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starkjoy · 2 years

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Are you the author of the lovely fic Devil’s Advocates? Just wanted to say I love it very much!!❤️ This is not to put any pressure on you or anything and I understand if you don’t plan on writing more chapters but if you do, I am very excited to read more of it❤️❤️ Have a good day!!

I am indeed the author! I'm writing the next chapter as we speak, and as a thank you for your kindness (and everyone else's who've sent me messages like this), here's a small wip sneak preview.

Read below:

Frowning, Tom cocks his head. “Are you busy with something else?” he questions, suddenly on guard. He can imagine it now, Greg avoiding his eyes as he admits, “So, I actually met with my cousins and we brokered a deal? But um, you’re not part of it?” Or worse: “I’m in love with a girl I met yesterday at the HR mixer, so this narrative won't work for me after all. Good luck.”

“No, no. I’m ready,” the younger brunette quickly recovers, another weird smile on his lips. “Our calendars are blocked and loaded.” He points his index finger like a gun, cocking it and mimicking a kill shot at the Rubik’s Cube on his desk. He shifts again, clears his throat. “Come in.”

Tom accepts the answer after a moment’s scrutiny. “Good,” he says before reaching out into the hallway and rolling his secret weapon into the office: a large whiteboard he’d snagged from the neighboring conference room. He shuts the door behind him, locks it just in case.

Greg shifts. “What’s that for?”

“Did you black out from the wine, Gregory? We have a big day tomorrow.”

“Of course, but why do we uh, need a whiteboard?”

“Need a demonstration, do you?” Tom picks up one marker from the bottom tray and unsnaps its lid. He turns toward the board, back facing Greg, and writes. “See, here we can document our hearts’ desires with gliding ease,” he instructs with a condescending lilt like a professor scratching out an advanced equation for an audience of toddlers. He turns around, gesturing to his finished work: CAN’T MAKE A TOMLETTE WITHOUT BREAKING A FEW GREGGS.

“This again—”

“But wait!” he interrupts like an infomercial’s worst salesman. “The real magic?” Tom grabs the eraser brick from the tray, replacing it with the marker, and then disappears the text with one long swipe. “Gone into the ether! No paper trail, no email chains. A temporary haven without risk of Congress, the DOJ, or any other governing body finding our receipts.”

“I know how a whiteboard works, Tom.”

He feigns confusion. “Well, you’re the one who asked what it's for.”

“I didn’t mean—,” Greg stops himself and spreads his lips in a thin line. “You’re razzing me,” he confirms rather than asks.

Tom smirks, satisfied, and stuffs his hands in his slack pockets. He cocks his head. “Yes. But no, actually. I’m going to quiz you on our timeline and write it down on the board for our reference. Then we can run through a few more times until we’re feeling good, yeah?”

Greg nods, eyes flitting away from Tom’s and zoning out a bit. Social awkwardness is par the course for the leggy brunette, but something about his detached demeanor compared to last night’s casual intimacy sends a chill down Tom’s spine. Perhaps his earlier assessment was all wrong—maybe their little tête-à-tête made Greg like him less. Maybe Greg’s enacting one big long con against Tom, chasing the promise of a fancy promotion and cushy office, dreaming of some vapid heiress to entrap with his old-money heritage and gaudy, newfound riches. Tom’s always loved his protege’s slimy moments, those little testaments to his influence taking hold, evidence that the younger man trusts him enough to reveal his ugliest colors. This time, however? The scenario, even dreamt, makes him sick to his stomach.

Tom swallows. “What is it, Greg?”

His friend blinks, returning his gaze. “Oh, nothing. Sorry. I’m fine and dandy, all’s good in the hood. I don’t know if ‘hood’ is an appropriate term for me to be using, actually, but since my office is a refurbished mailroom, it could be considered the ‘hood’ of Waystar, I guess? Refurbished may be generous, it’s pretty uh, un-furbished, if you will? Never furbished to begin with—”

“Okay, stop,” Tom interrupts. He steps toward Greg, pulls out the chair facing his desk, and sits down. “Tell me what’s going on.”

Greg stares at him with his big, blue eyes. “Nothing, man.”

“You’re squirming like a virgin hiding his first boner and rambling like a coked up parakeet. Did something happen after last night? Did the siblings reach out to you? Logan?”

“No! No, I haven’t heard anything.” Greg’s dark brows furrow over his down-turned blues, again evading Tom’s stare. “It’s not that.”

Tom inhales, preparing himself for whatever blow comes next. “So what is it, Greg?”

