concerning & always have been but a lot of what they want to do is also like, not legal in either germany nor most democratic countries.

honestly i’m scared too. their power is growing and people in germany don’t seem to be as alarmed as i wish they were. germany constantly talks this big talk about antisemitism but AfD is genuinely and openly antisemitic— yet there’s no concern over their growth to power. maybe because AfD’s biggest platform is racism & xenophobia rather than antisemitism? i don’t know. they’re clearly very similar to neo-nazis and aren’t much better than the NFD (outright neo-nazi party) in germany.

since the hamas attack, the reality of being an immigrant in germany has become more & more scary honestly. even olaf schulz said he wants to deport migrants, and he’s part of the left wing party. so many german politicians are openly calling for deportations of migrants and making xenophobic statements and despite germany being a democracy, it’s like everyone who sees the issue with that is too scared to speak up. i know mixed race germans who are also afraid to say anything. and the most quiet people of all are the ones with the best social standing: native germans who have the privilege neither immigrants nor people of colour & especially not ppl who are immigrants of colour have.

the police brutality alongside these concerning statements from politicians alongside the growth of AfD should be creating more concern for germans than it is. i really hope they’ll start speaking up because this will not be good for anyone and sets a seriously bad precedent for the german democracy that germans have fought so hard & so long to have. it risks destroying everything germany have been builing towards since the end of ww2. and it’s already shattered germany’s global reputation as a progressive country that came a long way from nazi times to a country that actually has only changed in terms of image, not ideals. the latter is especially how people of colour and “3rd country” people in germany feel.

(side note i hate the term BIPOC used in the context of germany bc indigenous in the acronym does not make sense when taken out of its original context but that’s another topic)

[cowederevived]

Hello, this is a rant post because I need to evacuate some thoughts, I know this blog isn’t for it, but don’t hesitate to respond in anyway, if you agree or not. I would seriously really appreciate, this blog is the only place where I can really discuss about stuff with people outside of my work environement (because my work is my life, and funnily enough I hate my work.)

Upon rewatching Hellsing (the 2001 show) and now ultimate (the ovas) I’ve come to realize something.

See I’m not usually one for the edgy, I tend to find it more funny and litteraly cringe than cool, it’s not that I don’t like a bit of edge, A dark character can be very cool when done with an appropriate tone or contrast, or just being an evil fucking bastard, for example ruin from UU is very very edge and cringe, but I don’t consider it bad writting at all, he’s litteraly an overzealous fanatic who think he’s god favorite very probably because he got 2 UMA in him who groomed him into thinking he was gonna survive ragnarok, ill never say that the edge in berserk is bad for example, (well I do for some of the stuff that comes before golden age. Before GA guts is a dark sasuke on steroid and outside from the halucinations, I can’t take him seriously)

But anyway, even without my not trully appreciation for the edge, nowadays when someone tells me "oh that show is so cool it’s dark and mature" I’m SUPER OFTEN disappointed. I mean come on guys, really, solo leveling is "the peak of maturity and badass?" "Omg sun said arise, and summon tons of ex bosses he fought that constantly praise him like fangirls" (And for those who haven’t read the manwha, I’ll add that those shadows are among the best characters in the series, and they aren’t great or profound.) or to change series "wow rimuru is so cool now that he transformed into a demon after eating one". "Annos is peak badass, he killed a guy then used magic to resurect him and killed him 100 times!" or even mentioning how there’s people out there who consider stuff like kingdom of ruin or redo no healer "deep and mature" because girls get r*ped in it. Rudeus being labeled as a good guy for doing absolutely no effort in helping a girl who is trap in this world with him because "ugh real world was bullying me" where we’ve seen him do litteraly no effort in real life at all.

