Aprilthearcher - Balance Is All - Tumblr Blog

reposting this because i changed a few things and i'm so happy of how it turned out!

hello, there! i’m april (is actually abril). 19. argentinian. spanish is my first language, english is my second. she/her. slytherin. leo. 

interests  ➜ taylor swift, gracie abrams, hozier  ―  succession, harry potter, game of thrones/house of the dragon, marvel cinematic universe  ―  right now: watching the last kingdom. 

currently, i’m only writing for roman roy from succession.

my inbox is always open if you want to send a message or chat about any interests that we might share, i have a lot more than the ones here but can’t put them all. <3

                            roman roy fics (x fem!reader) 

      || last updated: June 17th ||

this hope is treacherous 

no glimpse of relief.

pining and anticipation (personal favourite).

burning red.

blurb. 

i have a couple of ideas for roman, but ummm... i’m back again on my house of the dragon era, so bear with me while i try to write for roman with cregan stark stuck in my head 

i have to pay for the little rainbow circles ???????? yeah, no way

🩷🩷🩷🥹

pining and anticipation [roman roy x reader]

word count: 1.1k 

warnings: cursing, sex jokes, idk it’s roman (what else do you expect?) english is not my first language, so there could be some mistakes. not edited. also, the longest elevator ride ever. not my picture.

wrote this while listening to “dress” by taylor swift, so you might want to listen to it too. 

“Are you wearing a tie?”

The silence in the elevator was corrupted by her question. In the second it took him to respond, the only sound to be heard was the soft music playing on the speakers.

“I mean it’s hanging round my neck, isn’t it?” His sarcastic answer should’ve probably gone unnoticed by her because of how much he used them and how usually she heard them, but there was something… off. Roman wearing a tie was off, and his whole demeanour, which she’d started to take notice of just now, was getting weirder. He was stiff. He was never stiff. Roman was always jumping up and down, even on the small space of the lift. 

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thank you so much for this !!! i'm so so soo happy you liked it, getting feedback on what i write is so special !! 🩷✨

this hope is treacherous [roman roy x fem!reader]

word count: 600 - 700

warnings: ooc roman, perhaps, idk but i wanted (needed) something fluffy after studying for so long. cursing? not edited. english is my first language. i cannot get over this look !!!!!! also not my picture.

“Would you ever want a big wedding like this?” 

Such an intimate question coming from him surprises her. She peers at him through her black sunglasses. He has his hands on his pockets, a relaxed stance at first glance; his shoulders moved forwards, curving his back, his head faces the landscape opposite her, as if he was ashamed of the words escaping his mouth. It’s a nervous stance, she deduces after a second, sharper look. Her heart cannot help but to jump faster every time she looks at his pink shirt. 

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this hope is treacherous [roman roy x fem!reader]

word count: 600 - 700

warnings: ooc roman, perhaps, idk but i wanted (needed) something fluffy after studying for so long. cursing? not edited. english is my first language. i cannot get over this look !!!!!! also not my picture.

masterlist

“Would you ever want a big wedding like this?” 

Such an intimate question coming from him surprises her. She peers at him through her black sunglasses. He has his hands on his pockets, a relaxed stance at first glance; his shoulders moved forwards, curving his back, his head faces the landscape opposite her, as if he was ashamed of the words escaping his mouth. It’s a nervous stance, she deduces after a second, sharper look. Her heart cannot help but to jump faster every time she looks at his pink shirt. 

“I - I mean if you even want to get married,” he continues. “Or are you one of those women who shit on marriage just for the fun of it?”

(Y/N) takes a couple of seconds to respond, wanting to see if he’ll turn his head and face her. He does, then moves his head again to look at the people his mother invited to her wedding with some prick he’s sure is only after the remnants of the money she got from the divorce with his father. He moves his head to, finally, settle his eyes on her. He’d preferred the sunglasses off her face. He’s afraid to dig deeper on the why. He can see she’s getting tired of holding the umbrella one of the organisers gave her — so she could block the Tuscan sun from her head and most of her back — from the way she keeps changing it from one hand to the other. 

“Why are you staring, you weirdo? I asked you a question, it’s only right for you to answer me, you know.” Roman says before taking his hands out of his pockets. He’s about to grab the handle of the umbrella, but changes his mind at the last second; instead, he crosses his arms over his chest to try to cover up the raising of his arms. He realises her dress is the same tone of deep blue that the pants he’s wearing. Roman clears his throat, he feels like he’s about to choke. 

