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nouvxllev · 5 months

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closed-door policy

Pairing: Wednesday Addams x Fem!Reader

Summary: There was a silent agreement seemed to form, a 'closed door policy' as Wednesday described when you brought it up abruptly. In the crowd, there were stolen glances, fleeting touches, and moments that hinted at something more. Nights were the hardest. You find yourself begging and succumbing to Wednesday's words, her touches, her glances, her kisses. But you knew the barrier; the barrier between friendship and lovers. You knew the both of you were far from it.

Words: 3k

Warnings: mentions of blood, near-death experience, intoxication/alcohol/drugs, angst, damn sexual tension, fwb typa story

a/n: first story to start off the year, happy new year everyone!! but this probably isn't the ideal story you'd read for the start of the year

part 2 || masterlist.

You sat there, silent. The first thing you heard was the rapid beating of your heart, the relentless ringing that could only be assumed as background noise. Not once in your life did you feel glad you heard the sound of your own body. The world drafted into something of a void, your vision impaired and your head became a haze. Accidentally intoxicating and cutting yourself. What a lame way to die.

You stared at your palm for a while.

Holy shit, this isn't yours.

The hand trembling before you was, of course, yours, yet the grazed and dried blood etched across your palm, racing through the cracks of our flesh, the sweat, rain from above, and blood seeping into another will never be.

You've always wanted to do something where you'd say your last words before you eventually meet the strangle of death to someone close to you. Or maybe someone who's in near-vicinity of you.

With the little willpower you had, you reached into the back pocket, pulling out a battered phone. With a deep breath caught in your throat, you dialed a number.

You called someone, atleast, someone who you think gives a single shit about your well-being before the world turns black. Someone you loved.

"Willa?" you choked, a strange wince in your voice.

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You knew Wednesday wasn't one when it came to technology, actually, she's far from the target audience. Chances of her answering a phone call were slim, even if she were now owning a phone this semester. If not in a wild murder chase, fencing, or the bee-keeping club, she spent every waking moment at her workspace, the phone either tucked into the slit of her pockets or lying close by. DND, silent, volume low, nothing. You were risking your last breath for a voicemail that will never reach her.

But you were thankful she answered anyway.

The last breath you take is almost as important as the last sound you hear. A recollection, you'd say, if anyone tried to question. You had that in mind when you pressed her number, wondering if she'd answer anyway. She gave you exactly 2 seconds before she answered, only 4 seconds away for her to call out your name, and your world to close.

You'd like to think in the last few moments, Wednesday was playing her cello. You couldn't hear it, given the fact how far you were from Nevermore. But it was the same symphony you memorized in your head, the same symphony that you once hated with a passion when you first roomed with Wednesday—the perfect chords she'd play, the constant flipping of notes from her appendage, the graze of her bow against the strings, how you could see the intensity in her focused eyes as you closed yours. Back then, you despised every aspect of it, how you were always awake when she played the cello when you wanted to go to sleep. Now it became something you were humming in your head, hoping it'd keep you alive like how it always kept you awake when you wanted to sleep.

Wednesday had a change of heart when she saw your caller ID. Without a second thought, she abandoned everything down to her writing time and cello to rush through the door in the dead of night. Rain poured outside as if it was the purge in the skies, but she didn't bother changing into something decent. She needed to find you, she needed to find you in a condition that wouldn't keep her up at night. The thought of you, possibly lying half dead consumed every inch of her, leading her to spring through the woods under the haunting moonlit sky. Or, that's what you would like to believe.

There she found you near a tree, your legs splayed and your head hanging heavily over your shoulders. The phone in your grasp was slipping away as your body succumbed to giving out, the dim light of the flickering screen casted on your face before it powered off. Blood stained your hands and head, and a slash that pierced through your shirt gave Wednesday the assumption you were stabbed by someone.

Finding a lifeless body had always held a fascination for Wednesday, The last moments of someone's life could only mean so much, and it meant everything to see someone die in their own flesh and bones as the glint in their eyes faded away for Wednesday, and it would only be better if she was the cause.

