#shiv Roy Drabble

[hughiecampbelle]

How Cruel Is That? (Shiv Roy x Fem!Reader Oneshot)

Character/s: Shiv

Word Count: 1,258

Inspired By: Good Luck, Babe! - Chappell Roan

Requested: Not requested, but taken from the prompt list anyways :) tease + wedding ring

A/N: Alternatively titled So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings lol. Do I love Shiv? Of course. Am I here to show my appreciation for her with the help of Chappell Roan? Also of course :P Kinda on a roll with fics so don't be afraid to request!!! The angstier the better! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Succession Masterlist / REQUESTS ARE OPEN

When you look at her, you know exactly how the night will play out. It will be poetic. It will be Shakespearean. It will be everything you could have ever wanted. Your wedding ring will find its place on the nightstand. It will wait, patiently, quietly, until you’ve decided you’ve had enough of this fantastic world and decide to return to reality. The living. It slips back on without a fight, without resentment, and you consider yourself lucky. One day, maybe soon, maybe not, you imagine your ring refusing your finger, as if it knows what you’ve done, as if it will take the a moral high ground. It will break out in hives at the very thought of you. It will whisper everything it has seen to the man you promised yourself to, and your father, and perhaps even her father. It will all come crashing down. Though, a small part of you, too small to name, dreams of that day. With nothing left, no one tied to you by vows or blood or name, you could finally choose. Not the way you did roses or hyacinths, cream or egg shell, but truly, really choose a life for yourself. One worth every sacrifice, every heartbreak, every night spent as his wife. 

Her dress will fall to the floor. She will step out of her heels. Her hair, her makeup, all of it the very essence of perfection. Impeccable. In these moments, you’re seventeen all over again. Your pulse racing, heat rising to your face, questioning if this is happening as it has happened so many years since. You’re hidden in the back of the summer house, your skin hot from the sun and sea. You try to kiss each and every one of her freckles. You’re trying not to laugh too loud on her flowery bed, the mattress soft. It leaves the two of you sinking into one another. You’re as still as possible, pressed together beneath the bushes in the garden, grass prickling into your back. Even the moonlight cannot conceal what you two have been doing. Between kisses she will smile and giggle (a sound that makes your very insides melt) and ask you if you’re alright. You sense that she, too, has been taken back. All those times you should have been caught. All those times you weren’t. When you can find your voice, you promise you’re better than that. You’ll find yourself grabbing at her, unable to touch enough of her, unable to get enough of her. You thank God for her, for this moment, never sure you will get to do this again. You must live as if this is the very last time. You must savor every moment.

Her perfume, always the same scent, has become a comfort, an aphrodisiac. Licorice, bitter, and woods, natural, and her. All of her. You never liked his cologne. It was never right. You tried to find one that smelled of her, that resembled her, but nothing could substitute. Nothing could compare. Her voice is icy, her words frozen over, and you wish every night for hypothermia. She leaves her ring on. It has become a recent accessory, a new staple, though she’s made it clear it changes nothing about your dynamic. Still, she leaves it on. You catch yourself eyeing it when it catches the light. She doesn’t have a routine as you do, an inner reasoning, a way to compartmentalize. There is no division of worlds. In her life, there is him and there is you. In yours, there is him or there is her. A decision you still have not made. You are not her forbidden fruit as she is yours. She does not separate you and him. She has always loved you. She has only recently started to love him. You hope, foolishly of course, her love for you is greater than his. You know she is much more important to you than your husband ever will be. He is an obligation, a duty, a responsibility. She is frivolity. She is passion and joy and love. True love. Not just the empty sentence you find yourself reciting back to him. This is more than a couple of silly letters taped together haphazardly, forced between your teeth so that you might later gag them up when the time is right. No, this is not that. 

For now, you’ll have to wait. For now, all you have are your memories, your hopes of the future, all your expectations of tonight. For now, you must be patient. Across the room, you keep an eye on her. You wait for the right moment. It comes. She moves, so do you. You turn away from him, trying not to look at her directly as you both make your way to the bar. She is the sun and you hope, you pray, you might fly too close. It is worth being burned. It is worth setting your life aflame. He doesn’t take notice. He never does. Instead, he closes the gap in the circle, acclimating to a conversation (a life) without his wife. You wonder if he would even miss you. Sure, the beginning would be rough. He would have to fend for himself. But he can hire help. He won’t have to lift a finger. The only catch is that he’d be going to bed alone. He’d manage. He always does. You take note that her husband doesn’t notice her lack of presence. You would, you want to cry. You would notice everything about her. You bite your tongue. Where there are eyes, there are lips. You stand beside her, asking for another drink, leaving enough space between you. She fills the gap. Her arm falls by your side. Pathetically, you reach out just a little, the tips of your fingers touching hers. She remains stoic, even bored looking, but you can feel her hand wrap itself around yours. She squeezes it. Once. Twice. Three times. You breathe a sigh of relief. Sometimes you find yourself questioning if any of it was real. Was that a stolen glance? Is she following you? Is her hand really on your thigh under the table? You wonder if it’s all in your head: a singular grand delusion, an epic between you and the idea of her. This, though, reminds you it’s real and so is she. Shiv looks at you for a second, less than, and flashes a knowing smile, before letting go and grabbing her glass. 

She leaves you gasping for air, heart racing, palms sweating. She doesn’t look back, she doesn’t check on you, but she doesn’t need to. Her smile said it all. It spoke every word, every reassurance, you needed to hear. She’s been waiting for you. She will wait for you, tonight, in a room between yours and hers. She will find you. She will undress you. And you will become young again. Naive, and blushing, and full of nervousness. You will be hers and she will be yours. It told you to go back to your husband, to be doting and affectionate, but to remember that she awaits you. She always will. It isn’t right. You know this, you’re no fool. Cheating on him with the woman you love. But nothing in this world is right or fair or just. If it was, you would have ended up with her instead. You would have been her wife, not his. But you’re not. You don’t think you ever will be. How cruel is that?