“No way, I mean with all this fucking people? And their ridiculous hats and these ridiculous umbrellas?” (Y/N) gives an answer to the question that’s been pondering over Roman’s mind since that day he got told about his mother’s wedding. Roman found himself thinking — or dreaming, he’s not quite sure — of her later that night. His heart had jumped as the image of seeing (Y/N) in a white dress (was she walking towards him?) and a flower arrangement held by both of her hands appeared vividly on his mind. Roman blamed it on the stress of choosing the future president of the country. 

“So you don’t want to get married.” Why was he asking so much about this? He guessed that by getting his answer, he could finally forget about the vision of her in a white, wedding dress. Now it was even worse. He felt somewhat disappointed. 

“Oh no, I do, but just with not this many people. I'd like something small, in a place where it's sunny but not this fucking sunny. I don't know, I probably wouldn't invite anyone really. just, just yo.. just the lucky guy and I, I guess,” she shrugged her shoulders, averting her eyes from his after almost saying ‘you’. God, she was an idiot. 

“Lucky guy indeed,” Roman whistled before grabbing a glass from one of the waiters’ trays.

They stood in silence watching the guests around them, looking at the other from the corner of their eyes. Roman grabbed the handle of the umbrella from her, making sure it still covered her from the sun, after he heard her mumbling about how it was numbing her arm. She smiled, a contained smile that threatened to become a full grin if she didn’t press her lips tightly. He saw it, but decided not to say anything. A small smirk took control of his face, one that was not mocking, neither sarcastic, but almost adolescent. She saw it when he was looking at his shiny shoes. She didn’t say anything. 

hello, there! i’m april (or abril). 20. argentinian. spanish is my first language, english is my second. she/her. slytherin. leo. 

interests  ➜ taylor swift, gracie abrams, hozier  ―  succession, harry potter, game of thrones/house of the dragon, marvel cinematic universe, six of crows ―  

my inbox is always open if you want to send a message or chat about any interests that we might share, i have a lot more than the ones here but can’t put them all. <3

                            roman roy fics (x fem!reader) 

      || last updated: June 17th ||

that boyish look

life in plastic

this hope is treacherous 

no glimpse of relief.

pining and anticipation (personal favourite).

burning red.

blurb. 

no glimpse of relief [roman roy x reader]

word count: almost 500. [angst?]

warnings: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4 !! DO NOT READ IF YOU HAVEN’T WATCHED IT OR DON’T WANT TO BE SPOILED. EPISODE 3 SEASON 4- english is not my first language, not edited. watching this episode I got this idea so I had to write it, but promise I have happier ideas. season 4 has finished not so long ago so that’s why i put some warning. also, gif isn't mine and i wrote this instead of revising for my exam, so wish me luck!

wrote this while listening to epiphany by taylor swift

“Are you - are you coming with me? With us?”

“Do you want me to come?”

“Well, yes, (Y/N), otherwise I wouldn’t be asking.”

“It’s just that I - that I think it’s something you should do with - with your siblings, Rome”.

He kept silent, raking his fingers through what was just an hour ago a clean, styled haircut; perfect for such a joyful occasion, too kept together for a grieving room. 

“Perhaps, it’s better if I - if I just stay here.” She tried again.

“No.”

She looks at him and cannot believe what she's seeing; still cannot process the words that have fallen from Kendall’s mouth after Roman sent him to find her. The world feels like it’s stopped rotating, as if everything had frozen down the moment she heard the news, yet she knows it’s only her mind being slow at putting them together because, rationally, the ship is still moving, the water is still crashing at the side while the rest of the guests are drinking champagne. It’s almost laughable.

“No? Rome, I - I have no place going with you. And - and someone, at least someone, should stay with Con, for Con.”

“Of course I love him, Roman. He was like a second … shitty dad to me and you know that. But, but this is not my place, it doesn’t … feel like it is. You and your siblings, you - you are his children.”

“Con? Con? I don’t care about Connor and his stupid wedding when my dad is fucking de…” His hands covered his face, a shaky breath escaped from his mouth, shooking his whole body on the exhale. “And you - you’re his goddaughter, you should be there. What now? You don’t - you don’t love him anymore? Is that it?”