It made me realize something, for a while I thought that "yeah it’s just not your age anymore" or "don’t be a boomer, you were cringe too back then" "you lack objectivity" but fuck it I’m gonna say it those series ARE trash, mid at best, but if you consider stuff like THAT peak, really ? You clearly haven’t watched good series, and it’s not an issue of "but it’s the genre / trope" you want good mature show ? They exist, you want a good isekai ? Same, log horizon’s worldbuilding and not have the entire world rely on the powerfull but not op protag is right there, you want a good power fantasy ? Ever heard of fucking dragon ball ? (I know it’s a shonen neketsu first, but really shonen neketsu is power fantasy except with a minimum of depth and characters with personality)

I won’t spoil in details Hellsing / Hellsing ultimate because I really think it’s a story that needs to be watch, but it’s not just good because "ahahah ultra badass psycho vampire, girl with huge boobs and even huger guns and English lady boss kill nazis" the whole story is a parallel about moving on from traumas of the past and the idiocy of following dogmas / the past without thinking, and that’s just scratching what’s good.

Meanwhile what does a show like solo leveling teach us ? "Be on the grind and a sigma male and be super handsome rich and strong because that’s the only way girls and people will care about you and respect you ?" "Be a piece of shit to people and you’ll be rewarded" "every Japanese is an asshole" (ok in all seriousness that last one is something in manwhas in general and it can easily be understand that Korea has a grudge against them because of history)

Anyway all that to say, I’m tired of pretending that mediocre, or even bad series are good just because duhu they’re popular and it’s the new style. There’s PLENTY of good new stuff. But people don’t focus on it and it’s fucking pissing me off.

Just in the shonen genre : dandadan, yozakura familly, undead unluck (duh), jjk ( i mean it’s not very "new Gen" and tbf the last arc crumbles because of gege’s writing and him being stuck with underdeveloped characters that no one care about because he put all his eggs on just a few chars. Basically it was very good for a while, like mha really (even though for mha it’s because the author takes 0 risk and just wants to please the fans) didn’t paid off, but you can respect the work) sakomoto days or yes even kagurabachi (throw in the memes) and even BIG SHOCKER one piece.

And that’s JUST SOME of jump’s content (well dandadan isn’t in the main magazine but shut up) AND I just talked about the most apreciated genre of battle shonen, staying in jump you got very fucking cool stuff like blue box, akanebanashi, csm, witch watch, elusive samouraï.

And once again, that’s just from jump and currently running. If you want good writen stories of any genre theres TON, and I can assure you that you will find badass and cool characters you can self insert into, difference is that they have actual care put into them, and say stuff, and have more than 1 character.

To chill me out I’ll remember than frieren and apothecary diaries got freakishly good results and that’s very fucking cool. I’ll also remember that we have very good non shonen targeted stuff like some high quality rom coms (dress up darling (in its first parts, gojo’s continuous depression and self doubt is getting on my nerves personally, they made him regress and it sucks) komi can’t comunicate, bochi the rock or dangers in my heart come to mind) Go watch them (the diaries have like, no action at all, but at the minimum go watch frieren, there’s a reason why people are saying it’s a new goat on the level of a fmab, as long as you have two neurons and now how to focus on a story, you’ll have a wonderfull time, it’s also plenty epic)

Anyway all that rant to say : it’s ok to like trash, I do to for other stuff, everyone does, it can even be your favorite thing. But please for the love of god and anything sacred, do yourself a favor and actually watch / read good stuff, varied at least, try to analyze what makes a good story and don’t be a slave to market that copy paste formula harder than an ai fucking could. It’s so fucking tiring to see authors and passionate project crash when next to them a copy pasta formula who does no effort and just rubs the viewer in the good way to have them brain disconnect on it. I know that anime and manga is a distraction, it’s for fun, but respect work and creativity for f sake (Queue the joke about the fact that a person who does ai art says all that)

#cowede talks #cowede orders you to watch / read unul its peak #cowede isnt feeling too good atm #cowede talks about series

[soyouareandrewdobson]

Dawn of Justice: A pointless comic to a rather pointless movie

I really don’t have much of an idea for an introduction here, so let me just hand you the comic and then explain why it is rather dumb.

The comic in question came out sometime in late 2015 or early 2016, certainly BEFORE the movie “Batman vs Superman: Dawn of Justice” had come out in March of 2016.

