666sachertorte666 - Sacha

Is there anything I can do to help Palestinians besides call my representatives and beg them to stop killing people?

This is a great question. There are a few things you can do—just off the top of my head:

BDS (Boycott, Divest, Sanction) https://bdsmovement.net/

Direct Action https://www.palestineaction.org/

Urge your University/School/Organization to put out a statement denouncing Israel

Organize a Protest/Participate in a local one

You might already be doing this but while calling your reps, tell them that as a voter, you're unwilling to support them in the upcoming election unless they urge the White House to take a stand against Israel and stop funding them

Share art/writing/films around Palestinian culture

If you're part of a union, ask them what they're doing to urge their industry leaders to take a stand against Israel + pressure the White House OR urge them to start a strike/walkout/etc if they're not doing anything already

Talk with your friends IRL about Palestine, whether in an activist capacity or watching a movie or literally anything

Reach out to a mosque to see if you can help them with anything

See if your city/state council has put out a statement in support of Gazans. If not, try to push them to do so.

Donate to Palestine Legal or Direct Action if you have some money to spare

KEEP TALKING ON SOCIAL MEDIA!!!!!!!! PLEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!

I know some of these don't feel like they have as big of an impact on helping Palestinians, but we do need to make an effort not to forget their humanity in the face of continued erasure and the media's sensationalist rhetoric.

Talking on social media and posting—while not seeming like a lot—does SO much. I know in USAmerica, it's like yelling into a void, but political analysts are saying that most of the "Global South" has completely lost any amount of goodwill it may have had the past few years. Hopefully, countries will start to put sanctions and embargoes en masse on the US and Israel soon.

Our goals here are BOTH short-term and long-term. We hope for the life and liberation of the Palestinian people, so anything that you can think of might help at some point in the future is encouraged to at least try.

If anyone else has any more ideas, feel free to reblog and add on. Thank you for asking, and here is to a liberated Palestine where Palestinians can live and thrive without fear.

They need more esims!

Sever (Kendall Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Kendall, Logan mention

Word Count: 1,515

Inspired By: Absence by Rio Romeo

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: Nervous to post!!! I thought I might try writing like I used to with my absolute favorite trope lol. I don't know how it'll go and tbh I expect this not to go well, but what can ya do? I didn't make it as dark as I used to write, but I'm definitely up to giving it a try! Let me know what you think my loves!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Resentment sleeps between you. Like a baby, its breath is slow and deep. Peaceful. Blissfully unaware. It pushes you to the opposing edges. There is an ever growing abyss in the middle of the mattress. One wrong move, and you’ll slip. Sometimes, in moments of bravery, you’ll hold your hand out. Pebbles will crack off, falling down, and you hold your breath. You never hear the eventual plop of it hitting the bottom. It goes on forever, the only infinite you can count on. You’ll grip the side, watching the inky black as it stares back at you, and you’ll wonder where it all went wrong. When the crack, so small, so insignificant, tore itself in two, into this. He remains incurious. While he sleeps his body is unmoving, unphased by what lies between you. He remains still, content, his back turned to the cavity, to the truth. This is not a feeling of dread or fate, merely a glimpse. A recurring nightmare that you will fall in. beneath you will collapse. You’ll call for help, but he will choose not to hear you. Lately, it seems, you're going unheard. Your concerns, your fears, your feelings, your screams. You will cry out and no one will be there to grab you, pull you up, hold you. No one will be there to tell you it’s okay, you’re okay. Instead you will fall for forever. One day, however long that takes, centuries later, you will land next to those pebbles and every bone in your body will shatter. They will combust. Turn to dust. You will be a pool of yourself all because he is choosing not to see reality for what it is. Because he thinks this is okay. Because he thinks you’ll get through this. You can’t get through this. It’s too late. It’s always been too late. 