“I’m not asking for my siblings. I’m - I’m asking for me. Because I - I need you there, with me. Because if this is real, if he truly is … then I don’t know …”

(Y/N) approaches him slowly, carefully. The last thing she wants is for him to get scared, to keep her out like he’s been doing with everyone else. One of her hands settles on his cheek, her eyes are glassy, she can barely see him through the tears but she knows he’s in the same state, probably worse because of trying to keep all the emotions inside. 

“You’re not gonna say ‘sorry for your loss’ or some shit like that?” He whispers. His fingers fidget with the delicate flower clip on her hair, rubbing softly to keep in place. “It’s, you know, pretty much the only thing I’ve heard in the last thirty minutes.”

“Yeah, I think you’ve heard it enough times for me to say it again. And no words will do any good, anyways.”

“Then, come with me. Please. I - I can’t do it, not without you, not alone.”

pining and anticipation [roman roy x reader]

word count: 1.1k 

warnings: cursing, sex jokes, idk it’s roman (what else do you expect?) english is not my first language, so there could be some mistakes. not edited. also, the longest elevator ride ever. not my picture.

wrote this while listening to “dress” by taylor swift, so you might want to listen to it too. 

“Are you wearing a tie?”

The silence in the elevator was corrupted by her question. In the second it took him to respond, the only sound to be heard was the soft music playing on the speakers.

“I mean it’s hanging round my neck, isn’t it?” His sarcastic answer should’ve probably gone unnoticed by her because of how much he used them and how usually she heard them, but there was something… off. Roman wearing a tie was off, and his whole demeanour, which she’d started to take notice of just now, was getting weirder. He was stiff. He was never stiff. Roman was always jumping up and down, even on the small space of the lift. 

“Well, yeah, but you never use one,” she squinted her eyes, staring at him and trying to come up with the reason for this new “formality”. Her eyes left his face for a moment to look at the simple, black tie adorning his chest. It was crooked and the knot was not right, almost as if it was completed out of desperation. Her fingers were twitching to mend the mess he’d done while putting it on.

“It’s just a tie, I guess,” Roman tried to sound (and look) relaxed, unfazed by her interrogating eyes. Did she have to know fucking everything? 

“And yet, I’ve never seen you wearing one.”

What was the problem with him wearing a fucking tie for once? Roman thought. She had a problem with them, now? He was wearing one for her in the first place, to try to look more ‘put together’ or whatever the hell that fucking article on the Internet had said. He had spent a solid thirty minutes trying to get the knot right — he was sure he had never put some much effort on something —, but his fingers would all clash against each other, the fabric was getting wrinkled with each attempt he failed, and his screams at the Youtube video that was supposed to help him to “get the perfect Windsor knot” would soon alert the whole apartment complex; not that he’d care but he was getting louder, he had a pounding head to account for that.

“Who are you, my fucking mother now? Interrogating me on a fucking tie? Sorry, fucking tie-police, I’ll take it off then, if it fucking bothers you so much.”

She had always wondered whether “fuck” and all of it derivatives had been Roman’s first words since there was never a day that passed by in which he didn’t — fucking — (over) use them. 

He had started to move around the elevator to shake off the tie, unbuttoning two bottoms of his white, spotless shirt. His hair was starting to get wilder when she grabbed his hand clawing at the piece of fabric. 

“Don’t take it off, it... it... It looks good,” she said lightly. Roman stopped moving, as if he had been petrified all of a sudden. “But, just, let me put it right because this knot, it’s not even a knot, Roman.” Her fingers started moving around his neck, lifting the collars of his shirt after bottoming up only one of the buttons Roman had undone, unravelling the mess he’d done in just a few seconds.

“What if it’s a tie knot of my own creation, huh? Should I call it the ‘Roman Roy knot’, then?” 

(Y/N) rolled her eyes in response, a small upturn of her lips getting comfortable in her face. “Yeah, sure, only you would know how to do this mess.” He started moving again so she wrapped a hand around the tie and yanked down, then forward to keep him still. 

“You’re getting all kinky here, (Y/N). I mean, I get it, elevator, me, the man of your wet dreams, and you, in that pencil skirt that hugs your a..”

The back of her hand slapped his shoulder. “Shut up, Roman.”

