Succession Fic - Blog Posts

Pyrexia (Roy!Sibling x Kendall Roy)

Character/s: Kendall, Connor, Shiv, Rome, Logan

Word Count: 1,387

Requested: Hii! I love all of your baby Roy sibling fics, especially your new one with Rome. I love protective Kendall so so much, especially in the election so when he sticks up for Shiv against Tom. Could I request something with protective Kendall (maybe the other siblings if it suits) where they look after you while hurt or comfort you or something similar? If not that is fine!! Thank you so so much <;3 - anon

Requested: ohohoh!! Maybe roy!sibling being very sick to the point where they go into self-isolstion mode not contacting anybody and their siblings worry about them? Adore your fics and I always get really excited when you post a new one!! Hope you are recovering well from the tattoo! - anon

Warning/s: sickness

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: I hope you don't mind my loves, I combined your requests. I hope you like it!!! Thank you for such kind words my loves!!! My tattoo is healing perfectly!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Your mother used to run the bath ice cold. She’d guide you in, even as you shuddered, even when you cried. She placed a stern hand around your shoulder, ever so lightly pushing you deeper into the water. She’d pour it over your head, warning you to close your eyes. You played with cups, filling and refilling, too old for toys. You’re never sure how long you stayed there. She’d leave you there, the bathroom door shut, until your teeth were chattering. Clicking out of your skull. Sometimes it was one of your siblings who stood you up again. Your mother had fallen asleep, drink perfectly in hand, on the couch. Sometimes she would leave the house, forgetting all about you. Rarely would she find her way back to you, years it felt passing you by, wrapping you in a towel. Those times were your favorite. Falling into her, smelling her perfume and favorite drink on her breath. Mostly though, it was one of your siblings pulling you from the bath. They’d pick out mismatched pajamas and tuck you in beside them, hushing you to sleep, wet hair sinking into the pillow. You’d still be shaking, freezing, and they would wrap you up tight in as many blankets as they could get. 

A cold bath will break this fever, you can still hear her voice. So clear, so sure, so far away. You weren’t sure if it really did work, if any tricks she pulled out of nowhere actually worked, or if it just made her feel like she was doing something, but you tried again anyways. It made you feel like you were four years old again. Chubby little hands splashing through the water. Despite yourself, the ache in your little bones, you could find a small ounce of joy. This time it was your tub, massive and pristine, filling up. Your wet pajamas falling off your body, drenched in sweat. You had to hold on to the edge just steady yourself, dizzy, lightheaded. You weren’t about to be sick, there was nothing left in your stomach. Please work, you begged whoever would listen, please let this work. You grit your teeth, stepping inside. All the way up to your chin, you sink deeper and deeper. Holding your breath, you dunk your head under, the cold kissing your burning cheeks. It makes you shiver. 

You catch your breath, leaning your head back. You half expect to hear your mother through the door, her shrill voice, on the phone, talking nonsense. She’d stick her head into the doorway, checking if you moved a muscle. You lay completely still trying not to grin. They weren’t always happy memories. She wasn’t always there when she should have been, but this you could laugh at. How ridiculous it all was. Forgetting about your child in the bath? How many pills was she on? You think of your brothers and sister pressing the back of their hand to your forehead, looking at you with startled eyes. You were so fussy, pushing them away, beginning to cry. You just wanted to feel better. That was all. You wanted to feel like yourself again. You remember little, everything is a haze. Kendall called Connor over when you stirred in his bed, when you became hysterical. Big brown eyes watching you, fearing for you. They’d always calm you down. They’d always find a way. He never minded that your hair was wet, that you’d whimper in your sleep, in your fever dreams. You were his baby. Always. 

Your fingers prune. The cool settles. Your cheeks are still burning, your forehead on fire. You don’t remember climbing out, draining the tub. You don’t remember settling there on the bathroom rug, towel wrapped around you. Your muscles ache, your joints flare. Even if you wanted, the bed was too far. Besides, you’d been camped out on the couch in front of the tv for days. All your things remained untouched in the living room. Your phone, put on silent, in between the cushions. Cups lined the coffee table, an army of half-finished drinks. You think you’re dreaming when you hear his voice again. Y/n? Y/n? Come on kid, let’s get you up. Gentle hands guiding you up, those familiar eyes startled, scared. You forgot you gave him a key. He holds you close, your skin dry. How long were you asleep? He waits while you get dressed, painstakingly slow. Everything hurts.

You don’t have the energy to ask him questions, you can barely pull your shirt over your head. Why was he here? How did he know you were home? Wasn’t he supposed to be at work, with dad? Patiently, he waits outside the door, checking in every few minutes. You must look awful. His expression looked pained, as if looking at you made him hurt. I tried a cold bath, you start, but never finish. He nods, bringing you into the living room. You’d collected every blanket you could only to kick them all off, too hot for your own skin. He sits you down, trying to figure out what to do first. Indecisive, he grabs your phone and all the cups, putting them in the sink, grabbing a charger. You hadn’t noticed all the missed texts. From him, from Connor and Shiv and Rome. all of them worried about you. I’m sorry, I was so tired, I didn’t- It’s okay. His tone is so gentle, so tender, his expression melting into an understanding smile. No one’s upset, we were just worried, that’s all. 

He gets you capfuls of medicine, orange and berry-flavored. Thick, syrupy, sticky. You feel like you’ll throw it all up again. He tucks you in, pulling the covers over you. You look so small, so little, like you did when you were a child. You sleep the same way: restless. The fever dreams are vivid and scary and every time you wake up, he’s there. He’s always there. The tv changes, and his jacket is left on the other side of the couch. There’s a bowl of soup before you that is first steaming and then cold. He’s on the phone, speaking quietly. To your brothers, your sister, even your father. They are all worried. Just a fever, he assures them, though the lines on his forehead tell another story. Every once in a while he places his hand to your forehead. Slowly, so slowly, you seem to be cooling down. You’re not eating or drinking, just sleeping. In and out. The lighting has changed, the sun has set, and though you insist, he has no intentions of sleeping. 

