Connor Sitting On The Plushsofa In One Of The Smaller Livingrooms Of The Estate Enjoying A Hot Cup Of

Connor tried to be there every time one of his siblings was born and visit them in the hospital. He went to great lengths to hold each one in his arms. Looking into their innocent wide eyes, he promised each of them the same thing. He knew that their father would try to shape them into the hounds he wants but that he would do everything in his power to give them the things he never had: moments of happiness, love, acceptance and refuge.

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.

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

CIGARETTES & DIOR 4

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note: for anyone who's read the previous 3 chapters before chapter 4 was released, I'm currently rewriting them so some time this week they'll be updated!

beta read by the darling @raelwrites

—enemies (?) steve harrington X reader, follows along with 'the bathtub'

[#: @fixtionlover + anyone else who'd like to be tagged let me know]

 It only took a handful of minutes for Joyce Byers to show up. Though you’re not surprised. If you found out your child was at the police station, was arrested, you were sure you would be arrested too with how fast you’d drive.

 During those minutes, you stared at Nancy and Jonathan. You couldn’t help but entertain the ideas brewing in your head.

 But what if there was something going on between the pair. I mean, one look at them now and you’d figure they’d been together for months if you didn’t know better.

 Maybe you didn’t know better. If Steve was so panicked he’d come to you... well. But the more you think, the more you realise you’d been around the two most all times they had interacted, to your knowledge at least. If anything was going on, surely, you’d have noticed, right?

 Joyce knocks you out of your head when she arrives. “Hey. Jonathan? Jesus, what… what happened? Why is he wearing handcuffs?”

 “Well, your boy assaulted a police officer. That’s why,” One of the officers answered.

 Joyce wasn’t happy. “Take them off.”

 “I am afraid I cannot do that.”

 Joyce wasn’t happy at all. “Take them off!”

 “You heard her. Take ‘em off.” Hopper backs Joyce. You muffle a laugh. You’re pretty sure you’d find this exact dialogue in a shitty porno.

 “Chief, I get that everyone’s emotional here, but there’s something you need to see.” That doesn’t set you on edge, not at all.

 The box that the officers deposit on the desk 5 minutes later does, however. The rattle of ammo boxes, a gun, a fucking bear trap.

 “What is this?” Joyce questions, disbelief in her voice, as she sifts through the contents.

 “Why don’t you ask your son? We found it in his car.” Hopper replies, walking closer to the desk. You look over at Nancy with a confused furrow to your brow. She looks away.

 “Why are you going through my car?” Jonathan accuses.

Hopper leans over to stare at Jonathan directly. “Is that really the question you should be asking right now?” he moves back. “I wanna see you in my office.”

 “You won’t believe me.”

 “Why don’t you give me a try?”

 It seems, however, the other Hawkins residents had been going through similar frights as you had, because Hopper doesn’t even look that confused when he looks at the super-sized photograph of the monster.

 “You say blood draws this thing?”

 “We don’t know,” Jonathan replies.

 “It’s just a theory, Barb- she cut herself that night, we think she must’ve bled and attracted it,” Nancy continues, and you hadn’t heard about this theory before so you’re definitely missing something.

 Joyce throws Jonathan a look and the pair stand up. You quickly inhabit Jonathan’s abandoned seat next to Nancy.

You don’t even wait for the door to close behind Hopper before you ask, “Right. Fill me in, please? Because what’s up with that box o’ horrors back there?”

“When- when you were with Steve… me and Jonathan, we went into the woods…” She trails off, quiet, and you can feel your stomach twist.

 “Oh my god- are you okay? what happened? You should’ve come found me! or, like, called at least.”

 “Yeah- yeah, I am now… it’s alright. Jonathan took me home, I- sorry, that I didn’t call. Jonathan- we…” When Nancy pauses, your throat tightens. That was when Steve saw them together, wasn’t it?

 “You, you didn’t… like, get with him, did you? You had all night to ring, you know.”

 “What? No! no, no, no…-” Nancy grabs your hands. “I just, well, I- I saw… it, that, that thing- the monster in the photo.” She’s whispering now, voice shaking along with her hands.

 “And- and you’re okay now?”

 “I think so… Jonathan- he, he stayed with me, made sure I was ok. It just- calling you just slipped my mind, I’m sorry.” Your stomach drops a little.

 You pull her into a hug. “It’s okay, ‘m glad you’re ok, at least. It’s okay.” You whisper into her hair.