“Geez, not in the mood, got it. Maybe when we get to my office, I got a new desk I’d like you to…”

She tightens the tie, hard, now sporting the perfect Windsor knot, to shut him up. 

“Fuck,” he whispered, slightly choked, his neck a little bit red. She might’ve done it with just some pressure on purpose.  “I’m into choking too, you know”. 

You could never win with him. One minute he was as stiff as a board, and now he was cracking up sex jokes, one after the other. 

The elevator came to a stop a second after (Y/N) had finished accommodating the tie around Roman’s neck. She peered at him, biting down her lower lip in an attempt to stop herself from kissing his cheek. The pining had her heart about to burst out of her ribcage. 

It was when the elevator’s doors opened that she felt Roman’s hands sliding down to her hips. It made her want to scream. She was sure Roman’s  fingerprints would leave their mark on her skin, no matter the fabric in between. The touch and the look in his brown eyes, shining under the soft glow of the yellow-tinted lights. All of it made her want to scream. The years they spent together and the years they spent apart from each other.

An irritated, low cough broke them apart. About to enter the elevator was Frank. Roman glanced at his face while sporting a smirk on his own. Frank had his eyebrows raised, his eyes set on him and not his daughter. 

“Dad,” started (Y/N), shaking her head. Before she could assure her father any of the thoughts running through his head were incorrect, Roman interrupted her.

“If you excuse us, Frank, we have very important things to do.” 

He guided (Y/N) out of the elevator with one of his hands on her lower back, mirth all over his face when he peeped over his shoulder to take a look at Frank, now inside the lift. 

Frank watched them walking down the hallway, Roman’s hand going lower. He averted his eyes just as the doors of the elevator started to close to not see where it would land on his daughter’s body. He thinks he heard her voice screaming at the man, who responded with what sounded just like a hyena’s laugh. Frank rolled his eyes, sighing in annoyance at both of their antics. Some part of him wanted them to get over whatever fears they’d felt and just get together, or whatever. It was exhausting, the tension everytime they came into the room. The furtive glances at each other when one of them wasn’t looking all throughout important meetings, the petty fights, the name-calling, the yelling and then a second later, the laughs they would share in complicity. Though, he wasn’t convinced it’d changed much, anyways. 

why can't i respond to people when they are my own posts ?????

burning red [roman roy x reader]

word count: 1.8k

[somewhat angst]

warnings: curse words, ooc roman ?, english is not my first language, not edited, rushed ending.

a/n: somewhat inspired by “red” and “false god” by taylor, idk i was just listening to these two songs on loop. i’m also supposed to be studying, but instead i wrote this, so enjoy! love me some greg sprinkles, couldn’t not include him. alsooo, this could read as being part of the same story as my previous roman blurb, but you won't have any problems if you haven't read it.

Loving Roman was complicated yet insanely easy, too tiresome at times and then incredibly invigorating. He had that effect on people, or maybe just her. Everyone else was probably too complicated for her to like. Not funny enough, not witty or smart enough, not loud enough. No one was Roman enough, not even across the whole damn world. 

Getting him off her mind had been more difficult than she’d expected, probably because (Y/N) only realised her feelings for him after she couldn’t stop thinking about him. He had taken over her whole body without knowing. It was Roman’s lips she imagined when kissing blonde, ginger, brunette guys at pubs; it were Roman’s eyes she thought of when her friends would ask her about her favourite colour; it was Roman’s face she conjured up in her head when they’d ask about her type of man. 

At first, she believed it to be some sort of sick joke the Universe was trying to play on her: discovering she had feelings for her long-time friend — one she’d known since they were in diapers, who would grab her by her ponytail whenever she was paying attention to his siblings instead of him (just him) —, barely two or three weeks in her first year of university, a university that was on a whole other continent, separated by an entire ocean. Still, (Y/N) knew she could fly back home in a couple of hours — “I’ll arrange a jet for you if you wanna come down”, her dad would always say over the phone —, but the idea of seeing him again with this new information in her head and heart (that couldn’t help but jump at the mention of him) terrified her.