Now let me just say this: I am not a fan of that movie really. Frankly, Warner’s approach of creating a cinematic universe/franchise for DC akin to the MCU, has in my opinion always been a bit of a tonal trainwreck, starting with Man of Steel itself. Mind you, I have nothing against the actors involved in it, but I thought for a first “outing” for Superman it was a bit too heavy on the last act level of destruction and trying to emulate overall a tone more akin to “Batman Begins”. As for “Dawn of Justice”, I hated the way Lex Luthor was portrayed in it more like a knock off ginger version of Joker and it was silly in my opinion, how they already, in their second major outing for the DCEU, made a vs crossover movie with Batman and Superman, even though not really anything was much established of the cinematic world it was set in. To me it was already just in concept the equivalent of jumping from “Iron Man” in 2008, to “Age of Ultron” without the movies inbetween narratively.

That said, I do not hate the movie and if you find enjoyment in it, fine with me. I am at best indifferent, at worst I think we should look at it, see what worked and what didn’t, and learn from it for a future take on the idea, once the superhero boom and fatigue has ceased.

Somehow, that makes me however already more stable in mind than others, who hate the movie with a passion that’s  ridiculous. At least moviebob should reevaluate his life, when he thinks his greatest achievement (or one of them) is to talk for over 4 hours how much the movie sucks, believing by doing so he has shown Warner Bros how much of a smarty pants he is. Even though by doing so, he spend more time talking about it than the movie runs, even in the director's cut.

As for this comic… it is to me just reactional garbage like a lot of stuff Dobson did once he heard something “awful” in regard of entertainment he didn’t even care much for. Like how he thought the Mario movie will be a disaster, cause Illumination was animating it

Now to be fair, he wasn’t entirely wrong to react worried, as the movie was not that good. However, his very first reaction to the trailer alone (which he posted on twitter) is telling you already more about how he really feels and is just utterly dismissive of it, without outright saying it.

Yeah Dobson, Dark Knight Returns is not necessarily my favorite Batman comic of all time either, but even with Miller turning out not quite right in the last 15+ years, you have no right to really treat it like it has no value at all in the field of comics, as even your beloved Batman: The Animated Series took in part inspiration from it.

It is however his second tweet I could find about it, that kinda makes me chuckle

After all, it is essentially the very same thing/opinion he lets say the older man in the picture state about Superman and Batman, and how preposterous the idea of them fighting against each other would be, seeing how they are SUPERFRIENDS.

Which brings me back to the comic in itself and me actually wanting to explain, why it is kinda dumb in proper detail.

First, as stated before, it came out way before the movie even got released. So aside of some poster design that he could copy paste into it and some trailer material he had seen to make up his mind, Dobson had nothing to judge the product by. And I genuinely doubt he ever even bothered to look into it and judge it then based on the actual merit of quality or lack thereof. As long as he could rage about Zack Snyder and Snyderbros being neo nazis or whatever years later, why bother as a cartoonist and critic of nerd culture, to actually talk about a superhero movie. After all, he also never played a Metal Gear game, and that makes him still an expert on Kojima.

Second, the “generational gap” Dobson tries to show here is ridiculous. The “young” comic book fan -likely to be in his twenties, even though he looks older- actually being hyped for it, seemingly because he craves the violence of such a movie. As indicated by making a claw with his hand, having a facial expression that indicates less geek out and more “bloodthirst” as well as how he emphasizes the “Dawn of Justice” in a format that is normally saved for slasher movie titles like “Friday the 13: The Bloodbath at Menarche Lake”.

For fucks sake, Dobson comes off like some old geezer shouting at the clouds how the “younger” generation is craving for blood instead of a decent plot, even though many people younger than him at the time (quick reminder: Dobson was only around 33 to 34 years old when that comic came out) also had a problem with how that movie looked as well as its tone.

Also, the second person who is actually opposed of the idea of them fighting/ is confused about it, trying to portray the other age group, supposedly opposed to the concept of the movie? That character looks like he is in his late 50s. And I can tell you of actual experience, not many people in that age group would even care for superhero movies anyway. They have other things to worry about, like actually being responsible adults and getting their kids through college.

Okay, I apologize if that was rather insulting to some, but let us be real here: Most people at that age are not necessarily into comics anymore as an age group of 20-30 somethings in the 2010s would be And those that still are, would likely not act this confused at the idea, because with all the stuff that has been going on in DC comics within the last 30-40 years, this would likely just make them roll their eyes and think “aww shit, we go the vs route first” or be slightly intrigued if they can pull it off or not. After all, Superman and Batman/ Clark and Bruce may be friends, but that hasn't stopped people from writing stories where the two had to fight against each other. Just ask the people familiar with Injustice.