 If you say it enough, it might even come true.

 Nancy just holds on tighter.

 When Hopper fails to talk you into going home, unable to disagree with the fact that you’d already seen too much to not involve yourself, and when you follow Nancy into the backseat next to Jonathan, you had resigned yourself to the fate of never having a normal life again.

 Between interacting with Steve and coming out the other side unscathed and learning about government conspiracies and monsters in Hawkins, you’re not actually sure which surprises you more.

 “Do you have any idea where he might have gone to?” Hopper throws the question out, but you can barely keep track of where Nancy is these days, much less her kid brother.

 “No, I don’t.” Neither can Nancy, it seems.

 “I need you to think.”

 “I don’t know. We haven’t talked a lot. I mean, lately…”

 Joyce tries this time, attempts to prompt Nancy, “Is there any place that your… your parents don’t know about that he might go?”

 Again, Nancy can’t answer.

 You’re glad that your family isn’t as active in your life as other people’s are. The constant fear that something might happen to your friends is enough to have you on edge. If you had to factor in family? Unimaginable.

 “I might,” Jonathan says, “I don’t know where he is, but I think I know how to ask him.”

 “And how’d you figure that?” you ask.

 “Walkie-talkies. Will had one. I can bet Mike has his with him too, wherever he is.”

 Hopper pulls up to the Byers’ residence and before the car can even come to a full stop, Nancy and Jonathan have already hopped out. You stumble along with them and almost trip over your feet when you walk through the front door.

 Furniture askew, books everywhere, lights hanging like vines.

 “Don’t you think it’s a little early for christmas décor, guys?”

 Nancy elbows you but she looks just as surprised.

 When the group piles into Will’s room, you’re greeted by even more lamps and general disorder. Somehow, Joyce manages to find the walkie-talkie.

Nancy takes it from her instantly, sitting on the bed next to Joyce and turning the walkie on. “Mike, are you there? Mike? Mike, it’s me, Nancy.”

 Static. You hold your breath.

 “Mike, are you there? Answer. Mike, we need you to answer. This is an emergency, Mike. Do you copy? I need you to answer.”

 Static. You gnaw at your lip.

 “We need to know that you’re there, Mike.”

Static. You clench your eyes shut.

 Hopper grabs the walkie from Nance. “Listen, kid, this is the chief. If you’re there, pick up.”

 Static. Your hands shake.

 “We know you’re in trouble and we know about the girl. We can protect you; we can help you, but you gotta pick up. Are you there? Do you copy? Over.”

 Static. Your heart sinks.

 “Yeah, I copy.” The voice of Mike Wheeler cuts through the static. “It’s Mike. I’m here. We’re here.”

  You relax into the wall, boneless in relief.

 “What’s taking so long?” you break the silence. “They should be back by now, right?” your leg bounces. It was night, Hopper had left with the daylight.

 Suddenly, car lights flood the driveway and tires crackle on the gravel.

 The four of you pile outside after a beat, and Nancy jogs to hug her brother. “Mike. Oh, my god. Mike!” he stands, a little perplexed. “I was so worried about you.”

 “Yeah, uh… me, too,” Mike says, though it’s not very convincing.

 “Is that my dress?” When Nancy asks, you take in the remaining faces. Lucas and Dustin, obviously. But the girl you don’t recognise. She must be who everyone kept referring to, then.

 When everyone is seated at the table and introduced to each other, Mike starts to draw on a sheet of paper.

 “Okay, so, in this example, we’re the acrobat. Will and Barbara, and that monster, they’re this flea. And this is the upside down, where will is hiding.” He flips the paper so that everyone can see. “Mr. Clarke said the only way to get there is through a rip of time and space.”

 “A gate.” Dustin elaborates.

 “That we tracked to Hawkins lab.” Lucas continues.

 “With our compasses.” When Dusting is met with blank faces, he explains, “okay, so the gate has a really strong electromagnetic field. And that can change the direction of a compass needle.”

“Is this gate underground?” Hopper asks.

El answers, “Yes.” It’s the first time she’s spoken since arriving.

 “Near a large water tank?”

 “Yes.”

 You look over to Hopper, baffled. “How do you know all that?”

 “he’s seen it,” Mike answers.

 “I-is there any way that you could… that you could reach Will? That you could talk to him in this-” Joyce croaks out, and you can’t begin to imagine how tough it must be. To know Will is alive, but still be unable to reach him.