Her mind would make her remember him and his antics in the worst possible times: while dancing with some random guy at a club, his hands on her hips, the cheap cologne contrasting the rich scented one Roman couldn’t get enough of. On a first date, set up by her friends who believed she had to let go of this “prude” behaviour and just let someone take her to their bed. When joking with the guys that approached her and her friends at the bar, knowing exactly what Roman would think of them, the cruel comments he’d throw, the silly faces. The soft eyes when they were both too drunk to even speak a coherent sentence, although most times nothing was coherent with Roman. She had tried looking for those same bright eyes; once more, she ended up disappointed. None of them were Roman. None of them ever will be, no matter how much (Y/N) tried to shape them into a replica of him. All of Roman was unique. 

Hence, the dreadful turmoil inside her stomach once Shiv, with some tint of malice in her eyes directed at Roman, introduced her to Tabitha. “Roman’s companion”, she’d said. The blonde, curly haired woman greeted (Y/N) with an eager smile on her face. She said her name at the same time both of them shook hands. A voice inside her head told her this was all wrong. How long? Where did it happen? Why? Why? Why now that she was back?

“Oh, you don’t need to tell me your name,” Tabitha mentioned playfully, a short roll of her eyes a second later. “You’re all Roman’s been talking about lately”.

“Only lately?” Shiv laughed, taking a sip from her glass she focused her eyes on Roman , then (Y/N). “Roman’s always talking about (Y/N). I mean, he was practically her lap dog when they were children.”

“Oh, fuck off Siobhan,” Roman bark back.

“Well, he only mentioned you as of now.” The knot in her stomach tightened. The worst part was she could see Tabitha hadn’t said it out of spite, nor jealousy, but as a fleeting comment to add something more to the conversation.

He hadn’t mentioned her to Tabitha? Not even once? She had tried everything to block him out of her head, to keep him out of her dreams and fantasies; to catch herself every time she was going to bring up him in a conversation again, and he didn’t say her name until he found out (Y/N) was coming back to New York? What kind of sick fuck was he? What kind of sick fuck was she, devoting probably her whole life to Roman fucking Roy?

“Oh,” (Y/N) managed to croak out before her father appeared beside her and whispered in her ear that she should spend some time chatting with the other guests.

                                                       * * *

Cousin Greg was great company, quite weird before you took in the awkwardness that seemed to surround him and make him stick out like a sore thumb in the midst of all these old, rich people, but great nonetheless. He had asked her about her years in London, what she studied and what she did for fun, her friends and hobbies. (Y/N) found herself enjoying the night, sitting on a couch by his side, meanwhile both of their cheeks were getting rosier and rosier with every new cup of alcohol brought to them. Greg was in the middle of telling her about how he had screwed up the first day at his job on one of the parks owned by Waystar, cracking up from time to time from how she tried to hide her laugh in order to keep the attention away from them, when two hands settled on his shoulders, hard and making a noise that was apparent that the gesture was meant to at least hurt him a little. Roman was behind him with a clench jaw and big, maniac eyes. 

“Greeeg, I think Tom was looking for you, man”.

“Oh, really?” Greg turned his upper body in Roman’s direction, which from the side looked somewhat weird because of his tall, lanky form. “Because, because I just saw him and he didn’t say anything”.

“Yes, oh really, man. And he said if you didn’t go talk to him right now, he would fire your sorry ass”.

Greg was on his feet quicker than she'd expected after seeing him drown glass after glass with her. He towered over her for a moment, saying a quick “see you later” before going in search of Tom. 

“You’re mean, Roman”.

“Yeah, well, tell me something I don’t fucking know”. 

They fell silent for a second. Around them, people were still in mindless conversation, setting down empty cups on the waiter’s tray while picking up new ones from another one. Alcohol seemed to be the only way to survive a family gathering at the Roy’s, even a harmless one. 

“You wanna get out of here?” Roman asked. She turned her head to the right to face him, he was already looking at her. His eyes no longer had the maniac fog blurring them, there was now a tranquil pool of honey.

                                                    ***

“My dad is probably gonna be mad if he finds out I ditched the party”.

“Please, (Y/N), since when did you become such a goody two shoes?” Roman leaned against the railing of the terrace, following her with his eyes while she approached him and finally set her elbows on top of the banister. From this position, he looked taller. “Don’t tell me you were like this in London. I mean, with no one to hover over you, you sure had a looot to do, didn’t you?”

“I went to London to study, remember? Not to go out and get drunk every night.”

