#i smell commies

[grossyportraits]

Ronald Reagan Portrait Mouse Pad

Ronald Reagan Portrait Mouse Pad. #ronaldreagan #ronald #reagan #mousepads

€19.73 BUY HERE Ronald Reagan Portrait Mouse Pad Features Plays smooth and stands firm, just like a mouse pad should Microweave polyester surface for optimal mouse control Anti-slip natural rubber base Anti-fray edges and pill-resistant surface for maximum durability Supports optical and laser mice Available in Small (9.5″ x 8″ / 24.1cm x 20.3cm) and Medium (14.5″ x 12.12″ / 36.8cm x…

[edducard]

doodles from the past few days that I don't think I uploaded here

[itsbansheebitch]

Rants at the Hairdresser

her, behind me trimming my hair: "it's so wild how big cars are. Seems a bit dangerous, ya know?"

me, enjoying the smell of the stuff she sprayed in my hair: "Yeah, apparently that's because it's cheaper to have a car classified as a 'light truck' since you can get past safety regulations and they have different frames."

her, who has paused working on my hair: "Wait, are you serious?"

me: "Yeah, apparently it's a lot cheaper for companies to do that. And it really sucks since driving one of those cars is super dangerous, but it's even more dangerous for other people, especially if they're in a smaller car. Since it would be more safe to be another driver if they ALSO have a 'light truck,' everyone is caught in a cycle of getting bigger and bigger cars. All of which are extremely dangerous and have made being a pedestrian even more dangerous."

her: deep in thought, silent.

me, happy that someone is letting me rant about this: "Oh, the new Cadillacs are the size of tanks. That's not an exaggeration, by the way."

her, stunned: ???? "what the actual hell???"

we're silent for a bit

her, hesitantly, since I look like white trash and she has at least 10 piercings and pink hair: "I feel like America has been that way for a while... ya know?"

me: "Oh yeah, I totally get what you're saying, like, putting profit over people's safety?"

her, assured now that she knows we're both too commie pilled for this kind of conversation with someone else: "Yes! Exactly! It really sucks, right?"

me: "God, tell me about it"

I was very happy with my haircut, btw. She's so good at her job. :D

[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.”

[nicktremblaywayfu]

Deputy on Duty (18+)

== MINORS DNI == SCROLL AWAY ==

Author Note: Back with my Danny bs hoowee

Summary: The monotone work of being Coyle’s deputy brought boredom to Danny. One day, he snuck out from his job and found a reagent to have fun with.

Pairing:  Big Grunt x Reader

Characters: Big Grunt, Reader, Leland Coyle

Tags and Warning : Just a soft smut, nothing hardcore

Words : 2,290

Available on Ao3 as well

—

“I had enough of you trying to sneak from your duty, boy. If I see you again neglecting your job like a lazy pig, I’ll make sure my stick leaves a mark that your skin will never recover! “ Coyle scolded the man in front of him who was twice his size. 

“Yes, sir !” He answered lazily, swinging his axe to his shoulder and turning his body away. He used to be afraid of his boss, but as time went by he got desensitized with how loud Coyle could be. After all, he’s no taller than his chest, a little swing from his punch would send that scrawny man 5 feet away. But surely the Doctors wouldn’t be happy with that.

He remembered the first day he got promoted to be a deputy. Well, it's not like he was actually a part of the official law enforcer. But a job was still a job, being deputized was the best thing that could happen under Coyle’s leadership. The payment was enough, although he rarely used the money. The life in his current home was different. Back when he was a child, he could use the money he had to buy ice cream or a loaf of bread. There was no bread or ice cream now, but at least he could still buy some Baby Ruth Nougat for him to eat after lunch. In the early days of his job, he had a high spirit chasing the pinkos, capturing them for Coyle to punish, and guarding the police station. But he needed something different this time. Something..fun. Bashing his axe to the commies was no longer fun. He could crack open someone’s skull with a straight face, no longer amused like in the old days.

He sighed, looking around the police station to prevent him from losing his thought. Nothing was really interesting until he saw someone. Someone who was no taller than his elbows, struggling as she tried unlocking the electronic lock. He grinned, carefully sneaked behind, and kneeled.

That poor struggling reagent was no other than you. Sweat started to drip on your temple as your key stuck inside the lock. Your hands started to shake in nervousness, afraid that an ex-pop was nearby.

“Do you need help, little darlin’ ?” He let out a breath behind your neck, teasing you.

“Yeah, I think my key is stuck. Do you mind calling the guard and asking if they can-” As you turned around, your eyes widened in shock looking at what sat in front of you. His head was almost as big as your torso, with his hand fit the size of your face. 

“What the fuck! “ You threw a bottle right in front of his face, which shocked him right away.

“That hurts !” He cried. As he cleaned off his face from the shards, you ran away and hid inside the dark room right next to the first gate. You hid inside a bin, hugging your leg while you heard his voice taunting you.

“Who’s that sneaking around my house ?” He hummed. He closed the door behind him, locking it. He searched for a lamp switch, turning it on for better lighting even though the lamp was dim. 

As he leaned his axe onto the wall, he hummed again. “It seems my lunch is hiding somewhere”. Heavy voices echoed around the room. making you pray that he won’t find your hideaway. 

“I can smell you.” As he sniffed around the room. “Hmmmm smells delicious.” Sweat began dripping as you heard heavy footsteps walking toward you.

“There you are !” You were screaming as he lifted you in the air with two hands. “Little darling.” He cooed.

Your heart felt like it was going to pop out of your chest. He then gently put you onto the table, which caught you off guard. "Wh- what? What are you going to do ?"

"Let's have some fun."

"Fun? In this place? I- I uh, I'm in a hurry so sorry maybe next time !" You nervously got down from the table and tried to run to the door.

"Wait, come back !" He pulled you right before you could reach the door knob.

"Not going to hurt you." He pleaded as he pinned you onto the wall. Squirming from his grasp, you tried to escape even though the result was no avail.

"Let me go! I have nothing to give to you " You tried to bite his hand that holding your arm.

"Bad! No biting." He frowned. "I just want to play."

"The only game you can play right now is the 'leave me alone' game" You tried to kick his leg, but he didn't flinch.

"Stay! At least...for 5 minutes !"

"Why do you even want me to stay." You gave him a suspicious side-eye

"Let's have some fun !" 

"What kind of fun, exactly ?"

"Fun...fun.." He furrowed his brows. He wanted to have fun, but what kind of fun? No toys were lying around in Coyle's little heaven. Unlike Gooseberry's place, where he could play with toy cars and crayons with a reagent (Although he had to tie them so they would stay). He scratched his hair in confusion and let you down. What kind of fun he could have in here?

Suddenly, he raised his eyebrows. Having an idea struck his mind, he looked at you with shining eyes. "I know what fun !" 

"Let's hope this is not some weird shit." As you were no longer in his grasp, you tried to put more distance from him. 

"I saw Coyle doing it! I saw him having fun with a white-haired man yesterday. I saw him having fun with a bending mannequin as well. I also saw him having fun with himself."

Your mouth opened in surprise, with Coyle's name being mentioned you knew what "fun" he was talking about. It was your turn to be confused. You doubted he would accept "No" as an answer, but at the same time, you got an idea to make this trial easier. 

"Fine. Let's make a deal." You folded your arms, slowly regaining your confidence. "We'll have...that fun. In return, you will protect me while I execute the Snitch. How about that?"

"But Coyle said we can't punish him"

"That man...is sly! Yes, that man is a sly fox, he deceived Coyle to protect him! He's a bad guy! " He nodded as he listened to your lies. You almost let your laugh slip. What a gullible man. 

“When I execute that criminal, You will talk to Coyle that man is vile and he will hurt you. Understand ?”

“Yes, I understand !” He sounded so excited he almost softened your heart. You sighed, taking off your ESOP. Here goes nothing.

“You know how to do it right? I’m not gonna guide you like a first-timer.”

“I think I know..last time Coyle asked me to have fun together.” 

Your face turned into shock instant. “He asked you what ?!”

“He said I did a great job.” He giggled in pride, while your jaw was on the floor.

“You know what? I’m not going to ask for any details on that. Let’s just start.” You shook your head in disbelief, taking off your tie, and your vest, then unbuttoning your shirt. 

“What was your name by the way? I think this was a rare moment where I could talk to you without getting killed.” You look at the big man in front of you, just realizing that he was drooling from the sight of your chest. 

He snapped back from his dirty thought. “You can call me Danny.”