[myromeow]

!! contains spoilers for season 2 of Succession generally but MAJOR episode 10 SPOILERS !!

-

Shiv Roy was never satisfied. Whether that was in her work life or her love life, Shiv was always striving for the best angle. She would never settle for something that was any less than what she thought she deserved. Then why, why was it so hard to find someone who could keep up with her? But no, that wasn’t it, because even someone like Nate couldn’t satisfy Shiv in the end. Then there was Tom. In theory great, but still not enough. It was her interest that always, inevitably, waned.

I suppose Shiv always knew, but shoved it so deep down out of necessity. It was hard enough in the business world to be a woman as it is. She had to work ten times harder than her brothers to be taken seriously, and face ten times as much criticism when she fucked up. Misogyny was a bitch, but homophobia was worse. Never mind that her own father is the king of right wing news media, and has single handedly done more damage to the societal position of ethnic and sexual minorities than perhaps any other person in America. The world, even. Never mind that his reaction would break her, surely negative. Not out of hatred for queers specifically—Logan hated everyone, after all, especially his own children. Shiv could imagine his disproving gaze, one she was all too familiar with. His lecture on how, if it ever came out, it could, no would scare the shareholders. It would ruin everything. Never mind all that. Never mind that her first kiss was with a girl in boarding school, who left after the second term. Her first heartbreak. Never mind that the best sex she ever had was during a threesome, kissing some girl she hasn’t seen since. Never mind her disappointment when Tom said no to the threesome with a girl she’d picked out on the Roy’s yacht. Shiv could’ve fucked her anyway but the risk was

too high. Too many snakes lounging on deck chairs and sipping drinks around too polite conversation. Too many eyes. Shiv Roy liked to be in control of the narrative, the when, where and who—no interruptions or mishaps.

She sat glumly on the beach next to her husband, face frowning like a child who’d been scolded, suppressing her tears that showed up on queue. She loved Tom, is what she told herself. Maybe she did. She’d loved how easy he was to convince, how trusting he was, almost like a dog. A big soft lump, sentimental enough to get choked up at their wedding. But his vulnerability, his weakness was also why Shiv could never love him the way he needed her to. Shiv did not have a soft bone in her body. And dogs learn not to trust humans that hit them, over and over again.

Shiv Roy was never satisfied with anyone. Whether that was due to her narcissism or her abidance to compulsory heterosexuality, was anyone’s guess. Shiv had built her icy grave, cold and frigid walls unreachable by all human warmth, totally isolated.

She lay in it.

A/N — I know it’s is a hotly debated topic if Logan loves his kids but imo Logan thinks he loves his children (as Brian cox says) but REAL love is shown in actions not just words. In practice, he doesn’t love them anymore than he can use them for his own benefit. You see how quickly he throws Kendall away after u know what. Like Shiv and Tom, who she used and needed at a vulnerable time in her life when they first got together, but when someone needed to be sacrificed for the company and it was in her self interest, she would throw him under the bus in a heartbeat. Also Shiv’s face in the beach scene really reminded me of a child who’d been told off and was having a strop hahahhaha.

Please if you have any thoughts on this let me know in asks or reblogs! (I can’t reply to comments as this is a side blog). This was inspired by my pinned post on Shiv & comphet and is cross posted to my AO3

[muttsupreme]

LIPSTICK ON ROMAAAAANNNNNNNNN

him w this hair in s1……ROMAAAANNNN!!!!! bring back ur s1 hair and my life is yours..

I’ve written so many drafts previously (um obviously not here but privately) about Roman using your lipstick/lipgloss and most frequently, your chapstick.

It starts with him wanting to smell like you; vanilla lip masks that look way too sticky but he tries a little on his fingertip and rubs it on very lightly after you leave your desk. Shiv’s face scrunches up when she sees him with a glossy lip for the first time since she let him borrow her Polly Pocket makeup kit when they were kids (her mom got it for her before it was even released, and assumed she’d be so excited; she was not).

Shiv will make some snide quip, privately for once.

“Uhh, did you…just come back from Sephora, or…?”

“What?” He immediately goes on high-alert, higher defense, and realizes that it must be glossy, the fucking lip mask bullshit that smells like warm vanilla and cookies and tastes like pure sugar when he stupidly licks his lips without thinking (or maybe to hope, y’know, that your spit is in it, so it’s indirect kissing). “Oh - fuck you, do you want chapped, dry, disgusting lips? Because some of us don’t want to look like ogres, Fiona.”

“Hey, I was just asking,” she says in a higher pitch with a dismissive chuckle. She doesn’t mention it again; she recognized the smell, who that smell usually follows. Roman’s wary of her from then on, for weeks.

Next time, he’s going through your bag that you refuse to unpack, because it’s only a weekend trip and then you’re going somewhere else immediately after. Why unpack when you’re gonna repack the next day?

He sees stuff, tons of stuff. Sniffs sweaters when you turn around. He’s got your blanket pulled out already, draped across the bed and him, laying on his side looking at you as you get ready for bed in the ensuite bathroom, door open so he can continue making fun of your regiment and the things you’ve packed.

From your purse nearby, or your makeup bag, he picks up a lipstick (I imagine Diorelita). It opens with a quiet ‘pop’ that you recognize and turn around to see him looking attentively at the color.

“Think it suits me?”

“Mmh, maybe. Wanna see?” You reply with a grin, watching him get a little shy on you.

“C’mere,” you encourage him, sitting on his lap as he leans against the headboard, your lipstick in hand. “Lemme make you pretty.”

He lets you, and you’re shocked he’s staying so still. When you’re done, you snarkily - but entirely jokingly - say, “Now what do we say?”