“Well, I’m sure if you had been with me, you could’ve done both.”

“Yeah, probably, but you weren’t with me.”

“Whose fault is that, huh?” He crossed his arms over his chest. Her eyebrows raised.

“Are you saying it was my fault? We haven’t seen each other for how long and it was all my fault?”

“Why are you acting like it isn’t? It literally is, (Y/N), you left m.. you left and, and you never came back.” He had walked a few steps away from her. 

“It’s not like you couldn’t have visited, Roman. Just ask daddy for one of his jets, it’s literally that easy.”

“Yes, but - but you left, (Y/N). You left, and it’s not like you chose some university a state away, you chose one a whole continent away! That’s got to mean something!”

“As if Roman fucking Roy couldn’t get one goddamn plane and fly over to London!” She had abandoned her previous position, now fully facing Roman, who was still a couple of feet away, getting closer to the door. He was trying to run, just like it he always did whenever they fought.

“I didn’t - I didn’t want you to get annoyed by me! To realise what a true moron I was. Then you barely talked to me after you arrived at your fancy university and - and started your very difficult subjects.”

(Y/N) closed her eyes in confusion for a moment. Though it was easier to throw everything at him, (Y/N) knew that she was also responsible for their lack of communication over these last years. 

Only the bustling, almost never-ending nightlife of New York could be heard. Her chest hurted, her eyes would fill with tears at any point now. She was tired and drunk, and just fucking missed Roman too much for them to be fighting the first night she was back in the city.

“Now you are not saying anything?” Roman broke the silence. He was closer to the door, she noticed. “You know what? Fuck you, (Y/N). Fuck you for making feel all this – all this fucking, fucking shit!”

“What fucking shit?” She asked quietly, desperate for an answer, the answer.

“I - I don’t know what fucking shit, just shit, okay?”

“Say it.”

Roman didn’t respond, instead he turned her back on her, walking towards the door. Before he could reach the handle, she screamed at him.

“Fucking say it, Roman.”

“I’ve just told you, I don’t know. It’s just shit, okay? All of it,” he screamed back, opening up his arms, exaggerating his point. “I - I run out of breath and then my chest is all funny, and and I hate seeing you laughing with fucking Greg of all people. It’s shit, fucking shit!”

Drawing closer to him, she tested his limits. He was breathing hard from all the screaming and moving around the terrace to put distance between them, but he didn’t stop when (Y/N) got so close their bodies were almost touching. It was her with whom physical closeness wasn’t a problem, he always told himself it was because of how close they were pretty much their whole lives.

They only looked at each other for a few moments, the waves of conflict had calmed down fast and efficiently enough that for anyone else it would seem like nothing had happened between them. 

Roman wished — deep, deep down — that they could stay like this forever, without having to go back and confront his family, especially his father; that they could make this terrace, above Logan’s place ironically enough, a little haven, only for them; that they would never be found.

roman roy x reader [blurb]

wordcount: 809

warnings: cuss words, english is not my first language and this is not edited; also, not my pictures. first time writing after a long time and first time writing roman as well, so perhaps he’s a little ooc ? i’m also a huge taylor swift fan and this was written based on “welcome to new york”

The sun was setting down the horizon, painting the sky different shades of blue, orange, and some specs of pink, when the private jet landed from its journey all the way from London to the outskirts of New York City. The stars were going to appear soon; one could see the shining waning crescent moon up there.

There was a company car already waiting for her, which she would’ve thought had been sent by her dad were it not for the man leaning funny against the back door while looking down at his phone. She recognised him too well for her own good even after a couple of years without seeing each other. How could she not when she had spent her whole childhood running around his house, getting yelled at by Logan for making a mess, chastised by her father for making her godfather mad; having sleepovers with his sister that turned out to be sleepovers with him, sharing summer vacations by the side of the pool until Kendall and Connor taught her how to swim. 

The click of her high heels walking down the stairs of the jet seemed to have alerted him of her presence. His eyes went quickly up and down her figure, finally setting on her face. She looked exactly the same yet entirely different at the same time. 

“If it isn't (Y/N) Vernon in the flesh, ladies and gents,” he screamed, bringing both of his arms to his chest and doing some sort of imitation of a reverence. “Did you take the Queen’s place up there in little England? Took control of Buckingham Palace?”