“Cute name for a scary guy.” You just nodded. “Alright, go ahead boy.” Seconds after you tossed your shirt, he pinned you against the table. 

“Hey, be gentle !”

“Sorry.”

He reached for your pants straight away.

“‘You in hurry, big man?”

“I want to see it all.” He was truly impatient.

He pulled down your pants, not giving you time to adjust. You were going bare naked in front of this stranger you just knew his name, of course, you would be at least a little embarrassed. Now, your underwear was the only thing covering your body. His hands cupped your breasts, caressing them lightly.

“So pretty.” He whispered.

You were surprised with his touch, you expected him to be rougher, knowing well his capability and strength. His fingers crept beneath your bra, playing with the nipples. You swallowed your spit, hoping you won't regret this deal. You finally unclasped your bra, giving him a full look at your torso.  He bit his lip when he took in your breasts. He continued his finger’s movement, running across each one. 

Then suddenly he stopped. Now he opened his mouth and lightly bit one of your breasts. You mewled, trying to hold on the table's edge. He was good at this. "Ah !" A noise came as he licked your nipple. His tongue felt rough, but still moving gently to you.

He made you impatient now. You pulled his hand, aiming for your aching pussy. "You know what to do, Dan." Danny hummed in agreement, pulling your underpants to the side to check on your folds. Wet and sticky, safe to go. 

After your underpants were pulled down, he put two fingers inside your hole. You bit your lower lip as he rubbed and played your canal. Your moans echoed through the room. His long and big fingers moved up and down, causing your back arching in pleasure. 

"I wonder what other noises you could make." And so he added his thumb onto your clit, rubbing it gently and pressing it repeatedly. Your whimper getting intense, from both pleasure and relief that after months of your libido being pressed, you could release it now. 

His finger moved in rhythm, then he took a bite of your neck. The pain from the bleeding felt like nothing with the pleasure striking through your whole body. You were eager for more of him, yearning for the hard bulge begging to be let out inside his pants.

"More. I want more of you now !" You pulled his hair, emotions being mixed. A little bit of anger from raring lust, and also you wanted to finish the trial as quickly as possible. The guards would be suspicious if you spent the whole day in here.

"As you wish, little darlin' " He pulled out his fingers, then his pants. You sat on the table, wanting to look at his size. Oh, that was predicted but still surprising. Of course, he would be bigger than the average man.

"Do you mind.. if you bend over the table ?"

"Alright then"

You do as he said, gulping to prepare what will be put inside you. He positioned himself, slowly inserting the tip, then the shaft as you squirmed under his grasp on your waist. He was gentle like a feather, yet here you were sweating wet with pain and pleasure. You hold onto the table's edge, whining as he puts his cock inside you. At last, he reached the end of the canal. He started his pace slowly, slowly but steadily, He moved his hips, making a rhythm of experienced move.

"Oh god..." You couldn't say much, your mouth opened to let out shaky breaths and whimpers. Tears coming out with our chests huffed and puffed.

Danny was starting to get more eager, he picked a faster fast as your tight canal encouraged him even more. His other hand grasped onto your hair, then roughly pulled it. You scratched the table, as a sudden burst of pain struck your body from how rough he handled you. But you couldn't say no, you didn't want it to stop.

You're enjoying it.

He growled like a beast, hunching his body to put all of his part inside of you. You could hear his breath clearly, you could feel it as well behind your neck.  You could feel the sensation spreading throughout your body, feeling your walls squeezing around him. You moaned loudly, as every single muscle in your body tensed in anticipation. You squeezed your ass together, wrapping his dick even more with the shaft against your clit.

He thrust harder inside you, pushing himself further, filling you completely. You screamed from the pleasure as he relentlessly pumped you.

"Yes..oh fuck! Keep going !" Your face reddened with sweat as he drained your stamina. You felt something in your stomach, feeling that you had come and drenched that Danny's cock.

His hair got more messy than before, sweating as well. He groaned loudly, feeling that he almost come. He pulled your hair tightly, pressing himself to spill all of his cum right inside of you. He took some breaths to regain his stamina, then finally pulled his cock. He chuckled, proud of his work seeing his seed dripping from your hole. 

"You're a beast, big boy." You let out your breath, your body was still shaking from the moment.

"That was fun! We should do it again next time."

"Next time, yeah maybe." You wiped the cum that spilled on your tight, then put your clothes back.

"Remember, the deal." You reminded him as you put back your ESOP.

"Right, I will tell Coyle now." He took his axe and unlocked the door. "Wait, I almost forgot !" He put back his axe, grabbed your body, and lifted you, and before you say any word he kissed your lips passionately. 

"I'm sorry I forgot to kiss you." He then gently puts you back down, leaving you in surprise. The kiss was actually unnecessary, but that didn't mean it wouldn't make you stand with a blushing red face like an idiot who suddenly fell in love.

—

[weniswastelandwenis]

Fallout 4 Companions React to Sole Asking Them to Punish Her

Cait:

Suggests that she and Sole take some Jet together. When Sole isn’t looking Cait replaces the Jet with chili powder which Sole sucks into their lungs with gumption. Sole spends the next two weeks in emergency care and their lungs are never the same again, however Cait gets a real kick out of it. 

Codsworth:

Admits he’s always felt that they’re a bad parent and a whore. Tells them they have two working hands and too much free time and could have trimmed their own hedges and body hair without him doing it for them. 

Curie:

Spends the night teasing and tormenting them sexually for how naughty they’ve been. Spanks them sexily and makes them promise to be good for mommy in the future. 

Danse:

Denies them food and water for two days. 

Deacon:

When they are walking together to the next dead drop Deacon suddenly sticks out a foot and trips Sole. Sole falls hard and suddenly, however Deacon made the mistake of tripping them near a cliff. Gravity does it’s worst and Sole goes tumbling down the side of the mountain like a bouncy ball. All that can be heard are the cracking of their bones and skull until they disappear into the dark chasm. From above it sounds like a hungry deathclaw may have found their remains and taken them back from whence they came. Deacon looks down at the abyss and places another pair of sunglasses over his sunglasses. “Well,” He said with a sigh. “THAT just happened!” 

Hancock:

Immediately takes off his belt and tells her to bend over on his mayoral desk. “This will probably hurt, a lot.” He says gruffly. Loud SLAPS! And BANGS! Are heard from his office. The two ghoul guards grimly look at each other, hoping to not get anything he’s dishing out. By the time he’s finished they’re too sore to sit down and glumly leaves his office, both palms cradling their ass.

MacCready:

Brings sole to the middle of nowhere. He only brought a shovel and a backpack. Silently, Sole helps him dig a giant square pit, 20 ft deep and wide. As they’re turning to ask MacCready what this is all for, he kicks them in the pit and Sole gets the wind knocked out of them, only to feel hundreds of snakes getting thrown into the pit by the man himself. Snakes on top of snakes cover their form, creating a writhing ocean of the reptiles. Sole was never heard from again.

Valentine:

Gets Sole secluded in an interrogation room and attaches live wires to their nipples. Nick then conducts a lengthy interview about where they were from, how they got here, and what Sole’s intentions were. He never fully believed their ‘frozen in cryostasis’ story, and the whole thing smelled of a Commie plot to get the Pinkos back in office. 

Piper:

Invites Sole over to help her with the next big break in a case she was working on. Nat joins them in the room and looks over to Piper excitedly. Sole smiles, wondering what she’s so excited about. “What, what’s going on?” Piper grumbled and quietly growled at her sister. “Don’t blow this Nat.” Quickly her smile reappeared on her face, but Sole was unnerved by how unnatural it looked. “Come into this back room, I want to show you something Blue.” Sole followed behind her and was met with a giant printing press machine. It easily could’ve been worth $10,000 caps. They whistled. “Impressive hunk of machinery, Piper. What’s it for?” Piper squinted her eyes. “This. NOW NAT!” All at once, Piper grabbed Sole by the shoulders and threw their body into the machine. Nat pressed the big red button that turned it on. It arose from its slumber, gears cranking loudly, and as its powerful dangerous metal arms pressed ink onto the papers within it, it treated Sole’s body as another sheet of newspaper. They quickly became flat stanley, and were never heard from again. Though, next time you’re reading public occurrences, do look a little closer at the page, and see if it blinks back…

Preston:

He says a settlement needs Sole’s help once again, but this journey would be a bit more treacherous than Sole is used to. Together they both get into Power Armor and make their way to the Glowing Sea. “How are settlers alive all the way out here?” Sole asks. “They’re not.” Preston’s voice says from behind her. Suddenly the lights shut off in their power armor, and many warnings sound off inside her suit. “What’s happening! What are you doing?” Preston pulled the fusion core from its place then walked out in front of her wielding it, tossing it a bit in his hand with a smirk. “I warned you general. I warned you about those settlers that needed your help, over, and over. And you just wouldn’t listen.” His voice sounded angry, and defeated. The effects of the radiation were almost immediate to Sole as it seeped into their unworking suit, and after 2 minutes, they were gone.