But finding in you in the state you were in, realizing that you were now someone dying in their own flesh and bones, left to rot abandoned in a forest by all, Wednesday could only pray to whatever fucked deity that led you into this fate to have mercy on you, hoping that your heart would still beat as she picked you up from death.

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By the time your eyes started to open, you could only think you made yourself through the rings of hell, a pat on the back you gave to yourself. Before finding out you were back in Ophelia Hall, the dorm you and Wednesday both shared.

You couldn't remember anything. Just how you were sitting near a tree, humming a tune you wouldn't forget even if you died, not even thinking once how your blood got mixed with someone elses. All you do remember is attending a party in the middle of the woods and that's it.

A reckless, foolish, heedless rogue.

That's what you were.

Or atleast, in Wednesday's terms.

You're pretty good you could say to yourself.

The tree you had been near was replaced by the headboard of your bed where Wednesday and Thing were diligently tending to your wounds, with a particularly nasty slash that crossed your entire abdomen. It's a surprise how you weren't dead by now.

A groan escaped your lips as you sat on the bed, absorbing Wednesday's scolding about your 'idiotic recklessness that couldn't be detained even if the leash with great resiliency were to be in her hands.'

"Ugh, chill out Wends. I still have enough blood in me to last maybe a few years. Just let it pour out."

'You're pretty calm for someone who lost a ton of blood and is still bleeding by the minute.' The appendage on your lap signed as he lifted up the cloth that was bloodied red at this point.

Wednesday found herself back in your bed carrying a medkit and some supplies she hid under the table. More specifically just some torture tools she had in hopes of torturing someone this semester. "I should have left your lifeless body to rot."

You chuckled, "'Tis fine, not that deep anyways." You were preparing to lift yourself up to adjust yourself from the uncomfortable position you were in, considering that your head was hunched over than normal, but Wednesday's glare warned you against any movement. It's like wrong twitch, and she seemed ready to take away your ability to move altogether.

"Why didn't you carry me to the clinic?"

"The school clinic is closed for the night," Wednesday replied, opening the kit to pull out a pair of scissors, tweezers, and threads. "You should thank the spontaneous timing you have on death."

"Then why don't you call an ambulance?" You eyed how Wednesday fixed herself onto you, your line of sight following her gaze. Seeing how a single glare from her automatically made you think to lie down without being told to.

"Your soul would've passed by the time they've arrived."

You raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on your lips. "I thought you liked seeing people die. Change of heart?" But then that smirk eventually faded away and replaced with a wince when she pierced the clean part of your skin to thread the needle.

She shot you a withering look, then turned her attention back to cleaning and dressing the wound. She didn't answer immediately, what she was thinking was unreadable, even for you. "Foolish of you to mistake this for compassion. I'd rather not deal with the mess of explaining why there is one less head amongst us."

You couldn't help but chuckle at her matter-of-fact response. "Ah, the inconvenience of your roommate's dead body. I appreciate your utmost concern, Wednesday."

You want to believe you and Wednesday are on the best of terms. After all, she is tending to your wounds and giving a talk that isn't limited to one sentence. Or atleast that's what you want to believe. You knew above all else she'd go to lengths to manipulate someone to get what she wanted, so why let your guard down now.

But there was that thing. If letting your guard down is what it takes to be noticed by Wednesday Addams, you wanted to get manipulated by her. Even if it's one-sided.

You loved her.

"Why did you request my presence?" Wednesday started, her eyes still focused on the large cut you had.

"You mean call you?" You winced as she continued stitching, the throbbing pain from your chest coming back to haunt your nerves.

"Yes. Of course, call me."

"Dying's too easy Wends. One fucked up shit you do to your body you're—" You blew a raspberry, seemingly to mimic an explosion, a combustion of sorts. Which, of course, earned nothing from Wednesday. If you were sitting up, you'd see an unimpressed look on her face by now.

"I wanted to live for you, Willa. But even if I did die, atleast I spent the last moment calling you. Even in death, I couldn't escape the music of your cello."