Kendall should have known. He should have known because you always do this. You didn’t want to bother anyone when you weren’t feeling well. You didn’t want to worry anyone. It was easier to self-isolate, to crawl back to sleep and re-emerge when you were back to yourself again. He cleaned up the kitchen, the bathroom, and threw in a load of laundry. Anything to get this nervous energy out. Finally you calmed down a bit, your dreams becoming less and less vivid. He still remembers those long nights when you were a kid. Your wet hair, your baby breath, the colorful pajamas. How he’d sit and wait and worry until your fever broke, until the coughing stopped, until your shivering subsided. Your mother would check on you in the morning, but he watched you all night. He was your big brother. He had to protect you from everything. He should, at least, but he can’t. So he waits. He checks on you. He gives you more medicine, hating to wake you up. He assures everyone that it’s nothing, he’s got it handled. Even Logan, so unlike himself, was as concerned as he could be. No one had heard from you in days. They’re getting better, he says, and you are. He’s thankful. Grateful. Relieved. In the morning you’ll eat something. You’ll drink tea and water. You’ll talk with him about work, about Rava and the kids, about your family. You’ll laugh and for the first time since he got there he’ll see you through the sickness. You’re getting better. He wasn’t there in the beginning, but he’s glad he could be there now. He’ll  always be there for you.

Dependence Pt. 5 (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)

Alternatively Titled: We Ain't Angry At You Love, You're The Greatest Thing We Lost I am getting this lyric tattooed on my body I'm dead serious

Characters: Kendall, Roman, Shiv, Connor, Logan

Word Count: 1,879

Inspired By: We'll All Be Here Forever by Noah Kahan

Tag List: @locke-writes

A/N: All I have is the snippet to listen to and it makes me sob every time. I'm thinking of moving 1k miles away from my family, from my home, from everything, and every bone in my body wishes they felt the way this song feels. Every nerve in my body wants them to feel this way. I hope they'll miss me that much. Anyways, it reminded me of Baby Roy and the Succession finale. Yes I did cry while writing, what about it lol!! Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

Dependence Pt. 1 / Dependence Pt. 2 / Dependence Pt. 3 / Dependence Pt. 4

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include: Pt. 1

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include: Pt. 2

You’re gonna go far, he says into you, his arms tight around you. You try to stop yourself from crying. Again. Sniffling into him, into his shoulder. Everything about this moment makes you want to turn around. To call the whole thing off. But then, how can you call off an entire lifetime? Your bags linger at your feet, everything you could fit into two suitcases. You didn’t start out like this, the day didn’t start out like this, but as it progressed, as things fell into place, you realized there was no place for you. In their lives, of course. Connor promised you your old room again, if you ever wanted to visit. But this place, this apartment, this city, it wasn’t yours anymore. It wasn’t home. You’re not sure it ever was to begin with. You remember to call me when you land, okay? An,whenever you need someone to talk to, I’m always here. He has this shake in his voice, the kind that tells you he’s doing his very best to keep himself together. Composed. You can’t say anything, the words getting caught in your throat. Instead you just nod, sobbing into his sweater. He holds you tighter, rubbing your back. When he stops, he cups your face, meeting your teary eyes, wiping your cheeks. Pops would be so proud of you. He wouldn’t. He never was. But at some point you have to stop chasing something that never existed, something you can never have. You smile for Connor’s sake. Maybe he really believes it. Maybe he’s just saying it. Either way, you’re glad you went to him. You’re glad you told him. You’re gonna so far, you have no idea. He sighs, as if the words have been sitting on his chest for a long time. As if this is the first time in your life he’s felt real, genuine relief. You want to be held a little longer. You want to be loved the only way a father, a father by choice rather than blood, could ever love their child. Without conditions, without restraints, without a ceiling or a floor. Infinite. Beautiful. You’ll have to let go eventually, part ways, but for now he holds you like he did when you were an infant. Never could he have imagined the life you’d live. It was a fantastic surprise. You were a fantastic surprise. 

You continue to awe him every single day. 

You catch him at the bar, nursing a martini. Your hands begin to shake, but you settle them at your side, sitting beside him. You can do this. He wasn’t expecting you, sliding his drink away from you. You’re okay, you’ll be okay. You can be around it, you have to in order to say goodbye. He notices the luggage before you have the chance to say anything. Going somewhere? You bite your inner cheek. Yes, actually. He turns to you. His stitches have opened, the wound bright and red. Angry. You try to read his expression. There’s a hint of fear. He saw you in that bed, screaming, crying, begging not to be alive anymore. You knew he meant it out of love, but you couldn’t face it anymore. You couldn’t be looked at like that anymore. If you wanted a fresh start, a real one, you had to get away. You had to find somewhere with people who saw you for you, not your mistakes, not your darkest moments. Somewhere inside him, he understood that. Somewhere inside him, he wanted the same thing. Leaving for him wasn’t an option, though. Is that so? What does Mummy think about that? He sips his drink. You don’t want to roll your eyes at him. You don’t want to be annoyed with him. You’re not sure how long it’ll be before you’ll see him again. I, I didn’t tell her. I’m not telling her. He lets your answer settle for a moment. You’re not sure what he’s thinking. You never have been sure. Roman could be so unreadable, so unpredictable. You keep talking, trying to fill the silence, a lump developing in your throat. You’re speaking so fast, almost hysterical. You have to explain yourself. You have to explain yourself or you’ll die. I have to get away. I’m not sure for how long, I just, I can’t be here anymore. I have to stay sober and I can’t do that here. It’s not because of you, because of any of you, I want you to know that. I’m, I’m sorry if that upsets you or makes you ang- But he interrupts you, leaning over, hugging you. Not as tight as Connor. It’s as if he’s afraid to touch you still, afraid to hurt you. Gentle. You feel his muscles tense then relax. Whatever you gotta do, you do. Just don’t scare me like that again. You promise him it will never happen again. 

It won’t. It doesn’t. The hurt from home doesn’t follow you, wherever you go. 

You can’t reach the other two. You try calling, the deja vu twisting your stomach. The last time you tried to reach them, the last time. . . No. Stop it. This isn’t that. You’re better now. Shiv picks up, waiting for you to talk. You don’t care what happened. You don’t care what went down in that boardroom. You don’t care that he’s CEO now, that you lost. She’s your sister. The same sister that comforted you after nightmares, who iced your bruises, who wanted the best for you from day one. Whatever happened couldn’t change that. She gave you so many chances, time after time, and you let her down. You let everyone down. She still cares, she always would. You would, too. The words come up, out, before you can stop them. How much you love her, how much you’re going to miss her, how badly you need this, how much you wish you could be with her right now. You hear her take a sharp inhale in, a shudder in her voice. I’ll come and visit, yeah? Wherever you end up, I’ll be there, okay? You nod. Yeah, yeah of course. You can feel your eyes well up again. She was your big sister, the only maternal figure you’d ever known. It wasn’t your mother who shushed you to sleep at night, holding you close. It wasn’t your mother who gasped at the bruises you gave yourself in a fit of rage. It wasn’t your mother who climbed into that hospital bed with you when you were sick and scared and didn’t want to fall asleep alone. It was Shiv. You're Shivy. Your sister. Do you have everything packed? Always fretting, always worrying. Yes, Mom. You laugh. You know she’ll be a good mother. Maybe she doesn’t think so, maybe Tom doesn’t, but you do. She took care of you your whole life. She’s still trying to. You um, you have your chargers? Extra socks? Do you need me to- I’ll be okay, you interrupt. You’re both quiet for a moment, taking one another in. You can feel her wanting. Wanting to reach through the phone and kiss your cheek, to hold you so close your hearts beat at the same time. Wanting to keep you there forever, not wanting to let go.

