The Effects Of Tom & Shiv's Relationship On The Main Plot

the loneliness of existing

The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue — Mackenzi Lee // The Red Jacket — Holly Warburton \\ The Secret History — Donna Tartt // A Tale of Two Cities — Charles Dickens \\ Nighthawks — Edward Hopper // Ruin and Rising — Leigh Bardugo \\ Maurice (1987) // The Talented Mr Ripley — Patricia Highsmith \\ Train Station Isolation — Holly Warburton // Brideshead Revisited — Evelyn Waugh

Today I cried a little bit because I remembered that when Beethoven conducted his ninth symphony for the first time he got a standing ovation and one of the sopranos had to turn him around to see the audience. 

six moths since the succession final btw, six months since i’m the eldest boy, six months since i love you but i cannot fucking stomach you, six months since the walmart colorblock boys t-shirt, six months since meal fit for a king, since months since kisses boys on molly, six months since the stitch rip. six months since real television.

Dear Friends,

My name is Laila, and I am writing to you from a place of deep despair. The conflict in Gaza has forced us from our home, and we now find ourselves in Khan Younis, struggling to survive. My mother is pregnant, and her life is in grave danger.

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Please, I beg you to share our campaign on your social media platforms. Your help can make a difference and give my mother a chance to live.

Thank you for your compassion and support.❤️🙏🏼

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"this fundraiser is vetted by nabulsi, fallahifag, el-shab-hussein, ibtisams, sayruq"

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What do you think about it is about Kendall that’s it’s like, of course he’s the only one with a real friend?

It's lowkey one of my favourite choices on the show, anon, just because I think it's so revealing in more ways than one. Like, it makes sense, not just because of who Kendall is, but also who his siblings are, and the different ways they navigate their way through the world.

Interestingly, I think Connor and Shiv actually have the clearest boundary (or hurdle, depending on how you look at it) when it comes to fostering friendships, and while I think those things are different, I think they're both steeped in these factors of them as characters that shape their experiences of adulthood.

I think Connor's stems from an extremely disrupted childhood between his mother's mental health, her institutionalisation, his father's absence and reappearance, and then his being pushed into a parentified role to the golden trio at a formative age (canon explicitly tells us that too! Camping trips, fishing trips, fulfilling the father duties at Shiv's wedding before Logan decides to show up!) when he should've been away at college building his own relationships, in order to feel he had any sort of place in his family.

Similarly, I think Shiv has been soaked in hatred for her own gender since she's been born. Her relationship with her mother is strained and seems to have been weaponised by her father, she likely went to an all girls school (Spence, I imagine, which is basically the all girls equivalent of Buckley, the all boys school we know Kendall went to) and her own misogyny hampered any genuine friendship attempts. I think Shiv probably had frenemies, but nothing deeply meaningful, because vulnerability and emotional honesty is something she can't allow herself if she wants to survive in a male-dominated household festering in a male-dominated industry. I think male friendships were off the table in that sense too because Shiv seems to have always sought power in whatever way she could, and the two things she has to exert power are her name and her sexuality and at least her sexuality is hers.

I think Roman's a little harder to put a pin in in that sense, because I think he's a little bit of both of them, and a whole lot his own thing. I think he's experienced a part of Connor's disrupted childhood by having been shipped away to school and for his physical abuse, and I think he's experienced a part of Shiv's self-loathing for a part of his identity he can't face up to, but I also think Roman on paper should have friends. Roman's funny and insightful and (most of the time) the right sort of mean, and he's no more self-defensive than the rest of them, but I think the reason comes down to the biggest difference between him and Kendall:

Roman can be honest without being vulnerable, whereas Kendall can be vulnerable without being honest.

Roman as a character isn't actually particularly duplicitous. He can absolutely be an asshole, but he doesn't play to what people want in the way that both Kendall and Shiv (and even to an extent, Connor) do. His moments of vulnerability though are rare, often private, often, still, fleeting and guarded, while his moments of honesty are more frequent, yet often just ugly and naked and there. He fronts to it, and takes it, and usually tells the other person to take it too, which is what he did with Gerri and Tabitha and even Lawrence way back at the start of the series.

Kendall's not an honest person, but he is someone who's inherently vulnerable, and I think it pulls people to him, despite themselves. We've seen it in real time with Naomi and even Greg, and retrospectively with Rava, Stewy and Frank. He can break, he can curl in a lap or bury a head in a shoulder while still telling half truths or nothing at all. God, probably one of the best examples is in 2.04 when he pulls Shiv into a hug while talking around what she actually wants to hear.