"...I assume you are intoxicated up to this moment." She stitched up the last piece of skin and tightened it while wrapping your chest up with gauze.

'Did it not wear off?' Thing signed before Wednesday requested him to go fetch water and draw a bath.

Wednesday now regretted how she ignored you when you shared you'll be going to a party held up by the stoners. How it'll last up until midnight, and how she didn't tell you that it'll likely be some fraternity party that they just let anybody go, even if you weren't a part of it.

She thought you'd just be in there for a little while, considering how you weren't big on parties, you were just someone who wanted to join for a little bit and then eventually dip if things got worse. But she didn't expect this to be the outcome. By the look of your state, and how fucked up your mental state was judging how you talked, and how you often slurred your words, she could only assume someone either spiked your drinks with a shit ton of drugs or someone forced you to take some while being under the influence of alcohol then took you out into the woods for whatever reason.

Wednesday tucked her hand under your head and then pulled you into a sitting position, her dark eyes flicking up to meet yours. The unimpressed look on her face softened for a moment.

You took notice of how her eyes softened, or maybe it was just you and the drugs talking in your head, but there was definitely something. After a painful stitching process on your chest, she was now tending to your wounds on your skull area, not that much, but you knew your head was slightly bleeding and how you definitely got a blackeye, considering how closing your eyes burns like hell.

"Living requires more sacrifice than dying." Wednesday started, her voice being something that lifted the weight on your shoulders.

You chuckled weakly, the pain in your chest now drowned out. "Guess that's why it's so easy to do, and how some would like to." You studied her as she spoke, your voice seemingly getting quite as your gaze began to drift off somewhere else.

"How it brings me peace," You started, and even from here, or maybe just because you were under the influence, you could see Wednesday trembling. "How it erases my problems, how it erases me out of existence." You voice dwindled into a whisper, a breathy sigh left you.

"How death was the only way to get your undivided attention." Your eyes gaze over Wednesday's lips before going over to her eyes, to your surprise, she was leaned back, her usual stoic expression wavered and her jaw was clenched.

A flicker of something, maybe amusement, crossed Wednesday's features. "You have an uncanny way of getting what you want."

You chuckled weakly, the pain in your body forgotten and replaced with something burning inside you. "I just wanted your hands on me, Wends." Not something you'd say after going through a near-death experience, but it was partially true.

She met your gaze, her dark eyes meeting yours, who just wanted nothing but love. Her hand moved to gently cup your cheek, her thumb tracing a delicate pattern. "There are better ways to make me notice you." She murmured, a breathy voice you never heard from her before, her eyes searching yours for consent before her eyes flicker to your lips.

You closed the remaining distance. Your lips brushed against hers, a soft, lingering kiss you placed onto her soft ones. Wednesday responded, her lips parting slightly, deepening the kiss.

You could feel the softness of her lips, the warmth of her breath mingling with yours. Her fingers traced a slow, tantalizing path down your neck, sliding her hands around you and pulling you closer, but careful enough she didn't bring back that agonizing pain in your chest.

Every touch, every moment, everything that made Wednesday her at this moment made your world fade away. The warmth of her body against yours sent shivers down your spine, and you could feel her hands gliding across your body while you sat there, letting her own you in every way possible with just one single kiss.

The taste of her was intoxicating, intoxicating enough that it just might bring back that feeling of numbness and ringing in your ears, the idea of luxury was something more, something like her lips onto yours. Your hands found their way to her waist, your fingers tracing the curves of her body as you deepened the kiss.

When the kiss finally broke off, you found yourself breathless and wanting more, hunger reflecting in your eyes. Wednesday's gaze lingered on yours, and never once did reality hit you more harder than you thought.

Holy fuck, you kissed Wednesday Addams.

If you weren't dead that time in the woods, you were certainly dead now.

"Oh God. Oh shit, Wednesday, I'm so—I'm so sorry. I'll just—actually, I'll just room with Enid and Yoko for the whole semester, okay? Okay!" Panic laced your words as you fumbled across the bed, "Good—fuck that hurts!"