She always knew this day would come, though. You’d always had big plans. You could never be confined like the rest of them. 

You couldn’t reach Kendall. It went straight to voicemail. So you sat in the lobby of Waystar, trying to figure out exactly how to put it. Every thought in your mind, every thank you and I’m sorry and forgive me and I forgive you. Everything that’s ever sat between you two into a compact, meaningful message. You didn’t want to worry him, that was the last time you wanted, for any of them. You sat and watched everyone pass by. They were celebrating the new owner, one of the biggest deals they’d ever made. Some on their way to get drunk, others drunk already. Too much champagne. Finally, after a long time, you called again, listening to his voice play the message. Kendall, it’s me, you start. What next? You’re sorry. You’re sorry for putting them through all that you’ve put them through. The alcohol, the drugs, all those scary nights where they didn’t know where you were, if you were okay. All those nights where you weren’t sure where you were, if you’d make it out. You were sorry for calling him that night, for putting the blame on him if anything happened. You were sorry for blaming him. For not being the baby sibling he deserved. He deserved better, he expected better. I’m uh, I’ll be out of town for a while. You forgave him. You forgave him for all those outbursts, all those times he hurt you and Shiv and Con and especially Rome. You forgave him for turning into your father, the man you despised, the man you feared, the man you loved. I’ll be okay. I won’t, I’m not, I’m clean. I’ll stay that way. You loved him. You loved him despite the fear, despite the outbursts, despite the narrow path he chose to take. You loved him, and love him, because he’s your brother. He begged for you to stay awake, stay conscious. He wanted you to live even when you didn’t. That night, he looked like a ghost. I’m gonna miss you. A lot. Thank you for taking care of me, for loving me, for being there, you want to say. Thank you for being the best brother you could given the circumstances. Thank you for protecting me from him, from everyone. Call me when you can. I love you. Bye. 

This isn’t some magic answer to your sobriety. This isn’t a cure. Hell, it might be you running away again. Who knows? But you can feel it, finally. The anger, the rage, the wrath. That burden starts to feel less heavy day by day. It won’t disappear completely. You’re a Roy, it’s in your blood, in your genes. But it gets easier to carry, to hold, to take with you everywhere. You don’t want to cave in, not as much. Sure, a strong drink would help, but you made promises. You made promises you’d like to keep. Promises to yourself and to your family. You’d call Connor when you landed, wherever that is. You’ll tell Shivy, too, so she can come and visit. You’ll check in with Rome and give Kendall another call. Hopefully this time he picks up. Hopefully this time you can have a real conversation, you can talk to him, really thank him for all that he’s done. But you know your place is not here. Your people are, they always will. That mausoleum will be waiting for you like it waits for them. Eternity you’ll get to spend by their sides. Now though, now you have the choice. The choice to get better. The choice to get away. The choice to be free. You’ll see them again, you always will. They’re your brothers, your sister, the people who raised you. You’ll see them again despite the distance.

They can’t get rid of you that easily.

Venom (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)

((SUCCESSION FINALE SPOILERS))

Characters: Kendall, Roman, Shiv, Connor, Matsson, Tom

Word Count: 1,477

Tag List: @locke-writes

A/N: This is omg y'all!!! Y'all aren't ready ahhh!!!! That's all I can say :P Feedback is always appreciated!!! 💜💜💜

You watch them, horrified. Kendall stop! You’re yelling, trying not to let them hear the crack in your voice, but you can’t help it. He doesn’t seem to hear. He spits venom at your sister, calling her two-faced, saying terrible things about her. She pretends it doesn’t hurt, pretends it doesn’t kill her. The kinds of things Logan would have said. Stop it, now! None of them hear you. None of them see you. You’re invisible now, like you’ve always been. The baby, underestimated from day one because of your order of birth. Roman says something, something you’re not hearing, but seeing. Watching. About his kids. Low blow. Kendall goes for his neck. There are moments like this where you watch your father instead of your brother. Such an angry, bitter, paranoid man. With his hands around him, you can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. His name is on the tip of your tongue. Logans, but that is the wrong man before you. This is Kendall. You get between them, prying his hands off Roman. In doing so, you’ve put yourself in the line of fire. His eyes are so wild, so angry. Get off me! You yell, pushing him away, but he’s too strong. He’s too powerful. He holds you against the glass, his hands around your throat, hungry enough to bite. Rabid. You can’t breathe, fighting him off, unable to make any noise. Finally he realizes it’s you. You, not Rome, not Shiv, you. His baby. He lets go immediately, stepping back, stuttering. You can’t help it, the tears begin to run down your cheeks. You saw fury in his eyes, purebred wrath. If he wanted, he could have killed you. Just like Logan. You push through them, out the door, down the hall and towards the elevator. Kendall calls your name quieter now, defeated, ashamed. You don’t turn back. Sniffling, you wait for the doors to close, trying to catch your breath. You dial the number. I knew you’d call. . . 

They turned on one another. They’d decided he would be their successor. The three of them, after Roman disappeared. You were the only one he talked to on the phone, Caroline losing the power to guilt you. You weren’t her child. That was to your advantage. She put him on with strict warnings not to upset him, saying he was fragile. He sounded softer, beaten down, but as defensive as ever. Ken and Shiv are on their way, you warned. I know. He didn’t have enough in him to fight or to joke. He was all facts. Are you okay? Me? I’m fine. You knew he wasn’t, but you weren’t going to go there to see him. You had plans. For now, you had to take his word for it. You weren’t going to ask him for his vote. Quite frankly, it didn’t matter anymore. They could pretend they still had precedence, that the crown they wore could protect them from a beheading. Their heads rolled just the same when dismembered from a body. In fact, it was the crown that weighed them down. They forgot this, racing with one another about who could get to him the fastest. It wouldn’t matter in the end. When would they realize this? When would they accept it already? I have to go, call me if you want, okay? What are you doing that’s so important? Just meeting a friend. 