It’s not only resentment. Resentment is the product. The product of ignorance, of anger, of dismissiveness and stupidity.  His own ego. A perfect concoction. A deadly poison you drank with enthusiasm. Everyone in your life knew before you did. They could see that crack, that hairline fracture, but you didn’t listen. He wasn’t always like this, you’d tell yourself. Maybe, maybe not, but it’s what you have to say, over and over, until the words are carved into your skull. Part of you is still fighting for him. Making empty promises to yourself. If he comes home, if he comes home and flashes that familiar smile, you’ll give it another try. If he remembers those flowers you like from that one shop. If he brings you coffee in your mug, the only mug you drink it from. If, if, if. He never does any of this. He never will. You’re trying to resuscitate something that is already dead. Dead and buried, you throw yourself on to the casket. Begging him, it, anyone who will listen: please, this one time, this one time let him show you that you are more important than any of this. All of this. This whole world. Instead he is door slamming and muffled screaming and highs and lows that are unpredictable. He is kissing young, hot strangers and drinking into oblivion. He is exactly the man you married. He always has been. You’ve been fooling yourself the whole time. 

You pretend to be asleep, pulling the covers over your head. His alarm is loud and furious, like his father. He dresses and redresses, caught in a loop. Forever burdened to live the same morning over and over. Insecure, unsure, there is a pile of dress shirts on the floor. A pile you used to pick up, rehang. A pile that used to disappear before he came home. A pile you’d like to set fire to. Forever trying to impress blood that wouldn’t care if he swam or drowned. He hums to himself, tying his tie, checking himself over. You count the minutes until he is gone. Dressed, shaved, cologne so thick you could choke on it. He picks up coffee on the way when there is a perfectly good, perfectly expensive machine, sitting in the kitchen. His phone, fully charged, is already vibrating with missed calls, missed texts, missed connections. You used to wonder if he had your number blocked or muted, every opportunity to reach out going straight to voicemail. Now you don’t wonder. Now you don’t call. Now you wait for him to leave, for the front door to carelessly bang shut before you start your day. You step over the pile of clothes in the walk in closet. You ignore the double sinks in the master bathroom. You leave the bed unmade. Instead, you make your coffee. From the machine. With your favorite mug. You linger in the kitchen, living room, what would have been the nursery. All the places untouched by his presence. This is more your home than his, but it is both your names on the paperwork. Both your names in the engraved wine glasses. Both your names in those vows. You sip and sit and picture a life much happier than this one. 

Maybe in another lifetime. 

When you’re done, you wash it by hand, leaving it in the sink to dry. It remains the only proof of your existence. Undisturbed the rest of the house remains. Even the cushions you curled into have resumed their correct place. This house isn’t the only thing rejecting you. Like a foreign organ, a transplant, everything and everyone knows you don’t belong. He doesn’t want you here, why should they? Back in the bedroom you dress. The clothes wait and watch, but you can’t stand to touch them, look at them. More proof of his failings. You could tell him all the ways he was important and impactful until your lips were blue. He wouldn’t listen. He needed to hear it from them, from him. Your side of the walk-in closet is pristine. You take down a few shirts, a few pairs of pants, moving mindlessly. You remember first moving in, wondering how you could fill this huge space? Now it felt cluttered, suffocating. His things were everywhere. He was everywhere. You found it in the corner, unused. He always promised a big getaway, wherever you wanted, just the two of you. How many years was that? You hoped against hope, every anniversary, every birthday. He had the means, just not the care. You wanted to stop, but you couldn’t. The dreams you had for your marriage, your life, they’re still alive. Naive, stupid, it didn’t matter. You were both. You don’t have time to fold them all, the want. You never expected it to go like this. You never wanted it to. But one more night in that bed would kill you. Your spirits, your desires, every foolish idea and notion about what love is and was and will be. One more night against that drop and you might just fall in. 

Toothbrush, toothpaste, soaps and conditioners and scrubs. You live two totally separate lives. You only seem at the beginning and the end. He is the sun. Sunrise, sunset. You grab everything you can, zipping it shut. On the edge of the mattress you wonder if you should leave a note, to explain. Explain what? Haven’t you said everything you can? Haven’t you cried and asked and put it every possible way and still, still he has not done one thing to show you that he is listening, that what you say matters. Absorbed in bloodlines and successors and medieval rituals his father loves, the bloodshed. You can’t do it anymore. You can’t be second, or third, or fourth in line for his attention, his priority list. You’ve put up with it for far too long. You know your silence, the absence, will be more impactful than anything you have ever or will ever say. You gave him his ultimatum and he refused to change. Now it is your turn to act. Rolling the suitcase out, you turn off the light. If you didn’t know it, if you were a stranger looking in, you’d never even know you existed. The things you’d need were packed away. The only thing that remained of you was your mug. That he could keep, as a reminder. Next time he chose them over someone he was supposed to spend his lifetime loving, caring, hearing. Next time, when he tripped over himself to impress his father. If there was a next time, that mug would stand for everything he ruined. He messed up. He ignored. Next time, he should think twice. You leave your keys on the table, watching the crack in the mattress shrink just a bit. It can’t be fixed, this can’t be fixed, but it knows you’re doing the right thing. 