Really, the only reason we have that early retirement citizen look at the poster in confusion, is because Dobson needed someone to represent him and his opinion. And to be honest, the fact that Dobson, someone in his late 30s at this point identifies more with someone 15+ years his senior, is kinda weird. Like, is Dobson that old fashioned? Or did the years already have a bad effect at his looks and in real life he looked more to that, then he would ever admit?

Anyway, it just stinks of creating some sort of schism between generations, by insinuating that the younger generation is essentially bloodthirsty, while an older one would love something more positive. Which frankly, is dumb to assume, as age does not necessarily account for taste in some cases.

Honestly though, the funniest aspect of the comic for me however, is the way it is structured. Cause it reminds me of that pile of trash

And yeah, I know that Stan Kelly is meant to be a joke by the Onion about political comic artists in newspapers, but I honestly think those joke comics are to a degree so accurate to the mindset of some people on either side of the political spectrum, it hurts. And in regard of Dobson… well, Kelly is a joke. Dobson is the real deal.

Finally, like with many of his comics, Dobson likes to complain, but he does not really “offer” an alternative. Neither did he in comments or on twitter. And what alternative am I talking about?

Well, simple: If he thinks Dawn of Justice will suck cause he wants something more child friendly and comic like…

Why doesn’t he just recommend for others the animated movie “The Batman/Superman Movie: Worlds Finest” from 1997, based on the Superman and the Batman Animated Series of the 90s, on which later the JLA cartoon based its design and style?

Oh right! Because a Dobson only wants to complain but never help improve the status quo

#adobsonartwork #superman #batman #syac #so you are a cartoonist #tom preston #andrew dobson #review #dawn of justice #dceu #Youtube

[readingslover]

Chapter 3

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

On the first morning at Meredith’s house, Amory was woken up by the noise in the hallway.

“George’s room is bigger than mine. I have more clothes, I should get the bigger room.” Izzie complained loudly.

Amory got up, walked to the door, and opened it, still feeling groggy. “Do you really have to yell in the morning?” Her complaint was completely ignored by them.

“I got here first, and my room is like two inches bigger. Am has the biggest room out of us three.” George answered.

“Please, leave me out of it. Besides, I was the first one who moved in, so it’s only fair I get the biggest room.” The blonde said with an innocent smile as she went down the stairs, still fully waking up from her good sleep.

“We would have more room if you cleaned up your mom’s boxes.” She hears Izzie says as she walks down the stairs.

As the girl poured herself a mug of coffee and prepared a toast, she could still hear the other two bickering, following Meredith around the house. Amory made Meredith a cup too, feeling some sympathy toward her. She took the mug giving the blonde a thankful look. 

“Ugh, sometimes they could be a little more like you,” Meredith says to her friend continuing to drink from her cup.