#tomgreg #my fic #sneak peek #anon #ask #devil's advocates

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tomwambsmilk · 2 years

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obsessed with how nondescriptive but also intriguing 'emails' is. what emails tell me about them

Ooh emails!! I have such a soft spot for emails even though I haven't worked on it in a while. Basically, I started writing this after doing the math on the fact that Tom sent the 67 emails to Greg on the first night of his honeymoon, because, first off, hello???? But also because, as hysterical as that concept is, the more I thought about it the sadder I actually got - there had to be a lot going on there, emotionally.

So, I started writing the 67 emails. Or, what I thought might be in the 67 emails. (And technically more than 67 emails, because Tom sent 67 emails, but if Greg replied then we're actually looking at 130+ emails.)

I'll share a snippet from the very beginning, but I'm just gonna copy-paste under a readmore, because it's a bit of a longer snippet:

To: [email protected] From: [email protected] Date: March 11, 12:14pm Subject: You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs

Hey Greg,

Shiv and I are halfway to the yacht in Boca already, and let me tell you, the views are a thousand times better than anything we had in England.

Anyways, there are a few things that are gonna need to be taken care of while we’re on honeymoon, and frankly you, Gregory, my right-hand-man, my Alexander Hamilton, are the only one I can trust to maybe possibly get this right, so:

Jenkins has been giving me the run-around on updated park attendance numbers for a full month now. Clearly they are not good, because at this point it goes beyond negligence and into obstruction, and I’m going to have to rip into him when I get back. BUT to do that I need the actual numbers - so, Greg, I need you to harass him into coughing them up. Camp outside his office. Stalk him. Intimidate him with your freakish physical length. Threaten to poison his dog. (Kidding! …..unless?) If anyone gives you shit show them this email and tell them I sent you. And then once you have them, send them to me ASAP, alright?

Our dog-walker is great, but she’s never handled Mondale alone for this long before and frankly Mondale is too important to me to leave in the hands of a virtual stranger. I need you to go over there once a day and make sure he’s okay. Make sure he looks fed and happy and whatever else. The doorman knows you well enough by now that he should let you in.

Keep an eye on Kendall for me. I don’t know exactly what’s going on, there, but I don’t want to get back and find out he’s fucked me in my sleep somehow. I need intel, Gregory. Be my eyes on the ground, pig-man.

Also, keep your calendar free for the 26th (the Monday after Shiv and I get back) because you and I are going out. You like Italian, right? I’m guessing you must if you can stomach whatever CPKs terrible excuse for linguini must taste like. Friend of mine recommended a really good place that opened up a few months ago - super exclusive.

Tom

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: March 11, 12:52pm Subject: Re: You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs

Jesus, Greg, you really need to learn to be more responsive. What, are you dead? I know you’re not that hungover because you looked fine this morning. I’m pretty sure you ate enough of those congealed eggs to feed a small army of wild horses. (Enjoy that metabolism while you can, by the way).

Anyways, our helicopter pilot keeps trying to tell us fun facts about Boca. Fact: did you know that if these helicopters had removable windows, I might jump out one? Seriously ridiculous. I really just want to get to the yacht so Shiv and I can get down to business ;)

Let me know when you see this, and also change your push notifications so you see my emails before I grow a beard and die of old age.

Tom

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: March 11, 1:05pm Subject: Re: You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs

Greg, if you are dead you have a legal obligation to me, as your employer, to let me know.

Tom

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: March 11, 1:23pm Subject: Re: You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs

Is this about yesterday morning? If it is, that’s both incredibly petty and unprofessional of you. You really need to learn to control your feelings in a professional working environment.

Tom

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: March 11, 1:29pm Subject: Re: You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs

For the record, I get that I probably shouldn’t have pushed you down like that. I know you were trying to help, even if it was an incredibly shitty thing to bring up.

Still, you don’t need to be an asshole about it.

Tom

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: March 11, 1:32pm Subject: Re: You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs

Sorry Tom, I really wasn’t expecting any emails from you today, lol. I’ve been packing and shit, didn’t bother to check.

Re: the Kendall thing, I think something’s up with him? He seemed really out of it this morning. He might’ve been coming down from something, though, so idk. He went into Logan’s office, then came out and got in the plane and took off. Haven’t seen him since.

And yeah, I can harass Jenkins. I’m not gonna poison his dog though. His dog is actually really cute. (Not as cute as Mondale though <3)

I’m not mad about yesterday or anything. Does this mean we’re good? I do feel bad about bringing it up, I guess it was kind of a shitty thing. I guess I thought that I would want to know? But tbh I think I was probably mistaken. I had a few drinks and a joint and I probably didn’t know what I was seeing. So I’m sorry about that, and I hope we’re good.