So many years you spent married to Kendall. So many years you could never get back. But you’d have more after. After him. After this, you’d find real love. Whatever this was, whatever it had been, you were kidding yourself. You know this now. Will he?

Random Headcanons About Baby Roy:

Warning/s: addiction, addiction mention, drugs, alcohol mention

A/N: I think about Baby Roy all the time, lol. I just love them. I thought some fun headcanons would be nice :) Based on these headcanons and this fic series!

Baby loves screamo. Anything and everything screamo. Also any alternative artist! The more raunchy, the better. Any car or room they're in, they're listening to it or humming it or playing it in their headphones. Everyone's come to expect it and ignore it as best they can. Especially Karl and Frank, they hate it. Gerri just shrugs. it's not hurting you or anyone else, leave it be

It absolutely drives Connor insane, especially when you and Roman gang up on him and recite verses. Roman doesn't love your music, but it's so worth it to watch your other siblings cringe and get all uncomfortable

"That d*ick tastes like yankee candl-" I love Ashnikko lol

"Y/n, please."

"You wanna hear a so-"

"No."

Baby unironically plays Where's My Juul?? by Lil Mariko in front of Connor who has no idea what a juul actually is lol

Baby has a wicked sweet tooth. Kendall's been sneaking them candy since they were little, but it seems like you always have something sweet. A lollipop, gumballs, gummy bears, etc.

"You'll get a cavity."

"This is my one vice, let me be."

Shiv is always holding out her hand for whatever you've got. She doesn't ask, she just expects it. You never mind, it's nice to share with her. Besides, it makes her feel like a little kid, too

Baby loves gory movies. Growing up, when all the kids were together, they'd have movie night. When it was your turn, you always chose the goriest thing you could find. Rome would sit with his hands over his eyes and Connor would hold a pillow, But you, Ken, and Shiv would be totally into it

"Just wait! His head gets ripped off!"

"This can't be appropriate."

Baby is actually very smart. Despite all the partying, their grades were perfect. Logan had no need to worry. Maybe you weren't showing up to class, but you were there for tests and that's all that mattered. You throw your intelligence in your brothers faces

"Can you even spell egotistical?"

You make endless jokes about your sobriety that none of them like except for Roman. The others shoot daggers at you with a look that says "not funny" You think it's funny though, and that's all that matters

"I'll be at the bar, you guys chat. Kidding! I was kidding, jeez."

"Does anyone else need a strong drink right about now?"

"They say the food is like crack, but I know crack and this isn't that."

"I used to take handfuls of pills to this song. Now look at me, I've become a monster."

Connor is horrified. Every time you say anything, he's speechless. Shiv gets very serious and Kendall spirals, but Rome likes it. If you can't joke about it, what good is it?

Baby has lots of tattoos and piercings. It's the only socially acceptable way to self harm that isn't drugs and alcohol. Logan hates them and Connor thinks they're unsightly, but you don't really care. Gerri always wants to see the new ones you got, though she prefers they be covered up in the office

"I like that one, that one's very cute."

"Thanks, Mommy."

She hates when you call her that. For you, your and Gerri's relationship, it's not at all sexual like it is with Roman. She is genuinely your mother figure. She is warm and caring and only wants the best from you. She can always tell when things are getting bad again

"Oh honey, you don't look so good."

"Mommy, I don't feel so good."

She really does love you. Someone has to. She knows your mother and Logan don't. Someone has to be there for you

Both Karl and Frank are afraid of you. Between the music, the addictions, the tattoos, the piercings, everything is intimidating to them. You're not competing like your siblings, that scares them the most. You want nothing to do with the company

"Think they're rabid?"

"Might be."

You love it, the way they always back away when you get too close, like you're demonic or infected

Baby, I think, would write a lot. Not just your feelings, which are so hard to put into words, but good things that happened, reasons to stay sober

You have a notebook or something that they use to write in. You've brought it to every rehab you've ever been to and constantly reread it over and over. No one knows about it, and if they notice, they don't bring it up. It's yours

Reasons To Stay Sober: Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Rome. Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Rome. Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Rome. Connor, Kendall, Shiv. . .