 “The upside down,” El finished.

 “Down, yeah.”

 El nods.

 “And- and Barb? Barbara, can you find her too?” Nancy asks.

 El smiles.

 Static. You stay silent, watchful.

 The lights flicker.

 El turns looks out at everyone, tears in her eyes. You bow your head.

 “I’m sorry.”

 The chair scrapes obnoxiously when you stand.

 Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

 “W-what’s wrong? What hap- what happened?” Joyce asks.

 “I can’t find them.” El starts to cry, and you can feel your own eyes water.

 “So that’s it then, huh?” You sniffle, “nothing else we can do?” your eyes follow El as she’s shown the bathroom.

 “Uh- well-” Mike calls your name, draws your attention, “not exactly. Whenever she uses her powers, she gets weak.”

 “The more energy she uses, the more tired she gets,” Dustin continues.

 “Like, she flipped the van earlier,” Lucas says.

 “It was awesome.”

 “But she’s drained,” Mike explains.

 “Like a bad battery,” Lucas adds.

 “Is there no way to recharge that battery?” you ask.

 “No, we just have to wait and try again,” Mike answers.

 “Well, how long?” Nancy asks before you can.

 “I don’t know.”

“The bath,” El says, making both you and Joyce jump at her quiet appearance. “I can find them. In the bath.”

 Sometimes, you were glad for the involvement of police. With the speed that the car was going to reach Hawkins Middle School, you were sure had any cops caught you, you would’ve been pulled over.

 Having Hopper around made breaking laws quite fun.

 You were divided into little groups, each having a different task. Hopper and Jonathan went to get the salt; Mike, and Nancy the hose pipes; Joyce was with El getting her ready, and you were hauling a heavy tied up swimming pool across the floor of the gym with Dustin and Lucas.

 When you had managed to roll the pool to the centre of the court, you went about untying it and spreading it out.

 “Come on. it’s upside down,” Dustin says. You laugh, otherwise you might cry again.

 “No, this way.” Lucas twist and unravels his side of the pool.

 “How does this even work?”

 “Try that side.”

 “Son of a bitch.”

“Hey!” you exclaim, whirling around to face Dustin, “watch the language, teeny bopper. You’re like 10, how do you even know that?”

 “I’m 12!”

 “Try that side.” Lucas interrupts your argument. “Pull it back. Pull it back.”

 “I am!”

 “One, two, three.” At three, you let go of the pool sides and the thing collapses.

 “Shit!” both you and Dusting shout. You say nothing about that.

 “I’m guessing it’ll stay up when filled, right?” you tank on the pool sides once more. “I mean, it’s- it’s gotta. If this doesn’t work…” you trail off, huffing when the pool once again collapses in on itself. “There’s always the actual swimming pool,” you mutter dejectedly.

 You three go back to spreading the pool, lifting the sides, hoping.

 “Aha! We did it- step back, step back,” Dustin calls, and the doors open to Nancy and Mike wheeling in the hose pipes, followed by Hopper and Jonathan with the salt, and Joyce with El.

 You move over to Dustin as Mike drops two ends of hose into the pool, and as water starts pouring in, you clap Dustin on the back lightly. “You’re a genius.”

 “Thanks -,” he says your name, “but without Mr. Clarke, we wouldn’t have known how to do any of this.”

 You grin. “But without your idea we would still be at the Byers’, grasping at straws.

 Dustin grins back.

 “Colder!” Lucas shouts, holding the thermometer in the steadily rising water. “Warmer!” he shouts again. “Right there!” and the water stops.

 Once the temperature was fixed, Hopper and Jonathan begin to cut open the bags of de-icing salt, pouring them one by one into the pool.

 “How much was it we needed?” you ask Dustin.

 “Hold on,” Dustin says, crouching to open the carton of eggs by his side. When he places one in the water and it sinks, he calls out, “’Till the egg floats.”

 With that, you walk over to the bags and grab one, tearing it open with the knife Hopper passes you over the pool, throwing the empty bag into the pile.

 When you look over at Dusting and see that the egg he placed in the water bobbed on the surface of the pool, you drop the salt bag you had picked up with a sigh of relief.

 The walkie-talkie is set up on the trolley.

 Static.

 El takes her socks off and Joyce hands her duct taped goggles, guiding the girl into the pool when she puts them on.

 Almost the second she lays down and floats, the lights in the hall begin to flicker and then go out.