“Fuck you? Thank you, for…making me pretty,” and he does, he’s very, very pretty with that color on, and you did very well gliding it on evenly. He leans up to kiss you just as you lean down to kiss him; the lipstick smears onto your lips.

“Roro - your lipstick’s getting on me,” you try to rub it off, unsexily. You don’t really have to be sexy around him, it’s one of your favorite things.

“Um, it’s your lipstick, I’m just…temporarily borrowing it,” he huffs defensively. His heart literally does fucking cartwheels when you call him that stupid, almost maternal nickname. “Just come here - shut the fuck up, stop complaining. I’d lick the lipstick off you if you’d just get a little - closer.”

“Aw, romantic boy,” you coo, kissing him sweetly and feeling his tongue stick out, lapping at your lips, making good on his promise like a little puppy. When you’re almost positive he must be done, you pull away, but he’s not having it.

“Whoa - slow your fucking roll, you’re not going anywhere, you look…you look like a clown, lipstick’s still all over everywhere,” he says, trying to get you to come back instead of going back to the bathroom. You’re pretty sure, not positive but willing to bet, that he’s lying and you have no lipstick left anywhere on your face.

“I’ll come back,” you reassure with a whisper; you hate to leave him alone when he’s being so sweet, with such pretty makeup on. “Aww, pretty baby,” you can’t stop yourself from cooing at the unintentionally pouty look on his face, one he’d be humiliated by if he saw. You give him a chaste peck.

“Jesus, give me a second to brush my teeth and pee and I’ll be back. Promise.”

“Yeah, but then you won’t taste like you, you’ll taste like…mint and tap water,” he complains. There’s no pleasing him, other than you being beside him at all times.

Okay whatever that’s just two of my many one billion ideas of Romulus and his obsession with…….indirectly kissing you, being pretty for you, being close to you, and um, your lips in general. I could and might write another little thought-post about his obsession with your lips and stuff, who knows. I’m feeling romantical (‘roman’ being the main part of the word).

[richeeduvie]

-- SHIV --

Onesided!SHIV ROY x READER

Dog and Bone!AU...think piece? A small-word count series of the Roy kids (and friends) and their relationships with you. Obsessive and unequal and the only thing you've ever known.

Yes I should be doing requests but it's 2am and I have an urge.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.

Shiv does think about those moments where she was sixteen with you. All the time. It's fucking ridiculous. Yeah, she's not monogamous - but it's you she's thinking about, like she's not monogamous for the sake of you. Her distant friend who sleeps with her brother at her fucking waist. She needs to stop. She needs to drink more.

Fucking forget.

"Shiv?"

She remembers waking up, a hand groping your breast. Her cheeks didn't take long to burn, like someone just set a fire under her. You were giggling.

"What the fuck am I doing?"

"Have a dream about pitching for a baseball game?"

The worst thing was that she remembers exactly what she was dreaming about. It wasn't any different than what she was doing with your body. She pressed her thighs together.

"...Sorry. Fuck. That was weird, that's-"

"It's fine, Shiv. Come here."

Come up. She came up burning in the crook of your neck, hand flexing as she crossed her arm on your waist.

"I thought you were gonna rip my tit off."

She closed her eyes. She closes her eyes.

"...Shut up. You-"

"I'm joking."

She can't be fucking weird with you the way her brothers are. It's different if it's her. And it's not her. Lesbianism. Bisexuality. Whatever - if she's discreet about it, if it's like a third between her and Tom or her and someone else, then it's fine - but Roman touching you and always wanting you makes Shiv want to pull her fucking hair out because it's just gross. There's no other reason because there can't fucking be. She's trying to make them disappear down the glass of her wine.

But you shouldn't be taking up space in the pink of her brain.

"Roman's done worse, and with romantic intention. You're fine."

...It isn't fair.

It's not fucking fair that you don't think of her like this, that you don't feel wronged by your own fucking brain because your hands come to fists when you wake up. And it isn't fair that Roman gets to be gross, that you allow him. It's not fair.

Shiv crosses her legs and takes a harsh sip.

Why do you get to do this to her? And so distantly? But hey - a long and kind fucking hey, it took her twenty years or so to admit that it isn't fair, or that there's something to find unfairness in.

"Hey, Honey."

"...Hey."

Shiv greets Tom swiftly. She closes her eyes.

She felt a kiss to her hair.

"I've knew breast groping could feel so platonic. And soft. You should dream of baseball more often."

"You alright?"

Shiv blinks, head forward but eyes looking down.

"Mm. Headache."

"My poor thing. Well, I think you're in luck - wine's got to be the only alcohol that helps with a brain bug."

"...Maybe."

She doesn't catch Tom's smile when she closes her eyes again.

Shiv didn't think she'd ever fucking wish to be sixteen.

[motions1ckness]

“His Assistant”

Summary: Roman accidentally sends a explicit message to Logan thinking it’s you, his assistant. (based off the 03x08 episode!)

Content: f!reader, intimacy, Logan Roy, fear of intimacy (ironic i know), humiliation, manipulation, implied age gap, mention of sexual harassment

Sure, a relationship with your boss isn’t your brightest idea, but you didn't regret it. Keeping your relationship with Roman a secret gave you a rush you couldn’t experience just once. Being his assistant isn’t as grueling as it seemed. Roman didn’t have a very strenuous job.

While following Roman to the conference room, he turned back “Actually, y/n, can you follow me real quick. I think my schedule is off,” he lied. We had to come up with fake scenarios often. Just in case anyone overheard.

You met his eyes and nodded. “Y-yea, whatever you say, boss.” You followed Roman to an empty room, which seemed secluded enough.

You closed the door behind you. Roman wasted no time attacking your neck with sloppy kisses, “Take off your shirt,” he breathed into your neck.