You have a sobriety birthday and every month you bake a cake. It always turns out shitty, lopsided, and burned and runny at the same time, but decorating it makes you feel like a kid again

You're always wearing your siblings clothes. You're always stealing someone's jacket or socks or shirt or sweater. You like it. It makes you feel close to them

They've just come to expect it

"You look better in that shirt than I do, keep it."

"I was going to anyways."

You have those moments of deep regret and embarrassment and self-consciousness that always end up in tears, but your siblings are there to pick up the pieces

Connor especially will just hold you as long as you need and listen to everything you have to get out

You feel so deeply sorry for hurting them and scaring them so much. You just wanted it to stop. You wanted not to he angry anymore

They tell you they understand, but you know they don't. Not really. They can't unless they've felt the way you have

Baby falls asleep on all the siblings. Even Roman will let them get away with it, but no one else. You snuggle into them and have the best sleep of your life

"Quit moving."

"Don't use me as a pillow, then."

You get away with (mostly) everything because you're their baby and they love you so much. They love you so much it's gross

Connor still prides himself on the way he raised you. There were bumps in the road, but you ended up perfect. Absolutely perfect

They all pride themselves on how they raised you. It wasn't always good, they weren't always there, but they're making up for all that now. Logan is gone. Slowly they're breaking the cycle, for you and for them

Things will get better. You've hit rock bottom so many times and always found a way out. This is that. This is your out

I really like the idea of Vamp!Eddie ◝(*'◡'*)◜

(i'm shit at shadeing daaamn)

BERLIN

The Price of a Kiss - Eddie Munson x reader

Summary - You start trading Eddie little nick knacks for kisses

A/N - Tiiiniest little drabble from my drafts because I feel bad not being able to post any new writing, 1k words

“What’s this?” Eddie’s eyes weren't even looking at the rock you were holding up in front of him, his dark, doe brown eyes were linked to yours, and he wasn’t planning on looking away.

“A rock,” you smiled proudly at him, the small stone glinting softly in the sunlight as you held it up, with tiny streaks of crystal scattering the light and reflecting onto his face.

“I can see it’s a rock sweetheart,” he said as he picked the small rock from your fingers before holding it up to the sunlight and admiring it. “But why?”

“I dunno- I saw it and it looked pretty, I wanted to give it to you,” you wrung your hands together as you spoke and in that moment Eddie knew you had to be the most adorable creature to ever walk this earth-

“So you saved it? Brought it all the way here to me?” Eddie asked you with big eyes, the rock long since pocketed in his black ripped jeans, and you nodded in response to his question, biting your lip ever so slightly.

“Why thank you sweetheart,” his voice was soft as he spoke, and he was close enough that you could hear every slight shift in his voice, every breath and tone change. Eddie’s arm was wrapped around your waist bringing you impossibly close to him. “How could I ever repay you?”

It was painstakingly clear what he wanted, his lips were hovering over yours, almost brushing but just barely not, yet you could still swear you would know what he would taste like when he finally kissed you.

“A kiss perhaps?” your eyebrows raised ever so slightly and you tipped your head to the side, pursing your lips together as you looked at him.

“A fair trade indeed,” Eddie cooed at you softly, his rough hands grabbing your face and cupping it in his hands before he connected your lips together. His lips slightly chapped, but yet they were always softer than you expected, and he kissed you with such gentle care almost as if he was worried about shattering you in his grip.

“There, I think that is reward enough don’t you?” Before you could protest Eddie’s lips had left yours and you could tell he was fighting back the smirk that was nipping at the corner of his mouth. You pouted at him and stood on your tiptoes to try and reach his lips, which easily cracked his facade and his grin broke out over his face.

“Nuh-uh my love, that wasn’t our deal, I’ll suppose you’ll just have to trade me more.”

That was the first time you and Eddie exchanged a trade, and it was only the first of many times. After that you did whatever you could to find things to trade with him. Little knick knacks, a scrunchie, more pretty rocks you would pick up on the walk to his trailer, and once you made him a friendship bracelet that had him peppering your face in kisses.