You winced as you tried to get up, the pain shooting through your body. Wednesday's hand gently pressed against your shoulder, halting your attempts to escape. "Sit down, y/n" she commanded, her tone surprisingly gentle.

"Stay," she commanded, her voice low and steady. Damn were you a dog or something? There was a glint in her eyes, something you could only mistake as someone in love with you too. "Apologies are unnecessary."

You hesitated, caught between the urge to escape the situation and the magnetic pull of Wednesday's presence. "I just... I didn't mean to overstep, I—"

Wednesday silenced you with a lingering gaze. "I assure you, you are far from overstepping," she stated, her tone unwavering. "In fact, you have my attention. For the record, I do not want you rooming with Enid and Yoko."

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Everyone knew you as the unlucky girl to receive a dormmate like Wednesday Addams. Considering all the rumors going around, how she keeps secret arsenals in the fabric of her clothing, the maybe-not-so-empty-50/50-threats and her aura in general made everyone fear her.

But honestly, you found that utter bullshit.

That's why you couldn't help but laugh and send a nonchalant "It's fine" when people ask about your mental state rooming with Wednesday Addams, and how people crossed the hallway just to avoid passing by your room. Well, probably since all the rumors were true, and the fact that she was scary as fuck was definitely true.

"New rumor in town saying you've got a pet spider that guards the entrance of our room," you mentioned, entering the room after your club and classes ended, wanting nothing more than to see the goth girl that everyone feared.

Wednesday glanced up from her book, a dry tone leaving her lips. "Humoring. Unfortunately, I left my pet spider back at the Addams Estate."

Actually, back then, you were one of the people who were terrified of Wednesday Addams. The first time you entered your dorm when you transferred, you had a knife shot at you, slightly grazing the side of your neck. But every now and then, you found yourself warming up to her. Why? Even you didn't know. Something about her, something about her coming every late at night after a wild murder chase, something about her playing her goddamn cello and spending every living day on her typewriter, just something about her made you insane.

Wednesday's gaze held yours for a moment, the intensity of her dark eyes softening. "Maybe you're just not easily scared."

"Or maybe I've just had the pleasure of getting to know the real Wednesday Addams," you replied with a grin.

The weeks that followed the near-death experience you had held a strange tension between you and Wednesday. The both of you fell into a routine where the both of you would wake up, pretend nothing happened between the both of you, and go to classes, and when it ends, it'll be like a flick of a switch where you two would eventually find eachother in eachothers pants.

There was a silent agreement seemed to form, a 'closed door policy' as Wednesday described when you brought it up abruptly. In the crowd, there were stolen glances, fleeting touches, and moments that hinted at something more. Nights were the hardest. You find yourself begging and succumbing to Wednesday's words, her touches, her glances, her kisses. But you knew the barrier, the barrier between friendship and lovers. You knew the both of you were far from it.

But that was what you wanted, right?

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a/n: part 2 soon???

#wednesday addams x reader #wendesday addams x you #wednesday addams #wednesday addams x female reader #wednesday x reader #wednesday x you #jenne ortega x reader #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega

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bunnelbaby · 1 year

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With how successful the previous post was, here are even more links to full episodes of children’s shows!

𐐪𐑂 Peep and the Big Wide World

𐐪𐑂 Krypto the Superdog

𐐪𐑂 DC Super Hero Girls

𐐪𐑂 Willa’s Wild Life

𐐪𐑂 3 2 1 Penguins

𐐪𐑂 Bee and Puppycat

𐐪𐑂 Grossology

𐐪𐑂 Kenny the Shark

𐐪𐑂 Maya and Miguel

𐐪𐑂 Rainbow High

𐐪𐑂 Winx Club

𐐪𐑂 Ever After High

𐐪𐑂 Lego Ninjago: Masters of Spinjitzu

𐐪𐑂 The Aquabats! Super Show!

𐐪𐑂 Yo Gabba Gabba!

𐐪𐑂 Pound Puppies (2013)

𐐪𐑂 Dan Vs.