“What?” You slightly pulled away, just enough to meet his eyes. “Rome, we’re already late to this meeting. Your father-” he moved away with an agitated groan. You didn’t want the moment to end either, but you also didn’t want to be yelled at by Logan Roy.

“Yeah, okay. Whatever, yeah,” Roman started toward the door, signaling you to move out of the way. “If I convince them to trust Mattson, I get to fuck the shit out of you later,” he says, letting you walk outside first. You let out a small laugh rolling your eyes, knowing that day won’t come. Roman hasn't explicitly told you about his intimacy issues, but you two of been sneaking around for months, and the most you guys have done is dry-humping.

During the meeting that included 8 of you, Roman somehow convinced Logan to trust Mattson. He knocked on the table to show his excitement off to you, followed by a grin. You smiled back before standing up to get coffee.

Kerry started filtering other executives into the meeting after Logan gave her the clear. Roman's confidence had been elated since Logan decided to notice him. You were happy for him but feared when Logan chose to kick him aside again.

At the coffee cart, you sent Roman a flirty congratulations text, afraid a verbal message would cause someone to overhear. You put your phone in your pocket to pour yourself a cup. You felt Roman glance at you and then put his phone down.

Supposing nothing of it, you returned next to him, “Get a good look?” He whispered to you. The issue was you had no idea what he was talking about, and it showed on your face. Roman noticed his dad checking his phone soon after. He looked at his most recent messages and saw the text sent to his dad, not you.

He met Logan's eyes, which were staring at him intensely. “What happened?” you asked, feeling left in the dark. Roman didn’t respond and sank into his chair, feeling his whole world crumble around him. Logan told everyone he needed five while Shiv rushed after him. Roman remained silent, looking guilty as ever.

Not long after, Logan shouted for Roman down the hall, while Shiv pulled you to that exact secluded location from earlier. You were unaware of what occurred until Shiv tells you Roman sent a dick pic to Logan, mistaking it for you.

Your face turns flushed when she asks if you welcomed the photos or had any prior relationship. You knew admitting to hooking up with your boss could get you terminated or turn you into a cautionary tale, “No, uh, Roman and I’s relationship is strictly professional. He has some quirks, but we all do,” you tried to sell your lie with a half-assed smile. You understood Shiv was attempting to manipulate you and abuse your vulnerability.

The meeting adjourned, and Logan called you into the room with Roman for questioning. In all honesty, no one cared if you two were hooking up. Kerry and Logan were. It was more about the secrecy, and Roman sending a dick pic to his dad. You and Roman refuse to sit next to each other, causing you guys to sit at the opposite end of the desk, Logan at the head across from you two. You feared losing your job, while Roman feared losing his dad’s attention. The whole discussion was a shitshow; Roman defended himself with, “Why have an assistant I can’t fuck?”

At the end of it, before Logan told us to "Fuck off," you had to sign a release stating to report Roman if he continued anymore unsolicited messages. Before going your individual ways outside the Waystar building, Roman turned to you and kissed your head, “I knew I could make them sign off on GoJo,” he said with a smile. Discrediting the 20-minute lecture he just endured. Or the fact you two were supposed to be a secret. Both of your drivers arrived. Before going inside, Roman shouted, “Guess you have to see me tonight then,” with a dopey smile. You smiled back, rolling your eyes at his comment. You both went into your respective cars, knowing later that night, you two weren’t going to have sex.

[horror-sapphic]

Masterlist

- I do not give permission for my works to be copied, translated, republished or reposted without my constent on tumblr or any other platform.

BLOG INFO (Pls read)

VICTORIA NEUMAN MASTERLIST

WANDA MAXIMOFF MASTERLIST

SHIV ROY MASTERLIST

….

Old Blog @horrorxxsapphic

[impositioned]

the dog days are over

[the prompt is post St. Andrews Roman and the 12th song on my 2023 wrapped playlist]

Something wasn't right when he arrived at the Hamptons. He packed everything up, but he had a feeling he left something behind. He was fucking exhausted. It had been planes and cars for the last sixteen hours.

Still, he had been good. He answered their questions, smiled, and said his thank you’s. Things were said, passed around the table — yes, the dog has been tamed, a piece of fucking cake; you should see the other guy. Of course, he avoided Dad’s look when he said this. It wasn’t the last drill at camp. It was the vase in the study before lunch.

He had been good, though. Don't try anything funny, don't embarrass Mo, don't fuck up. Check and check and check. It’s not like he didn’t learn anything there.

He learned to be patient, too. He waited until they all got up to do their backyard equestrianism bullshit before heading to the bathroom.

He could hear the horses through the shower window as he prayed to the toilet and made his offering — shredded chicken and green peas. Things were different. The tiles in the boys' bathrooms at the North End were colder. The sounds of hooves galloping through the fields were heavier than a couple of boots, making their way down the wooden hallway.

He hoisted himself up. A breath escaped him as he finally saw. His wrist is empty and free.

He looked at himself in the mirror and made up his mind. This will be the last time he’d know the temperature of a bathroom floor by his knees. When someone calls out from the other side, it will be by his first name.

“Rome,” Shiv knocked on the door. “You can’t just leave. You promised every time they’re here. Attack mode doesn’t even count because we called a truce until Ken arrives,” she reminded him as he stepped out.

“Well, I can if you don’t stop being a bitch.” The summer games had just begun.

“Time’s it?” She asked, “When will this be over?”

“I don’t know,” Roman shrugged.

He wouldn’t be able to tell. He left his watch at St. Andrews. And he could still hear the horses.