“You know, I think you might end up collecting all the pebbles in Hawkins if you keep this up,” he once told you just before he gave you your well earned kiss. “I don’t care- if it means you’ll kiss me like that again I’ll do anything.

“Well, do you have something else to trade with me?”

It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t gladly give you as many kisses as you wanted, all you had to do was ask him, and you did. But you still loved the little trades you shared, and you loved finding little things to trade with him.

It almost became a little game to you, find the prettiest rock, the most perfect shell, make him something that you knew he would appreciate for more than just your small deals.

However, what you didn’t know was that Eddie kept everything you traded him, while he would pocket whatever little trinket you had brought him, when he got home, or when you weren’t looking he would slip it into the little box he had started keeping under his bed.

Even the bracelet you made for him, after he had given you your kiss he excitedly asked you to help him tie it around his wrist and after that it became a regular accessory, sitting just below his usual leather cuff. It was almost a little funny seeing the hand braided colourful friendship bracelet tied around his wrist next to the hard and cut black leather, it was such a stark contrast that it shouldn’t make sense yet somehow it did so perfectly.

It was almost like a sense of pride for him, every now and then he would reach under his bed to fumble around for the box, pouring out all the small trinkets onto his bed just to scoop them all up into his hands. Like a goblin would with his gold coins.

And it would lead to the silliest little pieces of conversation between the two of you. Like the time you were sitting on the couch, his hand tangled with yours when you pulled a slightly cracked shell out of your pocket, you didn’t even have to say anything. He simply picked it from your hand and started examining it against the dimmed light in the trailer living room.

“I don’t think this is enough for a kiss my love, my rates have gone up,” his voice was silky smooth as he spoke, and his thumb was on your chin forcing you to part your lips ever so slightly and the softest whine escaped from your lips. “Would you settle for a kiss on the cheek?”

“Everything is so expensive in this economy these days,” you muttered and complained, pouting ever so slightly at him to try and gain some affection in your bargaining.

“Oh but you’re so cute, how am I supposed to resist?” Eddie let the question hang in the air for a moment before he kissed you.

Succession Preference: Youngest Sibling Fainting

Requested: I would love either a preference of how each succession character would react to there S/O fainting around them or a baby roy sibling fic were she faints around some of their siblings ❤️Thank you ❤️❤️ - anon

A/N: I combined some of the ideas, I hope you don't mind!! I love this so much it's not even funny like they would all freak out internally I love it. I wanted to show different reasons for the fainting from each sibling, so that's why I chose the preference btw! I hope you like it my love! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Connor is so worried. You're sitting outside his ranch when you go pale. It's been pretty hot out, but today takes the cake. You excuse yourself, getting up to go to the bathroom, when you faint. Immediately he's calling out for Willa, his heart going into his stomach. He loves you more than life itself. He's scared beyond belief. You wake up to the two of them above you, each of them using a tone they'd use to hush a crying baby. What happened? What the hell were they doing? Slowly, they get you up, walking you inside, getting you water and an ice pack for your head. You're burning up. Connor can't help but apologize over and over again. Of course it's not his fault, of course, but he won't hear it. It was the sun you tell him, but he's not listening. It's his job as big brother to take care of you, to make sure you're okay. When you're not, and he doesn't notice, that's on him. Connor banishes you to the inside for the rest of your stay, asking you every fifteen minutes if you feel okay, etc. He won't have you fainting again, not on his watch.

Kendall had no idea what happened. It was a side effect of a medication you were taking and telling no one about. Ever since your father passed you hadn't been able to sleep. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him, his body. You'd been on the plane, you'd been there through it all. You were dizzy, but only a little. You thought you could manage, that you were fine. You pull up in the car outside of Waystar, getting out, when you faint. Kendall runs around the car, calling your name, trying to shake you awake. You're only out for a minute, but it feels like an eternity. You're groggy, scared, unsure of what happened. He gets security to get you some water, holding on to you despite your fighting. You scare him so much he's gone pale. He doesn't stop asking if you're okay until you're seated in the office, someone checking you out, shining a light in your eyes. That's when you tell him about the pills, the not sleeping. He had no idea, though he knows he should have. He's your big brother, he should be protecting you from everything. He should have been there for you, before this. He makes a vow to himself that he'll be better, he has to be.