Strong:

Climbs to the top of Trinity Tower, Sole in hand, and perches at the top like King Kong. After a couple minutes he flings them like a football, scoring the winning goal.

X6:

Walks away and is gone for a day. When Sole sees him again he is building a large structure out of wood. Sole realizes it is a large cross, and before they speak he clubs them in the head with a champagne bottle. Sole wakes up crucified on the cross and is left up there for a couple days while X6 smirks and watches while drinking a big gulp.

[koggthryn]

xii. asters & goldenrod

once, we lay with our skin stripped off us in a field, the grass growing up around us two, your jacket bleeding out beneath our bodies. we watched the wind mills turn over, the cattle slide down into valley villages with butchers and cleavers, the aster and the goldenrod root in the heavens above, rotting there. we exhaled exhaust and moaned against our mouths until the sorrow left us. OH OH, OHHHH GOD. we curled together, strong knees and proud chins and jaws, set. AM I HOPELESS? HAVE I DONE THIS TO MYSELF?

xiii. lamprey

she has learned of cain, condemned, and sinned against her own brother with the jawbone of an ass, blood under nails and adolescence brought to an end. she has been taught to unhinge her jaw and grown to shed skin in sunday school, has tasted the real paleo diet—plucked a lash from her eye, pierced a nail in the rind, peeled the flesh from her thigh—her moon-hungry pack of teeth have sunken into the pungent and the spiced, the wet meat smell of memory in a fine china skull.

xiv. final rites

YOU HAVE RETURNED. YOU HAVE RETURNED. they found your skin smoldering out back, where the dog pisses against the fence and motor oil leaks into the yard. they called in every prayer tree over the phone lines, bowed their necks and heads and lives over you, and the preacher didn't shut his eyes—how lustful—didn't even blink. he pleaded for your soul and made sure you knew it. SHE IS RISEN, PRAISE THE LORD.

xv. trespassing

you're out when you're not supposed to be, tipping your head back, back, back on the church's stoop and looking up. looking, seeking, searching, you find hollow-eyed grief gazing back down, the crucifixion looming over you. the garden angel out back is cracking, paint peeling from its cheeks, from her cheeks, but the wood carving of christ himself, christ almighty himself, doesn't bleed. doesn't cry. and you, you cry: LOOK AWAY LOOK AWAY.

xvi. below

and below us, below us garnets churn, minutes unfurling like leaves. we are still waiting. we are still watching out truck windows, watching our faces grow dark in the side mirrors, watching the statelines and welcome centers and exit signs all blur together.

xvii. not a lover

the story goes like this: she looked away for more, and he went missing instead. right there, quick and quiet. light bends and withers around the hole left in this town, avoiding his empty seat, the road sign at his bus stop, the boots left molding on his front stoop. they'll say her name was carved into his gut or wrist or web page. they'll say you can see her calling for him in the tree line, with the strange eyes of a goat. and when he turns back up, if he turns back up, he's lighting up sheet music and staring through cops, face wretched. calling himself PRAGMA LIBER. updating his status just the one time: ONLY HERE TO PROMOTE A SONG. THIS COMMIE PLATFORM CAN SUCK A MOTHERFUCKING DICK.

xviii. study group

WHAT'S YOUR NAME, AGAIN? she wants to apologize, wants to say KATHRYN LAUREN, but KATHRYN LAUREN sounds like windchimes and rose water, like a mother's hopes and dreams, and she is more of a million spider march down the back of a gas pump. she is houses that look like faces and bitter pine needle tea she steeped as a child, was baptized in as a child. she is wild blackberries and clotted blood, ripped-up psalms and an incisor for the tooth-fairy, a headless doll trailing the undergrowth, hand in hand with her. IT DOESN'T MATTER, she says. IT DOESN'T MATTER. WHAT UNIT SHOULD WE START WITH?

xix. vantage

and besides, you breathe differently down here.

xx. rosary

in a box by the bed, there's some tinny sound. our father, and his father before him, left us their dog tags. DALE LYNN. PROTESTANT. we remember his singing in church. we remember his weeping. PORTER, LEONARD. some rust and rot. a dent in the name. we can wait with them, can count every pearl in the chain, keep the seconds in hand, feel them move through us. the days, the months. this is religious, this careful observation of time. and in a darker place, with dust storms and corpses curling into one another, our father counts the pearls. our father before him counts the pearls.

xxi. questions to ask your mother

mom—the word MOM hides a prayer: PLEASE, LOOK AT ME, AFTER ME, PLEASE LISTEN, LISTEN TO ME, PLEASE, PLEASE STROKE MY HEAD, WASH MY BACK, LET ME STAY IN YOUR HOME TONIGHT, PLEASE FEED ME, FEED ME, FEED ME—and you never stop calling her MOM. when you are her height, when the garden angel fractures its wing and cheekbone in a move and dad shoves his hand in your mouth, index and middle finger in the shape of a gun, when the ambulance comes for you and you change your name for the twelfth time, she'll scream THIS IS HOW YOU TREAT ME in your face. you'll want to break the entire length of your life over her head, want to ask DID YOU BRING PRECIOUS THINGS INTO A HOSTILE PLACE OR HOSTILE THINGS INTO A PRECIOUS ONE, but you'll only scream back WHY WON'T YOU JUST HOLD ME?

xxii. observer

look away, please. look away.

'23 september prompts days 12-22 | @nosebleedclub

[sofreddie]

Release

Summary: Fresh out of the cryo-chamber and on the run, Soldier Boy takes a moment to appease his Alpha.

Characters: Alpha!Soldier Boy x F!Russian!Beta!Reader

Warnings: NONCON, DARK!FIC, A/B/O Dynamics, Mugging, Angst, Derogatory Language, Smut (Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex, Creampie, Knotting), Assault, Injury to Reader

AFG OMEGAVERSE: ALPHA/BETA (@afgomegaversebingo)

ANGST: MUGGING (@anyfandomangstbingo)

WC: 931

A/N: So as soon as that cryo-chamber opened my mind screamed Feral Alpha, Alpha, Werewolf, I dunno…all kinds of crazy (and yum). But I also feel SB is NOT a good person. Also, Google Translate. ALSO also...it's fiction. Don't @ me!

Soldier Boy ran as fast as his body could carry him, his muscles still waking from being unused in the cryo-chamber for so long. His muscles burned as he pushed himself forward, his stomach aching from the release of his powers. He had no idea who those people were or what they wanted, but he had to get out of there and fast. He was sure that whatever they wanted, it wasn’t good.

He burst through a heavy metal door, finding himself suddenly outside, the cool night air breezing over his skin. He stopped to take a deep breath, the smell of iron and fire and blood from within the building slowly dissipating from his nostrils, replaced instead with crisp, cold air and the smell of industrialization. His head snapped back to attention as he heard shouts from within the building, reminding him of why he was running.

He took off once more, sticking to the shadows, trying to avoid any passing cars, lights, and people as he slithered into unfamiliar passageways. His body protested, but was quickly adjusting as it usually did. But he still felt on fire. He stopped once he felt he was a good distance away, leaning against the cold brick wall in an alley as he caught his breath. His blood boiled, his sense of smell heightening with every waking moment. He flexed his hands, closing his eyes and trying to get a grip. His rut was quickly waking too, growing with urgency to a point he knew it wouldn’t be ignored.

The scuffle of feet drew his attention once more, his head snapping towards the sound. Under the one diming light of the alley he could see a woman, stood alone and lighting a cigarette. He was enraptured for a moment, taking in her scant clothing of a design and style wth which he wasn’t familiar. Along with the tendrils of smoke, her scent trickled to him and he breathed deeply. 

She was a Beta, of that he was sure, and his body was further enticed. He could smell her perfume and the mix of several men about her, as well as the slick that was ruining her underwear. He grunted disapprovingly, knowing she was likely a prostitute, which would explain the scents. She was pretty and petite, the kind of woman he would have fucked and left behind many times in his day. His body began to respond, having been without such pleasures for far too long. 