What about Tom? Tom? He is nothing. You shouldn’t but you laugh. Your drink is strong, his even stronger. But you trust him, you believe him. He can’t be backstabbing everyone. Besides, the x’s have been removed. Yours in their place. You take a look around the bar. Expensive. Oskar and Ebba keeping to themselves off to the side. They come when he says so. They sit when he says so. Now he’s holding a pen. Would you do the same? Your whole life, all you’ve done is follow. Follow your brothers and sister into any war they brought between them and your father, into every media frenzy and disaster because they convinced you it was always in your best interest. It wasn’t, though. It never was. In the end, it was always you getting hurt, taking the blow, having your name smeared across the headlines. From the moment he saw you he’s been trying to save you. They would hold your head under water and tell you they were helping you be a better swimmer. They were trying to kill you, drown you, just so there would be one less body in the pool. You were doing this for you, for them too. To show them that you weren’t just some lap dog they could order around. You were just as much a Roy as any of them. More so, even. You were smarter, you were savvy. You could get what you wanted, you always had. 

Going in, you were meant to warn them. That was the plan. Always. The deal seemed enticing, it was the cherry on top, but you couldn’t hurt them like that. You would not turn into them. But, then they decided on Kendall. Without consulting you, without even asking. They had decided for the family when there were still two more to consider. You knew what Connor would have done, you all did. He would have put up a fight, but in the end would have agreed. You? You were going to warn them. You were going to put out the fire before the house burned down with them in it. Instead they called you from the car that morning, on their way back, telling you he was next. He would be in charge. Had they even considered you? Roman laughs. The baby doesn’t get to be in charge, ever. Kendall chuckled. You didn’t get a vote or say, it was decided. You bit the inside of your cheek, letting the conversation fall. They spoke around you anyways, making all these big decisions without you. It was fine, you decided, hanging up. It was fine. You would tell them when they got here. It wasn’t technically a secret, they just hadn’t asked. That was all. So, you accepted that Kendall would take over. After everything you’ve been through, after everything they put you through, at least there would be an ending. Your phone rang, but you ignored him. Fine, you though, at least it’s staying in the family. You weren’t about to turn bitter. You weren’t about to turn vengeful. 

And then she threw the plan away the minute she could, believing that Tom would be Matsson’s CEO. You were going to tell them, really. As soon as that glass door closed, you were going to spill your guts. About him, about the deal, about everything. You swear on your father’s grave, you were going to tell them. And then he put his hands on you, around your neck, and any alliance you had was over. Any good graces you had left vanished. You wanted them to burn in that house. You wanted the whole world to burn. You put up with enough. With too much for far too long. He’s been trying to save you since you met, giving you outs from the maze you were in. You couldn’t leave them, they were your family. Now? Now they were nothing. They were strangers. You watched the bruises form in the reflective doors all the way down, listening to him carefully. If you still want it, it’s yours. Good. What about Tom? Like I said, he is nothing. Nobody. All you have to do is sign.

Roman and Shiv came back from that meeting, his stitches bloody. She wears a knowing look, the kind that says she thinks she’s won. He signed in front of everyone, in front of Matsson, who signs the stack of legal documents after. I’d like to announce my CEO. Shiv steps forward, but you come up behind her, around Roman, to Lukas’ side. Please welcome, Y/N Roy. Everyone applauds you as you sign your name. Roman’s jaw hangs open before catches himself, then looks to your sister. Her lips remain in a tight line. Tom looks surprised for the both of them, trying to get close to Lukas, but is unable to with all the cameras. Thank you, you whisper to him. You deserve this. You are the most capable Roy. You would have told them, you were going to, but this tastes so much better. You don’t care that your skin till hurts, still burns from his touch. You don’t care that your brother drifts away or that your sister storms off. You don’t care that Kendall is nowhere to be found. You don’t care about them anymore, they never did about you, not when it came to this.  

You win.

Petals (Roy!Sibling x Connor Roy)

Character/s: Connor, Shiv, Roman, Logan, Willa, Marcia

Word Count: 1,315

Requested: hello! is it okay if i request more roy baby sibling and connor? i’d like to see them asking connor to dance at shiv’s wedding (or maybe even at his wedding?)! thank you :) - anon

Requested: your younger roy sibling hcs have been rotting my brain recently and now im imagining 8 year old them making a drawing for connor's birthday that is them holding hands with big hearts and "wish you were my daddy" written in big kid letters (probably with spelling mistakes) and connor just like. sobbing when he reads it. i feel like hed be such a big father role to a significantly younger sibling (i personally imagine them and roman having a around 10 year gap, so thats probably like ~35 years of different between them and connor). and we all know what a shitty dad logan is/was, so i can see younger sibling calling connor after some big fight with logan and crying while begging him to pick them up and let them live with him and it breaks his heart cause logan would never let it happen and he tried but couldnt protect ken and shiv and rome and he just wishes he could at least protect his baby sib but he just cant and it kills him. anyway happy thursday thought haha roy family brainrot - @fromirkwood

Inspired By: Petals on the Moon by Wasia Project

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: I know the second one wasn't exactly a request, but I couldn't get it out of my head!!! Big Bro Connor is my absolute favorite!! I hope this doesn't rot in your brain too long my love lol. I just couldn't get it out of my head, especially when it was combined with the other request!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Time is a thief, at least that’s what he thinks when he looks at you, spinning with your sister on the dance floor. Your smile is so bright, so wide, your cheeks flushed. You drank too much, no doubt it was Roman refilling your glass without your notice. The song picks up speed, picks up in joy, and you break out into laughter, you and Shivy. It’s as if you’re in your own world and only she’s in it. You spin and jump and sing along, your niece and nephew beside you and the bride. He hasn’t seen you this electric, this alive, so much like your old self, in weeks. Connor considered himself lucky to be able to watch, to bear witness. Just moments ago you were a baby, doodling with your thick crayons, mistakenly calling him Dad instead of Logan. Only recently had he learned that's who he was in your phone, Dad, that Logan was simply Logan. Years pass, but so little changes. He still had all your fathers day cards stashed away, hidden before your real father caught what you were doing. Stick figures, one tall, one small, hand in hand surrounded by flowers and butterflies and other bugs. Happy Fathers Day Connor. Your uppercase letters always slanted, crooked, his name spelled with one N instead of two. It wasn’t long until his figure started sprouting gray hair, graying far earlier than anyone else in the family, and yours grew taller every year. Connor feared you might have forgotten about him, that you were getting too old to need your eldest brother like your siblings had, but you proved him wrong after that night. 

