#i live for the continuous abuse of whiskey lmao

[bowieandqueen11]

Resolved Issues / Roman Roy Imagine

Request: HIIIII gonna send my succession request while i still can lol.

how about roman and reader sharing childhood stories? him realising that perhaps, maybe the way his family has treated him is tiny bit Not Normal. the reader being somewhere between "oh my god let me give you a hug" and "i just might fight logan roy in the parking lot". yknow good old hurt/comfort you do it like no other

Thank you so much sweetie!! But also yes I feel this in my soul frick Logan Roy lmao 

Warning: strong language. mentions of diarrhoea and mentions of child abuse/ physical abuse! 

This 3k beast took quite a while to write, so feedback is appreciated! Thank you! :)

(I do not own Succession or its characters, all rights go to creators. Gif credit goes to @loverboyromanroy.)

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°

Roman shrugs his shoulders and looks steadily at you, straight into your eyes.

‘The fuck- how should I know? Like... twenty three, ish?’

Roman’s perching on the edge of his own sofa, so obviously uncomfortable even in his own apartment. His wrist flicks as he answers, and a few drops of the whiskey he hasn’t touched comes sloshing round the side to stain his brand new eggshell blue decorative pillows. He had never cared much for property. But then again, he hadn’t cared much for whiskey either growing up; it had been his father’s drink of choice, and therefore his. The faint fire in the cold marble fireplace behind his head licks between his ears, and illuminates the confused amusement gleaming in his eyes.

You scoff, and shake your head at him incredulously. ‘You own twenty three houses, and you choose to live here?’ Awaiting an answer you know will be even more ridiculous, you make an effort to tuck your legs criss-cross under you, and sit with your knees resting just underneath Roman’s lower legs. ‘And yet you still live in the coldest ass apartment, I swear to god I’m freezing my ass off, and that’s even with the fire going. Are you a fucking yeti or something, Roman Roy?’

He chortles as you continue: ‘you thrive in colder climates, huh? That’s not surprising, considering a glare from your father could freeze hell over.’ You take a final sip of your drink before reaching over and placing it on the sleek black coffee table; Roman’s eyes drop for a split second as if almost in despondency, some kind of deep scarred sorrow peeking its way out like a tired child, before rising back to yours, seeking comfort. It doesn’t slip your attention. You make sure your fingers brush against his socks as you slip your hands back to your lap, and give a sweet squeeze to the tippy toes. He lets out a giggle and kicks his foot out at you, and it’s the most delightful sound you’d ever hear: that true, unadulterated happiness that Roman Roy rarely ever is permitted to have, without some kind of malicious intention lurking behind it.

‘Okay, well, one’, he ostentatiously holds a finger up by twirling it in the air, and it takes you a second to realise he’s pointedly showing you his middle finger. ‘Fuck you. Two-’, he decides to count with his pinkie finger, ‘my dad owns twenty three hours, I own approximately zero fucking squilch of that. And three, I’m a fucking incredible designer - see that Feng Shui over there? All me baby, I would have fucking killed it as an interior design.’

‘Having one sad as fuck looking potted plant by the window and literally no personal items doesn’t count as Feng Shui, dumbass. You’re just sad.’

‘Okay - well - if you’re such a smartass-’, Roman winds his hands up by his head but nearly lets the crystal glass his brother had bought him for his last birthday fall onto the hardwood floor, so he grimaces and gently places it on the rug. He turns back to glance at you, and despite the fact he’s positioning himself as if he’s conducting an interview: elbows resting on knees with hands clasped out before him, face set in stone, he still looks intent and truthfully curious about the answer he’s hoping you’ll give. ‘What was your childhood home like then? I’m sure full of unicorns that shart rainbows and fucking fairies that sneeze glitter from the way you hate my deco.’

You pause to think for a minute, not fully expecting such an honest question to come from Roman Roy. You place a finger gingerly against your lip, and in that second, perched up on the edge of the pristine settee, Roman wishes he could just leap over and replace your fingertip with his lips. He had never been so entranced by someone: never had the privilege of knowing someone from this corporate world who would be so truthful, so different from him. And yet, at the same time, someone who so deliciously, so crudely, so cruelly reminded him of the young child locked in the cage within his heart: so unknowingly let him cling onto the little bit of him he had tried to keep alive. The only bit of him left that wasn’t a Roy. That was just Roman.

Yet, even in the hope that clouded his mind as he awaited your answer, your words came like slices to slit against his throat. ‘Well, I suppose my home was... well, not to sound pedestrian, or super corny, but it was a happy one?’ He nodded, content to bleed out in front of you. ‘There was usually a lot of laughter, and of course a lot of stress, but you know. We could all rely on each other. It was... yeah, it was nice.’ You stop, biting your bottom lip and switching your legs around so you could raise them up and pull them against your chest. 

You didn’t want to look at the man sitting before you suddenly. It was as if he had regressed into himself as you went along: withering, shivering slightly like a frosty chill over an empty playground. It looked - it felt unnatural, as he stared at you without seeing. He blinked languidly for a moment, soaking in your words, before jutting his bottom lip out and trying his best to grin at you. ‘Well, my childhood wasn’t so horrid either. My brother took me and Ken camping once, and although it was fucking sleeting down like bullets of pure fucking ice down by the stream, Connor did eat a fish that looked like a mouldy shoe and spent most of the night running off into the woods holding his ass.’

He snorts then, his little high pitched hyena laugh bubbling out of him as he places the back of his hand against his lips to try and hold it in, and you can’t help but laugh along with him at the sorry image of the supposed Roy brother patriarch scuttling around like a crab with diarrhoea. 

‘That’s sweet, but do you have any other actual memories with your family where someone isn’t being ridiculed?’

‘Woah, hey-’, he holds both his hands up, and slides down from the armrest to come sit in front of you. ‘When you meet my brother, you’ll understand that he deserves it.’ You flush slightly at the implication, becoming rather uncharacteristically bashful around Roman, and glancing quickly down between your legs. Pulling at a thread until it becomes loose, you pray the timid fire glow is enough to hide from him the rushing heat crawling up your neck. Due to the fact that Roman also is shyly looking down at the toes he’s currently wiggling to busy himself, you both miss the way the other is blushing. 

‘But...uh’, he starts finally after a moment of contemplation: a blessed few minutes of serendipitous indulgence, of growing warmth and familiarity, and just enough time for the two of you to realise how much your presence and conversation had only furthered endeared the two of you to each other, despite the hint of sadness that laced it. 

‘I really - I mean, my dad was like, always busy.’ He scratches the back of his head, embarrassed by the way you tilt your head and look quizzically at him. He becomes hyper aware of how close his knee is to resting against yours, and decides to swallow the fear that seems to be clogging up the back of his throat, and shuffles forward until there’s finally contact. ‘And my brother was like, following in his footsteps and all that jazz’, his eyes widen as he holds his hands out by his side. ‘So there wasn’t really much time for... fun, I guess. Or mistakes. Or family.’

It breaks your heart to watch him deflate once he finishes speaking, and suddenly the austere, cold walls and empty, hollow halls of his apartment make all the more sense. He looks so worn out, so tired of having to hide himself away behind a big, empty mansion full of props and antiques and nothingness all put out for show, because that’s what he was. That’s how he saw himself. A big, empty, tired, twisted puppet trying to bend over backwards to escape the marionette strings of daddy’s love, not realising they’re choking him. It was a strategy, a way to protect himself: to become placid, to mask yourself as being one of them, to fit in with his father’s lifestyle, and maybe then the slaps and strikes and kicks and whimpers would feel like something good. Because he’s trying to be just like his father. So if he’s hit, it’s only because the puppet hasn’t quite danced to the right tune, that’s all. 