Greg

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: March 11, 1:35pm Subject: Re: You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs

Also Shiv is my cousin man. It’s kinda weird when you talk about her like that.

Greg

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: March 11, 1:43pm Subject: Re: You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs

Hey Greg,

Good to know you aren’t dead, fuckwad. Push notifications, ever heard of them? I know you’ve got the nepotism thing on your side, but you do need to step up your game if you want to get anywhere at Waystar.

Also, good to know about Kendall… Honestly, I can’t figure that guy out. Is he super competent or a burnout? He might be an evil genius, or he might be a rejected daddy’s boy. You’d think it would make him more interesting, but it’s really just irritating.

And yeah, we’re good Greg.

Tom

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: March 11, 1:46pm Subject: Re: You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs

For the record, though, you weren’t wrong.

Tom

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: March 11, 1:50pm Subject: Re: You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs

Oh. Sorry about that, man. That’s kinda rough. I’m guessing you guys worked it out, though?

Greg

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: March 11, 1:58pm Subject: Re: You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs

You trying to pump me for information, Greg? Get my dirty secret out so that you have leverage on me. “Oh, Tom, I would help you out, but maybe then I’d have to tell everyone that you’re a cuckold.” Fuck off, man.

Tom

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: March 11, 2:05pm Subject: Re: You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs

No? I just wanted to know if things were okay, but whatever. Have a good honeymoon, I guess.

Greg

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: March 11, 2:28pm Subject: Re: You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs

Yeah, things are fine, Greg. We have a whole arrangement worked out, it’s very modern and exciting.

Tom

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: March 11, 2:40pm Subject: Re: You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs

See, the thing about love, Greg - traditional love, I mean - is that it’s bullshit. It’s all bullshit! It’s pablum made to sell magazines and lipstick and flowers and all sorts of garbage. Hell, we use it to sell news and theme park rides and movies and whatever else. But it’s not real. Of course it’s not real! But dumb fucks from hicktown want it to be real, so they believe it’s real, and they get into “traditional” marriages and lock themselves down with one person, and pretend that what they feel is love and not fear, jealousy, revenge, and a whole host of messy shit. But they’re lying to themselves, really.

Honestly, Greg, you’re pretty young so you might not get this, but you will eventually. The closest thing to this fake idea of love is really just - a partnership. Two people who get each other, and they like hanging out together, and maybe they have a plan or a strategy and they can work together to push each other into the positions they want to be in. Or maybe they pull each other up, I don’t know, I haven’t fully worked through the metaphor. But this whole “let’s just fuck one other person forever” bullshit, that’s just a recipe for misery. That’s not how people were meant to be.

So yeah, Shiv and I have an arrangement, and to be honest it’s a lot closer to the ideal of “true love” than any of those other dumb fucks have, because we know the truth. And we have a plan, and we get each other, and really that’s all you need.

Tom

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: March 11, 2:52pm Subject: Re: You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs

As long as you’re happy, Tom.

Greg

From: [email protected] To: [email protected] Date: March 11, 2:53pm Subject: Re: You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs

Of course I’m happy, Greg. Why the fuck wouldn’t I be?

Tom

#mixed feelings about the voices in this one #if I go back to it I might tweak some of this?#epistolary storytelling is very cool but also particularly challengin #ask games

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silenthillmutual · 3 years

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i don’t know anything about succession but if that screencap is real and that one guy really did e-mail the other one “you can’t make a tomlette without breaking a few greggs” then i will actually sit down and watch the show. so can someone tell me if that really happens because that’s hysterical

#icarus.txt

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amazingspidermans · 3 years

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genuinely was not able to sit through more than the first 2 minutes of succession for problems unrelated to the show and mostly Oh Fuck I Actually Have Homework Deadlines but i just. “you can’t make a tomlette without breaking a few greggs.” i need to know the context of this goddamn line

#WHAT DOES IT MEAN #HOW DOES THIS DIALOGUE OCCUR #WHY IS MR DARCY IN A HOMOEROTIC RELATIONSHIP #WITH A MAN KNOWN AS COUSIN GREG #i am. so facinated by this in the worst way #tv: succession #succession

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pjharvey-moved · 4 years

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happy ‘you can’t make a tomlette without breaking a few greggs’ day to those who celebrate

#tomgreg neolib blocklist national holiday

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casgirl · 4 years

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Tom (NBC Smash) could do you can’t make a tomlette without breaking a few greggs AND Tom (HBO Sucession) could do Vienna as a weird love song to the 20 year old Broadway stan who’s cheating on his boyfriend with him.