He grunted lightly, moving swiftly and grabbing up the woman before she could even figure out what was going on. He spun her towards the wall in a flash, her cigarette dropping to the ground and burning slowly before being put out as it collected the dampness from the ground, its sizzle heard in the emptiness of the night.

She screeched as he pressed her body into the wall, his body pressed against her back, “Pozhaluysta, ne!” she begged and Soldier Boy scowled. He held her hands together with one of her own against the brick wall, his other hand holding her hip tightly as he ground his growing erection against her.

“Pozhaluysta, pozvol' mne uyti! Pozhaluysta!” She whined and pleaded, trying to fight against his grip, which only angered him further. She didn’t stand a chance against his strength, but that didn’t stop her from trying. 

He released her hands, pressing her harder into the wall as he moved the hand around her throat, squeezing tightly as he spoke deep and low in her ear, his hot breath puffing against her skin, “Shut up with that Commie shit.”

He roughly and quickly moved his other hand from her hip, his fingers dipping between her legs and finding her warm folds. She bucked against him with a whine, her thighs clamping against the intrusion of his hand. Her desperate pleas continued but he tuned them out, his mind set on one singular goal.

Smirking, he shimmied her skirt up to her hips, ripping her panties off and shoving her harder into the wall. He grunted, nipping at her neck and demanding her submission as he thrust harshly inside of her. She screamed, the intrusion sudden and unwelcome. He was relentless, tuning out her sounds, focusing only on his need for release. He fucked her hard, his grip brusing on her as he held her steady for what he gave. The night air carried her cries and his grunts and growls as he used her to service his own end.

He bent his knees, both hands finding her hips and bending her further as he pounded her hard and fast, the slap of their skin echoing off the brick. The dim yellow light that cast over them made her skin look sickly, but he didn’t care, his impending orgasm within reach.

With a fierce growl and deep plunge, he came hard, the breath punched from him as he finally satiated the pleasure his body craved. His knot popped but quickly deflated, a skill he honed in his finer days, allowing him to minimize the time he had to be connected to any one person. Once done, he withdrew, letting the sobbing girl fall to the ground, her knees now covered in dirt as his cum dripped down her thighs.

He huffed, his shoulders rising and falling as he stepped back from her. The sounds of shouts and pounding feet quickly approaching told him it was time to go. He reached down, grabbing up the purse she had dropped in the altercation, digging through it and deciding to take it with him, not knowing what he might need. With one last glance at the weeping woman at his feet he scoffed and grinned, running down the alleyway, taking a turn and determined to lose his trackers.

FOREVERS:

@lyarr24

@hobby27

@kazsrm67

@maliburenee

@440mxs-wife

SOLDIER BOY:

@akshi8278

[azzy-the-christian-furry]

Paul Pelosi had his fucking skull caved in by a crazy Trumper yet not a single peep from you or any other Christian about it. What was that you were saying about right wingers not doing this? About how only leftists are violent? So what's your excuse for this? Let me guess: liberals deserve to be killed? The attacker was a Christian so he did no wrong? You hate Pelosi so it's justified? Go on, if this doesn't represent your party, I'd love to see you condemn it.

You came out right off the bat wrong on this. First? It was left on left violence.

Second, I haven’t said anything because I’m not really believing the official narrative. The first of which you are spouting. No. Having seen the crime scene, I can say this. The windows were shattered. The glass is outside.

If it was a break in, the glass would’ve gone inwards. This whole ordeal smells like Jussie 2.0

Third, what is “my party”? Because I’ve complained about Trump several times- one big criticism being that he is the moderate (aka, too far left) candidate. A lot of the Trump supporters were also Bernie Bros that were salty that the DNC rigged the election against their commie candidate.

Frankly, the fact that you’re here with crocodile tears is hilarious, considering the left wing literally tried assassinating people, ruining lives, looting, rioting, torching, etc long before this event and condoned the actions.

[stickytrials]

I love Davesport I love davesport I love davesport

Dave sighed- running his fingers down his face as he slowly crawled into bed- well- to be exact- Old sports bed. He had been worried about him and wanted to see if he was alright- of course he was- as it was gambled on a vodka based paranoia where he thought old sports house and bed particularly were going to implode in on itself in the dead of night.

Dave breathed in heavily- feeling himself grow with a strange flurry of emotions. When he was close to Old Sport- his body felt all weird. Maybe even a little warm. Maybe even a little- ready for some game. He swallowed- a creeping grin inching up his face. His breath didn't smell too good- but to be frank- neither did Old Sports. So it was a fair deal.

Dave licked the side of Old sports face- just for a taste. It wasn't too bad- just a tangy decaying flesh rotting on top of a soulless body. It tasted not too bad for that!

Dave content with his actions so far- extended his already very long limbs over to one side of Old Sport- and the other well- on the other side. Dave leaned in close.

"Whattarya dreaming about old sport? Commies? ... Me?" He inquired after a long pause. When all the orange hued man could reply with was a odd empty shell like nose of air escaping his rotting nose hole that showed the inner workings of his body Dave frowned a bit, letting his body sit atop the other man.

"No homo by the way." Dave said- looking up through his black decaying eyes to his partner in crime. Or just his co-worker worked fine too.

"Night, sportsy. See you at work tomorrow, we got lots to..." Dave let himself drift off- feeling oddly calm around sportsy enough to do so. It had been two weeks since he had last slept anyways.

[freakingoutthesquares]

THE PULP INTERVIEW 1987

So where do Pulp fit into the scheme of things, Russell? "There's a big gap between the sugary horrible pop charts and the ugly spiky indie sludge and there aren't too many bands in the middle though that's where our future lies I reckon. I think what we do is normal and healthy and what a lot of people are looking for - music that sounds beautiful but doesn't insult your intelligence isn't that absurd a thing to do."

Unknown fanzine (via PulpWiki)

Along with the equally excellent Blue Aeroplanes and Colenso Parade, PULP have formed a crucial part of the Fire records tour-de-force. Originally treading the boards back in 1983, the Sheffield-based group have re-emerged this year with only Jarvis Cocker remaining from the previous line-up, and have to date offered us 3 splendid 12-inch singles, with an album coming v. soon. No strangers to controversy, Pulp's first release for Fire, the haunting 'Little Girl (With Blue Eyes)', had a BBC ban slapped on it due to the direct nature of the lyric. Were the band surprised by this?

Jarvis: "Not really I suppose. There seems to be an attitude that anything is acceptable in pop music as long as it's never put directly; e.g. it's all right to say 'Let's make love tonight baby I wanna feel your body' but not 'There's a hole in your heart and one between your legs'. I wasn't too surprised."

Guitarist/vocalist Russell puts the other side of the coin: "I was very surprised seeing as we'd been playing that song live and on local radio for years and nobody had ever passed comment on it. I suppose that we thought it was pretty tame really. What really cracked us up was that Jane Solanas, a feminist writer for the NME, gave it the biggest slagging off."

As Sheffield has a fine track record for producing groups, I wondered what Pulp saw as the pros and cons of hailing from the city, and how important it was not to be seen as 'just another Sheffield band'.

Jarvis: "we'd rather not even be thought of as another band, let alone another Sheffield band. We play music so obviously we're seen as a band, but music is just our chosen form of communication really. Nice tunes are all very well but a song should get something across as well. As for Sheffield, it's big and smelly. There's no scene - just lots of people trying to outshoot each other."

Russell reciprocates this view: "In Sheffield the 'local' stigma is a pretty difficult one, i.e. there's an image of what Sheffield music sounds like (A cross between New York funk and a steel factory) and we don't sound like it. What pisses me off is that the tag doesn't fit Sheffield at all. We're proud to be part of the varied and very healthy scene that is Sheffield music. For the record I feel that Pulp stem very much from Sheffield's industrial culture, but that doesn't mean we can only appeal to Sheffield people or that we sound horrible. Something to do with having to make your own beauty because the sights and smells around you all offend the senses. Now the 'scene' is entirely different and there are a lot more bands like us (i.e. with songs rather than noises or textures) doing interesting things."

I make mention of the song 'Will to Power', to be found on the 12" of 'Little Girl', which attracted some criticism due to its (ahem) right wing connotations. Russell, who wrote the song, expands: "To be honest, I wasn't too surprised at the Nazi flak we got. It is in fact a real commie anthem dedicated to Arthur Scargill, and Nelson Mandela and the I.R.A. The reason it got flak is: 1) it mentions 1933 (the year Hitler came to power) 2) the title is also a book of Nietzsche writings compiled by the Nazis and taken out of context to try and prove their race theories. 3) I look very similar to Adolph Hitler(!). On a couple of occasions I've had to dash out of my local when yobbos started chanting 'Zieg Heil!' and taking the piss."