Kendall lets people mop up the blood while he either tries to hide, ignore or justify the wound, and I think that vulnerability lets people feel a degree of intimacy with him and protectiveness of him that becomes muddied as they discover that Kendall is inherently a dishonest person and an addict, as it seems most characters in this show have learnt the hard way. After all, discovering that he's not told you a whole truth doesn't erase the memory of the weight of his head against your shoulder.

whoa this guy knows how to party

What would it take?

On the day of the shooting, Rebecca had driven up to DC to give an interview for the Post.

Ms. Nelson, your recent march in Charlotte has been criticized by politicians on both sides of the isle; some saying the “defund the police” movement is a brash reaction to singular human errors.

Yes… I’ve seen. Those criticizing it are largely establishment neoliberals, who have a financial interest in upholding the prison industrial complex. I encourage anyone who is concerned about ‘brashness’ to read what our platform really is.

[…]

Your stepbrother––republican senator David Nelson of North Carolina––is among the detractors. I can imagine your family gatherings are tense, if you don’t mind me asking? It’s uncommon for a progressive activist to be of the same ilk as a GOP member. Since our father passed away [the former congressman John Nelson] …we honestly haven’t had reason to see each other. My mom and I were never really part of the club, if you know what I mean. In fact, I haven’t spoken to him since he voted against legalizing gay marriage. For obvious reasons [laughing].

I see [smiling]. How has parenthood been treating you?

…Lizzy and I love our children very much. They’re who I’m fighting for. Having adopted them, I feel an extra responsibility to get it right––I’m not sure if that makes sense. But they’re my two little angels, Liam and Ella; I couldn’t have asked for better kids.

The reporter resumed her questions about police reform for a few minutes, until Rebecca was interrupted by a phone call from Lizzy. She politely excused herself from the table. As she walked towards the window listening to her wife’s voice, the publicity-smile died on her face. Confusion and fear took its place. Hand-over-mouth, she said, “Do they know what school?” The interview was never published.

…

Both dead.

Rebecca had refused to believe it…until she identified the bodies, that is. She doesn’t remember much from those first weeks. Her memory of them is a soup of shock and nausea: Lizzy wailing at Lego blocks, rotting care-packages, crying for so long that breathing became a chore. She couldn’t stop imagining their final moments––the confusion, the running, the fear-freezing…how they wouldn’t have understood what was happening, or why holes had been ripped through their soft little bodies, or why they were draining down into darkness––why she wasn’t there to protect them. Her life felt corrupted at the seams with evil. They didn’t leave the house for two weeks after the funeral. She was locked in a gas chamber of puerile horror; surrounded by unceasing absence. Any child-sized object was enough to poison her for hours with inky grief. They had released a public statement; she knew this would be a story. She hated every message of condolences that she received––each one was more evidence that the event had truly happened; each one pushing her further from the hope that things could go back. Most of all, she hated the letter from her stepbrother. She was blind to his words of sympathy, his “thoughts and prayers.” She obsessed over their past arguments on his policy: fighting gun-control bills on the floor, advocating for the very weapon her children’s shooter used; millions in campaign donations from the NRA. She didn’t invite him to the funeral. He called her on the day, but he couldn’t get a word in––she screamed at him about his liability until he hung up.

It was only after Rebecca had torn herself away from that sticky domestic agony, that she began to appreciate the moral power she now had over him. Endowed with a new purpose in life, she felt obligated to make something good come out of this; to make him pay for his professional sins. Had political leverage ever come in the form of guilt before? Unlikely, she thought, for such a shameless lot.

…

Four weeks passed. She waited outside his DC townhouse, squeezing and relaxing her strong fists. Her heart pounded. Bitter memories crushed in around her, accompanying the oppressive humidity. This city, this house––she knew nothing of them besides illegitimacy and exclusion. She remembered a teenage David referring to her as “daddy’s little bastard girl” at Christmas one year. David got dropped off by a black SUV, grinning at his iPhone as he walked. When he reached her at the door, his face looked agitated, as if at a loiterer; but upon recognizing her it became surprised, then guarded—on the defensive. “You’ve been hard to reach,” she said, pleased to have caught him out. She’d been calling him constantly in the past week, which he had started screening upon realizing that she wasn’t looking to him for comfort. He looked flustered, his mouth opened and closed. “…yes, I’ve been busy…very busy. Rebecca, I wish I could’ve seen you earlier… I’m so sorr––” “I read your letter already. No need to be redundant,” she said. A loaded silence passed, he looked at her blankly. She gestured to his house, “Fancy a drink? Old times sake.” Hesitation, ambivalence—could he really be afraid of her? She was elated to see him conflicted like this; for once she had the upper hand. Composing himself, he smiled. “I’d like that. I’ve missed you, Becky,” reaching out with a comforting touch. She played along, smiling sadly like the doe he saw her as. Hot blood rushed through her neck, she felt dangerous.