As you glance around, you finally begin to notice how unused all the furniture in Roman’s apartment looks: the cellarette by the bar that looks as if it had been varnished yesterday, to the large screen television on the either side of the elongated room that Roman clearly only put on once a night to watch the news, to the velvet cushioned armchair positioned to sweep out and look across the skyline of the city, yet the headrest didn’t even have a dent. All these things. All this barrenness. It made you sick to your stomach. Here he was: a toy left on the shelf to collect dust, taken out to play with only when it suited the puppet master, and he was still so desperate for love that he still tried to copy his father. 

And you could see from the way his eyes were beginning to turn blood shot as he slowly sat there and turned the cogs in the back of his brain over, that this was a thought he had had many times before.

You try your best not to look at him too pitifully, in case he might take offence and retreat back into his shell again when you hold out your hands to him. He swallows thickly, watching your every movement as your fingers unfurl over his knees, and you signal at him to come closer. For a moment, as he squints his eyes at you, he seems tentative. But then you roll your eyes, trying your best to still seem casual, and flutter your fingers at him again. 

It takes less than a second for him to latch on this time, and his fingers grip into the sides of your skin so tightly you’re afraid he may draw blood. But then, you suppose, that’s all he’s been familiarised with.

‘It’s fine, I’m fine’, he tries to shrug it off, but his fingers only squeeze into yours all the more desperately. Worried he’ll try and pull away if you keep them suspended between your touching knees, you slowly pull them down to rest on your lap as he continues talking. He begins to play with your fingers almost subconsciously, looping them through his stout ones. ‘I mean, sure, my earliest memory is Shiv trying to drown me in the pool because she didn’t want so many older brothers to take all of daddy’s attention away from her. And Ken was never really present, dad was always shipping him away to some conference training or having him sit at his feet like his lap dog, but it’s fine. I’m fine. I grew up to be a well adjusted adult without any concerning issues at all.’

Although his tone is mocking, once he’s finished his rambling thought he lets go of your hand to rub his eyes. He does a half-yawn to try and cover the fact that they’re becoming rather bleary - to hide the fact that this is beginning to get at him, actually. And he’d rather stop now, if that’s alright. He’s the jokester in the family. The happy man. The go to cheer-upper. The pathetic one. He didn’t want to cry. He didn’t want to cry in front of you. He was never allowed to cry.

He jumps when he feels your hand against his knee, and he sniffles slightly when he looks down and sees you’ve leaned closer towards him. ‘And your dad?’, you ask quietly, cautiously, pulling the hand of his you were still holding tightly into your sternum. ‘What was he like growing up?’

‘Well, I was annoying. I- I am annoying, so, you know-’

He chokes then, and this time he can’t stop the sob that breaks out from the back of his throat like an overdue bell chime.

‘I’m annoying. I’m fucking annoying, you know that?’, he chokes out between sobs, doubling over on himself, but he’s still laughing between each gasping breathe. ‘I’m such a piece of shit’, he states, doing his best to stop his lip from wobbling and the tears from clouding out of his eyes, but he doesn’t complain when you take your hand off his lap and guide it to the small of his back, just before the dip in his shoulder blades. Gently - ever so gently, as if you were cradling a new born child still so unused to human touch, you guide him down to lie on your legs. He goes easily, taking his hands back to lean them under his chin, and allowing you full utility of your fingers. You put them to good use, beginning to stoke back stray curls of his mother’s hair away from his face, tucking them behind his ear until his breathing evens again.

He watches the sun fall over the edge of the Waystar Royco building: a sight he has seen many times before, but one that feels all the more eerie as the slates of dark metal blot out the light like a flashy tomb.

You bring him back, pursing your lips together and trying not to laugh sorrowfully as he sneezes at the feel of your finger moving down his forehead to trace over the dip of his nose, and evidently tickle it. You move onto the curve of his left eye, and it fills you with at least a little comfort to notice the way he squeezes his eyes shut at the movement. What was less welcome, though, were the few pearly tears that slipped past the cracks of his eyes and began to trace down the old bruised shaped hollows of his cheeks.

‘God Roman’, you choke out, trying to gently turn his head so he’s looking up at you. For a moment, he throws a tantrum and shakes his head in refusal, but your fingers are unrelenting and all forgiving against the side of his jaw, and soon he can’t help but give in to the love he’s so desperately begging for. He allows you to turn him, still squirming in your touch, until the two of you make eye contact. And there’s such naivety there, such desire and craving and conviction and belief as he keeps his eyes trained wholly on yours, that the words just come tumbling out of your mouth.

‘I’m going to fight your whole family I swear. I’m going to fight them all, one by one, and then take over Waystar, maybe find out what the fuck is going on between this Cousin of yours and Shiv’s husband’, he chortles at that, and chokes a little, ‘and then the two of us can burn the place to the ground and ride off into the sunset.’

Although he feels only elation at your words, he starts to shake when you use the pads of his thumbs to gently, tenderly wipe the tears away from beside his nose.

‘Stop, please’, he whimpers, but you know he’s not talking about your physical actions. ‘My dad’s never going to die, even if he is gone. Just- just- get out while you can, okay? Just fucking run.’ He grabs up at your hands, and holds onto one intently. ‘Just fucking go, okay, because I will destroy you. I’m- fucking poison, alright?’

‘No, no’, you state more firmly, when you see the creases in his forehead begin to appear. He shakes his head, and his whole face crinkles up when you admit the one thing left unspoken between the two of you.

‘You - you’re worth it. You’re worth putting up with all of this for, Roman Roy. One day, you’ll be free, and we’ll get to make new memories. Better ones.’

‘Just shut up. Shut the fuck up. Please. Just-’

His words die out on his mouth when you lean down swiftly and replace them with your waiting lips. His hand falls from where it was encircling your wrist, and after a moment of stunned shock, comes up to press firmly against the nape of your neck. His widened eyes melt slowly into a blissful, languid close, and despite the fact that he has no fucking idea how to actually kiss someone he cares about, he does a mighty good job of latching onto your bottom lip and whimpering when you go to pull away.

‘You promise’, he whispers into the tense air between the tip of your nose and the side of his stubble. He leans up to kiss you again, and a bite of saltiness stings at your mouth. ‘You promise’, he murmurs again as he opens his mouth, refusing to break away from the kiss: instead breathing you in and licking the tip of his tongue against your own. Steadying yourself, you grip onto his biceps, and press a last, ardent kiss to his mouth by latching onto his top lip.

‘I swear, Roman, I swear to god I’m going to make up for all the lack of love your family has given you. And I’ll start right now.’

#succession #roman roy #roman roy imagine #roman roy x reader #succession imagine #kendall roy #shiv roy #connor roy #logan roy #roman roy angst #roman roy fluff #kieran culkin #succession fanfic #succession fanfiction

[putawayurhalo]

Out For Blood | Chapter 11: The Munson Family

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Munson!Reader ; Eddie Munson x Fem!Henderson!O.C.

Warnings:  Strong language, season 4 vol. 1 (NONE FOR VOL. 2 YET) spoilers, angst, secrets being kept, steve being a dingus, alcohol abuse, parental death *mentioned*, emotional abuse - in the italic backstory part you can skip that if you need to! BARELY EDITTED BECAUSE I GOTTA DRIVE 5 HOURS LMAO BUT I WANTED THIS OUT FOR YOU BABES SO ENJOY

Word Count: 3.4k

Author’s Note: Yeah... this took me longer to write than I wanted but you know life and moving haha... anyways Eddie in the backstory flashback should be like 12-13 and the reader would be like 10-11 - I even at the age of 22 have a favorite stuffed animal that I have to travel with for comfort so shut your mouths.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

< Previous | Next >

October 1979

“Youuu can’t take my kids from me, Wayne.” Jessica Munson slurred her words as she swayed slightly in the kitchen of the small family home they lived in.

“Jessica, you need help.” Wayne stepped toward and she stepped back raising her right hand, Wayne put his up and stepped back.

“I don’t need any hel-help.” She hiccuped.

“Jessica, the kids have started to notice something is wrong.” Wayne gestured with one of his hands towards Eddie and (Y/N) who sat next to each other at their dining room table, their backpacks laying on the top of the table (Y/N) working on her math assignment and Eddie with headphones on listening to the newest AC/DC album. 