 El’s breathing starts to quicken, and the lights flicker once again.

 “What’s going on?” Nancy whispers, looking around.

 “I don’t know,” Mike answers.

 “Is Barb, ok?” You ask, “is she ok?” you tighten your hold on Dustin’s shoulder, hands shaking.

 “Gone. Gone. Gone.” El repeats. You’re frozen still.

 Joyce attempts to comfort her but she continues to repeat ‘gone’. With every agonising repetition of the word, you can feel your face slacken more, shoulders drop, hands quiver.

 “Will?” El asks, and you can only just hear her. Joyce’s words don’t register through the buzzing in your ears.

 “Hurry.” Comes from the walkie-talkie.

 El sits up in a panic. Everyone jumps back, and you quickly remove your grip from Dustin’s shoulder when the boy moves.

 “I’ve got you,” Joyce comforts El, hugging her into her chest. “It’s okay. I got you. I got you. I got you, honey. You did so good.” You sort of feel like you might need a Joyce hug next.

 You don’t get a hug.

 After a moment of reconciliation and sharing of information, you follow Nancy to the far wall. Reclining on the cold bench by the mural, counting the blemishes in the ceiling as you wrap your mind around what you witnessed. Nancy sits by your feet.

 When the door slams, you startle and look over to see Jonathan coming closer. He sits next to Nancy. You look back to the ceiling.

 “We have to go bath to the station.” You hear Nancy say. “Your mom and Hopper are just walking in there like bait. That thing is still in there. And we can’t just sit here and let it get them, too. We can’t.”

 “You still wanna try it out?” Jonathan asks.

 “I wanna finish what we started. I want to kill it.”

Sever (Kendall Roy Oneshot)

Character/s: Kendall, Logan mention

Word Count: 1,515

Inspired By: Absence by Rio Romeo

Tag: @locke-writes

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

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

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

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

Maybe in another lifetime. 

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

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

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

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.

come watch eurovision we got:

funky uncle squad ready to throw hands with the nearest dictator

human neon conga line

thor in a toyota

pagan wedding rituals

edgar allan poe

token boyband

tiny woman in a box

possessed barbie dolls

xena, warrior singer

matrix cosplayers

glam rock fire lord ozai

cyberpunk ninjas and modern art sculptures

and lastly, europe when the votes come in

Persecution (Roy!Sibling x Roman Roy)

Character/s: Roman, Jeryd, Kendall, Shiv

Word Count: 1,465

Requested: Hihihi!!! Would it be okay to request? Or maybe just as inspiration or something: i'd love to see the dynamic between roy!siblingreader and roman and how he would interact with them trying/being the big brother to them like connor and kendall are especially takeing care of them or being protective? I have severe roman brainrot rn lol and i love how you write each of them and overall the way you use words and how alive it all feels! ♡- anon

Inspired By: Family Jewels by Marina

Warning/s: sexual harassment, harassment, men being creeps

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: You know I had to do it!!! You know I had to!!! I can't actually remember all of the election party episode, so this might be a bit off. My apologies!!! Stop my love, Roman makes my brain rot too he lives in there 24/7!!! Thank you for such kind words!!! I try my best :) I hope you like it!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

His hand lingers on the small of your back, on your shoulder, on your body. It burns all the way through. You don’t shake it off though. You can’t. So you smile and excuse yourself, trying to stop yourself from shuddering. It seems wherever you go, wherever you disappear, he is there. He is always there. If not in your presence, then calling, texting, emailing. He is obsessive, hungry, and you have been served to him on a silver platter whether they realize it or not. You sit alone on the couch, nursing your drink, your fourth or fifth of the night just to get through it. His knee touches you, his arm is around you. No one takes notice, not your brothers or sister. No one can save you. He speaks, but only to get closer, so close you can smell the scotch on his breath. He talks mindlessly of his campaign, of the work he and your brother have put into it. That is why you can’t resist. That is why you can’t push him away, throw your drink in his face, call him names that sit on the tip of your tongue. Because your brother has spent too much time building this relationship up, building this man up. You’ve told him time and time again that you don’t like him, that you side with your sister on this, but he doesn’t care. He is not your President yet, though God help you if he becomes him. You won’t be able to escape him. You won’t be able to run. 