𐐪𐑂 Sam & Max

𐐪𐑂 Garfield and Friends

𐐪𐑂 Inspector Gadget

𐐪𐑂 Harry and His Bucket Full of Dinosaurs

#agere #age regression #sfw agere #agere resources #forgive me if any of the links dont work!

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woundgallery · 1 month

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I don't submit many poems for publication, but I am truly delighted that this old piece found a home in a beautiful volume of Prairie Schooner. I wrote this in April 2016, when I was re-emerging from the most deadening period of my life. As much as this poem, on the surface, is about heartbreak, it is much more about the gift of opening myself once again to communion with others and communion with the mystery of our fragile, interconnected world. The person I wrote this for took me by the hand and--with gentleness and understanding--helped me put aside weariness and remember that the world was a place that could still surprise me with a beauty that surpasses explanation, that cannot be neatly explained and shut away. Though it's been years since we have spoken, I am forever grateful for him.

And, as spring quickens in New York City, I am grateful once more to reflect on all I would have missed if I had not made it through the gauntlet of 2015. I would never have met my cat (and love of my life) Willa who wakes me each morning by wildly purring, head butting me like a baby goat, and nibbling my cheeks and nose because she’s just so happy to see me; hiked on Orcas Island with Michael and found a surprise lake which we named Lake Ineffable (because no name was beautiful enough for it) where we stripped off our clothes and swam and embraced each other, blissfully alone and dazed by superfluous beauty; found out that George Washington National Forest may have more fireflies than anywhere in the world; grown into my vocation as a social worker and been blessed to sit in communion with my clients for eight years; built a beautiful relationship with my parents based on mutual respect, affinity, and humor; seen my friends’ babies discover the world; slept beneath a meteor shower sky on a NYC beach in the arms of a man I was suddenly and entirely falling in love with; discovered Eric Rohmer; discovered Wim Wenders; moved to Laramie, Wyoming where everything looks like the abandoned set of a Western film where the paint has flaked off but he extras are still wandering around despondently; moved to Montana where I remembered that I am part of the whole, not just a body in passing; woke in Missoula to the cold air seeping through my window—still half in a dream of Oregon in October—and stirred, deliciously alert beside the boy I loved, craning toward his sleepy, freckled back, to clutch him closer, the brisk quickening of fall making my body a new thing—wild and tender and alive; swam naked in the ocean; had the chance to work with my best friends and fall even more in love with the people they are based off the kindness they showed our clients; had my best friends, in turn, respect and love me more based of what they saw me showing clients; sat by a lake at night and felt an earthquake swell like a heartbeat beneath my body; drove from Missoula to Washington, Ryan’s van weaving through a forest fire zone until we reached the pure, amnesiac sweep of the Pacific; discovered Simone Weil; been, not only forgiven, but embraced by the person I most wronged after six years of estrangement; made up a silly-serious shared mythology with Steven about a vulture God named Hamm who watches over us with a severe equanimity; backpacked through Olympic National Park with Michael and seen and been seen by the strange shaggy haired deer and rabbits who looked at us without fear; discovered Agnes Martin; read poetry with my sage & strange Mara; discovered Olivier Messiaen; discovered Mary Ruefle; discovered Ana Mendieta; realized that I like the color yellow; moved to New York City; discovered Carol Rama; learned how to enjoy dancing to music other than punk rock; seen a moose in the wild; spent a summer in that yellow shotgun house with the overgrown yard and the porch overlooking the river where we made dinner each night listening to recordings of bird calls; experienced the delights of solitary sunbathing on Brooklyn roofs; encountered places named Hellgate, Bitterroot, and Rattlesnake; recited The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock at 3 AM, wading in the waters of the Long Island Sound; realized I am capable of keeping houseplants alive; heard the thrumming ecstasy of the grouse's wings; learned the name of those clustered, mustard-colored flowers that grow on the Oregon coast; grew grateful for beauty again, remembering the world is not a place I can neatly explain, cannot fold in linen and shut in a drawer; and, most of all, remembered the daily ways we concede—plainly, without theatrics—to live.

Today I am thankful for those who love me and those who allow me to love them.