You hadn’t even wanted to go to the wedding. It was so bad. Whatever was said and done remained a mystery. You wouldn’t tell him, tell anyone, just that it was bad. He’d gone with Willa to pick something out for you, knowing you left the house with nothing. You refused to try it on, to come out of the spare bedroom. It wasn’t until the day before when they were getting ready to leave, accepting that there was no way you were going, did you come out with your outfit packed. You weren’t going to miss Shiv's big day because of him, you declared, and it was settled. He couldn’t contain his excitement, grinning from ear to ear. Letting her down, letting him down, just because of your old man, it seemed like a cruel punishment. You sat beside him in the plane, his hand on your knee, trying to disregard the dread in your chest. They’d all heard about your big blow out, they all wanted to know, going to Connor first instead of you. You were the closest, you told him everything. When he had nothing to say, when all he could offer was a warning, it said something, something more than he was expecting: whatever happened got to you. It genuinely hurt you. They imagined the worst, unsure of what to do. He was at a loss, too. Your father could say and do as he pleased, you’d always been the best at ignoring him, especially when he was in one of his moods, but this time? This time was different. It stung more than all of the other fights you’d had with him, and there were some memorable ones. Never had you yelled back like that, never had you stormed out in a fury, never had you sobbed to your brother like that on the phone. This wasn’t the kind of thing that would go away on its own. It wouldn’t heal with time. 

He could almost forget the crack in your voice as he watched you now. That sad, crying child looked so different from the young adult on the dance floor. Eventually you came over to him, asking him to dance. As if on cue, a slower song came on. This was far different than the last time you danced together. You stood on his shoes, swaying, giggling that high pitched giggle, the one that made his heart melt. You were so little then, so tiny, he was scared to let go. Now you swayed on your own, your arms around him as if you’re scared he’ll flee, your face buried into his chest. Thank you for letting me stay with you. It came out mumbled, muffled, but he understood. Anytime, kiddo. You’re a pleasure to have. Your eyes were big when you looked up at him, as if trying to decipher if he was telling the truth or not. His smile, so reassuring, told you he meant it. I’m sorry about Pops. you shook your head, not wanting to hear his name, not wanting your brother to carry the guilt for him. If he was going to apologize you were going to hear it from him. Not anyone else. Connor spent the entire night putting distance between the two of you, becoming your human shield. Logan, it seemed, had completely forgotten about the whole ordeal, kissing Shiv, saying hello to your brothers, like nothing was amiss. They each shared a glance, all looking to Connor for help, for guidance, just like they had when they were little. He knew what he had to do. How bad was it, kiddo? He asks. Bad. It’s all you can say without upsetting yourself all over again. 

He called you his greatest failure. Spineless. A mistake. You don’t remember how it started, only that you were bleeding out on the floor before him and he refused to put the knife down. A plague to the Roy name, a curse, a bad seed. You never should have been born. A loser. Incompetent. He’s not sure where you came from, but you are certainly not his. You should be smarter, work harder, but instead you are nothing, you are nobody. No one has ever or will ever love you. It hits you so hard, so forcefully, it knocks the wind out of you. He means it, he means every word, but especially that. That’s what kills you, that’s what makes the tears slip down your cheeks. That’s not true, you try to spit back, but he’s not listening and you’re crying, and you’re proving him right. He keeps talking. You can’t hear it, though. You’re gone. You’ve retreated into yourself, so far back he cannot possibly get you. You stand there, unmoving, as he gets in your face. No one has or will ever love you. No one has or will ever love you. It plays on loop, again and again until you cannot breathe. Finally you back away, you run from him, slamming each door behind you. Marcia calls out to you, hearing what went down, but nothing can stop you. Through the busy sidewalks, sobbing uncontrollably, you call him. You can’t repeat what he said, you still can’t. You know that would make him furious, all of them, and it is not their burden to carry. A quiet fear has settled in the back of your mind: what if he’s right? 

If he knew, if Connor knew, he would have killed his father. No one said that to his baby, no one ever dared talk to you that way. But he doesn’t, and he never will. You have vowed to yourself that neither him nor your other siblings will know, for fear that they might agree with him. That they’ll show you he’s right. Instead they watch you carefully, ready to intervene should that be necessary. You hold on to him tight long after the song ends, not wanting to let go, to be alone with Logan's words. Connor doesn’t mind at all. He’s his happiest when his siblings need him, when you need him. He’ll always be there to rescue you. Always. It’s his job, you’re his greatest love. You all are.

Being Connors Favorite Sibling Would Include:

Requested: could I request something with Connor and Roy!sibling? headcanons, a fic, literally anything I'm in love with their relationship and how much they love each other. I think a little sibling that loves Connor the way he deserves would be so good for him - anon

A/N: I love Big Brother Connor!!! He deserves the world 💞 Thank you for requesting my love! Hope you like it!! Feedback is always appreciated!!!! 💜

Connor was ecstatic the day you were born. He thought he was done being a big brother, that his job was kinda done. Ken, Rome, and Shiv were grown up, they didn't think they'd need him anymore. Little did he know that you would be the closest to him out of everyone, that you would need him the most

Being a big brother is his favorite job in the world. He wasn't sure what being loved, really loved, felt like until Kendall was born. From the minute he could crawl, he followed Connor wherever he wanted. So did Roman. And when Shiv was born, he couldn't believe it. He'd always wanted a sister and now he had one. She was absolutely perfect

But you? You were his everything. Neither your mother or your father were all that interested, so the responsibility fell on him, not that he would ever complain. He loved it, even when you spit up on him. The other three were grossed out, hating to change diapers and getting annoyed with your crying, but he was more than happy to calm you down, sit with you, rock you back and forth, etc.

Your first words were his name, too, which almost killed him. Seriously, he still brings it up, he's so proud

He loved watching you grow into a toddler. You were a lot more fun. You could walk and talk and play. You loved when he got on the floor with you and played with you. He even dressed up with you when he wanted to play pretend, though mostly he was too tall for the costumes, so he made do with the hats and accessories instead

"Connor?"

"Yes y/n?"

"Why is the sky blue?"

"That's a good question. . ."