“They probably just miss their worthless daddy.” She grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the counter and took a drink from it, “Piece of shit.”

“Jessica… you don’t mean that.” Wayne tried to ease her.

“Yes I do!” She shouted catching the attention of the youngest child, “Their good for nothing daddy left us.”

“Jessica, he went to prison.” Wayne spoke quietly, not trying to get the kids involved, “Look, Jess… I think it’s best if the kids stay with me, at least for the week, giving you a break and some time to sort things out.”

“No, absolutely not!” She shouted, she swung an arm at Wayne.

“Mom! Stop!” (Y/N) screamed at her. Eddie took his headphones off after hearing his sister scream and looked over at the situation.

“Kids, get a bag packed with your things, you’re staying at mine for the week.” Wayne told them sternly. Eddie nodded and grabbed his sister’s hand dragging her towards their rooms.

“You can’t take them from me Wayne!” Jessica screamed and walked towards the hallway, “Kids! Kids you’re not going anywhere, wouldn’t you rather stay with your mother?” Eddie exited his room first, he got close to her as he passed her to go help his sister, she reeked of alcohol. He shook his head before entering his sister’s room and closing the door.

“KIDS!” She pounded on the door, (Y/N) looked up at her brother with tears in her eyes. Eddie frowned before helping her grab some of her things, including a framed photo of the family together and her favorite stuffed animal. “KIDS!” She kept shouting, (Y/N) continued to pack some of her clothes before zipping the bag shut with the framed photo on top. Eddie hugged her before grabbing her bag for her and handing her her stuffed animal, he opened the door and pushed past their mother.

“(Y/N)...” Jessica pleaded with her daughter and stopped her at the door, “You don’t want to leave your mommy do you?”

(Y/N) just looked up at her mother, clinging onto her stuffed animal for dear life. Her mother reached down and gripped the stuffed animal fighting, “Let go.” She pleaded with her mother but she wouldn’t let go.

“(Y/N/N), just let it go.” Eddie told her but she wouldn’t let go, the two continued to tug at the toy before it eventually ripped at the seam of the neck as (Y/N) fell to the ground. 

“Fuck.” Eddie mumbled and dropped the bags.

“Language.” Wayne told him as he watched Eddie walk over to (Y/N) and help her up. 

Jessica was red in the face as she watched her two children comfort each other, “Fine you ungrateful brats,” She tossed the head of the stuffed animal at them, “Go with your uncle, but don’t fucking come crawling back when you realize how good you had it here.” 

“Okay,” Wayne opened the door to the trailer and let the kids walk in first, “I’ve got to get ready for work… but there’s a bed in the room on the left, and there’s the couch. If anything bad happens Mrs. Jong across the street can help…” He trailed off before walking down the hallway, “There’s some canned food in the cabinet, Eddie you know how to use a stove top right?”

“No shit.” He mumbled, as he set his bag on the couch. He looked over at (Y/N) who was holding both pieces of her stuffed animal in her hands with a frown on her face, “I’ll get it fixed, (Y/N/N), I promise.” Eddie reassured her as he walked into the kitchen opening the cabinet and grabbing a can of spaghettios.

 “Yeah.” Eddie snorted, as he held a can of spaghettios in his hand, “You’ll do.” He closed the cabinet door and grabbed a pot. Last time he had eaten spaghettios was the night him and his sister moved in with their uncle… and that same night their mother had died. 

Eddie looked over to the living room where Jenny was asleep on the couch, he pulled out two bowls and split the spaghettios between the two of them… he had a sense of deja vu as he did but he shook his head and walked over to the walkie Dustin left them.

“Hey, Dustin, this is Eddie the Banished…” He looked over at Jenny again, “and Jenny the Princess… are you there? Dustin, can you hear me? Dustin? Earth to Dustin.”

“Hey, it’s Nancy.” Nancy’s voice rang through the speakers.

“Wheeler! Hey, um, Jenny and I are gonna need a food delivery, like, really soon, unless you want me going out into the world or the jocks following Jenny back here.” Eddie replied as Jenny stirred.

“No. No, no, no. Don’t do that. Just stay where you are, and we’ll be there as soon as we can.” 

“Yeah, yeah, listen um… can you pick me up a six-pack? I know, it’s stupid as shit, drinking right now, but a cold beer would really calm my jangled nerves.” Eddie asked as he watched Jenny who was starting to sit up.

“Uh hey, I’m gonna have to call you back.”

“No, don’t you da- Wheeler? Wheeler?” Eddie shouted, Jenny now fully awake and sitting up. 

“Eddie, what?” Jenny asked.

“Nothing… just asking Wheeler to bring us food… spaghettios?” He held the bowl out to her.

“Sure…” She took the bowl from him and began eating, the two sat in silence and ate together.

“Do you think (Y/N)’s still mad at me?” Jenny asked after a few minutes.

“No, she’s definitely not. A little upset that neither of us told her? Sure, but not mad. She loves you too much.” Eddie shook his head as he continued to eat.

“Munson, it’s the uhhh other Munson, do you copy?” (Y/N)’s voice rang through the Walkie.

“Yes, yes we hear you.” Jenny answered it.

“Hey Jen… we need to borrow you for something.”

The group got out of Nancy’s car, Steve helping Jenny, Dustin, and (Y/N) out of the back. A small “thanks” was muttered by the Henderson siblings, a “thank you, Steve” and a smile was given to him by (Y/N). He smiled back at her before he turned his head toward the house and his smile dropped, “Yeah, that’s not creepy.”

They all walked up to the house, (Y/N) staying back with Jenny as Steve continued up the steps with Nancy, the two started to pry the wood off the door. “I mean, what exactly are we supposed to be looking for in this shithole?” Steve asked.

“We’re not sure. We just know this house is important to Vecna.” Nancy replied to him as she continued working on the door.

“Because Max saw it in Vecna’s red soup mind world?” Steve stopped working.

“Basically.” Nancy didn’t even turn to look at him.

“Great.” Steve sighed and went back to prying the wood off.

“Maybe it holds a clue to where Vecna is. Why he’s back. Why he killed the Creels. And how to stop him before he comes back for Max.” Dustin puts forward.

Lucas looked around before speaking, “We don’t think he’s in here, do we?”

“Guess we’ll find out.” Max shrugged.

“Ready?” Steve asked Nancy as they finished.

“Mm-hmm.” Nancy hummed as they pushed the wood over.

The rest of the group jumped slightly as it fell, “Jesus H. Christ.” (Y/N) muttered as she shuddered.  

“Sorry, (Y/N/N).” Steve half-smiled before he turned toward the door and grabbed the knob, the knob not moving. “It’s locked… should I knock, see if anybody’s home?”

“No need,” Robin spoke, the group turned to see her holding up a brick. “I found a key.” Robin shrugged before passing it to Steve. Steve tossed it slightly in his hand before looking at the door and throwing it through the stained glass. He reached his hand in and opened the door and walked in stepping to the side allowing everyone to pass him, (Y/N) was the last one in and was the only one to thank Steve as he closed the door. 

Lucas tried flipping the light switch, “Looks like someone forgot to pay their electric bill.” He muttered, him and the other’s all pulling out flashlights and switching them on.

“Where’d everyone get those?” Steve asked Dustin.

“Do you need to be told everything?” Dustin looked at Steve like he had just said the dumbest thing he’s ever heard, “You’re not a child.”

“Thank you.” Steve replied sarcastically.

“Huh,” Dustin took his backpack off and handed it to Steve, “back pocket.” 

Steve scoffed, grabbed the flashlight, and dropped the backpack turning toward (Y/N), “Can you believe this kid?”

“I mean…” She trailed off and bit her bottom lip to stifle a giggle from escaping.

“Not you too.” Steve groaned as they started walking around.