To their eternal credit, Pulp shun any attempt to look self-consciously hip (or indeed self-consciously unhip) in their appearance. For despite Jarvis' own admittance that "we are usually told that we look like a party of inmates from an asylum on a day trip", Russell is quick to point out that Pulp's image is important the more so because it's not a chosen or contrived one. Jarvis agrees: "We don't attempt to avoid current trends", adding "we can't help it if we're 2 years ahead of everyone else!"

Russell thinks that there are too many easy reference points in most bands, to the extent that people will tend to fashion their lifestyle according to the types of bands they go to see, citing batcave music as a prime example. So where do Pulp fit into the scheme of things, Russell?

"There's a big gap between the sugary horrible pop charts and the ugly spiky indie sludge and there aren't too many bands in the middle though that's where our future lies I reckon. I think what we do is normal and healthy and what a lot of people are looking for - music that sounds beautiful but doesn't insult your intelligence isn't that absurd a thing to do."

Overall I reckon Russell has every justification for saying this - listen particularly to the first 2 Fire singles, both truly tender but with a lyrical twist in the tail, or the eerie, relentless 'Aborigine', or the tranquil beauty of 'Goodnight', featuring Jarvis at his gravest, if you don't believe me.

If I had to compare them with someone, I suppose The Velvets spring to mind, but really, trite comparisons do Pulp no favours at all, and more importantly they can never hope to communicate the many facets of Pulp. The best way to find out is to buy one of their records, and find out for yourself. Enlightenment is just around the corner.

[mommyymunson]

The Freak's Superhero//Chapter one: Escaping His Grasp (An Eddie Munson Fanfic)

There was a lot the town of Hawkins didn't know 

about their reality. From the other dimension right  

underneath them that seemed to bleed into their 

own, to the shaven head girl with 

telepathic powers that did all she could to stop this 

other dimension's monsters from 

killing all of their precious town. This nightmare, 

that those who knew of it called the 

"Upside down", had been lasting for over three 

years now, and now a new threat was upon

our heroes. His name was Vecna. Or at least, that's 

how they knew him. See, I knew him as

Henry. 

As stated though, there's a lot that the town 

of Hawkins isn't aware of, not even my 

sister 011, nor her friends. and that was Me. 

Hi, I'm Dr. Brennar's little experiment that 

he kept to himself, telling mostly no one of 

my existence. 

His special project, the one he had the most

faith in as a weapon against the Commies. 

Against the whole world. 

My name is 000 or Zero. But there was 

something that no one could've known, not 

even myself. 

It was that I was about to fall hopelessly in 

love with Hawkins own favorite Pariah, the 

town misfit, 

and the biggest freak: Eddie Goddamn Munson.

The screeches of the Hellish bats that swirled through the air outside and the searing, throbbing pain on my wrists were the only things that kept me grounded at the moment. My vision was blurred from the fog that seemed to be in a constant state around here. All I could smell was the overwhelming stench of rotting blood.  I've been trapped in my own personal prison for the past three years. Or at least that was my best guess, being in the past of Hawkins present didn't allow me to keep great track of time. My arms and legs bound by the flesh-like vines that He had full control of, never straying from my tired limps. My body covered by the Earth's dirt and grime that seemed to make my physique its new home. Knees and calves growing new bruises and cuts by the hour from being dragged around to where they're needed. My head hung low from the lack of energy my anatomy could barely be able to produce. But, not low enough to where I was bowing before him, resolve holding enough to be able to maintain that at least. 

For the past three agonizing years of my captivity, there wasn't a whole lot I could do but sleep whenever my mind eventually gave out and slip into the subconscious where my powers lied. The true monster known as Dr. Brennar had found many different ways my mind could produce unfathomable, scientific reactions and outcomes to any wimp or thought I had. Magic is what most would call it. He made much of use of me before I had finally snuck out of his controlling grasp. 

One of the telepathic powers I had been born with was basically, eavesdropping. I could walk among, converse, and listen to anybody I chose. It was almost as if I was there with them, like my soul was wandering around like some useless ghost. Majority of the time it was used for information, but in my early teens I was able to start manipulating the area around those I had come to "haunt;" opening a door, lifting a cup into thin air, those kinds of things. The only downside was that if I went to that extend, my powers were rendered useless for several hours. It knocked me practically unconscious from how much energy it had used. To the despicable mind of Hawkins labs very own Doctor Jekyll, although he loved to act like he was Mr.Hyde, he wanted to use me as some sort of an assassin. There would be no evidence, no fingerprints, no cops coming to poke their noses in his affairs. 

I was only fourteen when I had managed to flee the unforgiving, white walls of the blood stained laboratory of Hawkins. Surviving by pick-pocketing from strangers wallets, stealing whatever food I managed to slip out of grocery stores, and sleeping in unoccupied or abandoned houses. I had met another girl like me during that time, she taught me everything about the outside world that I had failed to learn in the tiny space of the Lab. Was on my own for two years before a certain ruthless, blonde haired man opened a gate to hell and entrapped me close inside. At least, he used to be blonde and a man for that fact. 

He had come to enlighten me that my sister, 011, had trapped him down here when he tried to kill everyone in Hawkins Lab, including my other brothers and sisters, and even Papa. The lightening that was always ablaze, and the countless days he had spent in the Upside Down had turned his body into this creature of hell. But his mind was the same twisted and evil form it had been as you last remembered. He had me bound stiff and unyielding ever since. Keeping me alive by feeding my starving self whatever murky water he could find and forcing me to consume the bats that were flying above my very head now. 

The only thing that kept me going was the memories I had "shared" with the sister I had never met. When 001 had told me about the powerful child that was able to best him, my curiosity of course, was peaked. That was how I had found out about my sister eleven. How she escaped the Lab just like I had did so long ago, how she had become close with her friends that hid her from Papa; especially close to a certain, certified nerd Michael Wheeler; how she defeated a "demogorgon," how she had become like a daughter to the Chief of Police, Jim hopper, how she and her friends defeated the mind flayer twice, and lost her powers. I had seen it all, been with her for every bruise, every tear shed, every smile formed, everything. She had given me a reason to fight without ever even knowing of my existence. 

It was now 1986, three excruciating years I've been imprisoned down here. I had tried many times to get away from this red and black abyss, to escape his grasp, but was always sucked right back in. I had gotten as close as to forming my own gate but not being able to make it in time, his vines wrapping around my torso and dragging my almost lifeless body back to my confinements. Barely being able to feel the sun again or smelling air that wasn't foul. 

001, or Vecna as El's dork group liked to call him, was now becoming active though. Carrying out  the plans he had had for so long. It had started with a girl named Chrissy, then a boy named Fred, and now It was El's precious friend Max. I could feel her presence when she had stumbled into Venca'a firm hold. Feeling absolutely powerless to help her as she just managed to break free from him. Hell, I couldn't even help myself, how could I help her. Still, I breathed a sigh of relief as I watched her go through the portal, back to her own consciousness. It wasn't until I heard the the loud creaks of the stairs being stepped on that the relief had left me. 

"Don't be too excited, my dear. She won't get very far from me and you know that. You haven't even been able to leave me, what makes you think she has a chance?" his deep, bone-chilling voice had rung in my ears like a bad headache. When I didn't make a move to answer or respond to him in any sort of way, one of the vines entangled itself around my neck, forcing my head upwards to look at his body hunched in front of me, his eyes holding a sort of anger and fascination as he gazed down at me, "you'll be staying with me for all eternity, Zero; by my side as I have the last few we need join us."

His figure stood back up and welcomed the many vines that struck his body over and over as they lifted him up again, his brain finding his next helpless victim. Ever since I had the unpleasant occurrence of meeting him, his eyes always held a passion, an obsession with making me his. His to control for whatever fucked up fantasy he had. Which included taking over Hawkins with the Mind Flayer's powers at his beck and call. 

My consciousness began to dissolve over time, more countless hours falling from my fingers. I was so used to the helplessness that seemed to swarm me. Like Henry said, I couldn't even help myself out of this, nor did I barely have the resolve to do so. I was only snapped out of my daze of self-pity when I heard a familiar cry brake the silence. My neck snapped forward once I realized who that scream erupted from. Max. He must've been able to bring her back already so soon. With every victim he took, he grew stronger, fast. But what could I do about it? My eyes could barely keep themselves open and my limps begged to be given any sort of rest. 