[secondhand-snow]

It's been over a week, and I'm still thinking about that "thinking about your wedding night with mencken" drabble. I'm obsessed with that AU 😍. Roman's jealousy, Shiv being proud, even if she hates her stepsister's groom and everything he represents, she still has this weird sense of pride over another Roy woman climbing to the top, even if her perceived power comes from the man she's with. The mother medicating herself with wine, I headcanon she does it because she herself knows what a solitary thing it is to be married off to a terrible man, just to gain more power for your deranged family. But mostly, I'm hooked on them as a couple, Mencken's inner battle with himself, her longing for a deeper connection. Chef's kiss. I wanna know more about this AU. I so can see Roman being like, "We gave you my sister, and you're still losing" on election night because he's my little goblin 😆

ahhhhh i'm so happy you liked it!!! it was genuinely such a joy to write, i finished writing and editing the entire thing in like two days because i was so obsessed with it.

omg your giving me so many ideas... i feel like an election day oneshot to continue this little universe would be so fun. the entire family would be so hilarious and sassy. and the celebratory sex when he wins?!? i might need to do it

[fat-fem-and-asian]

shiv roy <3

Ily mish

favorite thing about them -- i really love what a bitch she is . she is so deluded that she is the best person on succession and she's so privvy to bending to everyone elses wills and wants if it means she gets like . The one thing she wants out of it . shes so selfish !!!! I really love her and sometimes she just feels so full as a character like she really is that white lady who glares at you in a club after you bump into her by accident ONCE .

least favorite thing about them -- hmm i think in universe her weak political stances would drive me up a wall . From a audience perspective though no nothing is wrong with her and she's just the best !!!

favorite line -- are we supposed to know lines ?? Just like in our head ?? I think my favorite line is at the wedding when nate is all "but my morals shiv" and shes like "your MORALS? what are you going to CRY?" i really love anything where she's really channeling her logan energy and just. Absolutely playing at schoolyard bully . Its really interesting to see where she fails at emulating her dad vs where she really succeeeds.

brOTP - kenshiv and shivrome obviously her actual brothers !!! And maybe a little shivwilla

OTP - SHIVLINA OBVI !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

nOTP - never been a big fan of shivmencken ! i like the hatefuck aspect but honestly mencken has never personally interested me and i kinda prefer shivlukas since it has soo many of the same dynamics

random headcanon - oh i am. Totally ascribed to the one headcannon i saw on tiktok of shiv dissociating a lot as a child and freaking her nannies out .

unpopular opinion - okay okay this is just for me and shivlina hive to fight about butttt ive been messing around with a little drabble of karolina being terrible with cats and shiv doing well with them. I think it kinda makes sense weirdly for shiv to be okay with a cat as long as its not a penis cat. But also i wanted to specifically invert their canon cat interpretations so?

song i associate with them - for her by fiona apple ! Once i tried to storyboard a shivvy animation to it (gave up very quickly) but i think its very shiv

favorite picture of them -

Love her panicking at lukas's crazy ass harrasing of ebba

[shivroyspantsuit]

characters I’m going to write for!!!

(please keep in mind that I will only write female or nonmen readers, I will also write smut (It wont be a masterpiece though) fluff and angst, i’ll also write drabbles, oneshots, series and probably whatever else there is)

succession

Shiv Roy

Tom Wambsgans

Gerri Kellman

Stewy Hosseini

Kendall Roy

Roman Roy

+ most other characters

Greys Anatomy

Cristina Yang

Izzie Stevens

Callie Torres

Lexie Grey

Alex Karev

Addison Montgomery

Mark Sloan

Glee

•Quinn Fabray

•Mike Chang

•Tina Cohen-Chang

•Sam Evans

•Mercedes Jones

•Rachel Berry

Its always sunny

Dee Reynolds

Dennis Reynolds

Charlie Kelly

Misc

Jason Todd

Roy Harper

Dick Grayson

Bruce Wayne

Dina Lance

Diana Prince

Star fire

Wally West <3!

I might also write some star wars fics (the og 6 movies) so request those if u want!!!

also please keep in mind that I may not be the best writer as I am only just starting :)!

[pie-of-flames]

Writing pattern game

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns! (from most recent to least recent, starting from the top)

Interesting idea. Tagged by @theoldmixer. Thanks! Hope this isn't too embarrassing, lol.

And Still They Lead Me Back (John/Paul) “Okay, George, I’m taking a break,” Paul said as he put down his guitar. 

One Sweet Dream (John/Paul) It’s intense and overwhelming and Paul can’t believe it’s happening.

Mother's Milk (Succession, Roman & Shiv) High above the Met lobby teeming with tourists, Roman signals the waiter.

In The Night Garden (John/Paul) “Paul,” meows the ginger cat resting his head on Paul’s stomach.

A New Mascot (OFMD, Ed/Stede) Ed squints at the sun.

Everything She Had (MCU, Wanda Maximoff) Pillowy blossoms float above her as Wanda walks under budding branches. 

Tea and Sneezes (OFMD, Ed/Stede) Ed had to pull in a few favors.

Roys Don't Do Emotions (Succession, Kendall, Shiv & Roman) A dusty driveway, the air thick with words said and unsaid.

Dark of Night (The Old Guard, Andy/Quynh) The cell was close, pitch-black air, unrelenting cold stone walls, infested, matted hay.

The Woman in the Café (The Old Guard, Andy/Quynh) The woman sits at a café table, coffee cup in front of her, legs crossed, elegant in black high-heeled boots.

Observations: Mostly boring. A lot have the same rhythm. I don't think about the first line too much but I probably should. Also this makes it obvious that so far, without even thinking about it, I've only written Paul POV.

I completely lost interest in writing from 2016 to 2023, as demonstrated by the fact that the last 5 are drabbles shorter than 250 words, three from May '22 and the last two from April/May '21. I only wrote two drabbles between Aug. 2016 and 2021. It's no coincidence that that those were the years of the Trump presidency. I have to go all the way back to April 2016 to find anything over 1000 words. Thank you, Beatles, for inspiring me again. I thought I was done.