“Sorry, Steve, it’s just… even I brought one and I’ve been involved with this whole ‘the upside down’ thing for like two days and you’ve been doing this for four years? Shouldn’t you know what to bring?” She tilted her head to the left as she asked him the question.

“Oh that hurt.” Steve shook his head as he slightly laughed. The duo continued walking around passing by Nancy and Robin.

“They just left everything.” Nancy shined the light around the dining room.

“I guess a triple homicide isn’t good for resale value.” Robin’s quick witted response caused a slight laugh to come out of the girl. 

“Hey, guys? You all see that, right?” Max asked them.

“Yeah.” Both Dustin and Steve said as they looked at the grandfather clock.

“Is this what you saw? In your visions?” Nancy asked her, Max only nodded in response.

“I mean, it’s… just a clock. Right?” Robin asked before walking up to it and cleaning the dust off with her hand. “Like a normal old clock…”

“Why is this wizard obsessed with clocks? Maybe he’s, like, a clock maker or something?” Steve asked out loud, (Y/N) only shook her head.

“I think you cracked the case, Steve.” Jenny replied to him. 

“All I know is the answers are here. Somewhere.” Nancy ignored what was said, “Okay everyone stay in groups of two. Robin, upstairs.” Nancy grabbed Robin’s hand and led her upstairs. 

“Come on. Let’s go.” Max motioned to Lucas and began walking toward the living room.

Jenny looked between her three options before turning to Dustin, “Come on little bro.” Before walking into the dining room area.

(Y/N) looked at Steve and shrugged before nodding her head towards the stairs. She let Steve lead the way up the stairs, almost slipping off of one as she was distracted by one of Steve’s many assets. 

“You good?” Steve asked her as he heard her quiet squeal.

“You know me, always the klutz.” She brushed it off as she hurried up the stairs. The duo walked into a room together shining their flashlights around.

“Hey, uh, y/n…”

“Yeah, Steve?” She turned toward Steve.

“Can you maybe clarify what sort of clues we’re supposed to be looking for here?” Steve asked her as he still looked around.

(Y/N) stopped in her tracks, “How am I supposed to know?”

“I don’t know, isn't this kind of like Clue?” He asked her.

“Steve seriously?” She walked toward the bathroom and Steve followed her. He went to the grate as (Y/N) searched the medicine cabinet. She was reading a name on a prescription bottle when she heard Steve start shouting. 

“Steve what is it?” She asked him.

“SPIDER!”

“SPIDER? STEVE WHAT THE HELL GET AWAY FROM ME WITH THAT!” (Y/N) started freaking out with him keeping a distance as they both ran out of the bathroom.

“Whoa, whoa, what’s wrong?” Nancy asked them both. 

“There was a spider.” (Y/N) mumbled as her hands slightly shake.

“What?” Nancy asked her.

“It’s a black widow.” Steve answered as he closed the door. 

“Okay…” Nancy trailed off.

“Don’t go in there.” Steve turned around to look at (Y/N).

“Oh, oh. Wait, just…” Nancy stopped him as she began to pick spider-webs out of his hair.

“What? Something? Shit.”

 “Wait. Stop moving.” Nancy told Steve as she continued to pluck webs. 

“Okay.” Steve moved slightly.

“Stop. I just… I got it. I got it.”

“Thank you.” (Y/N) rolled her eyes and walked away. 

“If there’s a spider nesting in there, you’re never gonna find it ‘til it lays eggs and the babies spill out.” Robin spoke as she passed by Steve and Nancy.

“What’s wrong with you?” Steve asked her.

Robin chuckled as she walked toward where (Y/N) had gone.

“Robin, seriously… She’s got problems.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.” Nancy replied with a smile.

“It’s cool you two are, like, friends now.” 

“Yeah… friends.” Nancy blushed silently thanking whoever that Steve couldn’t see her face at the moment. 

“Maybe after we find Vecna, kill him, save the world and stuff, maybe we can all go out or something. You know? Me, you, Robin, Y/N, Jonathan, when he’s back, Jenny, maybe even Eddie. It’s not like we’re dating… Me and Robin, that is, we’re dating. Right, she told you? That we’re not?” Steve rambled.

“Yes, she made that very clear, besides Jonathan and I… we broke up.” Nancy softly spoke, “but I don’t want to talk about that…What about you and (Y/N)?”

“I would date her but… I kind of ruined that last summer with the whole getting stuck in a Russian lab thing and not being able to tell her.”

“Right…” 

“I haven’t felt this way about anyone… not since you Nance.” Steve told her.

“She must be very special if she’s got Steve Harrington blushing and twirling his hair, practically giggling like a schoolgirl.” Nancy teased him.

“I’m not…”

“Robin would argue with you on that. She was telling me that you’re like some lovesick puppy when it comes to (Y/N) Munson.” Nancy finished pulling the webs out of his hair.

“Robin?” Steve turned around and raised an eyebrow at her.

“Mm-hmm.” Nancy hummed.

“Why’d you walk away from Steve?” Robin asked (Y/N) as they walked down the stairs.

“Because he was busy… besides how can I compete with someone like Nancy Wheeler?” (Y/N) asked Robin and continued walking. 

“You don’t have to compete with Nancy Wheeler and you know that.” Robin tried to reassure her.

“Have you seen the way he looks at her Robin? The way he’s always looked at her?” (Y/N) stopped walking and turned toward Robin, “He’s still in love with her and it’s obvious.”

“Have you seen the way he looks at you? Because I’ve never seen him look at any girl like that, not even Nancy frickin’ Wheeler.” (Y/N) didn’t respond so Robin continued, “He looks at you like you put the sun, the moon, and the stars in the sky just for him. He worships the ground you walk on, and we know he lacks some serious brain cells but he still put it together that you have the same symptoms as Max, Chrissy, and Fred and grabbed your file from Ms. Kelley’s office.”

“He did what?” (Y/N) asked Robin, Robin immediately stopped her rambling and her eyes widened.

“Shit, I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.” Robin said with an apologetic look on her face. She went to continue as one of the kids called them into the living room. (Y/N) stood there just looking at the wall, as Steve came down the stairs, he went to reach (Y/N) and tapped her shoulder but Robin shook her head at him.

“It’s like the Christmas lights.” Nancy spoke as the group stood in a circle together looking up at the chandelier. 

“The Christmas lights?” Robin leaned in toward Nancy and questioned.

“Yeah, when Will was in the Upside Down, the lights… came to life.” Nancy leaned into Robin as she answered

“Vecna’s here in this house…” Lucas looked over at Max, “just on the other side.” 

The light dimmed out, “I think he just left the room.” Robin spoke.

“Did he hear us?” Max asked, looking around the room at the others.

“Can he see us?” Steve turned toward Max. 

“Headphones.” Lucas told Max, she immediately put them over her ears.

“Wait, wait.” Nancy got everyone’s attention, “Everyone, turn off your flashlights and spread out.” Everyone but Steve followed instructions.

“We’re not gonna be able to see if we turn off our flash… lights… Jesus Christ… (Y/N) wait up.” Steve turned his flashlight off and started to follow her but she picked up her pace, “(Y/N) what’s wrong?”

“I don’t know Steve why don’t you ask my file from Ms. Kelley’s office.” Her snarky reply confused Steve.

“What?” He asked her before his eyes widened slightly, “(Y/N) no it’s not like tha-”

“I GOT HIM! GOT HIM!...” Robin’s shouts interrupted him and the duo ran toward her voice.

“I got him. I… I had him.” Robin looked over her shoulder at the group.

Steve’s flashlight began to glow, “Oh, whoa. Oh, I think he’s moving.” Steve began to walk and then panicked lightly, “He’s moving. He’s moving!” The group followed him up the staircase, “Shit,” Steve’s flashlight had gone out, “I lost him.”

Max pushed past Steve, “No, you didn’t.” She opened the attic door and looked at the group before walking slowly in and going up the stairs.

“It’s an attic. Of course it’s an attic.” Robin muttered before going up the stairs, everyone following behind her besides Dustin and (Y/N). 