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jennifersbod · 4 years

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“you can’t make a tomlette without breaking a few greggs” is the best line ever on television

#personal #succession rewatch

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onthecrosslook · 3 years

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called eggs "greggs" out loud

…

You can’t make a Tomlette without breaking a few Greggs.

-AE

#jalexandria #lexi two strikes again #this is actual honest to god dialogue #tomgreg #suck session

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reptilia2003 · 4 years

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four seasons total landscaping has the same vibes as you can’t make a tomlette without breaking a few greggs. Do not ask me to explain, I cannot

#today in Jokes i posted on discord and then put on social media

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amandayoungdyke · 5 years

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cousin greg: i’m a morosexual i am attracted to dumbasses and dumbasses only. yesterday tom told me you can’t make a tomlette without breaking a few greggs and now i dream of kissing him under the moonlight

#succession #greg hirsch #tom wamsgans

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glorianas · 5 years

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you can’t make a tomlette without breaking a few greggs

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fullregalia · 5 years

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chef’s kiss (from daddy).

Like a sad sack Kendall jonesing for something better than park coke, I am already missing the presence of Succession in my life and so blogging and discovering the Vanity Fair podcast will have to stave off my season finale withdrawal. Upon listening to Slate Money’s Succession podcast season finale episode with guest Tamar Adler, I felt like I wanted to think more about the role of food in the show in general. “Thank you for the chicken” may just be the most iconic Tom Wambsgans line Succession has had so far, and there are so many (uncut) gems to choose from (“Just checking the till here, Mark, and it seems you're short a few million,” and who could forget this poetry: “king of edible leaves--his majesty, the spinach.”) The way the show traffics in excess, while also showing us how the Roys eat, but are never truly nourished, is a fascinating lens through which to see how these characters live. [Ed. note: I started writing this all the way back in October, and got sidetracked with school--in the interim, Eater published a great article ranking the dinner scenes in the show.]

If you were to ask me what the stand out food scene in season one is, I’d immediately answer Tom and Greg’s dinner with the ortolan course. It’s such a nouveau riche flex (but maybe it’s an old money flex too? I don’t hang out with ortolan eaters of any socioeconomic status!) and a silly one at that, but it’s fitting that Tom and Greg--of “you can’t make a Tomlette without breaking some Greggs” fame--are the ones to make a big deal over an elaborate dinner, because they’re the outsiders. While many of the show’s episodes are centered on a grand meal as set piece, it shows how commonplace formal, catered dinners are for the Roys. When you’re a billionaire, going out to dinner is probably more of a nuisance if you could just eat something decadent prepared for you in your own home.

By season two, it’s almost as if every episode plays some sort of food-as-metaphor role as the grand meals function as plot points more frequently. From episode one, “Summer Palace,” we start off with Logan trashing an entire seafood feast to order a bunch of pizzas (that don’t even get touched) at their Hamptons house. To the Roys, this kind of waste doesn’t upset anyone, and what’s even more interesting is Logan is totally fine with the idea of ordering pizzas. This weird highbrow/lowbrow liminal space that the Roys occupy is so fascinating to me. Billionaires are out of touch and weird, sure, but they act so artificially chummy, like the way Nan Pierce presents herself, for instance. While rationally I understand Logan demanding that his staff order a bunch of pizzas, I also cannot imagine a billionaire being like, “order a bunch of pizza instead of this lobster!!” (Clearly this is a bit of shades of Warren Buffet garbage palate happening here, billionaires: they’re just like us! #wealthtax.)

But Logan is in no mood to waste neither food nor time in episode three, when they all go hunting and we are introduced to the world’s most insane Exterminating Angel cosplay also known as Boar! On! The! Floor! (!!!) No sausage gets left behind as this dinner party devolves into yet another opportunity for Logan to humiliate and belittle his family and colleagues. As Troy Patterson notes of Logan Roy, he’s carnivorous in every way. Lest you forget, though, the Roys love their beverages more than they appreciate food, and in this episode Connor introduces us to hyperdecanting and Logan views Roman out of touch with the common man because he can’t say how much a gallon of milk costs. Another highbrow/lowbrow moment: this season has made the clash of Logan’s upbringing with his children’s lifelong privilege much more of a thematic presence. (Do we think Shiv has ever ordered pizza delivery? She has worked on political campaigns, but strikes me as a “no thanks, I don’t have time for lunch” kind of staffer.)