“Only sometimes?” Amory asked playfully as she headed up the stairs to get dressed.

~~~~~~

“Fools on bikes killing themselves. Natural selection is what is it.” their resident says when they walk down the hallway.

“So what’s up with the Nazi, is she off her meds?” Alex asks Amory and George, since they’re walking next to him.

“You never heard of the race?” George asked him in disbelief.

On their way to the ER they walk past the OR board where Dr. Webber, Dr. Shepherd, and Dr. Burke are standing.

“Chief, Dead Baby Bike Race started twenty minutes ago.” Dr. Bailey informed the three.

“Alright people, Dead Baby Bike Race Day!” The chief yelled out and the group walked further to the ER.

“Every year this bar-” George started, but got interrupted by Meredith. “The Dead Baby Bar.”

“Every year, they hold this underground bike race.” The boy continued.

“It’s the biggest race there is in Seattle for now,” Amory added.

“Don’t you wonder why someone would name a bar something so disgusting?” Izzie asked while we put on our yellow gowns. 

“Keep your panties on, Nancy Drew,” Cristina said, making Amory start laughing a bit.

“The race is completely illegal, and-” George started, but this is the second time Meredith cuts him off. “Crazy, a bunch of bike messengers racing against traffic trying to beat each other, for free shots of tequila.”

“All-out, no holds barred competition, sounds like fun,” Alex says.

“Yeah, you would think that,” Izzie says.

“That’s not fun, it’s dangerous. There is a big chance you could get seriously hurt. But then again, we finally would have gotten rid of your whining and rudeness.” Amory says while she ties George’s gown.

“The race doesn’t even have any rules. Except eye gouging. No eye gouging.” George informs.

“Great, we’ll be trapped in the Pit bandaging up idiots when we could be in the OR?” Cristina complains.

“What kind of people engage in a race that has, as its only rule, that you can’t rip out eyeballs of another human being?” George continues his rant while he now ties Amory’s gown.

“Men, Georgie, men,” Alex says, knowing how stupid most of them are.

“I need someone to get up to the OR floor, the Chief needs a right hand.” Making most of the interns put their hand up wanting to be in the OR. After looking around the group she picks George.

“Okay people, the rules of trauma. Don’t mingle with the ER interns, they don’t know their ass from their esophagus. Sew fast, discharge fast, take bodies up to the OR yesterday. And don’t let me catch you fighting over patients. Got it?” Their attending turns around and walks off lettering the group of interns all stand there for a few seconds. “Come on, let’s go.”

~~~~~~

While Alex and Meredith fought over a guy, Amory walked off to a different bed. The man on it had no obvious serious injuries apart from a deep gash on his forehead.

“Hello, I’m Doctor Madden.” She introduced herself smiling a little. “Do you mind if I clean you up a little and you can tell me what happened?”

“Wow, your smile is beautiful.” The guy says to the blonde. “I’m Rocky.”

“Well, if you wanted to be like the movie, you sure picked the wrong sport.” She laughed.

“Haha, very funny.” He smirked. “My real name is Liam, it doesn’t sound as good as Rocky, right?”

The intern put a temporary dressing over his forehead wound before she gently cleaned up all of his scrapes.

“Liam’s a good name.” She smiled at him.

“Then you call me Liam. you know, your hands are magic.”

“Years of med school and practice.” Amory chuckled feeling slightly uncomfortable as he continues to stare at her.

“Aren’t you too young to be a doctor?”

“I’m an intern. So no, I’m not too young.” She answers.

“You have a beautiful smile, I’m Rocky. What’s your name.” He asked again.

This made Amory look at him wondering if he was serious. He was serious, even though they have already gone over this.

“Liam, how are you feeling?” She asked trying to mask her concerned look not wanting to alarm him.

Amory asked Dr. Bailey if she could order a CT scan for him. After explaining to her why Amory thinks a CT scan is necessary she gave the intern the green light. 

At the same time, Dr. Shepherd was examining him. 

“Isn’t she beautiful?” The blonde heard Liam ask Dr. Shepherd when she arrived back at his bed. “She won’t tell me her name though.”

Dr. Shepherd smiled amused because in the last few minutes, he had been in the room, the intern told Liam my name at least 10 times if not more.

“Well, Mr. Thompson, you have a bad concussion and a severe case of amnesia. I want to keep you in overnight for observation.” Dr. Shepherd concluded his exam.

“Is there anyone we can call for you?” Amory asked him when she noticed he hasn’t written down anyone to call.

“You can give me your number.” He winked, making Dr. Shepherd laugh out loud.

“Yeah, no… Nice try though.” She says putting down the chart and walking away.

“My brother is here somewhere, he was also racing. His name is Viper. Could you find him, please?”

~~~~~~

After a long day, Izzie, George and Amory are sitting on the couch watching Meredith’s mother’s surgery tapes that we found lying around.

“Ooh, this one is skin grafting!” Izzie says as we pick the DVD’s out of the boxes.

“No way! I’ve never seen that before.” The other blonde say feeling excited.

“Are those my mother’s surgical tapes?” Amory didn’t notice Meredith had walked in until now.

“We should watch the skins grafting one first,” George suggests in all seriousness.

“Where did all this stuff come from.” Meredith asks when she walks further into the room

“Izzie unpacked some of your mother’s boxes,” IAmory says pointing to her.

“I was upset, and when I’m upset I like to nest.” She came in defense.

While they continue going through the boxes Meredith begins to take down some pictures that are standing around the house.

“No. No. We’re not watching my mother’s surgical tapes, we’re not unpacking boxes and we’re not having long conversations where we celebrate the moments of our lives.” Meredith says angrily.