He takes you to preschool every day and tries to be there at pickup as much as he can. He loves to hear about your day, what you learned, who you talked to, what you played with, the snacks you ate, etc. He only gets more interested the older you get, when you learn about the planets and dinosaurs and you read all these interesting books. When school started, he was sad to see you go. You'd been his little buddy and suddenly you were all grown up

Every presentation, award, musical, play, game, show, everything he showed up for, front row with his phone out recording, cheering the loudest

He takes you camping, to the park and the movies, wherever you want to go. He thinks it's good for you to get out of the city

"Why doesn't dad ever come with us?"

"Pops is a very busy man. . ."

Connor is constantly sticking up Logan despite the fact that he's never really shown an ounce of love or attention towards either of you. He wants to protect you from that unloved feeling. He needs to, like he has with your siblings

No matter how small it seemed to you, it meant the world to him. Eventually you stopped inviting your mother and father, going straight to him. He'd tell the president to fuck off if it meant he got to spend a second more with you

He helped you with homework, staying up late at the kitchen table going over the same math problem again and again. He never got mad or frustrated, though. He'd take as long as you needed

You could do no wrong in his eyes. When you fought with Ken, when you argued with Shiv, when you pushed Rome, none of it was your fault. None of them could stand it

When you cried he was the first person you went to. When you got your heart broken for the first time, when you wondered why your parents even had you if they were never around, when you had nightmares as a child and when your worst fears came true, you cried to him

The older you got, the more distance you put between you and him. Kids strayed from their parents once they became teenagers, that's just how it worked. Still, he felt unprepared for the days when you wouldn't need him so much

He taught you how to drive and study with you before your test. You weren't very good, but you had no idea. He was ecstatic when you parallel parked the first time. He made you feel proud, even if at first it felt silly

He was there when you walked across the stage for your diploma for both high school and college, cheering the loudest. He made a rule that you'd call him once a week in college and you never missed it, not even once. You'd tell him about your friends, the parties you went to, to the people you were seeing. He wanted to hear everything

Everything you've accomplished, he couldn't be prouder

You go to his ranch as much as you can, enjoying the distance between you and your father. The older you get, the more you realize how he was never in your life and how much Connor was. It makes you sad, thinking he had to step up, take responsibility for his baby sibling. He is adamant that raising you was a pleasure, the best thing he's ever done

He has pictures of you everywhere. Of the others too, but mostly of you. You can't help but find them embarrassing

"I look like an idiot."

"You were adorable." He looks at them every single day, proud as ever

He visits you in the office, taking you out for lunch when he's in the city. He's the only one who doesn't work for your father, but he likes hearing about it from you. He can't believe how grown up you are, how adult you've suddenly gotten. It seems like just yesterday they brought you home. Now you had meetings and deadlines and your own interns to boss around

"Look at you, all grown up. I can't believe it!"

He's the first person you call when anything happens. When Kendall's gone manic, when Dad hits Rome, when Shiv seems off, when you're getting a promotion, a first date, anything and everything. He's always there to offer advice on how to handle the situation. He's been dealing with them far longer than you have

You show him how to use social media so he can see the pictures you post, not wanting to miss out on anything. There are lots of pictures of you and him together

"Who's that?"

"I'm kinda seeing them."

"That's wonderful! When do I get to meet them?"

Forget your mother and father, it's Connor you're worried about when you're seeing someone. They're never good enough for you. He quizzes them on everything, bordering on an interrogation. In the end, no matter what he thinks of them, he's happy you've found someone that makes you happy

You and him go on double dates with your partner and Willa, who adores you. She lovingly calls you Connors Baby. She's glad someone else loves him like he should be, instead of being used and ignored and neglected like the rest do

You're one of the most well-rounded, healthy, adjusted Roys to come out of the family, or as close as you can get, because of him

He always sits by you at family dinners and vacations, between you and Logan, hoping he can be the target for his anger if need be

When you drink too much he takes care of you, especially at weddings, and always saves a dance for you at the end of the night

"Thank you, Con."

"For what?"

"For everything."

You care very little for your father, but when he dies Connor is right there offering comfort. You were never close to him. You never got the chance to build a relationship with him, no matter how warped, like the others. Connor was your dad, you thought so for the longest time when you were little, your fathers day cards addressed to him instead of Logan. You're sad for your siblings who loved him despite it all

You're the only one to attend Connors wedding, cheering and clapping when they kiss. You wouldn't have missed it for anything

Connor has spent your entire life protecting you and for that, you will always be grateful. It's something you can never repay

Hard To Love (Roman Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Roman

Word Count: 1,210

Inspired By: Puke by Ava Maybee I loveeeee this song

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: This is definitely for therapy lol I hope no one minds. Ya gurl feels very unlovable atm. Idk. It stems from something someone said to me once, someone who is supposed to love me unconditionally, they said I am hard to love. Of course I forgive them, I love them, but it still stings y'know? Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Is there something wrong with me? You don't know if you’ve spoken the words or only thought about them. Either way he rocks you both back and forth, arms around you, hushing your fears. Your cheek is pressed against his chest, his heartbeat rapid, playing a tune you can’t quite name. Is there? There must be. Some innate, genetic wrongdoing. Something must be missing from you to make you this way. Sensitive. Forgotten. An easy target. They shoot their arrows into you, through you, but you always come crawling back. Always. The pain, the blood loss, the look in their eyes, none of that matters. You don’t matter. They know they can do whatever they want and you’ll cling to them like a lost child. Because they’re your family. Because they’re supposed to love you unconditionally. But they don’t. And that is not a fault on their part, but your own. You have done something to make them hate you, you have done something to make them turn on you, it is all your fault. You’ve seen them love others the way you have wanted to be loved. You have seen them be so caring, so devoted, so in love with someone it breaks you into pieces. It threatens to undo your very soul. There is something about you that is so undeserving, so unlovable, so broken that they could never fathom treating you that way. They could never see you as something to care for, to give a second thought. 

Is it my fault? No, he fights back, no, no, never. But he’s wrong, biased, blinded. You’ve done a good job fooling him. Everything is. Right? Everything, everyone’s emotions, their well-being, it’s all on you. You take care of them. You heal their wounds. You dry their eyes. And in return, you get nothing. You are forgotten. His arms grow tight around you, together, stronger, as if he thinks holding you will keep your brokenness from showing. Pieces of you slide off his lap, shattering against the ground. You want to fight against him, against his word, but you’re too tired. Exhausted. Tears well up in your eyes, threatening to fall. It can’t be like this every time. You question why you come crawling back every time, hind legs wounded, but you do it. The moment they give you a second of attention, you forget everything that has ever happened. Every unkind word. Every look. Every comment. It sticks into your hair like gum. You are so hard to love. A direct quote. Spoken to you in a moment of fury, of anger. Does that make it any easier to swallow? Does it make it any better knowing it was spoken out of frustration? No. The anger bites back, chewing you to bits and pieces. It is the hard truth, the thing that needed to be said. He knows the sensation, that sinking feeling in the pit of your chest, the expectations you’ve been carrying for this single moment deflating, dying in your arms. 