The powers that consumed me worked on their own, showing me all of Eleven's and Max's friends surrounding her floating body, now in a different location than the cemetery. Their faces stricken with unimaginable worry and terror. Screaming their lungs out as her body hung right above them, just out of their grasp. Almost as if my own conscience gave me a slight nudge forward, all I could think about was seeing El among them. Her own face painted with tears that streamed down her flushed cheeks, as she tried all she could to stop the inevitable. One emotion that I haven't felt in a long time start to brew inside me. Like a candle that seemed to be completely snuff out start to flicker and come back to life once more. Determination roared through my chest, drowning in it. My physique may have been exhausted but the adrenaline that coursed through my veins gave me the energy to run a marathon. Hissing from the ache on my wrists and ankles, I snapped out of the flesh-like vines that screeched from being torn apart. Standing for the first time in what felt like forever and raising my arm to the wall of the old Creel residence, I wrenched my barricade away, wood crackling from the pressure and falling to the floor. Taking one step at a time with as much urgency I could muster, I had finally made it to the newly formed hole. Max had been suffocating on the vines controlled by Vecna as he stood firm in front of her. He had been prepared for another escape as he kept himself a safe distance away from her face so she couldn't take a bite out of him, foiling his plan a second time. The few precious seconds that we both had were dwindling, I had to act now. 

My abilities surged as I hurled the levitating pieces of scrap from the air and crashed them against his unexpecting body. He flew back until he collided with a near by wall, stunned from the sudden attack. Using what little time I had left before his realization settled in, I leaped from the building and caught up with the terrified red head that had already started sprinting. Her eyes glazed at me for a quick second, her face contorted in an unreadable expression before putting her focus back on the path ahead. 

"You both won't get far." it seemed 001 had realized what had conspired as I heard the garbage I had thrown at him come hurling in our direction. 

"I'll protect you, just focus on getting back to them!" I shouted out as I took a few of the fragments that were coming at us at a rapid pace, and flung them right back at him, winning a bullseye. Using the remaining pieces, I constructed a makeshift wall behind us as a guard; they fell into place like a game of Tetris. This would give me a few more much needed seconds to pull open a gate out of the fabric of the space in front of me. 

"No!" There was shuffling behind me but I didn't take my concentration away from the gate that was almost fully open. This was the closest I've ever gotten and I could feel the hope beating in my chest. Max had just gotten to the portal back to her mind as she turned to me with a worried look, I screamed for her to run and she stepped through. I could feel the tears that began to sting and fall through my lashes. Twirling my body right in front of the gate, I pushed back the vines that were darting at me from behind; and let my body fall backwards through my one way ticket to freedom. 

Instantly feeling the heat from the overpowering sun from above and the clear air that began to fill my lungs, my body tumbled into the rocks and sticks that littered the earth beneath me. I tumbled down the mountain until my instincts kicked into high gear and I used my nails to claw at the ground. Slowing down my fall enough to be able to flip back onto my feet; back onto flat flooring. At long last being able to catch my breath as my lungs felt like they were on the verge of collapse, I took in my surroundings and held in a quiet sob. Feeling the small patches of grass that sprouted underneath me and noticing just how blue the sky was; how full of color and life everything around me was. My lips tugged into a relieved smile before it was quickly wiped off my face by the snapping twigs in back of me. My neck snapped in its direction only to be welcomed by six others staring at me. Looking like they were just waiting for something to happen, although nothing did. I knew exactly who they were from my snooping abilities. Dustin, Robin, Steve, Lucas, Nancy, and finally Max who still had left over tear stains on her freckled face. One of them started to speak to me before quickly snapping their mouth shut as I swiftly stood and began to walk in the opposite direction. It felt wrong to just leave but I couldn't get involved with them when I knew what their plan was. I've been stuck there for three years, I can't risk concerning myself with them and getting dragged right back, I just couldn't. 

"She..She saved me in there, I don't know if I would still be here without her. She stopped him, she has powers just like El used to." Max suddenly spoke up to the group but i just kept walking. Not daring to turn around because the second I did, I knew I wouldn't be able to stop myself from helping. 

"Are you Eleven's sister? Were you in there with her? In the Lab?" The voice which I knew as the ex-toothless boy named Dustin uttered out, I still walked and stayed silent. After not getting a response from me, I heard two sets of footsteps following after me before one tugged on my arm to stop me. Because of the trauma that I had just experienced in the upside down, my head flew back to the one that kept me still; my hand raised in defense as a reflex. It was Dustin that held onto me, flinching back in alarm at the possibility of me hurting him with my mind. I didn't intent to scare him, I was just so used to having the anxiety of expecting pain. After a second of realization, my hand went back to rest at my side; his head perked back up when he noticed no pain or flying back into a nearby tree. His hand that still rested on my wrist gently pulled me to him, his calloused fingers rubbing against the still open wounds that made permanent markings on my flesh. I groaned from the pain as he quickly realized, his palm flying off and he mumbled many apologies. Grabbing my appendage in protection, my tired eyes landed on his sorrowful ones. His eyes were true, pure and completely obvious of honestly. The staring lasted only a second before abruptly turned my body away once again, although this time I didn't start walking. My brain going through an endless cycle of what to do as the boy spoke once again. 

"Does she speak or..?" he turned over to Max who had been the other that joined me by my side. 

"Of course I speak, you idiot." my attention went right back to him as soon as it had left, crossing my arms in front of my chest at his accusation. My face contorted in a somewhat glare as the person I expected least spoke up. 

"What did he do to you in there?" Nancy Wheeler, the intelligent moralist of the party, questioned me. For some reason, my heart strings were tugged at the worry that plagued her features. A sigh that seemed to be held in for far too long escaped from my lips as I trudged toward her. I can't believe I'm doing this. Everyone immediately went on alert at what could possibly be my next move, but I just continued my journey to her awaiting self. 

Now, a talent that Papa didn't seem as curious about was my transfer of the past. He thought it was useless considering it couldn't be used to gather information nor kill his opponents; but for me, it was useful in saving time like this current moment. Time, as usual, was of the essence. As long as I had some sort of physical connection or touch to the receiver, I could relay old memories of my own with my own choosing, or collect any of theirs. The best way to describe it, is the old saying how when someone dies, their life flashes before their eyes in a matter of seconds. It was exactly like that but I got to choose what details I shared with the class. It also took a bit longer than a few seconds, it depended on how much info I gave them. So when I finally was able to reach the older sister of Mike, I hesitantly raised my hands up to her face and cupped her cheeks with them. Her eyes searching mine with confusion and expectation, everyone else sharing the same looks amongst themselves. Closing my eyes and concentrating on the power that swirled through the veins in my cerebrum, I finally unleashed the energy into her; her eyes going completely white as her head shot back from the overwhelming flow of images that weren't her own. For her, it was almost like watching an entire movie in less than two minutes. When I had opened my lids again, I could see Steve and Robin running over to me panic, probably thinking I was harming her. But the look on my face made them slow. My eyes being completely blown out in black, no grey left within them. Blood vessels popping almost inhumanly around them. To them, I probably looked like I was mutilating her; although their movements stilled completely when Nancy lifted her small forearm, signaling them to stop. 

"Don't..It's okay, I'm okay," Her palms then enveloped my own on her cheekbones, "It actually feels kind of nice, It's warm." 

A small smile formed on her lips as I took her in complete shock. No one had ever told me that they liked my talents. At least not in the way of using them for their own selfish gains. A small tint of pink stained my appearances while the last few flashbacks transported to her. Almost like snapping out of a trance, we both lost the connection when my hands left her. I felt almost exposed as she now knew mostly everything that had transpired from the entirety of my life. Unable to make eye contact, I shifted uncomfortably in my place before her, waiting for whatever answer she was going to have to the strange intel. The last reaction I expected her to have though was to wrap her arms around my shoulders and pull my body to her, coating me into a warm embrace. I completely froze, unable to move from the unfamiliar feeling of affection. The only sort of "love" that I ever experienced in the time I was in that scientific prison was when the guards, nurses, doctors, or Papa held onto my hand as they led me from room to room. Probably for another stupid test or lesson to make us more powerful. It was a form of control on their part though, tricking an innocent mind into thinking they were the good guys because they wore honest smiles and kind auras. 