~~~~~~

While walking to the hospital the next day, on the day of Izzie’s and Cristina’s harvest surgery, Meredith complained to Cristina and Amory.

“They’re everywhere, all the time. Izzie’s all perky and George does this thing where he’s helpful and considerate. They share food and they say thighs and they move things and they breathe. Ugh, they’re like hammy. I mean, at least you, Am, are not that bad. You keep to yourself, but you’re happy too.”

“I’m right here. I can hear you. But, I’d rather be happy than be all depressed. Besides, I make your coffee in the morning, so you don’t get to complain.” The blonde replied.

“Okay, now even I want to live with you.” Cristina joked. “Just kick the rest out.”

“I can’t. They just moved in. I asked them to move in.” The dirty blonde says.

“So what, you’re just gonna repress everything in some deep dark twisted place until one day you snap and kill them?” Cristina asked.

“Yep.”

“Well, I’ve listened to a lot of murder podcasts if you ever need a helping hand,” Amory replied, not really fazed by the fact that she would do this.

“This is why we are friends. You’re both as disturbing as I am. Only, Am is better at hiding it.” The three of them smiled.

Alex followed behind us, and we walked into the hospital. “Why is the Nazi making us stay in the pit two days in a row?”

“Leftovers,” Amory answered shortly.

“Leftovers.” Meredith and Alex agreed.

“Got to get the cyclist who were too drunk, stupid, or scared to get themselves to a hospital yesterday,” The blonde continued.

“Meanwhile, she gets to do a freaking organ harvest.” The boy continued complaining.

“It kills you doesn’t it? Two women caught the harvest.” Cristina responded making Amory and Meredith laugh.

“No, it kills me that anybody got the harvest but me. Boobs do not factor into this equation. Unless you want to show me yours.”

“Comes from the person who used the possession of ovaries as an insult not too long ago,” Amory said with her brows raised.

“Oh, shut up.”

“I’m gonna become a lesbian,” Meredith answered making Amory and Cristina agree.

~~~~~~

Later on, Meredith and Amory were walking through trauma when the blonde noticed Mer’s patient from yesterday was here again.

“What’s he doing here?” She asked while nodding toward him trying to make Meredith look the same way as the blonde was.

“Probably fell off his bike again,” Alex replied

Amory goes straight to him letting Meredith and Alex bicker, again.

“Viper? Are you okay?” She asks putting a hand on his shoulder and crouching down next to him.

He looked up at her shaking his head before collapsing, holding his side blood spilling from his mouth.

“I need some help over here.”

Viper’s wound was open and infected and he had severe internal bleeding, Dr. Bailey let the intern and Meredith scrub in, much to Alex’s dismay.

“I’m gonna go update his brother,” The blonde says to Meredith and Dr. Bailey. Liam, the brother, was still in the hospital, due to overnight observation.

“Good morning!” Amory says when she enters his room.

“Doctor Madden, a pleasure to see your face when I wake up,” Liam says smirking.

“You are such a flirt. At least you remembered my name.” She says before updating him on his brother.

“You… You got a boyfriend?” Liam asked.

“No… I, eum, don’t really have time for that.” Amory chuckled as he watched her hopeful.

“Well, it would be inappropriate for me to make any advances since I am your patient, but maybe when we meet again and you are free. We could go out.” He suggested.

“How about we focus on you and your brother,” The blonde suggested.

~~~~~~

Later that same evening, Amory, George, Izzie, and Cristina are sitting on the couch watching the surgical tapes, despite what Meredith said the night before. When the girl noticed Meredith had come in she carefully looked at Meredith to study her reaction

“We, we were just… Cristina made us!” George let out, slightly panicked.

“What are we watching?” Meredith asked after a few moments of silence, sitting down on the couch next to Izzie. 

“You’re such a terrible liar, George,” Amory said as she patted his head.

“This is the one where your mother literally pulls this guy’s face off,” Izzie said excitedly.