Food waste runs in the Roy family, it seems. There’s this funny little moment when Roman goes to management training, picks up a sad looking danish, takes a bite, is disgusted, and puts it back. Oh Romulus, you are such a jerk, but I love your weird ways. One of the things I noticed this season about Roman on his “leadership journey” was that he seemed to teetotal more and more--perhaps as a result of witnessing his brother’s substance abuse issues--it seems as though as he becomes increasingly serious about taking over the job of CEO, he’s been drinking more Perrier and green juice.

As the season continues, the meals keep coming: when the Roys dine with the Pierces at Tern Haven, Nan has this bizarre moment of performative hostess mode when she presents a roast her housekeeper made to the guests as her own? It was such a weird scene, and so telling of who Nan Pierce is: she loves to appear as a homespun, generous person, but clearly is not just a “simple billionaire” who gets her hands dirty in the kitchen. The façades continue to crumble as the evening goes on as the Roys snap at one another, though somehow the disastrous dinner isn’t enough to halt the deal from happening (yet). It takes a weekend in Argestes, with lunches not eaten and dinners walked out on, for that deal to fall apart.

While the big set pieces of season two’s grand dinners reveal to us the cruel and illusory tendencies of our characters, the most revealing--and effective--use of food (or lack thereof) was Shiv and Roman’s visit to their mother in “Return.” We know that the younger Roys’ mother is cold, but in this episode we see just how withholding she is. Before we get to Lady Caroline’s, Roman makes a joke about eating muddy trout and filling up on mustard; on the plus side, we have a funny scene at a convenience store with Roman and Shiv looking completely confused by how normal people snack. It’s clear that Caroline does not have a healthy relationship with food--Harriet Walter says that was part of her backstory for the character--and she serves them pigeon with shot and feather not cleaned off. She cannot nourish her children, literally or emotionally. (lol at my *extremely incisive* commentary and psychoanalysis.) Later in the evening, while talking to Kendall in the kitchen, she cannot bring herself to have a heart-to-heart with him. In the New York Times’ review of the episode, Noel Murray says: “That’s one powerful symbol for life as a Roy. One parent hollers for protein. The other serves inedible meat.” These rich kids just can’t catch a break from their parental nightmares!

Succession shows its characters’ damage through their total lack of intimacy or vulnerability. It is not your usual HBO show with gratuitous nudity; besides Roman and Gerri’s .... situation, there’s not really sex on this show. The only way that the Roys derive pleasure is from money and the flashy status symbols that come with it (hello, mega yacht!). The scenes with food become the most emotional because it’s the closest they get to physical or emotional closeness in many ways. But the Roys don’t do emotional closeness; I think one of the cruelest--and funniest--examples of this is when Shiv, Tom, Roman, and Tabitha have dinner together and all Shiv and Roman can do is dunk on Tom for his bad suits (Roman: “You look like a divorce attorney from the Twin Cities,” and: “I’m sorry but like, what the fuck? You look like a Transformer. What’s wrong with your body, man?”).

All this brings me to the denouement of Season 2, in which we also reach the apex of Tom’s frustration with his terrible in-laws mistreatment of him, and the aforementioned “thank you for the chicken” line. First: Logan Roy is out here on a MEGA YACHT eating a chicken wing with some big Ricky Rozay wingstop energy. Second: Tom cannot bring himself to confront Logan, even if he finally vented his frustrations to Shiv; all he can do is stuff his face (it’s not love, Tom!! I learned the hard way!!!) and walk away. Third: all the yacht meal scenes are great--just a complete pile-on of courtiers backstabbing and badmouthing each other (Tom calling Karl a “sausage thief”) with a few genuine moments of emotional honesty. Connor drinks wine at breakfast. Greg, accustomed to quaffing rosé, fears he will be sprinkles on the sundae of a Tom sacrifice. Roman defends Gerri! The look Roman and Kendall exchange when the sacrifice is made. Roman, who is “widely known as a terrible person,” in general becoming the MVP of the latter half of the season, even asks to talk to his siblings “normally.” A request that they summarily mock him for. Succession season finales have major “Water, water, every where / Nor any drop to drink” vibes.

We end the season with Kendall giving daddy Roy a (Judas) kiss after a figurative last supper on the boat, and what’s next is ripe for further scenes of familial drama. Let’s hope there’s similarly rich protein for us in Season 3, I’m already hungry for more.

#succession #food #lol #tv #demi you genius #kiss from daddy

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