"I'm so sorry, Zero. I'm so so sorry you had to go through that, alone nonetheless." The pretty, curly haired girl squeezed me even harder as I heard slight sniffles follow her apology. Was she crying for me? That was a concept that I couldn't wrap my head around. I wasn't used to anybody having empathy for me because my hardships, goodness being a foreign concept to me. As I was lost in thought and before I could find the courage to finally join in her hug, she pulled back from me, now holding her hands to my shoulders as another form of comfort. I was right, there were a few stray tears that had fallen from her soft, blue eyes. I couldn't say anything though, my mind was racing endlessly as her confusing actions gave me many questions and very few answers. Why would she cry for me? What exactly was it that made her feel such sadness that wasn't even her own? And especially, why did she care so much for a complete stranger? 

"I understand now why you were so on edge, and I don't blame you for wanting to run away when you first saw us. I can't imagine how messed up everything was for you. Well, I can since you just showed me all of it; but I could never imagine being able to survive all of that myself. The wounds and scars that you had and have, mentally and physically...it must have been so hard for you," Her gentle words did little but baffle me further, but she still continued, "and I don't want to seem like one of those monsters that tried to use you; but we could really use your help. You know the most out of anyone about Vecna, how he acts and how his mind works. Not only that, but without El and her powers, we are all but defenseless against him. From what you showed me, you're incredibly powerful and we could really use that strength. But I want this to be your choice, and I will not fault you at all for whatever you decide. But I ask of you, please help us, in anyway you can." 

Her gentle eyes gave me great pause as I contemplated the words she had just spoke. What was I doing? Why was I actually thinking about my decision, I can't do this. I can't see him again, not ever. I want to help them, I really do but what will the events that unfold cost me? 

"Uh.. so what exactly did she show you?" The coiffed hair boy, who I believe was Steve Harrington, whispered out. 

"I'm moreso curious about these so-called 'incredible powers' wheeler was taking about." An unfamiliar voice said, with a slight chuckle in his throat. 

There was another man there that I hadn't noticed before, but now that I had noticed him, I shamelessly couldn't take my eyes away. His hair was a deep brown, almost black shade that was grown long in soft sets of curls. His outfit was anything less than a punk rock style, sporting a denim vest and leather jacket that was thrown over a white, devil baring T-shirt. His jeans were ripped at the knees and his sneakers dirty from the mud that lay beneath them. Eyes that stared straight at me a dark chocolate brown that held much mischief in them. The damned smile though was what I couldn't stop staring at, an almost shit-eating grin covered nearly his whole face. Before anyone could notice, I quickly snapped my head away from the crowd. Almost not being able to cover the deep crimson that saturated my cheeks and neck. 

I knew I shouldn't be boldly checking out this random guy in the group, but It was entirely involuntary. This wasn't like me in the slightest, I never let men have any sort of effect on me. Well, all but one man. But the second I saw the pleading looks of the children and the breathtaking rockstar, I knew I had no chance. 

Heaving a heavy, almost dramatically long sigh, I pinched the space in between my brows and turned to Dustin. 

"Well, you gonna lead the way or are you gonna make me do that too?" Flashing him a cheeky smirk, his face crinkled into an adorable grin before grabbing my hand once again, guiding me to his destination. God, people around here were really into touching, huh? 

"So are your powers like Eleven's or do you have different ones? Are you more powerful than she is? How come you look so creepy when you do that brain, memory, transfer thing? Do you like eggos as much as El does?" Dustin's questions seemed to ramble out of his mouth faster than he could think them. 

"I'm already starting to regret this." I huffed, shaking my head once again. Although his insistent interrogation was slightly driving me insane, I couldn't help the small smile that seemed to remain on my lips.

(Hi guys! Hopefully you enjoyed my first chapter, obviously this is gonna be a fix-it fic and I’m gonna change some things around in the plot as well; let me know what you guys think of my lil ole story and Ill be posting chapter 2 soon :^)

[dreamingofscully]

Surely, to the sea (2/7)

read on ao3 - read chapter 1

Rated: T Tags: Alternate Universe - Historical, Horror, Established Relationship

Playlists: Spotify, Youtube.

@today-in-fic​

 Chapter 2

The inside was dark; thick curtains pulled shut blocked the sun’s rays, but it also kept out the fresh air. Oppressive heat and a strange musty smell reminded her of a mid-August camping trip she’d been on as a child. Trapped in a tent in the middle of a forest, night provided no relief from the sweltering humidity.

“Why don’t we start from the beginning?” Mulder leaned forward, elbows on his knees. The pitch darkness of the house was held back by a single oil lamp in the center of the room. Sallow light pooled, throwing deep shadows into every corner. 

“Look, I don’t know what you were told, but I’ve been through everything. Don’t know how you’re going to help me.” Boyle said, puffing on a cigarette with gnarled, trembling fingers.

“We’ve helped dozens, maybe hundreds, of people like yourself. Problems they can’t explain--” 

“How exactly does Father Patrick know you?” Boyle frowned.

“Mutual acquaintances, Mr. Boyle.”

He grunted, leaning back in his chair into the darkness. Two black pits for eyes underneath heavy brows, the lines on his gaunt face deepened into fissures. 

Scully sat next to Mulder on the threadbare couch, pen poised over her barely visible notebook. They’d entered this house blindly, only knowing what Xandros and his Cohort chose to share. What they chose to hold back would make a difference in their approach to the case, but instead, they had to stumble around and find their own way.

The uneasiness she’d pushed away wriggled back to the forefront of her mind. Wiping her sweaty, shaking hand across her leg, she gripped her knee, willing herself to focus. She hated being unprepared. Being unable to do her job properly. The back of Mulder’s hand whispered against her leg. Obscured by darkness, it stilled her racing heart.

The dark was a clue. The rest would have to come later.

“Is there some problem with the electricity, Mr. Boyle?” Mulder kept his hand against her leg, impropriety hidden by shadows.

“Just Boyle. It hasn’t worked proper for years. Gives me a headache anyhow so I don’t bother getting it fixed.” Smoke clouded their paltry light as he exhaled.

Mulder reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out his own notepad. He sketched something on it and passed it to Boyle. “Do you recognize that symbol?”

Scully shifted her gaze away, remembering how she felt after seeing it only a few minutes ago. Ridiculous, she thought. Nevertheless, she kept her eyes on Boyle’s face.

The older man glanced at it then looked at Mulder, eyebrows raised. No recognition, only suspicion.

“What is this supposed to be? Some sort of commie cipher?” He tossed the notepad on the table between them. 

“This was above your door, Boyle.”

“I’m no spy, Mr. Mulder. Someone must have put that there, accusing me of something.” His eyes narrowed. “Are you folks here to arrest me?”

“No, sir.” Mulder smiled. “Thankfully, McCarthy’s days are long gone. We’re not here in any governmental capacity.”

“What is it you folks do, exactly?” 

“We’re experts in unexplained phenomena. My wife is a physician. I’m a psychologist, and--”

“You said you were married. No kids at home?” Boyle glanced briefly at Scully, though his words were directed towards Mulder alone.

She felt heat rising in her chest, coloring her cheeks. It never got easier. A piece of herself chipped away every time someone questioned her right to work beside her husband, instead of staying at home like a good wife. As though her worth was only decided by her ability to bear children. Things had come a long way since her parents’ generation, but she wondered if there would ever be a day where women’s decisions to step away from traditional roles wouldn’t be questioned.

“We don’t have children,” Scully said. 

“Sorry about that, ma’am.” Boyle glanced at her, pity in his eyes. She gritted her teeth and balled her hands into fists, but stayed quiet. They were here to help him, not convert him. “You understand it's not you, I just don’t want to be poked and prodded by anyone else.”

Mulder leaned forward, teepling his hands over his knees. “Boyle, we’re sorry to have to put you through this again. We want to help you, and I think we can. Just give us a little time, a little bit of your trust.” 

The older man sighed and wiped a hand across his face. Taking a long drag of his cigarette, he sat back against his chair and waved his hand for him to continue.

“How did your problems begin?”

While Mulder continued his questioning, Scully observed Boyle. He was in his sixties or seventies. Gaunt and pale, wearing a sweat-stained white shirt under a checkered long-sleeved button down that looked about three or four sizes too big. His thin gray hair was brushed over and stuck to his balding head. Curiously, despite the perspiration dripping from his brow, he held himself as if he was cold, hunched over in his chair.

And every so often, he’d wipe the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and licked his damp, dirt-stained finger.