Why am I so hard to love? You whimpered through the bathroom door. What, what are you talking about? He jiggled the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. You sat with your back against the door, not letting him in. You wanted to, no you needed to be alone. To cry this out. I can’t help you if you won’t let me in. You didn’t want his help though, you didn’t feel worthy of it. You deserved to be alone, to feel alone. You were a burden, a hindrance, something people didn’t want alone. You kept running through the list in your head, all the reasons, the myriad of explanations. If they picked one, just one, maybe you could change it. Fix it. Fix you. Make yourself into something deserving of love. You pressed your face into your crossed arms, feeling small. Insignificant. He slid down to your level, speaking quietly, tenderly. You know whatever they said or did, it’s not on you. No one who loves someone would hurt them like this. Like his father. Like your family. You just shrugged, knowing he can’t see. You weren’t sure why you listened to them, why you let it get under your skin, it just did. Too sensitive, they called it, as if it were a bad thing. As if it were another reason to disregard your tears, your feelings. You never should have gone home, but you missed it, the idea of home. This grand notion that things would be different, they would be different. You always do. Hopeful, he calls it. Fucking stupid, you correct. It's naive of you to think they’d ever change, ever soften, ever share the same heart as you do. As soon as you go back you remember why you left, why you built this little life with him in your home, why you came home crying every time. 

Maybe he should have warned you. He didn’t want to dampen the mood. Roman could see how excited you were, proud to show yourself and all your achievements, no matter how small. Naming every relative, how much you missed them, how long it’s been since you’ve seen them. Maybe he should have gone with you, protected you, becoming your human shield. It wouldn’t have mattered. You wouldn’t have let him get hurt like that. They were smart in their cruelty, knowing just the right insecurities, the right buttons to push to shatter who you are inside. He watched you try on countless outfits, worried they wouldn’t like what you chose, worried you wouldn’t make the best impression. It didn’t matter what you chose in the end, they had enough choice words about your body regardless. Y/n, will you let me in? He asked softly, not moving. You let the question hang in the air, sniffling, letting yourself relax, take deep breaths. He checked your bedroom, the couch, kitchen, every nook and cranny where you might try to hide. This always happens. The disappearing act, the lack of self-worth, the hatred turn in on yourself. It’s them you should be mad at, but you can’t be. You love them too much. You need them too much to think harshly of them. The handle turns, the door creaking open. He moves with open arms which you fall into.  He doesn’t have any jokes to make it better, anything to lighten the mood, he knows better than that. Now, you need comfort. You need soothing and reassurance. Your head against his chest, the rest of you heavy with grief. You go back every time because you want to be loved the way you’re supposed to, the way all the songs and shows and movies promise you: unconditionally. And every time you’re disappointed. Because your life, this life, isn't a movie. It doesn’t have a happy ending. It just keeps going despite the heartache, despite the pain. It threatens to collapse in on you, cave in, when it gets bad. There’s no such thing as unlovable, he says to you, to himself, to the universe. Discarded like a kicked puppy. He can handle it from his father, Gerri, everyone, but you? You don’t deserve that. There’s no such thing as unlovable, he’s sure of it.

Dependence Pt. 3 (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)

Character/s: Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Roman, Logan

Word Count: 2,054

Warning: addiction, drugs, alcohol, death mention

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: Idk how angsty this is on a scale of 1-10, but I can tell you it's actually very sweet and very heartbreaking. Baby Roy is going through it!!! I love them!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Dependence Pt. 1 / Dependency Pt. 2

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include Pt One.

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include Pt. Two

The first number you called was Logan’s. The next was Kendalls. The last was Connor’s. Slurred, sleepy, assuring him you were going to be okay. You would be okay because the shaking had stopped, you were warming up again, you were feeling better. You couldn’t keep your eyes open though, the lids too heavy. Curled into a ball in the booth, cradling a stranger's phone, slipping into unconsciousness. He said something, something that sounded sad, panicked. You were going to be okay, you felt so light. Your pulse is barely there. He yelled again, but it was incoherent. You were tired, the exhaustion setting deep into your bones. If you just put your head down, if you shut your eyes for a moment, then you could get some sleep. You’d be alright. The last coherent words from your mouth was an apology: I’m so sorry, I’m fucked up. I’m sorry. . . You were so light, so far away. It felt nice. No more anger. No more rage. No more self-hatred. Finally, you were free. Free from it all, free from him, from life. 

He peered over your crib, taking you all in. you were a few months old, just staring up at him. Your eyes are so wide, so new to the world. You slept in the nursery they’d all been in, though things were different. Boxes of things had been placed in the corners, on the floor of the closet, as if you were only a temporary guest. You reached up, cooing at the mobile. Zoo animals spinning round and round. Your mother and Logan off somewhere, doing something, unbothered by the little life they created. You were a quiet baby, as if you already knew what was coming, as if you could sense the irritation in your fathers voice every time you cried, hissing at your mother to quiet you down. Neither of them were fit for this kind of job, as young as he was, Roman could sense it. When your smile fell, he picked you up, out of the crib, and sat back in the rocking chair. A few whimpers was all you let out, as if you were already bottling it up inside. He remembers how small you were, how sorry he was. Not just for your father, your mother, the both of them terribly one minded, only ever thinking of themselves, but for this life as well. It wasn’t easy, that much he’d learned in his short life. It would never be easy. The money, the luxury, it helped, but it could only do so much cushioning. A fresh bruise throbbed over his eye. That day, in your cramped bedroom where it seemed like they put just about anything in, he made a promise to you. He’d never let you get hurt. He’d never let them hurt you the way they hurt him. You smiled up at him, all gums, like you knew what he was saying, like you were thanking him. It would not be an easy job. Pacing the floors of the emergency room, the realization struck him like a slap to the face: he failed. He failed you. He hadn’t protected you from anything, especially your father. He didn’t do what he’d promised you. 