“I was about to, actually”, she said with a small smile on her face and shiny, bright eyes she would never admit were for seeing him after so long, “but then I saw the mess you’ve all gotten yourself into”.

“Look at you, miss ‘I-sound-all-poshy’, you got an accent”.

“No, I don’t,” (Y/N) protested, scrunching up her face.

“Oh, you so totally do”.

“Shut up, Roman,” finally acknowledging him.

“It’s not my fault you sold yourself to the fucking brits, darling,” he said, replicating a butchered british accent of the pet name, while she started walking towards the other side of the vehicle where the chauffeur held the door open for her.

Once they were both inside the car, on their way to Logan’s apartment — her father had told her they would be waiting for her there for some “welcome home” lame party —, (Y/N) took off her heels, then let her head fall against the window to look at the city she had left more than half a decade ago.

When they started to approach the city centre, the sky had turned a deep tone of blue, stars barely visible because of the light pollution now. Her eyes were beginning to feel heavy the moment she heard him speak.

“You know, you should probably sleep a little before you encounter the sharks again after so long”. The sentence was whispered, almost as if he were afraid she’d already fallen asleep. 

“I’m gonna miss the view.” 

Roman snorted at her comment, “What view are you talking about? Tall buildings and, and fucking blinding lights?”

“Maybe I missed the blinding lights.”

“Oh yeah and fucking traffic too.”

“There’s traffic in London too, you know”.

“Of course I know that, you idiot, there’s also fucking blinding lights everywhere in London too, don’t you know that?”

(Y/N) turned her head to face him. She smiled, the expression on her face full of tiredness from the trip. Roman noticed it right away.

“Get some sleep, you baby,” he insisted. “New York is not gonna disappear just because you rest for two fucking minutes”.

The car ride fell silent then. It was nice. It was home. It was undisturbed peace, one they both knew wouldn’t last long; they’d soon be sucked back into the unfiltered chaos it was Waystar and its twisted insides. 

Just before she could fall asleep, (Y/N) managed to croak a question. “Doesn’t it drive you crazy?”.

“What? My family? Yeah, they fucking do”.

She shook her head softly. “Not your family, silly, the city. New York”. (Y/N) looked at him with hooded eyes, Roman had his eyebrows drawn together. 

“Yeah, I - I guess. But now,” he answered with his eyes set on hers only, “now I wouldn’t change anything.”

“Me neither.” She managed to reply with a content smile through the sleepiness. 

“Stop fighting the sleep or you’re gonna keep asking random questions, you weirdo.”

When she didn’t answer, he knew she’d finally taken his advice. Shrugging off his dark, woolen coat, Roman placed it on top of her upper body in an attempt to keep her from getting too cold, perhaps even to protect her against the crumbling ruins of the world outside. 

I miss you and I love you

the beastie boys were right. it WOULD be nice

Bravest Man he ever knew my fucking ass

this is a severus snape free zone

c: @do-i-have-tooooo and me

Hermione set Snape on fire at age 12 and I respect her for that.

Just thinking about the fact that sn*pes patronus was a doe, and a copy of Lily’s patronus, because he had this idealised version of Lily in his head that he had idolised for decades, thus proving that his love for her was not real love, but infatuation and obsesssion, while James’s patronus was a Stag, showing that he and Lily were a matched set, and their souls were made for each other. In this essay I will-

(source)

What I say: I'm fine

What I mean: The Wizengamnot sent Sirius Black to Azkaban for 12 years without so much as a hearing let alone an actual trial but they let Severus Snape, a confirmed real Death Eater, go free without even a warning or being put on probation and kept his Death Eater past so hushed up that he was allowed to become the sole Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts just because Dumbledore vouched for him

Just like Slughorn, Albus Dumbledore collects people. Only, instead of focusing on those with influence, he looks to the outcasts.

The expelled half-giant. The young werewolf. The repentant Death Eater.

He protects them and gives them a second chance. All he asks in return is their loyalty.

And, if on occasion he requests that they undertake a certain task, invoking their debt of gratitude - well, that is no more than he is owed.

He once thought to add a certain disowned Black to his collection, but quickly realised his mistake.

Sirius is not an outcast, but a rebel. He knowingly chose his path, and chooses what price he is willing to pay for it. He refuses to be used.

So Albus Dumbledore abandons him.