Not tagging anyone. Would love to see anybody do it.

[hughiecampbelle]

Sunder (Shiv Roy Oneshot)

Word Count: 1,566

Character/s: Shiv

A/N: This is a draft I tweaked a little. Still not 100%, but I wanted to post writing anyways, so here is it! Feedback is always appreciated!!💜💜💜

Succession Masterlist / REQUESTS ARE OPEN

You loved one another, despite it all. You loved one another through and through. You loved one another and the worst part of it? It still wasn’t enough. 

You’re doing it again. You don’t ask what. You already know. You had a habit of staring at her. More than that though. Searching her features for her feelings, her thoughts, everything she wasn’t saying. Couldn’t say. She passed you her cigarette and you took it, a peace offering, a poison to pick. The smoke never tasted so good. She wears her blue dress. New and tight in all the right places. You resist the urge to take your fingers and untie the back, the straps sliding off her shoulders, letting the top fall, eventually the whole thing crashing to the floor as you pull the zipper down. You resist the urge to move closer, fill the gap between you, to breathe in her smoke and mess up her lipstick. You resist the urge to touch her one last time. Instead you exhale, the smell intoxicating and familiar and homey, thanking her and passed it back to her. Your fingers don’t touch. She is too careful, too regimented, and you can do nothing but oblige. You know your mom is a total bitch. She nods. Of course she knows. Of course you know she knows. The things she said, about you, about her daughter. They were awful. They were angry. They were cowardly. No mother should ever speak to her child like that. She didn’t- but she stops. Didn’t what? The love of your life. Serious, and cold, and tough, and yet, none of these things. She is soft and sweet and not everyone can appreciate that about her. The duality. But you did. Or, rather, you appreciated it at one point not too long ago. The rest of her sentence drops, clatters on the hard stone and shatters into a million little pieces. You watch it dissipate before looking back at her, watching her, wondering what kind of excuse she could have come up with. They believed her uncaring, but god, were they wrong. She was spiky, sure, but it wasn’t meant to offend, it was meant to defend. Far more years than you’d like she spent picking herself up, kissing her own wounds, looking out for herself. Of course they thought she was cruel, she was acting how they thought she would, not how she was. Underestimated for merely existing. That would make anyone a little jaded. 

We should go back inside. You’re not sure who says this, only that you’re both surprised. Not yet, the other says, trying not to sound desperate. Okay. No fight. No insistence.You’re both relieved. What now? You know you’ve come to the end. After this, it would be over. There were papers waiting to be signed. Magically, they appeared on the kitchen island. Identical twins, a copy for each of you, your lawyers. Your families had an entire team on retainer, though you both preferred to hire outsiders. It was quieter this way. Supposedly, it was easier. Both parties agreed to make things amicable. It was, even now, sharing a cigarette, it was split 50/50. Neither of you made the first move. You checked every night, every morning, as you were coming and going, but the lines at the bottom remained unscathed. Free of ink and decision. You loved her signature. It was delicate, it was sharp, it sliced you open every time you saw it. Her full name. You never called her Shiv. A name as beautiful as hers deserved to be said in full. She didn’t seem to mind, she never corrected you. There was no need. Her father only used it in anger. You could never be angry at her, not now, not ever. She knew that. You hoped she still did. 

Her mother’s wedding wasn’t something either of you had been planning on attending. In the end, she needed someone, and you were still that person. You would have given anything to get out of that apartment, away from those papers, the emails and memos and missed calls. Your lawyer wanted to go over your assets. That could wait. You couldn’t leave her side, not now, not to face her mother alone. You weren’t in denial. You weren’t stupid. You lived in this reality, you understood the consequences to your actions. Still, that didn’t mean you couldn’t put off your responsibilities til you got back. She didn’t bring up, the deflecting, the aversion, the avoidance. Neither did you. You were in agreement: this divorce was better if neither of you made a decision. It was easier. This marriage wasn’t broken. It wasn’t fractured, there were no cracks in the foundation, there were no faults. There were no secret affairs or lying or cheating. This was not a gruesome death. There was no blood, no gore. You imagined it as quick and painless. Someone dying in their sleep. Warm, and safe, and final. Peaceful. There would be an open casket. There would be mourners. There will be a burial under a tree, you’d like to think, a weeping willow. Things faded. It wasn’t the fault of one of you. You tried to make it work. You did the best you could. That would always be how you told this story: you did your best, you and her, and when you realized it wasn’t enough, you went your separate ways. 

 You never wanted it to play out like this, though you were realistic in your expectations. Neither of you had grown up in homes that placed love on a pedestal. There were no happily ever afters. Marriage was, like all things in life, a business transaction. A deal, a commitment, between two people. Not a promise or a vow, something more surgical. Sterile. Sometimes it was used to procreate. Sometimes it was for appearances. Sometimes, though you knew none of the people involved would ever admit to it, it was a shield against loneliness. Your parents, her parents, none of their marriages ended well. You understood there was a cycle you could either break or repeat. There were no gray areas. You would have preferred not to repeat, but you couldn’t tie yourself to her, all dead weight. You couldn’t trap her into something neither of you were particularly fond of keeping alive. You still loved her. And she still loved you. But sometimes love wasn’t enough. It’s not how the fairytales go. It’s not how the movies play out. Where’s the fun in that? The happy couple walks down the aisle. They slip on the rings. They kiss. And then, the credits role. 

Viewers don’t realize there’s more to it than that. There is effort, and disagreements, and hurt, and mundanity. There are bills to be paid and careers that need tending and complicated family relationships. You and Siobhan were still considered newlyweds. If it wasn’t so hypocritical, your mother would have called it a moral and spiritual failure. You’re not making it to your first anniversary. Your marriage was in it’s infancy and already you were calling it quits. Her mother would have a lot to say once it’s finalized and you break the new,s separately, to everyone. By then, you won’t be around to protect her. You’ll go your separate ways, though you have a feeling you’ll cross paths again. You’ll be in one another’s lives. 