“Hold up, guys. What if he’s leading us into a trap?” Dustin asked, (Y/N) sighed before going up the stairs, “(Y/N), seriously you’re the one who watches horror movies all the time you know this is a bad idea… Guys, guys. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit.” Dustin followed her up the stairs, the group all walking toward the light hanging in the middle of the attic. Dustin’s flashlight began to shine, “Flashlights.”

Everyone pulled their flashlights up and formed a circle, Jenny sticking close to her brother and (Y/N) clinging to her best friend’s side avoiding standing next to Steve. “Okay, what’s happening?” Steve asked as the lights in the circle began to take turns glowing brighter until eventually their flashlights broke and pieces of the bulbs and the reflectors flew all over the place.

“Jesus H. Christ.” (Y/N) mumbled, “Fuck it, I’m done with this.” She quickly walked down the stairs and out of the Creel House. 

“(Y/N)...” Jenny tried to stop her.

“I’ve got it.” Steve told her as he began to follow (Y/N). “(Y/N)... (Y/N)! Slow down!” 

“Why Steve? So you can play the hero?” (Y/N) continued down the steps. 

Steve stopped in his tracks, “Why are you being like this?” He asked with genuine concern.

(Y/N) stopped at the bottom step and turned around to look at Steve and laughed, “Steve, you have my file I’m sure there’s something in there that will explain this.”

“I don’t have your file!” Steve shouted.

“That’s hilarious, Harrington.” She scoffed, “Look lightning tends to strike the Munson family tree every five or so years like clockwork and we were long overdue. That’s the only reason I’m here and we both know it…”

Steve walked toward her but stopped at the top of the three steps. (Y/N) looked up at him, “Why did you take my file?” 

“I only took the page with your symptoms listed… after Max said what hers, Chrissy’s, and Fred’s were, I put two and two together…” Steve trailed off and went down the steps, he grabbed her wrist. “Was I right to be concerned?”

(Y/N) just shook her head and ripped her wrist from his loose grip, “You know what Steve, maybe, this was meant to last forever.”

“What wasn’t meant to last forever?”

Author’s Note: sorry to leave it on a cliffhanger of sorts but I have a plan.

Taglist: @preciousbabypeter​ @honeymunson​ @willgrahampills​ @secretsicanthideanymore​ @tanyaherondale​ @lettyshush​ @kayt-marie​ @live-the-fangirl-life​ @burn1ngw00d​ @alainabooks143​ @kamala-khann​ @dessmxsworld​ @xstormiii​ @guichu​

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington series #kers writes

[zontiky]

au where the apocalypse was never a threat or a concept to begin with

*cracks knuckles* now i could make this a decent upbringing au OR i could make it EXTREMELY COMPLICATED and you know me you know exactly what im about to do ;)

reginald THINKS he’s prepping them all for the apocalypse but reginald is a child-abusing FOOL and an alien BASTARD and there’s no apocalypse there never was there never will be. the world is safe and sound but the hargreeves children aren’t.

five runs away from home and gets thrown into april 1st, 2019. the world is thriving. he did it. he tries to get home but he can’t because he’s stuck and im now realizing that everyone reading this post has seen a million fics with this exact concept but FUCK YOU THIS IS MY CITY NOWWW

so he’s stuck in 2019 and he’s like ah fuck ah SHIT what now! and goes to the academy and it’s not like he was super far away from it in the first place. he didn’t even make it a mile away it’s like a 5 minute walk back home lmao

now because reggie thinks there IS an apocalypse he still killed himself and i hate him a lot so cough ahem anyway

five shows up on the mansion and expects dad to be sitting there in his office, doing his evil dad evil villain thing yk the drill

but instead he comes in to an empty house. mom is unresponsive. he cant find pogo (dont ask where pogo is. hes doing monkey butler things ok). and diego is climbing in through the window

five freaks out because WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU THIS IS MY HOUSE and jumps diego and diego goes down HARD because WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT MY DEAD BROTHER?? MY BROTHER WHO DISAPPEARED 17 YEARS AGO?? WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCKKKK

so they try to beat the shit out of each other for a second and by that i mean five tries to beat the shit out of diego whos gained his senses by now and is trying to convince his brother (his BROTHER) that technically he lives here too please stop punching me

luther comes downstairs.

“IS THAT FIVE???”

“SHUT UP AND HELP ME THIS LITTLE FUCKER CAN PUNCH”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA”

they manage to calm him down when five catches sight of diegos tattoo

WAIT I FORGOT THAT THE FUNERAL WAS BEFORE APRIL FUCK NEVERMIND SCRAP THE PAST 13 BULLETS ABORT MISSION

so five lands in april, goes to the house, and by then the hargreeves have cleared out and are back to doing their own thing more or less. he comes up to the door and grace (pogo has fixed her by now because i said so) welcomes her son back home like he never even left

she gives him a hug

reginald is gone and she hasnt seen her sun in years and dammit, he deserves that hug okay? she gives him a hug.

five pulls away. mom hasnt hugged him for years because he stopped letting her and he’s not about to change his mind now

“where’s everyone?” he asks. he doesn’t even consider that everybody is gone, because where would they go? or maybe it just hasn’t hit him exactly which time he jumped into, maybe he still hasn’t made the connection exactly what age his siblings are now, maybe he has but he still hopes he can deny it for a little while longer

grace wants to hug him again but she refrains. she calls his siblings

one by one, in the span of the next week, she gets ahold of them and calls them back to the academy. “important news,” she says. “you’ll want to -- you’ll need to be here,” she says. “your brother,” she says, and her children listen and come back home

luther is at the academy when five gets here. because, where would he go? he can’t go back to the moon, and dad is gone, and he’s never even been on a bus alone before, where would he go?

when five sees him for the first time he almost cries, because he’s so much bigger and taller and older and what happened to him??

this is his new reality. this is the new luther

but it isn’t, it can’t be, because five is going to get back home and he’s going to fix it, he’s going to fix this and he’s going to grow up just like his siblings did, and it won’t even be long before he’s back home almost two decades ago.

vanya is next to arrive, and five almost -- almost -- smiles at her and gives her a hug and teases her how she’s still shorter than him, but she has such a blank expression on her face and the way she looks between the portrait of him (he hated that portrait from the beginning, he wanted to burn it because hes back now, isnt he? and he’ll go back home and not leave again, but pogo didnt let him) stops him. it will only be a couple of days and he’ll be going home already, he tells grace, so maybe the others dont even have to come here. she nods and smiles and says nothing

diego comes a day or so later, dragging klaus along, and five is stunned by how they look once again. diego looks battle-hardened and angry like he never did just last week, five’s last week, but now he scowls and doesn’t stutter and dresses himself in black and he lives alone and diego looks so lonely but five doesnt think about it because its not his business and he knows better and its diegos own damn fault for cutting contact, isnt it? and even if it weren’t five will go back and fix it all

five knows klaus has been doing things for a good year or so know, but this -- living on the streets, giggling even as diego forces him inside, making lewd jokes with his eyes out of focus -- he couldn’t have even imagined. he stamps down the feeling of i should have been there to help stop him and doesn’t think how sad and angry at their father seeing klaus like this makes him feel, instead he forces thoughts of it’s his own fault he ended up this way and i’m going to get back and fix this (but that’s not a thought he has to force. he will. he has to. it won’t even be another week before he figures out how to get home)

allison gets there next. she took the first plane she could get on to get home and pushed off all her appointments but she had a family emergency just last week and it was hard to get away and she looks so sad even when she opens her arms for a hug and five cant help but relent and give her one. diego scoffs and allison lets loose a dig thats more of a barb thats more of a sharp sentence splitting the air and hitting her brother square in the chest. five doesnt say anything but his stomach twists. just a week or so and he’ll fix it because even as children they never said things like that to each other

he waits for ben to come last. he must be the most adjusted of them all, right? ben read a lot last five saw of him, and hes one of the smartest of them, and secretly five always thought that ben deserves to have friends that he doesnt live with

ben doesnt come

he asks mom and she smiles and he asks the others and they look away and he asks again and someone -- and it doesnt matter who because his ears are ringing and hes stumbling back and falling onto the couch -- says that ben died. ben died years ago.