It took all of her concentration to focus on him instead of letting her eyes wander off into the shadows. Her mind played tricks on her, sensing movement that wasn’t there. The drip-drip-drip of the tap from the kitchen. The scratch and creak when any of them moved in between sentences.

Mulder paused. To her experienced eye, he oozed with frustration at Boyle’s reticence. He responded to the questioning with terse, one-word answers, filling the room with weighty silence.

“I know you’ve been through a lot, Boyle, but the more detail you can give us, the quicker we can get to narrowing down what might be the problem.”

Scully was staring at the flame flickering inside the gas lamp, trying to think of something that could fit the symptoms, when she saw something out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head. 

Boyle leaned forward, fully visible in the light of the lamp. Wet eyes with dilated pupils that consumed his irises. Yellow sclera. He’d evaded her gaze the whole interview but now he stared directly at her. She swallowed and met his gaze. Gone was the feeble, old man who drowned in his flannel shirt. Something surged inside of her, a feeling that she shouldn’t back down. How long they opposed each other, she couldn’t say. 

“Scully?” Mulder was tapping her leg.

“What is it you’re afraid of, Boyle?” she asked, her voice low and hoarse.

Boyle stood abruptly, moving with a grace that belied his age. Turning from her, pacing in shadow. “‘But your iniquities have separated you from your God; your sins have hidden his face from you, so that he will not hear’.”

Silence fell over them. Boyle continued his smooth stride, moving in and out of shadow. Mulder shifted beside her.

“‘The Redeemer will come to Zion, to those in Jacob who repent of their sins’,” Scully responded.

He looked at her, his mouth turned upwards in a smile or a sneer. “So one of you has a bit of God in you at least. Look, I know you mean well, but maybe this isn’t a good--”

“Do you think God is punishing you, Boyle?”

He stopped pacing. “Why shouldn't he? You don’t know me.”

“I know God.”

“Do you now, girl?”

Scully and Boyle regarded each other for a few long seconds. He blinked, then looked away, wiping his face and shoving his fingers in his mouth, sucking on them. She reached out and grabbed Mulder’s hand as she spoke the next words. 

“I’ve been part of the church my whole life. Catholic school. Mass on Sundays,” she said, lifting her delicate cross necklace with a thumb. Sometimes, their clients needed a different sort of reassurance. Something that couldn’t be obtained through degrees or experience. “Though I can’t know all of His reasons, I do know that He brought Mulder and I together for a purpose. And that He brought us here, today, so we could help you.”

Boyle watched her intently, sucking on the tips of his fingers. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. She squeezed Mulder’s hand, drawing on his warmth.

“We meet our punishments when we meet Him after passing on, not here on earth. Whatever happens here is by our own hand. We’ve brought comfort to many so far, whatever the reason for their troubles. That’s our purpose here, that’s why we help people like you. Let us help you, Boyle.”

With a pop, Boyle removed his dirty fingers from his mouth and wiped them on his shirt. Looking away from her, shoulders rounded, he shrank back into the poor soul who needed their help. He crumpled into his chair, lighting another cigarette.

“All right,” Boyle nodded. “What do you want to know?”

[lydias--stiles]

jopper | drabble | stranger things post-s4 spec |

//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

As with most nights, Joyce woke up from screaming. At first, rustling and shiftiness, then heavy breathing and mumbling, incoherent words, finishing off with an outburst of screams and shouts. It was unfortunately routine at this point.

Jolting awake, she turned her head and found the man in question thrashing the bed.

"Hopper! Hopper! Hop! I'm right here," she urged, shaking his broad shoulder. "Wake up!"

The man woke up with a start, breathing heavily as his skittish eyes surveilled the bedroom. It was dark, but the instant smell of Joyce's faded perfume and the aroma of home slowed his heart down to a steadier beat. Not normal. Never normal again.

He sighed, "Sorry, Joy."

"It's okay," she whispered, big eyes blinking at him with worry he wished to make disappear. The guilt ate at him: he made her worry. And yet, she stayed. She read his mind. "And don't you dare feel bad for me, Hop. I'm here, because I love you. Not because I pity you. You better know that damn well."

Hop nodded, quiet, unsure any of his own words sufficed. He was never good at speaking about his feelings.

"What was the nightmare about?" she asked.

"Same as usual," he muttered, wiping a hand across his sweaty forehead. "The commies. The prison. Thinking I'm dying. Thinking you're dying."

"You should go to that shrink I told you about."

He sighed. "Joy--"

"No, I'm serious, Hop." Her voice was firm. "And not just to talk about your time in Russia. But about Vietnam as well. And about Sara. I may not understand everything, but a shrink? They will. In their own professional way."

"You're saying I need professional help?" he scoffed, but he knew the answer to that already; knew it for himself, too.

Her eyes narrowed. "Yes," she said, clipped. "You need professional help."

He couldn't see himself doing it: sitting in some plush chair as an Ivy League snob asked him about his past from their ivory tower. But he'd do anything for Joyce. Even if that meant he had to get uncomfortable. Hell, he tried to escape a Russian prison for her, didn't he?

"Can we discuss this more in the morning?" Hop asked. His arms curled around her warm body, pulling her closer. They weren't the cuddly type of couple, but sometimes... he just needed that.

She sighed, head dropping back on her pillow. "Okay..."

His face pressed in her slender shoulder, hoping that the contact would keep him grounded in reality. "I promise we'll talk about it."

Humming, Joyce raked a hand through his newly grown hair. It was courser than she thought it would be, but thicker than before; like his body gave him a new chance. She felt him melt under the touch. It felt heavy, but she rather had the pressure on the side of her body than no weight at all. The air of ghosts had haunted her long enough.

She knew now, with Hopper and Will and El and Jonathan in the house, that they'd be safe. No real nightmares could catch them again all the way in Lenora Hills.

"I love you, Joy," he whispered, warm breath fanning her skin.

"I love you, too."

[writer-of-various]

"You're so fucking annoying."

"You are even more annoying than the undead–"

"You fucking stink like decay and death–"

"You don't smell nice either–"

"You're really going to tell a woman that?"

Dempsey, Richtofen, and Takeo sigh as they watch Lilja and Nikolai argue, the three of them supposed to be sleeping but the bickering of the two keeping them awake and slightly amused.

"You act like no normal woman, you make Richtofen cry and Dempsey flinch, Takeo can't even look at you without whimpering like kicked dog!" Nikolai grunts, and Lilja gasps, the sound of skin hitting metal echoing the room.

"You're just jealous that a small, independent, Latvian woman can do things no Russian bastard can do. I'm sure you will lose the war." Lilja bites back, and Dempsey has to stop himself from laughing.

"We will win, and when we do, your country is–" "It's what. What will happen to my beloved Latvia, commie whore?" "Whore?!"

Nikolai exclaims angrily, but shortly after he winces as Lilja slaps his chest.

"Shut up, idiot! The boys are sleeping!" Lilja whisper-yells, and Nikolai seems to calm down after being reminded that. He nods, raising his hands in mock surrender.

"Da, my apologies. But this conversation isn't over."

"Like hell it isn't. Bastard."

"Darling."

"Fuck you."

"I love you."

The three share looks of amusement before getting comfortable in their bunks, knowing their two lovers will be fine.

[mercisnm]

all the numbers with a one in them pls ✨

1. my favourite characters have never experienced a day of comfort in their life

10. my good sir I'm what they call a commie

11-12. see above? below?

13. ~10 hrs ago

14. yes, would like to bottle that up for scorching days

15-16. nope

17. near-sighted 

18. if you wanted the secrets to my phenomenal good looks you could just have asked /jk. Usually I’d just shampoo, apply some hair oil then blow dry, it’s usually enough to keep the side part for days. If I fancy a slick back look I’d use a dollop or two of Yardley English lavender brilliantine. The stuff doesn’t have a lot of hold, but it won’t feel gross if you run your hand through your hair, which I do whenever I'm stressed or bored, cannot stay still kind of person I guess. Plus it smells so comforting and the glass jar design is so lovely, makes you feel like a Edwardian gent an all. YES I'M TELLING YOU TO BUY YARDLEY ENGLISH LAVENDER REGARDLESS OF HAIRTYPE.

19. another one? sure, sit down, pick a colour

21. the habit to wear a hat whenever I go outside

31. Schubert's Lieder, the vocal stuffs (strings transcriptions often work, too), or any Dvorak piece, the sun shines so bright in Dvorak's music

41. strong, iced, with sweetened condensed milk, perhaps vanilla sugar if I have some