Do you want custody of Roman? She offers you a small smile. You know it is sincere. Still, it’s too early to joke about. Too new. Too fresh. You still wear your rings. She looks just as she did at your wedding. How could it possibly be over? It’s a thought that crosses your mind every time you look at her, every time you catch yourself saying her name. How could it not? This voice is quieter, it is defeated, but equally respected. You know they are both right. You sit in your silence, comfortable, serene, and you wait. Wait for her brothers to come looking for her, for her mother to whine to her, for someone to interrupt you two. There should be more of a fight. There should be more life. But there isn’t. You are not throwing in the towel, you are coming to terms with a great loss. That looks different for everyone. For some, there is thrown furniture and words that can’t be taken back. For others, there is a great hostility, a removing of oneself, hissing and spitting and alienation. It’s not like that for you. She will always be a part of you. She will always have a place at the table. You’ve made that clear. The feeling has been reciprocated. There is no explosive ending. It will be quiet, but not hushed. You will announce it on your own terms. You will carry on without her, at least for a little while. People will ask their questions and make their assumptions, but only you and her will ever know what really happened. In the end, it will be devastating. It will take their air from your lungs. It will be the worst thing that has ever happened to you, losing her, losing your Siobhan.

The grief will come all at once. For now though, you will sit with her and take her in and wait to be interrupted.

[queercatcave]

Info for anyone coming from Give Me Back My Girlhood:

Hi :) Welcome to my other secret internet burrow. This blog is honestly random as shit, but here’s some handy info:

*I have not been good about this previously, but from here on out all GMBMG related posts will be tagged #gmbmgfic.

*Anything Shiv and Rebecca specific will have the aforementioned tag, as well as #shivbecca. I’m planning on posting more about them, maybe some drabbles, headcanons, etc. because I love them dearly I want to write more about them than just what fits into the fic.

*On that note, my asks are open if you have requests or anything. I will love you forever if you enable my obsession here.

*Other Succession related posts/reblogs are tagged with #succession and/or specific character names. I also sometimes use #roy sibs when it’s relevant. I’m admittedly not the most consistent with tags.

*Other shit may or may not have tags. I do my best to tag commonly triggering content for people who have things blacklisted.

[horrorxxsapphic]

Masterlist

— I do 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝘆 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸𝘀 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝗰𝗼𝗽𝗶𝗲𝗱, 𝘁𝗿𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗲𝗱, 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝘂𝗯𝗹𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗱 𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗽𝗼𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗼𝘂𝘁 𝗺𝘆 𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝗼𝗻 𝘁𝘂𝗺𝗯𝗹𝗿 𝗼𝗿 𝗮𝗻𝘆 𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘁𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺.

WANDA MAXIMOFF MASTERLIST

DAISY JONES MASTERLIST 

*The fics that are already posted will stay on this account, any new fics will be posted on my new blog @horror-sapphic *

[richeeduvie]

No but what if logan jr noticed his mums only really happy or properly smiles when she’s around Baby and not his dad …

With the way Shiv's pushed out of Waystar, nothing more than the CEO's wife - she's stopped trying so hard. She's bound to safety. She's closer to the business than her brothers.

But now she has time. And it's good to be around the kid. Shiv didn't mean it when she wanted to shove him to nannies and never see him. Logan's a sweet one. That's her son, her mouthy little son that she tries for.

Baby helps too.

Logan Jr watches the way how his Mommy laughs and gets all wide-eyed in trying to learn how to cook breaded pork.

"I don't know how you consistently enjoy this."

"Just-Shiv."

Shiv's laughing and too distracted in trying not to set the stove aflame - and Baby's smiling. Baby Jr's coloring. Logan Jr presses his leg into the chair.

"Ow! What the fuck?"

"That's oil, don't-Shiv!"

"What?"

"This is why you should've listened to me when I was teaching you last time."

"...You mean twenty years ago?"

"Mommy and Aunty are so funny."

Baby Jr hums. Logan Jr's been staring and his Mommy and Aunty, so he can't miss the way Shiv's face changes - the smile that looked...Logan doesn't know the word. He feels like he should use a bigger word.

It looks warmer.

But it goes away when Aunty is focused on making the food, but Shiv's staring. His mommy is staring at Aunty all over and it's like she's sad. But not like his cousin's hurt her finger type of sad. Or when Logan's left alone again.

Then Shiv turns away. She smiles a lot more with Aunty than Daddy. That doesn't make sense. Uncle Roman only really smiles with Aunty and his little cousin. Maybe it's just an Aunty thing, Logan Jr likes to smile with her too. She's better than most people, but maybe he shouldn't be mean to Mommy and say she's better than her too.

But it's obvious Mommy sees that Baby is better too.

[motions1ckness]

“Don’t Call me Kid.”

Summary: Roman get’s a bit too drunk at Kendall’s birthday. (03x07)

Content: established relationship, f!reader, angst, age gap, degradation, insecurity, verbal abuse(?), humiliation, mention of Logan Roy

{This is my first fic so i hope you enjoy!)

*Update:pt 2 “SweetHeart” is up rn!!

Roman had you on edge the whole night. You had never seen him this snide or aggressive before. You blame the immense amount of alcohol he consumed, mixed with him talking to Mattson. So, when you caught Shiv getting more agitated with Roman, you knew he was spewing bullshit.

Though you didn’t feel the most compassion for Kendall, you had spent the night with Shiv and Roman and you couldn’t help but pity the man. It was his birthday and his siblings showed up for Mattson, not him. Time had passed from your arrival, and you stood at a distance from them, far enough that you weren’t in the conversation but you could still see what was happening. Roman sat while Shiv stood in front of him. You could tell he was getting under her skin but thought it was best to stay out of it. In doing so, you had to act like you were listening to this brainless celebrity talk to you about god knows what.