Shiv knew something was off. Ever since you'd been officially hired by your father at Waystar, you haven't been eating or sleeping or really leaving the office. You'd been tasked with a minefield and every wrong step would cost you your job. You were in the middle of presenting to your father, in front of everyone: Logan, Shiv, Gerri, Karl, Frank, Hugo, Kerry. You lose track of what you're saying in the middle of the sentence, so unlike yourself. That's when the dizziness hits, when you clutch the desk, when you drop. You bang your head pretty hard on the floor, though there isn't any outside damage. Shiv steps up right away, getting to the floor. Everyone is calling your name, questioning what to do, she's the only one who works. She fans you with her hand, calling your name. You're awake before you know it, terribly embarrassed, apologizing to your father. She doesn't let you get up though, not right away. She doesn't care how much work you have or what your father thinks, you hit your head pretty hard, she's surprised it's not cracked open. She needs to take care of you now, cursing herself she hadn't noticed earlier, hadn't stepped in and intervened earlier. You definitely feared losing your job now.

Roman had no idea how to help. You'd been there with him, before the funeral. Unlike his overly enthusiastic demeanor, you couldn't stop from freaking out. You were hyperventilating, feeling sick to your stomach, calling to him from the bathroom doorway that you didn't think you could go. That's when you faint, from getting all worked up. He drops his cards, running towards you. You look dead. Roman is shaking you, yelling your name, about to be sick himself when you open your eyes. He breathes the biggest sigh of relief, doing something so unlike himself: he hugs you. Hard. You have no memory of falling, of the last few minutes. He makes you stay there so he can call someone, anyone, unsure of what to do. Shiv gives him instructions. Through it all he cracks a few jokes, his heart still racing. You scared the shit out of him. He gets you water and gets you up slowly, bringing you to the couch. Shiv and Ken both on their way, coming to check on you, already in the same car. Awkwardly, he pats your leg, threatening to never scare him like that ever again.

Haiiiii !! I love the way you write and I wondered if I could request a gnreader x steve if that's okay and if u still have time! Like maybe a scene where Steve visits a music store to get somebody of the group (maybe Robin, Dustin or someone else) a birthday present but he's totally stumped nd doesn't know what to get and by total coincidence the Reader is there and helps! (i hope this isn't too over the top or that i wrote too much??)

You can ignore this bit if it limits your creativity in any way but maybe the Reader's a total airhead who seems to be addicted to the word dude and has kind of an cali valley boy vibe (but also a total metalhead ofc)

Thank you and i wish u a very comfortable day/night and send u lots of virtual hugs!

(ﾉﾞ⌯'⌄'⌯)ﾉﾞ*。⋆💓

gn!reader | thank you for the req!! virtual hugs right back at ya

Not once in his life has Steve been in a record shop.

Similarly, not once has he shopped for Robin and it was far beyond him what she generally liked.

Clothes — what if the stuff he bought didn’t fit her style? Food — did she have some allergies that he didn’t know about?

After much contemplation and a tip from Max, who had so graciously played messenger pigeon for him, he’d decided that it was only appropriate to buy her… something to do with music. He’d seen the bulky record player sitting on the end table by her door, the shelf under bare of actual records and, at this point, collecting dust.

The bell jingles as he steps into Dave’s Records on the far side of town, nose flooded with the scent of something musty and lemony window spray.

The air is cold, lights dim and displays colored orange by the sunset through the large glass windows. He’d figured it was wise to go at the tail end of the shop’s hours — more time for him to spend stalling because, in reality, he had no clue what Robin liked. Other than stuff on the radio, she’d never mentioned her music to him.

A sharp voice cuts suddenly through the Queen plays softly over the speakers hidden in the ceiling, shouting something unintelligible from the back of the store.

Steve peeks around the corner, seeing you in a heated argument with the shop’s owner.

“Twenty dollars for this is absurd, dude,” you borderline yell, hand slamming in a fist to the glass countertop. “Don’t be crazy, come on!”

The shopkeeper merely shakes his head. “Twenty. Take it or leave it.”

To his better judgement, Steve turns to the shelves to continue browsing in favor of interjecting. The selection is overwhelming — bands he’d never heard of, popular stuff that was an equivalent of working two weeks on minimum wage.

There’s a loud groan and a clattering sound, then angry footsteps approaching him.