#poetry #suicide #gratitude #love #love poems #vincent van gogh #my writing #prairie schooner #personal #text #yellow #but all love is uneven

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peanutty · 9 months

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the postcard legacy challenge: generation 1 (the farmer)

willa ballantine - animal enthusiast, goofball, clumsy

You have always craved a humble countryside life. Waking up at 5am to water your crops, taking care of your animals and spending your evenings with your family are what you desire for your life. You have always valued your family, farm, and animals. Move to Henford and meet a like minded individual who you will fall in love with. You will have inherited 25k to build your home.

Objectives:

have “simple living” and “wild foxes” as lot challenges for your home

have at minimum 1 llama, 1 cow, and 1 chicken coop

get the “green thumb” reward trait

complete the plants collection

win at least 3 times at the finchwick fair in henford

befriend wild birds and bunnies

all children must complete the mental aspiration

complete the country caretaker aspiration

master the gardener career (botanist branch)

master these skills: cross-stitching, gardening

Here are the original rules. I’ve tweaked the objectives a bit just to make it a little more challenging for myself so we’ll see if I can complete everything! 🤠

*lot by @ElliandraYT on the gallery

#dixie #postcard legacy challenge #postcard legacy #the farmer #ts4 #ts4 gameplay #ts4 legacy #simblr #sims 4 #ballantine 1 #willa ballantine

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wonderpommey · 1 year

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Well Jesse said it, no one truly changes and indeed nothing really changed in the couples’ dynamics in the end.

The show dangled a possible happy ending for Connor and Willa for a second but of course it tears it away in the finale. We already see Willa squirming under Connor’s grip, grappling with the “sexy second week itch”. Roman is particularly repulsed by that pairing; buying a young escort-type woman and parading her as somehow worthy, as a ‘wife’. There’s something so offensive to him about that. We never see Roman give Gerri anything of monetary value. He’d never want to buy her, he’s desperately attracted to how real she is, to the experience and things she can teach him, in every possible way (sex & advice). He wants what she is willing to give, not what he can buy. The only time money comes into their relationship is the exit package (pass!) and even that is essentially just another lesson she’s teaching him. You wanna rule with emotion, the next person will take you for everything you’re worth!

Shiv's adoption of Tom remains partly strategic. It moves from "not being betrayed" to "holding onto power", it has very little to do with love. Shiv continues to push sadistically to see how much she can get away with, how close patriarchy will let her get to being her own woman. Then, when Tom or Logan tells her she’s gone too far, she folds. And Tom loves her enough or loves being in the fold enough that it works in the succession universe, it becomes a deal of somewhat terrifying equals. And that was what succession was all about. Capitalism, patriarchy and the oppression of women. What men demand things like love and care from women, but they actually lose any genuine connection the second they take a woman's agency away from her… Sure you get her by your side physically for a while but you crucially loose her very desire to be there.

Roman and Gerri’s relationship remains a study in longing and sensuality. They are barely featured in the finale but Roman sets the tone by going down on mummy’s cheese. Oh succession and its cheesy genitals, the ricotta dick! The grilled cheese with a sucked dick! The whole kitchen scene is obviously an allegory about the lack of food and incidentally love Caroline has supplied to her children. It’s only scraps, rot and fire going into that smoothie. But Oedipus-Roman, doesn’t want the smoothie, he wants the tasty morsel of maternal love which isn't for him. He doesn’t bite by the way, he only licks. Unlike his last second on screen, he can’t go as far as actual consumption. Did he want Lobster? No, he wanted the most love. Did he want steak? No! He wanted to be picked above Kendall!!

Speaking of what’s not for him... He then has to watch Gerri talk about the pleasures of a slow screw. It’s a sudden exposure to her sexuality, a validation of his intuition that she likes being superior to her conquests, sexually, spiritually. Something he knows he can give her alongside the painful realisation that she opens up - to others - in that way.

Then the office breakdown. I still look good, I still look the part “Why isn’t it me?” What are the rockstar and the molewoman when the rockstar is just a big sack of bullshit? And Ken reaffirming he’s not good enough, he’s pure emotion, he doesn’t have the drive, he only ever wanted a ride or die.