Once settled inside, she gestured to his phone and said, “not spoiling any evening plans, am I? I saw Christine is out of town.” His mouth smiled, his eyes didn’t. “…We’re having a rough patch, as you know.” His glare was steady––a warning. “And you? How’s your… y’all holding up?” “Ah, you know,” she shrugged. In reality, the marriage was quickly following their children to the grave. Too much damage had been done. But she wouldn’t dare tell him; for fear of sharing some bastardized solidarity. Icy minutes passed, and she hated him more with each one; he seemed inconvenienced by her presence, looking forward to resuming his unbothered life. She could feel evil radiating from everything––polished leather, antique tables, animal hides. His wealth made her sick, she felt her children’s death in every atom of his home. Her nerves were frayed, her vision was hot and red––she couldn’t wait any longer. He was facing the bar, pouring out a bourbon. “So, wanna talk about how you’re an accomplice to my children’s murder?” He stopped pouring. Her pulse quickened more. Finally, he turned around, and she was taken aback by the menace on his face–– “What did you just say?” “He used an AR-15 David. As I’m sure you know.” He smiled at her, as if he we’re looking at a child or a mental patient. “This is so typical.” She imagined kicking his teeth in. “I invite you into my home? And y––” “Tell me, how much money does the NRA stuff up your ass every year? Enough to blind you from the news? Or do you just enjoy sucking daddy’s dick so much you don’t have time to notice?” He laughs in her face. “The kid would’ve just used a different gun Rebecca! Is that not clear to you?? You really think if I had voted to ban AR-15s he wouldn’t have just got one illegally? Grow up. Don’t come to me playing politics when you’re clearly too emotional to think.” “Fuck you,” she spat. She hated that his condescension could bite her––he had the voice of her father. Childish tears filled her eyes, and she turned away; she couldn’t let him see her cry. She steadied herself against a chair. A few minutes passed. He sipped his bourbon. “Listen, Becky. I’m sorry…I–– I can’t imagine what you’re going through. To lose those kids, just––” “Save it.” Her words were thick with tears. Those kids. She couldn’t help but laugh. He hadn’t bothered to call them by name, just like her dad––again. Too brown, too poor. We’ll humor her little girlfriend, we’ll let her help these poor kids; but we mustn’t be seen with them. it doesn’t serve the party values. Hate pooled in her stomach. She faced him. “Just think for a second. What if it had been Adam and Luke when they were in school? Would you have done something then?” A few moments passed. He scrunched his nose––he seemed to be genuinely contemplating. “Now––I don’t mean to be rude; I hate to say it. These things are tragedies… truly. But they don’t happen in private schools.” She stared at him, shocked. She couldn’t speak…was he serious? She felt crazy. Was that all it took for them to sleep? A degree or two of separation? She almost laughed––the path forward was so simple. It struck her like a shaft of divine light. “Did you know that Liam was shot four times?” she asked him. “He was found crawling towards his sister’s classroom.” The words were corrosive; insane. How could they be true? Nothing was real; the room convulsed in violent anguish. Her life was forfeit long ago. She excused herself to the bathroom. She walked calmly to the hallway closet, where David had once flaunted the self-defense shotgun (locked and loaded!). Funny, she thought––if it wasn’t there for her to use, she would’ve just left.

…

Living out her days on a slab of concrete, Rebecca Nelson felt that she had completed her life’s work. Before she was arrested, she had posted a picture of David’s dead body, with the caption: Dear congress, the killings will continue until you take our guns away. Many would call the bluff, she knew. The media would chew her up and spit her out: a mental case, a far-left anarchist, a villain. But others would see the power in those words, the explosive potential. The fuse was lit, the ice broken. More than anything she had said before, at any rally or interview, that sentence had a real chance of inspiring some change. She could see them now, sitting in dim rooms––between bumps of coke, fingers drumming on mahogany. Hard to believe, man. Unbelievable. You know he went to Harvard with my brother, yeah? Lovely guy. I always knew she was a psycho. Say…you don’t think there will be others, do you?

Nate

Nothing gives me chills like this

Mommy needs you to smoke the whole cigarette so you grow up big and strong, ok sweetie?

Coast Of Ireland