ben died four years after five left

fives head is spinning and he needs to get back, he needs to stop it he needs to fix it he needs to make it all better because it was never supposed to be this way

(you thought this would be a happy au didnt you?? haha bitch think again)

(it is but they have to get there smhhh)

klaus laughs and elbows the air next to him and five asks, he doesnt beg, he asks him if he can summon ben

everyone scoffs. rolls their eyes. klaus is high as a kite and hes holding a bottle of whiskey and he looks like he hasnt been sober in days. weeks. years. and he’s a liar and ben is gone for real, im sorry, five. i know this must be hard for you

that can’t be right. five wasnt there for all of klaus’ lies and stealing and drunken sobbing. five remembers klaus rolling a joint at the breakfast table like it was last week -- and it was, it was, he’ll fix it still, but to five klaus is still just his brother. just klaus

he asks, not begs, five doesnt beg but he comes damn close in this moment, to tell him the truth

and klaus looks around and ben whispers please, klaus, just try and five is looking at him with wet eyes and he’s thirteen he’s so young and -- he can’t say innocent. none of them have ever been innocent, not since reginald hargreeves adopted them all those years ago. but five...

he tells the truth. and five believes him

so anyway five cant get back and then they decide well ok five while youre staying here we might as well buy you some clothes. ones that arent literally 20 years old. jesus these uniforms are ugly

my jaw is clenching so hard and im cold asdflksdh so im gonna end this here and maybe rb it and continue lated idk 😳😳

WHOOP this is getting away from me i know u didnt come here for quote poetic unquote bullshit but weihfsdkjdhskf THATS WHAT UR GETTING I GUESS XX <3

#asks #ftag #five hargreeves #nopocalypse au #aus #tua #the umbrella academy #im not reading over this. all the typos are there for the Authenticity and Flavor #misc #hfhkjwjkfdsaihshf #I HOPE U LIKED IT IM OUT OF PRACTICE DOING THESE 😭😭 #not!fic

[silent-scythe]

Broken Love

Hello! My name is Scythe, this is my very first time posting on tumblr, I really don’t know how to lmao. This is a story that I wrote on AO3 a few months ago, but I’ll be posting it here too. Really sorry if the formatting is wonky, I don’t know how to use this lol

TRIGGER WARNING FOR: alcohol abuse, self hate, semi-descriptive mention of sexual assault, and slight sexual content. Please read at your own risk. 

༺༻

“What, do you think your mother even bothered to think about you while she was worked to death?” 

Nesta regretted it the moment those hateful words left her mouth. A part of her wanted to take back the venom she spat out, yet dignity trampled it down, keeping her spine straight and her head held high. She refused to acknowledge the pain that creeped upon her heart, instead curling her hands into fists as that maelstrom in her eyes swirled angrily. 

Her eyes were a force to behold; oh, such rage filled those cunning blue-gray eyes, like that of a wrathful thunderstorm. 

She watched, not a flicker of emotion showing, as the fire in Cassian’s eyes died out, reduced to ashes. 

She wanted, ached for him to spit back at her, to argue and quarrel. 

But she knew she went too far with that remark. 

Yet pride, insufferable pride, refused to let her apologize. 

༺༻

Cassian felt his breath still at the sneering insult she had flung back at him. They bickered endlessly, yet it was an unspoken rule between them to never bring relatives into it.

Never.

Especially when they were dead- have been dead for five hundred years. 

Thousands of retorts came to mind, an endless collection of insults he could hurl back, yet they all died on the tip of his tongue.

Cassian could feel nothing, hear nothing, as he closed the door quietly behind him and walked out of Nesta’s apartment in deafening, roaring silence, wings tucked in tight. He did not know where he was going, and he definitely was not in the mood to fly back to the House of Wind. So he let his steps carry him to the ends of the earth. 

And he couldn’t help but think back to what Nesta had said. 

Do you think your mother even bothered to think about you while she was worked to death?

Somewhere inside him, uncertainty crept along his bones. He knew that his mother cared for him, even as he was abandoned at an Illyrian camp with nothing but himself. But what if he was wrong? Five centuries later, his only recollection of his mother was a hazy, warm face. 

Oh, and the screams and body-wracking sobs that she had let out as he was taken away. 

His mother had left him with an amulet, a necklace of ruby the same brilliant carmine color as his seven siphons. He chose to give it to Nesta. Yet that was at the bottom of the Sidra, thrown in there after she refused to accept it, telling him that she wanted nothing from him and leaving.

Oh, how he loathed himself. 

༺༻

Nesta stood there, fists clenching and unclenching, as she processed what just happened, replaying the events over and over again. 

She should have never said that. She had never hurt Cassian so deep before, so thoroughly that he had left, just left. Without firing some stinging retort back at her. 

And what killed her the most? He was a good male. In her heart, she knew that he was worth everything in the world. Gods, he had even closed the door quietly, not slamming it like she would’ve undoubtedly done. 

She finally shook herself out of her stance, pacing around her messy, drab-gray apartment, dirty clothes flung everywhere, cobwebs on the corners of the walls.

And so, Nesta resorted to the only option at hand.

The only way she knew how to cope.

Oh, how she loathed herself. 

༺༻

Cassian’s steps eventually led him to the Sidra, his unkempt hair blowing in the harsh breeze. The biting cold chilled his fingertips, but he paid it no mind as he stared across the river, waves lapping gently at the sand that he stood on.

From besides him, he could feel shadows wreath him, swirling around the secluded beach, twirling in the air. 

“Not now, Azriel,” he spoke, responding to the silent shadows. “I want to be alone.”

The shadows seemed to stop, hesitating, as if saying, ‘are you sure, brother?’ before eventually blowing away, returning to their master.

The Illyrian Commander stared out across the Sidra, his gaze unfocused, eyes on the horizon. Though he did not see the point where water met land. 

No, the only thing he could see were smoldering eyes of stormy blue. 

༺༻

Nesta cringed inwardly at the cheap alcohol that went down her throat, rough and burning. She took another massive gulp.And she kept this up, until only the last dregs remained.

And then she asked for another drink.

And another.

And another.

She drank, and drank, and drank, welcoming the oblivion and the lack of emotion that accompanied this. Nesta kept at it, until her head was fuzzy and dizzy and she could not hear nor see a single thing clearly. Empty bottles lined the table she sat at.

You are worthless, a voice in her head hissed. Worthless. You do not deserve him, you do not deserve Feyre and Elain’s kindness. You should continue to waste away, until you are completely gone.

Nesta wholeheartedly agreed with whatever spoke in her mind. 

She hated herself, hated her walls of thorns, hated that she was like a plague, spreading hatred and sadness to everyone around her. 

She wished she could change. And when she realized she couldn’t change, wouldn’t change, she wished she was gone. 

A male approached her, sitting down next to her. A cruel smile slashed across his face, displaying a handsome face with striking blue eyes and cropped, dirty blond hair. Pointed ears and sharp canines added to his features. 

High Fae, then, Nesta thought. 

She could practically smell the lust and whiskey on the male.

She welcomed it. 

Nesta did not mind as a phantom hand of his grazed her leg, inching up to her thigh. She smirked at him, an invitation and a taunt. 

Soon enough, she grabbed his hand harshly, and they were in her bedroom within minutes. 

This was the only way she could find freedom, through sex and alcohol. Perhaps she indeed was wasting away, a useless pile of garbage. Once upon a time, she would bristle at such a comparison. Now, she could only agree. 