You get snapped out of your head when you hear Shiv call for you, wanting Roman's power trip to end.

“Can you get over here and deal with your mess?” You walked over to them and noticed they had also roped Kendall in this mess.

You took a second to study Roman’s face. He was refusing eye contact with you. Probably out of shame and not wanting to face the consequences. His eyes appeared dark, and his demeanor was unfamiliar. He’s just drunk. He’s just drunk. You tell yourself, hoping you didn’t just find out who you were really dating.

“Oh great. Are you trying to get me in timeout or something?” Roman joked, his eyes flicker over you for a moment. “Whatever, you know Kendall, I already talked to Mattson, who hates you by the way,” He laughs at his own demeaning remark. Everyone is uncomfortable. Kendall turns to Niaomi, who's trying to comfort him by holding his arm and rubbing his hand between hers. You couldn’t stand the way Roman was acting. Sure, he makes quippy remarks all the time, but this time he was just being an asshole.

You clear your throat slightly, uncomfortable with the situation, “Roman, I think you should stop.”

Your eyes lingered on him the whole time, hoping adding yourself into the conversation would defuse the situation and you two could forget about this.

When Roman heard your voice, he finally met your eyes. Turning to face you and sneered “Oh I’m sorry sweetheart, did I hurt your feelings?” You knew Roman was in defense mode but you couldn’t figure out why. No one was attacking him.

The heat from your face felt more apparent. “I’m just saying, I think you’ve had enough tonight and we should head back.” You hoped this offer would be enough and you'll deal with this in the morning. Roman rolled his eyes and leaned back further in his chair. “No, 'cause you know what, I’m having fun at this depressing shitfest. Why don’t you and Shiv talk about what lipstick has the cuter packaging or whatever.” He said with a shrill mocking tone attempting to dismiss you from the conversation.

Shiv scoffed, beating you to a response, “What the fuck Roman? If you’re going to take anything away from this pathetic conversation, listen to y/n," Shiv looked at you with her best attempt at a comforting grin.

Roman glared at her “Oh fuck off Shiv. You’re such a fucking cunt.”

The conversation wasn’t de-escalating and you felt your blood boiling. You were sure everyone could see how much you were seething. “Rome enough. You’ve had your fun. Now let’s go before you embarrass yourself anymore,” You weren't sure if your response was too harsh, but you remained patient with him long enough.

Roman snorted, now full attention on you because you fell into his game, “That’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re always so goddamn sensitive about everything.” He kept a cruel smirk on his face, waiting for your retaliation. Roman knows you hate arguing, but he wanted to push you tonight. Wanting to pull a reaction out of you, lose your composure. Shiv, Kendall, and Niaomi are still present, just speechless. You and Roman had been arguing more since Logan started stringing him along. The three of them felt stepping in would only worsen the situation and decided to stay quiet, not wanting to escalate it anymore.

You fought the urge to reveal any weakness. “I’m not being sensitive Rome, you’re being a dick, Let’s go.” You were biting the inside of your cheek, trying to abstain from your anger. You tried to grab the glass out of his hand before he quickly yanked it toward him.

His grip on the glass tightened as he swirled the last bit of champagne. “Yeah, right, perfect fucking y/n. Trying to control everything.” The tension was evident. Roman wasn’t backing down, not caring if you were the only person that loved or understood him. He just wanted to inflict damage on you at that moment.

Your body was stiff, arms crossed against your chest, hiding your tightened fists. You tasted how the inside of your cheek was bloody, trying to suppress the growing anger, taking a shallow breath from your nose. Trying your best to remind yourself, He’s just drunk. He’s just drunk. “I’m not controlling anyone. Please Rome, you’re drunk and acting insane-”

His eyes narrowed as he took a sip from his glass, muttering under his breath, cutting you off, “Well, maybe if you weren’t so young-”

“Excuse me?” Stumbling over your words a bit, trying to comprehend what Roman just said. Kendall tried to step in, but Niaomi and Shiv decided it was better to leave you two.

He put down his glass, adjusting his view, maintaining intense eye contact, “I’m just saying, maybe this would all make sense to you if you knew how the world works. But you don’t.” His lips curled into a slight smirk like he was proud of what was said.

You felt your breath quicken. Yes, you were younger than Roman and the rest of the company, but you had repeatedly proven you were qualified for your position. You weren't aware Roman acknowledged your age gap enough to bring it up in an argument. “My age has nothing to do with this.” You couldn’t think of anything witty to say in retaliation. You felt so betrayed.

Roman leaned closer to you, the alcohol taking full effect. He didn't understand he was jeopardizing your guy’s relationship with this. He pressed on, “Sure kid. Keep telling yourself that.” Maintaining that pretentious smirk on his face.

All you could do was shake your head and mutter, “You know I hate when you call me that.” Tears had been prickling in your eyes at this point. You refused to cry fuck, fuck, fuck.

Roman rolled his eyes “Welcome to the real world sweetheart. I’m not going to change who I am, so don’t fucking expect me to. I'm not getting any better. Get over whatever savior complex you have that makes you think you can fix me. It’s not going to work.” With that, you felt a new layer added to this betrayal. And Roman felt it too.

You had no control over emotions anymore. Your heartbeat was already beating furiously and irregularly. Your limbs had lost feeling, and you knew your lip was quivering. All you could feel was the stab in the heart Roman left and tears pooling in your eyes and down your cheek. “Fuck you, Roman.” You didn’t need to say anything more. You wanted to, but you knew you still loved him. You made a straight path to the nearest exit. You didn’t give the staff your phone, so you texted your driver you’ll be out in 5.

All you could hear over the horrid music calling from behind you was “See you around, kid.”