You stood to the side of Shiv’s bed, blankie thrown over your shoulder. You were too frightened to wake her, not wanting to scare her, so you were as still as possible. Your breathing ragged from the nightmare, your cheeks still wet. Lately, you've been having one every night. Your room, without the toys, without the decorations, without anything, felt more like a prison than your bedroom. You were being punished again. Quietly, you tiptoed down the hall, down the stairs, to where their bedrooms were. The boys doors were shut, but Shiv’s had been left slightly open. You took that as a sign, taking the handle in your chubby little hand. Her room had looked the same since you could remember. She slept soundly on her side. Barely above a whisper, you called her name. Shivy? Over and over again until she stirred. She used to jump when you came in, when you woke her, but this had become routine the last few weeks. If it wasn’t her, it was Ken or Rome. One of them always woke up to you in their bed, unable to bear yours any longer. A nightmare, you’d confess. They’d nod, understanding all too well, making room for you beside them. She doesn’t say anything, wordlessly moving to the other side, opening the blankets. You climbed up next to her, making sure Blankie got there too. She let her arm fall on to you, holding you close. She’d always remembered the way you smelled. Sweet, sweaty, warm. Her face buried in your hair, tightening her grip. You were so small, so scared. She couldn’t fall back to sleep until she heard your shallow breathing even. You never had any nightmares with her. That’s what she thought of you when she saw you in that bed, how she was living a nightmare, that if she’d been there for you, if she’d let you climb into her bed, none of this would have happened.

He’d asked you to dance at your mothers wedding. It was one of the first times in a long time you weren’t drinking yourself to bed. She’d been married four, five times. It wouldn’t last long, they never did. You were just thankful she decided not to have anymore kids. Though, what did that say about you? He found you sitting at one of the many tables, watching everyone else dance. He held out his hand. It took you a moment to realize just what he was asking, shrugging before you stood, taking his hand. She’d invited your brothers and sister despite not knowing them very well, needing bodies to fill up chairs. She invited everyone she knew every time, though the guest list grew smaller and smaller with every debut. There were only so many last names a woman could collect before people stopped caring. She’d whined about it to you before she walked down the aisle, calling them ungrateful and selfish for ruining her day. She seemed happy now, swaying in the arms of another Logan-type, her veil lifted by the wind. Picturesque. He leads you to the dance floor, his hand on your back, the other in yours. Kendall seemed content, a rare occurrence for him. He looked nice, dressed in a lightly colored suit for the summer wedding, smiling down at you. You placed your head against his chest, taking him in, grateful for his presence in that moment. You hadn’t realized how unhappy you’d been, how taxing doing this all over again was. Your mother wasn’t the root cause for your problems, but she didn’t help. It felt like every day was her wedding day. Every day it was about her, her wants, her needs, and it was all a disaster. In the end she got what she wanted, in the end she was the only one left smiling. You caught him watching you think, unsure of what his mind was doing. He remembered it like it was yesterday. You seemed so grown up, so worn down. Not like the baby he remembered. He hugged you a little tighter, not wanting this moment to pass. Now it was too late. You looked so defeated, so young, it scared him. What could he have done to stop this? Surely there was something, something he could have done to prevent this. He never should have let you go. 

That night is burned into his memory forever. You were crying, sobbing into the phone. You were so scared, so alone. When he got the call, he moved without thinking. He got in the car and started driving, trying to keep you on the phone. You dropped a pin in the middle of nowhere. You were so tired. Not just exhausted, but you ached in the marrow of your bones. You were so done with this life, with everything. You’d hoped, in your moment of desperation, of sincerity, that your father would care. That he would come to your rescue, save you from yourself. Instead Connor pulled up to the sidewalk you’d been sitting on, opening the passenger side door for you. You wiped your tears with the palms of your hands, unable to say anything, to defend yourself, your actions. He didn’t yell like you were expecting, he didn’t ask a million questions or patronize you. Internally he was lost. Should he drive you to the hospital? Back to Dads? In the end, he brought you home, to his place. You wanted to thank him, to apologize for being such a mess, but all you could do was press your head against the cold window and cry. You weren’t sure what time it was, what day it was, the last time you slept. Days, probably. He grabbed your hand, the other on the wheel, rubbing his thumb against the back of it. That made you cry harder. Connor hated to see you like that. You were his baby after all. He squeezed your hand off and on, three times. I love you. You were small in his car, fragile, covered in bruises. The bags under your eyes were so dark, so painful looking. He’d never forget it, the way you flinched at the sight of him, like you were waiting for an explosion. He wasn’t angry or disappointed, he was petrified for you. If he could go back, would he have done anything differently? He’s not sure. Would changing anything have an impact now? You were sleeping, IV’s in your arms, wires stuck to your chest, the hospital gown hanging off you. You were skin and bone. The rings around your eyes so black, so bruised. He didn’t think you could look worse after that night, and yet, again, you’ve proved him wrong. He didn’t think it could get worse. He squeezed your hand three times, over and over again, so it would be the first thing you felt when you woke up. I love you. I love you. I love you.

They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. That didn’t happen to you, not even when you were sure you were gone for good. Instead, it was your life that flashed before their eyes. All the best moments, the worst, the things they had and hadn’t done as older siblings, all their failings. Someone called an ambulance. They used Narcan and charcoal. You were covered in sickness, shaking, gasping for air. In and out of it, not wanting any of them to see you like this. It was you and the nurses, everyone else left to wait in the emergency room, trickling in as soon as they got there. You hadn’t slept in days, exhausted, sobbing. The nurses held you as you cried out, sucked from the blackness back to real life. Everything hurts. Everything stung. Everything you’d done came flooding back. Regret sat heavy on your chest. You were almost gone, so close. It was so light, so airy. You screamed, wanting to go back, wanting to be back there, in that booth, in the club, far away from here. The frustration at yourself suffocated you. It was inescapable. There was no running from it anymore. They gave you something to calm you down, letting you sleep. Finally, It wasn’t the same kind of floating feeling, but it was close enough. Your brothers and sister sat beside you, scared to touch you. You were so little, so broken. Of course you wouldn’t do well, they thought. Of course you shouldn’t have been left on your own like that. Of course this happened. Connor held your hand, the only one brave enough to touch you. They weren’t sure what they were going to do or say when you woke up, but they could feel it on the tip of their tongues: the sadness, the anger, the apologies, the hurt. They knew, whatever they did, they had to be there for you, like they’d been before. When you cried. When you had nightmares. When you were getting better and when you fell again. They’d be there for everything.