“Twenty!” you exclaim softly from beside Steve, hands deftly flipping through the different cardboard jackets of red, purple, black, blue. “Twenty is absurd, don’t you think?”

“I dunno,” he says, staring intently at his sneakers looking pristine white next to your beat-up Converse, your laces tuned gray and rubber toes smeared with dirt and grime. Sharpie doodles litter the edges — sloppily-done stars, stick figures, other stuff he couldn’t make out long faded by the sun.

The white tips of your shoes turn to face his.

“Huh?”

“Like, I mean I don’t really know what’s a reasonable price,” Steve says quickly, pretending to be pointedly interested in whatever Overkill was. “I never shop here.”

“Oh.” You turn back to the display, lips set into a tight line.

The music fades out, leaving the air still and silent and stifling save for the whirring of a fan somewhere in the back.

There’s the scuffing of the carpet as you toe at a fraying line of loose thread, hands falling to your sides. “Didn’t take you for someone who likes metal,” you comment offhandedly in a way he suspects is only to fill the silence.

“What?” Steve glances up, then back to the display in front of him to realize he was, in fact, looking through the metal stuff that Robin definitely had no interest in. “Oh. I’m, uh, shopping for a friend.”

“Cool,” you say, hugging your choice of record to your chest. “Okay. Bye, then.”

You turn on your heel, halfway disappeared around the stand towards the counter to browse elsewhere, business finished in the metal section.

Steve squeezes his eyes shut, deliberating for a moment, before reaching out to tap your shoulder before you can get too far.

“Could you help me really quick?”

He can see you considering it, cogs clicking in your brain before you offer a slight grimace.

“Sure, if it’s fast,” you say with palpable hesitance, “I have a… thing.”

“So, my friend Robin-”

“Robin Buckley?”

Steve gapes. “Huh? How’d you know?”

You start off towards the front of the store, weaving in between displays and stacks upon stacks of records.

“Who else in this town is named Robin?” you ask, stopping in front of a bunch of stuff Steve’d never taken the time to listen to. The Smiths, Depeche Mode, INXS. “And I know her from school. You shopping for her birthday?”

Steve reaches up, the fabric of his windbreaker crinkling as he rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, actually. I know she has a record player and she likes music, so-”

There’s the switch lightbulb over your head, eyes lighting up as you adjust your cap. “Oh, sure. We talk about music all the time,” you say, turning back to the stand.

Your fingers brush against the tops of numerous records before settling on what Steve can’t make out beyond a pinky-reddish blob with black around the edges.

“Man, she loves The Cure,” you state matter-of-factly, holding out your choice to him. “She never stops talking about ‘em. And I know she doesn’t have this one ‘cause she’s been talking about saving up for it. So I’m sure she’ll like it.”

Steve takes it with hesitance, staring at the cover. Pornography. Nice.

“Thanks,” he says, still squinting and trying to make out the faces on in middle. He looks back up. “Really. Thanks.”

“It’s no problem,” you say back, shooting him a quick, tight-lipped smile. “I’d better go. Nice meeting you.”

“Yeah, bye…” He watches your retreating finger as you disappear into the sunny parking lot, eventually making his way up to the counter on his own.

He slides the record across the counter, mildly disturbed by the guy with a cigarette between his lips.

“Twenty dollars,” he says.

Being Roman's Favorite Sibling Would Include:

Requested: I looooved the "being connor's favourite sibling" headcanons and I was wondering if you could do some for bwing roman's favourite sibling as well? :) xoxo - anon

A/N: He is so baby boy. He is so little man. How much I love little man. Lol anyways!!! I hope you like it my love!!! Thank you for requesting!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Being Connor's Favorite Sibling Would Include:

Roman didn't like that you were born. There were enough of you running around, he didn't need another sibling. Especially not one as young as you considering he was almost a teenager by the time you were born

Still, there's not much he could do. Like the rest of your siblings, he looks after you. He starts to like you when you're about six months old. That's when you start to look and act like a little person and not, in his words, some gross little flesh monster

You immediately love him from the start. Roman is your everything. He's the one you want when you cry. He's the one you want to sit next to. To play with. To follow around and copy. He secretly loves when you'd take his sunglasses and a pair of his shoes and walk around your little toddler walk pretending to be him

"I'm you, Romey."

"You're not as cool as me."