All culminating in his only true, almost naturalistic documentary-style consumption of the season; Gerri’s martini. Drinking in the quasi love of his life (I could do a whole post about how wild it is that Jesse ‘I don’t want to tell you what to think’ Armstrong said something so totalitarian). This isn't the first connection between an older woman’s sexual appetite and her drink of choice this season! Remember Roman’s reaction to the image of Nan liking her wine like she likes her men!

Sure, the outer layer of that scene shows Roman, having lost the company, his lover/mentor's good will, and any way he knows of interacting with his siblings in a bar drinking alone, overly dressed, old Hollywood style. A potential regression to his sad playboy lifestyle (Jesse), or the start of a hopeless spiral of alcohol abuse (Mark - who has since then said he saw how Roman’s ending could be perceived as hopeful).

Upon closer inspection, his inferiority/beta complex, his emotions, his desire to be loved, his desire NOT to be in charge/on top - everything that his dad loathed to see in him - are finally showing through the physical scars on his face. He gave it a valiant try, but he couldn’t keep parading as whomever Logan wanted him to be and he realises that it makes him an unworthy heir and in the same breath, access to Gerri is disallowed. It still overwhelms him with emotion, but in the same way Oedipus took his own eyes and couldnt see Jocasta and longer, Roman only gets to see Gerri through screen and glass anymore. He demanded she believed he was as good and as ruthless as his dad and he turned out not to be. Objectively, it’s not a prerequisite to Gerri’s feelings for him as she responds to his pathos way more than she does to Logan's death, but his psyche is convinced he no longer deserves to be in her presence.

So he does the only thing he can do to keep her as close as he needs. Don't be fooled by the luxurious, civilised quality of the drink, this is a biological need, pure sustenance (Get her inside of him, under his skin, into his bloodstream and pumping to his heart). He bites his lip as the liquid enters his mouth, swallowing dramatically, loving the burn & hating the pain.

And we’ve come full circle on the theme of consuming each other. From the partnership-worthy mutual cannibalistic proposal of season 2, to the toxic if slightly castrating injunction for her to go down on him and devour him. Season 4 breaks him enough that he gets to the opposite nihilistic ideation that he’s nothing and hence has no claim on the company or being her protégé. The truth - that we don’t know if he can get to - is somewhat in between. All these kids are very smart and worthy in their own ways, even though of course the expectation placed on them to be exceptional prevents them being satisfied in being maybe just that.

His final scene showcases the sad and lonely consumption of the woman he loves’ essence, a poor ersatz for the ‘old gal’s juices’ that he doesn’t deserve. All he has to offer being something he has never been able to name or express without the alibi of the company; an amorphous, unworthy, unnamable but ultimately undeniable feeling.

And possibly in the writers’ minds, this is the suicide part of their contemporary Romeo & Juliet drama. Dying with the blade and the poison after daddy said the love was unacceptable & unobtainable? I mean come ON!

Roman “knifed” Gerri (This is rhetoric they use ON THE SHOW), she completed the execution by taking herself out and brought him the threat of annihilation (while ordering the poison; a martini). There is a delicious poisonous quality to the drink isn’t there (or its abuse)? And of course, if he dies he’ll die by her, he’ll taste the poison she chose off her lips, because if he has lost the love of his life in this eternal quasi status, it becomes the only worthy pursuit.

That was the roman-esque question of the show. What is love if it’s always been withheld, if it’s always been expressed via the proxy of the company, if it’s never been given freely, or modelled or held as something precious and worthy that had to be protected? And what if it makes you ravenous for it? And how could you get it, this thing you most desperately want, if you’d never been given the tools?

O true apothecary, Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.

#roman roy #succession hbo #gerri kellman #romangerri #shiv roy #tom wambsgans #connor roy #willa ferreyra #sorry this isn't a hopeful post #obviously Gerri finds him and tells him she loves him the way he is #he finds a way to make himself feel worthy again #I'm just pulling the thread laid by those evil writers

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