The male entered her, and an image of Tomas Mandray crossed her mind. The foreign touch, the mortal man who had torn her clothes to pieces and pinned her on the wall, until she had screamed her throat raw and clawed her way out of his grip. She still shuddered at the memory, but she shoved it down in her brain, all the way to the back of her mind, where all these other emotions and memories and feelings and happiness were, repressed and behind a gate that Nesta would never open. 

She rode him deep into the twilight, though she did not see the male Fae.

No, the only thing she could see were fiery eyes of warm hazel.

༺༻

Cassian stayed by the riverbank until dusk, the rays of twilight sun warming him. Occasionally, he stretched his wings out, extending them and flapping once before he tucked them in tight again. Other than that, he stayed still, letting the waves lull him as he combed through memories and thoughts. 

They always seemed to rebel, to go to that one day he didn’t want to think of. The day where his wings were broken, shredded to pieces, wounds dotting his body like stars in the night sky as he laid on that battlefield, with Nesta covering him. 

I have no regrets in my life, but this. That we did not have time. That I did not have time with you, Nesta. I will find you again in the next world- and we will have that time, I promise.

Those words he had spoken echoed in his mind, and he remembered the way Nesta had shielded his body with her own. 

And right before that- as Nesta had shouted, roaring his name, as he had avoided that blast of magic that would have killed him within milliseconds. 

Did he deserve that?

Nightmares still plagued his mind during the night, where he watched as his soldiers, men he grew up with, died on the battlegrounds. 

Where they had lain their lives for the war. 

Where they died, and he didn’t. 

Guilt still ate at him, reprimanding and lashing at himself for surviving when he should have died, was supposed to die with those people. He had been grateful for Elain and Nesta, who killed Hybern, yet oftentimes he still went back to that day, wondering why he was still alive when he shouldn’t be.

Cassian’s slumbering siphons flared brightly as thoughts invaded his mind. 

He watched as the sun sank into the sky, the last rays of crimson and gold died with the sun, falling below the horizon. For a moment, the atmosphere turned the same, dark shade of vermillion as his siphons.

Gradually, the sky grew dark, as night fell and stars peeked out from behind their blanket of darkness. 

Cassian lowered his head. 

Purpose sang in his body, purpose to live. If he was granted with life, he would live it to the fullest. He would pull Nesta out of that dark, dark place, no matter how long it would take. No matter how much it would hurt himself, no matter how bleak some days might be. He made a promise to himself, vowing to never admit defeat and stop trying.

Because he loved her. Truly. 

And love, unending love, refused to let him give up.

༺༻

Yeah that’s it! Leave any comments down below (are they called comments on tumblr? I think they’re like,, notes or smth? Also, prompts r nice, gimme prompts for Nessian if you want :)) love them sm. Hope u enjoyed!! I have other fanfic oneshots, which i’ll post probably after i figure out how Tumblr works

- Scythe 

#nesta x cassian #nesta #cassian #nesta archeron #nessian #angst #how do i tag these things

[crimsonrevolt]

Congratulations Chloe you’ve been accepted to Crimson Revolt as Sybill Trewlawney!

↳ please refer to our character checklist

Your application was such a treat to find in our inbox, Chloe! From the expanded traits to the wonderful headcanons you gave, your Sybill is so wonderfully fleshed out. The love you have for her is amazing and we all loved just how well you captured her - ‘she’s always been unafraid to march to the beat of her own drum‘ completely sold us. It’s so clear to see from you application just how much you’ve thought about the role that Sybill has to play in the war and gone into so much detail about her involvement with Aversio it’s such a pleasure to see! We think that Sybill will fit in just wonderfully and we cannot wait to have you both in our roleplay!

Application beneath the cut 

OUT OF CHARACTER

INTRODUCTION  

Chloe, she/her, GMT, from England  

ACTIVITY  

Well it’s been a little while since I’ve actively roleplayed so I might start out a little rusty, but given the preference you have for longer threads and your lenient activity limit I’m sure I’ll be around fairly often, like three times a week at least. (to give you a number I’d say like 7/10 on the active scale)

TRIGGERS

*removed for privacy

HOW DID YOU FIND US?  

I was looking through the hp rp tag, and to be honest I was looking specifically for a Sybill Trelawney to play that I felt was actually a good representation of her character and also sat within an rp that had a good plot aha

WHAT HARRY POTTER CHARACTER DO YOU IDENTIFY WITH MOST?

Maybe a cliché but I really loved Ginny (in the books of course, don’t EVER get me started with the mess they made of her character in the movies dear god) she was spunky and confident (and ginger like myself, which tbqh has made me slightly bias in favour of the whole Weasley clan. Like you’re telling me not only do they deal w/ shit for being blood traitors but they redheads too??? Hard knock life, my man.) And of course my dear Sybill, who was just trying to be understood in a world that wasn’t quite ready for her.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Nope

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER  

Sybill Trelawney  

FACE CLAIM

Alycia Debnam Carey isn’t an fc I’ve ever worked with before but after browsing her tag and doing a little research she seems an excellent choice for Sybill in my opinion, and since she’s your chosen fc too I’m sure you’d have no problem with me picking her. (I am also partial to Juno Temple as Sybill, but I kinda feel that’s getting a little overdone)

REASON FOR CHOSEN CHARACTER  

Uhhhh this is just a general comment but I really love that you’ve made Sybill a big of a fighter and actually self confident like all the time I see her portrayed as this scared little thing and I don’t think that’s accurate, like I’ve always felt that (at least in her younger years, before the world beat her down a bit) Sybill would have been a passionate and confident woman with faith in her gift and a desire to set the world to rights. Her words aren’t always tactful, sure, but I think everything Sybill says she says because she thinks it needs to be heard.

When I first read about this Aversio group you’d created I wasn’t sure that putting Sybill in with such people was the right choice but after a little thought the idea really grew on me. I think Sybill’s visions have forced her to witness so much death and destruction that she has been powerless to prevent, and who wouldn’t be made angry like that? Who wouldn’t grab the first chance that came along to take back some of that power, to try and defend the people she loved? Sybill is part of this group for all the right reasons. She’s fighting for freedom and safety, but she’s not naïve, she doesn’t think the order sitting around and just waiting to form counter attacks are doing enough. I also feel she was something of a loner in school and despite being quite clever was never really invited into or considered for the order and so perhaps this comes from the ever so slight niggling urge she has to prove herself, because despite being a hippy dippy seer she’s also capable of affecting change and taking part in things. (If anything her visions and prophecies have only made her more determined to change the world, for she will have seen how truly tits up everything could go.)

I just have a longstanding love for Sybill, she’s always been unafraid to march to the beat of her own drum. Like, refusing to take on the name ‘higglebottom’ and so causing the end of your own marriage?? That’s hardcore. That’s a woman who won’t take no shit. Yeah, I love Sybill and I am forever searching for an rp with what I feel is an accurate representation of her. This is getting long so I’ll wind it down now, but if you’d like to hear anything more about my love for Syb pls just do message me lmao.

PREFERRED SHIPS // CHARACTER SEXUALITY // GENDER & PRONOUNS

Sybill has always been wary of romance and love. With her gift it is easy to see the multitude of ways things can fall apart. Not only that, but it is hard to find someone with complete faith in this gift of hers, someone who truly believes all her madcap ramblings and feels the power of nature and the universe as much as she does. (Of course, she would only ever settle down with someone who believed in this power as much as she did and yet like her was not afraid to question it.) Sex is different to romance, though, I think Sybill views sex as something much simpler and it’s very much a pleasure she indulges in without ever feeling guilty about it. Honestly I think she can be quite the flirt when she wants, not ashamed of her desire to lure a man or woman into her bed for the night, because why should we deny ourselves such a simple craving? We shouldn’t.