From a young age you call him Romey. Everything is Romey. Even when you're upset or fighting or anything, he will always be Romey

He likes you now that you can walk and talk and go to school. When your other siblings can't, he'll walk you home from school

"Guess what I learned today?"

"Brain surgery."

"Noooooo Romey, I learned how to multiply."

"That's helpful too, I guess."

All you wanna do is hang out with him, be his little shadow

You know that your father is not a good man. When you fall off your bike and get hurt you don't run to Logan, you never have, instead you go to Roman. He's not very sympathetic, but he'll sit you on the counter and clean you up

"I want the dinosaur bandaid."

"You can't always get what you want."

He gives it to you always, not wanting you to be upset

You're the only one who can go near him after Logan's hit him or berated him. He tends to self-isolate and pushes everyone away. Only you can open the door and come inside and wrap your arms around him. He doesn't push you off, he can't. That would be like acting like your father. He lets you stay as long as he needs and when he's done, he tells you he's okay. Somehow you always know when he's telling the truth and when he's lying

"I'm sorry about Daddy."

He makes it very clear if Logan ever touches you like that you go to him. Not Connor, not Kendall or Shiv, him. He has this terrible feeling that Logan can't differentiate between you two, that he sees you as an extension of Roman instead of your own little person

The older you get the closer you become. You pick up on his sarcasm, his wit, and annoy your siblings to no end when you gang up on them

"Kendall's gone crazy."

"He's been crazy for a while, you're just noticing?"

"Can you guys please stop talking about me?"

"You're forgetting I grew up with him."

As a joke, and maybe not as a joke, he has you in his phone as Mini Me. Mini for short. He'll call you on the phone and text you and you're always Mini

"Mini, where's Shiv?"

"How should I know?"

"Mini get out, the adults are talking."

"I'm an adult!"

"Not with that attitude."

You guys tend to stick together. Roman was right after all. Logan goes after you like he does with Rome. You're a teenager the first time you show him what's been going on since he left the house. Your eye is bruised and swollen shut. You try to put ice on it and get rid of the swelling, but it's too late. When he sees you, he loses his cool. You have to hold him back from going to your fathers study

"Please don't go after him."

"Y/n-"

"Please. It'll only make things worse. You lnow this."

"Fine. Fine, okay? Fine."

From then on you have more sleepovers at his apartment. He makes up a bed on the couch and you stay up and watch movies with snacks

"Isn't it past your bedtime?"

"Do I look five years old?"

"Four and a half."

"Fuck off."

Your first word was a swear courtesy of Roman. It was most likely fuck, but he swears he can't remember. It was the best day of his life listening to you say fuck over and over again, giggling in that little baby voice. He tries to play it off like he doesn't care abut really, it'll be etched into his memory forever

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine, Romey. Dad does it all the time."

It makes him feel sick knowing you were going through all that and he wasn't there to protect you. You protected him and you're the baby sibling. It's his job to look after you, to protect you

You guys fight all the time. Not in a mean way or a serious way, more like calling ewchother stupid and dumb and pushing and shoving. You never go too far, you never do anything to hurt one another, just as a means of disagreement

"You're so fucking stupid."

"Me? Are you kidding?"

"See! Can't even tell when I'm being serious."

"You're never serious, Romey."

Whatever you accomplish, he's always quietly cheering you on. He's not going to be as outwardly affectionate as Connor is. It's just not in his nature. When you get your degrees and find your place at Waystar he visits your desk multiple times a day

"Look at you becoming a corporate pig."

"I learned from the best."

You and Roman actively make fun of Tom and Greg

"Did you see what Tom was wearing?"

"Fashion disaster, I know."

"Why is Shiv even with him?"

"Daddy issues. Mommy, too."

You stick up for Roman when your siblings make fun of his lack of dating/sex life. It's none of anyone's business

When you do start to date and bring people home and find that someone special, they know they have to get through Roman for things to be serious

"Where'd you find this one? A back alley?"

"Please be nice, I really like them."

"Are you paying them? Are they paying you?"

Say what he will, he's happy you're happy. It hurts watching you grow up. You were his Mini Me not so long ago. Now you're taking part in the company and finding love and you've got your own place. You showed everyone that despite being the baby of the family, you're a force to he reckon with

He loves you. He loves you more than he loves himself. He doesn't say it, and when he does it never comes put right, but you're his baby. You always be