The rest of the evening was spent watching the tapes and throwing the occasional popcorn at each other.

#cristina yang #derek shepherd #fanfic #alex karev #grey's anatomy #grey's anatomy imagines #greys abc #meredith grey #greys #miranda bailey #anatomy #richard webber #izzie stevens #george o'malley #preston burke

[kendallroygf]

Your Kendall post speaks volumes. I never knew how to articulate it properly but I always think (idk if it’s canon or not) His ex wife is Jewish, his best friend Iranian and his daughter, South Asian. But he’s aligning himself with parties like ATN etc. I don’t know, it’s a funny thing to me because wether or not the writers did this on purpose or not but the people he’s closest to (aside from his sibs) are as you said, from marginalised communities. Does he think the amount of wealth a person earns suddenly makes them immune to a system that wasn’t originally built for anyone aside for people like him. I wonder what his stance would’ve been on Mckenen if he were in the room when they were all deciding who should be president. It’s more personal for him, his daughter is quite literally apart of the community that Mckenen demonises. Not even just for Kendall but for Stewy & Marcia too. Like they can’t be seen opposing people like him because where does that put them? Just being poc in a cooperate world is threatening enough. This is me putting too much thought into it while also knowing the writers maybe didn’t when it comes to the Sophie/Marcia/Stewy and the role they have to put on.

hmm i don’t know how qualified i am to speak on this but in terms of ‘aligning himself with atn’ i truly think it’s never been an conscious choice for kendall to do that. like it came with the job. logan groomed kendall to one day be in charge of waystar and subsequently atn for however many years and i think a consequence of that is that kendall doesn’t really have any concrete ideologies/beliefs, much like roman. but similar to shiv (although her politics are way more clear) he has this abstract idea of ‘doing good things’ with waystar and wanting to be a ‘good person’ but this in itself kind of centres around logan . like his desire to ‘be good’ is just a desire to be good in comparison to his father (i’m a good person i’m better than you etc) but ultimately kendall (in s1 mostly) wanted to be the Good Guy but without much foresight on what that actually looks like and i think that’s where his relationships with stewy, rava and sophie come in i suppose. but i don’t think kendall intentionally created a relationship with stewy and rava or adopted sophie out of tokenism or anything. i simply think he connected to stewy and rava in some way mostly because they oppose logan and what he Represents very outwardly and consciously or unconsciously that’s what kendall was looking for. it stems from that patricidal drive + resentment kendall’s always had for logan but ultimately i think kendall is too self absorbed to think more deeply about what stewy or his daughter might face esp in terms of the toxicity of atn or what part kendall himself plays in it all. but i think i agree with you in the sense it seems kendall does think material wealth kind of shields you from having to deal with institutionalised racism + i played back that scene and kendall says wrt to atn and waystar he’s ‘trying to keep the world safe’ for his kids so i do think that he thinks that sophie was ultimately safe from all that and he probably assumes people like stewy and marcia are too. so with that in mind i don’t think he really counts his daughter as part of the many marginalised groups that mencken demonises even though sophie as we see isn’t exempt from facing racism. like at all. as for what kendall’s stance would be on mencken if he was in that room in ‘what it takes’ i could not say for sure but i think that itself goes back to kendall not having any concrete ideology or politics except on an entirely abstract level. like mencken’s a ‘nazi’ but ‘on a business level, they need to have a relationship’ so i think honestly his stance would be completely determined by his state of mind wrt to himself and his father. but no yeah i agree it’s probably extremely difficult for stewy, marcia and stewy who have all at one point been othered or treated as nrpi by the roys while still being closely connected to it all.