As far as ships go I’m very happy just to go with the flow, nothing prioritised. Sybill goes by she/her pronouns, did consider them/they for a while but after some contemplation in the forest realised her energy was decidedly feminine in its nurturing and care, even if it was a little wilder and more adventurous. (Sexuality I touched on a little above, i feel like she’d be very fluid about it and call herself bisexual if pushed on the subject)

CREATE ONE (OR MORE!) OF THE FOLLOWING FOR YOUR CHARACTER:

-EXPAND ON THE TRAITS

Self-assured- Sybill has gotten comfortable with her gift of sight, and by extension- since she’s long felt like that was the most drastic aspect of her personality- the rest of herself. She’s confident in who she is and the doubts of others can no longer throw her off her chosen course.

Free-spirited- spends a lot of time out in nature, but its much more than that. Sybill is very unassuming and so as long as what/who you are is not a cause of harm (for example, unless you are a death eater) she is quite happy to not only let you continue with your life and hobbies, but likely also interested in learning about it. She is happy for you to be in love, she is happy for you to mindlessly fuck, she is happy for you to abstain and spend all your time writing. As long as your soul is good and warm, you can be counted as a friend of Sybill’s.

Crafty- well, there’s the obvious definition of her being artistic which is true, Sybill likes to paint and tell fanciful stories and take one mans trash to make into her own treasure. But her crafty mind also  makes her quite statistical, she can wriggle her way out of almost any problem and really earns her keep as one of the strategic minds of Aversio.

Genuine- Another fairly obvious I feel. Some of the stuff Sybill says may be odd, but she means every word of it. This applies to her actions too. She has not one conniving or manipulative bone in her body, she never lies. Everything Sybill does is honest and true to the core of who she is.

Dreamer- constantly lost in her own world. Idealistic almost to a fault, often too optimistic about the future. Sometimes too optimistic about the present and so gets herself into dangerous situations just because she underestimated the circumstances.

Emotional- oh GOD if you criticise Sybill’s shoes she will CRY for a week. If you call her pretty in passing it will make her smile all year. Let me be clear here I don’t think Sybill holds grudges or has preferences, but I think she remembers everything that people do and everything impacts her as much as it did at the time it truly happened (does that make sense? Every time she remembers that Lily once complimented her hair it fills her with the same joy as the initial compliment did, for example.) I think this is why her gift takes such a toll on her, every bad thing that happens (whether it really ends up happening or not) affects her psyche terribly.

Dramatic- it’s very up and down with Sybill. I think being dramatic is good and bad, because every small show of kindness is an absolute joy but also every little negative moment or action is the worst betrayal imaginable. Nothing is done in halves by Sybill.

Weird- I mean self explanatory. She talks to plants, she’s constantly blabbering on about the energies of nature and the universe. She relies too heavily on her inner eye to guide her rather than just watching and responding. It’s a weirdness she’s comfortable with but that doesn’t mean everyone else is so ok with it, sometimes she makes people uncomfortable with her frank statements and odd habits.

-A FEW HEADCANONS

Sybill can play guitar. Yeah, she loves music, I think she plays guitar really very well and finds it quite relaxing (can’t think about anything else if you’re trying to master difficult songs y’know) but it isn’t a talent she often shares.

She writes poetry too, doesn’t call it that, just calls it writing. Often times her visions and prophecies can be a lot to digest and so writing about it all can help to sort her crazy imaginings from what might actually be possible.

Not adverse to substance abuse. She lives alone, and sometimes being part of Aversio leaves her incredibly amped up and angry, so it can be difficult to sleep. A few glasses of whiskey or a couple of joints sort that problem out, though.

Can get aggressive with fellow Aversio members. See she knows they can handle it and all the negative energy has to go somewhere (where else would she take it out? Nature? Absolutely not.)

She meditates because it helps focus her inner eye.

-A FEW POTENTIAL PLOT POINTS

This aggression with Aversio members might be an interesting one- like, does she think some of them are really just death eaters afraid to admit that? Are some of them scared of her? Do they think she’s too pushy with the people she’s supposedly aligned with? Yeah, lots interesting to say there.

Of course as an Aversio member there’s always the chance that the order or DE might find out that she’s part of such a group and try to sway her one such way (the DE would have no chance, and i don’t really see the order being much luckier, though she may be willing to form some kind of cooperation with them.)

There’s always the chance of her abandoning everything to just live in the forest.

More prophecies or visions! Are they always accurate? Who knows?!?!?! No one really.

IN CHARACTER QUESTIONNAIRE

The following section should be looked at like a survey for your character. Answer them in character and feel free to use gifs. Or, if you’d rather, answer them in third person or OOC without gifs. Answers do not have to be extremely lengthy.

♔ If you were able to invent one spell, potion, or charm, what would it do, what would you use it for or how would you use it? Feel free to name it:

I think I’d like to invent a potion that would make me immune to all poisons. To be honest, that’s one of the few things that forces me to buy actual food from shops and stops me from living purely off the foods nature provides. I’m quite worried about being poisoned by something not meant for me you see, so if I had a potion that meant no such poisons affected me I would live only off the bounty provided by nature.

♔ You have to venture deep into the Forbidden Forest one night. Pick one other character and one object (muggle or magical), besides your wand, that you’d want with you:

I think Xenophilius Lovegood would make for very good company. He’s easy on the eye and we’re both the types who see more in the world than most people do. I don’t suppose i’d pick anyone for their ability to keep me safe- I’m quite capable of that, thank you. Rather I think I’d pick Xenophilius because we would not run out of things to talk about. Ad far as objects go, maybe a sword? They fascinate me to be perfectly honest- so violent, so pretty- and I think it would be most useful should magic fail me.

♔ What kinds of decisions are the most difficult for you to make?

Who to send on missions or counter attacks. It’s never very easy to decide if you need stealth and logic or aggression and strength, you know? And always I am so fearful that by sending the wrong type we will do more harm than good.

♔ What is one thing you would never want said about you?

That I am a liar. That’s easy, people can say much about me as long as they always believe I am true.

WRITING SAMPLE

Sybill could not sleep. This was not a rare occurrence. More often than not she’d use alcohol or drugs to knock herself out for the night, acutely aware of all the work that there was to be done the next day and so too focused on being alert for that to be concerned with her own body. Tonight, however, she chose the forest. And drugs. There was a lovely little wood right by her house (would Sybill move anywhere without nature close by? Of course not.) And so she meandered through the trees until a small clearing came about, settling herself with a joint and her notebook for a sleepless night.  

See, tomorrows attack did not directly involve her. It was more an urban stealth mission, not really her style, and so she saw no harm in turning up to the meeting a little tired and out of it. Hey, she was usually ‘out of it’ as far as the others thought anyway, and so what was the harm really. So for this plan she had taken more a strategic role, using her gift to her advantage to help plan the timing, who she be where and when they should be there. It was something of an arduous task to be honest, left her a little drained to look so closely at individuals, but Sybill would never complain about it. Her inner eye was a gift very few possessed and she intended to use it to it’s full potential.

Besides being out here among nature’s glory with her writing and a joint would be sufficient to restore the balance of her energy. She took a drag and sighed into the quiet night, shifting to lay on her back and feel the full flow of the earth against her body. Her fingertips tingled and her toes curled. God, you know what would really help her sleep? Sex. But so few were as interested in no strings in the same way she was. Still willing to form a connection and truly bon with each other, just not so insistent that such a bond be permanent. It was okay to need someone only for a night or two. The summer she’d bounced around muggle music festivals had spoiled her, obviously. Maybe most wizards were so interested in commitment because it carried on the family name.

Not that she could blame them for such. Cassandra Trelawney had claimed the gift skipped three generations after all and by golly the family had seen to it that her point be proved. The idea made her giggle, bright energy pushing out against a dark sky.

Whatever the case, she was antsy and restless and worried about tomorrows plans. Worried about tomorrows’ people. If things went wrong those few were the ones who would pay most dearly. She closed her eyes, trying to feel the influence of the universe move through her and search for the answers she desired. Would tomorrow be okay? Had they chosen well? The universe, as it so often was in what it considered small affairs, had little more to offer than a small reassurance that Sybill wasn’t driving towards utter disaster.

#Accepted App #illness and timezones worked against us but we're thrilled to have you!