#idk kendall’s politics are just so esp hard to pinpoint bc yeah he’s sensitive to logan’s antisemitism and other forms of prejudice but #then a whole lot of his outward politics are performative and he can only really empathise with the marginalised if he can relate to himself #*relate it to himself #in some way like w the cruise victims in s3 . like when he hates his dad in s3 shiv and roman are ‘nazi lovers’ but in s4 he thinks it’s #imperative they have a relationship on a ‘business level’ so i genuinely think he’s like roman and sees all that #as Not Real and politics as pointless in a way but also he does acc give a shit abt ppl but kind of surface level. nd regards to stewy and #marcia it’s complex bc they kind of chose to align themselves with atn and waystar and the roys like while obv they do exp racism #stewy is also friends with mencken according to arian and marcia Married logan so it’s not like kendall’s belief that material wealth #divorces you from true marginalisation is coming from nothing bc ultimately the amount go wealth marcia and stewy have acquired means #*of wealth #they’ve stepped on the backs of many also marginalised ppl themselves bc that’s like. literally what capitalism is. #but also i am 17 and do not have enough time to read the books i want to read so my knowledge is quite bare. i wish i could talk more on the #politics aspect of this in a more meaningful way but alas #but yeah. thank u for sending this ask this was soo interesting to talk abt #p #succ. #kendall

[secretgamergirl]

I guess the moral is people are not the exact right amount of Online, or something. Also this is my only venting outlet right now can you tell?

So apparently last night was “the Gaming Awards” which I didn’t watch for quite a lot of reasons, and hey, full disclosure I’m not doing any research or digging up old links on anything here, but I’m told at one point some teenager snuck on stage and shouted some kinda vague incoherent gibberish that sounded like some kind of neo-nazi conspiracy talk.

Spoiler: It was.

But apparently that was too simple an answer for some people, so they went trying to work out who this kid was and the first thing they find out is he gets invited on far right talk shows.

Which makes sense, because again, this is not a complicated story.

But... I dunno, I guess people were curious, hey, what did this kid do that people wanted to book him on far right talk shows? Oh well apparently however many years ago it was he did some kind of similar mic grab thing at some other thing to shout something incoherent about Hong Kong.

This makes perfect sense to me, the woman who studies all the dumb thing nazis do, remembering how part of the honestly-thin-enough-there’s-no-excuse-not-to-just-learn-what’s-in-it Nazi playbook, they made a huge push to colonize a major protest in Hong Kong, and were successful to the extent where even if I didn’t keep tabs on these things I probably would have noticed the bit where a bunch of mainstream news people who were paying just enough attention to nazi imagery to spot it in protest coverage and run some “well isn’t that peculiar?” stories but failed to pick up on the deal there.

The deal there by the way is nazis just find anything they can where a lot of young people seem to have a lot of energy and enthusiasm and desperately try to embed themselves both to recruit enthusiastic kids who don’t really know enough about the subject of their enthusiasm that the right buzzwords can groom them into new nazi recruits, and picking up a new cover story to throw the blame onto left-wing stuff when caught committing crimes later. You see this all the time when people fall for it and go on to write stuff like “the shooter didn’t seem to have any clear political motive. While his social media feed included some horrible antisemitic propaganda, he was a huge supporter of Bernie Sanders in 2015,” etc.

So OK nothing contradicts the obvious thing that the weird kid the far right loves shouting about Jews and the Clintons was just some nazi kid, but... yeah I’m seeing news stories talking about how he has a history of supporting good political causes and it’s a shame he didn’t do that instead of shouting inane gibberish. Like, no, this is the op now, that was the op then, this isn’t complicated people.

But since I’m still knocked off the site where people tend to talk about these things, I’m basically reading about this over someone’s shoulder, and I see an exchange in the comments thread under someone posting one of these stories, where one person says “wow this kid is way too online, he really needs to go out and touch grass” and then someone (probably a nazi? Seemed like there were a lot in the thread but it’s annoying to check when I can’t log in) responds to that with “how dare you suggest this child self-harm!?” and like... whether you’re being a disingenuous weirdo pretending to believe this or you actually believe this, the premise you’re running with is that the phrase “touch grass” is somehow violent? Like, how does this work? Is the grass in your mind razor-sharp? Should foot or hand meet it, the flesh shall be sliced to ribbons and the child may die? That’s... a new and interesting bit of nonsense.

... I wasn’t building to any sort of larger point here. Just I dunno, when the weird person says the stuff that sounds like nazi crap and then cursory research says nazis love’em, stop there and save yourself some time? Otherwise you end up where I am here looking at some weirdo shouting about people threatening to murder children because someone suggested maybe a young child should be like playing tag rather than getting groomed by nazis into pulling weird stunts.

#nazis #basic political literacy #touch grass #gamer awards