His hand is on your thigh, inching down. As if his touch is fire you jump up, dropping your glass, spilling all over him, all over Shiv's carpet. Fuck, you think, fuck, fuck fuck. You apologize profusely despite yourself, picking up the shards. They glitter under the light. The mumble of the crowd never stops, there isn’t a single pause in conversation. You are the baby, the least significant one. These politicians, their groups, they don’t see you. They don’t notice you. No one is coming to help you. He doesn’t seem to notice your distress, instead leaning down, face to face with you, watching you avoid his eyes. He rubs your shoulder, explaining that it was an accident, no big deal. With his finger he tips your head up, smile for me, sweetie. You recoil, apologizing, taking what pieces you have, headed towards the kitchen. You’re unsteady on your feet, too tipsy. You drank too much. You curse yourself, trying not to let the tears that welled up in your eyes fall. You weren’t even supposed to be here. You were supposed to be home, safe, far away from him where he could not possibly reach you. But they wanted you here, they needed you here, the biggest night leading up to the election. You could never disappoint them. Never. So you showed up and you drank and now you’re in this mess. You can feel him behind you, like a shadow, close but not close enough. You catch one look behind you, biting back a scream. He shakes hands, introduces himself, cracks jokes, all while moving through the crowd. You are his target, you always have been. 

From the moment he laid eyes on you, you knew it was over. Too late. You were drowning and they were doing nothing to save you. He spoke to you like you were old friends, touchy from your moment of introduction. Y/n Roy, a pleasure to meet you. A kiss on the cheek. His arm snaking around your waist for the family photo. Pleading with your eyes, but no one to see, no one to understand. Your father was more than happy to serve you to him, proud you’d made a connection so quickly. Oblivious to your disgust, to your discomfort, as always. Still, he hadn’t been that proud of you in a long time, perhaps ever. You thought you could keep up the niceties until he lost, then you would rid yourself of him for good. And then your father died. And then Roman made his deal with him. And now? Now you’re leaning over the sink, trying not to throw up, your hands shaking at the thought of him being near you like that again. He got caught in conversation with a lesser political opponent, his eyes never leaving you. Someone had given him your contact information. First an email here and there. A thank you for being so kind to him. A proposition for coffee, then drink. Texts next. Jokes that fell flat. Apologies for your father. More dates, more events, all of them, he’s hoping, you’ll be there. Calls, too. Pictures. So many pictures. Silly ones, then not so funny. If he wasn’t constantly watching, talking, touching, then he was trying to. You never responded, but that didn’t stop him. It would never stop him. 

What were you going to do? 

You clutch the edge of the sink, taking a few deep breaths. As quickly as you can without making yourself even more nauseous, you cut through the pack, headed towards the bathroom. Without meaning to, your barge through your siblings semi-circle conversation. The tears are falling. All of them look up at you, startled, but you slam the door shut before they can ask anything. Shiv knocks softly, saying your name, trying to get you out. Y/n? Y/n what happened? Can you come out and talk to us? Knees to chest you slide down to the floor, drunk, tired, your skin still crawling. Trying to catch your breath. Y/n, come on, come out. Whatever happened, we can fix it. Kendall sounded exhausted. Rightfully so. You stifle a sob, the words coming out before you can stop them. I didn’t mean- I didn’t- I know this is important to you guys. Mencken. He’s important to them, he’s important to your brother, he was to your father. You couldn’t just suck it up for a little while, you had to cry like a child. Who? What are you talking about? It’s Roman now, his voice close to you. He’s not standing like the others, he’s on your level now. You don’t know how to explain it, you can’t. You fear it’ll sound ridiculous. That you’re making a bigger deal about this than necessary. You’re not sure what else to do. You open every tab, every phone call and text thread and email. Then you open the door just a crack, sliding the phone through, shutting it again. There's a moment of silence that feels like eternity. How long has been this going on? Roman sounds angry. At you? A while. It’s all you can manage, curling into a ball, bracing for the worst. For the yelling, the disappointment, for one of them to bang on the door and demand that you come out right now. You wait, and you wait, but it never comes. It never happens. Instead your brother and sister call after Roman, trying to stop him, but he’s seeing red. 

There’s no stopping him. 

It’s quiet for a long time, but you don’t move a muscle. Your nausea has gotten a little better, your head a little clearer. You call for your siblings, but none answer. What were they doing? What were they saying? You can hear muffled yelling through the door, but the words melt together. Tones rise in pitch. The apartment has quieted. Someone laughs, you think it’s Mencken. More quiet. A door slams. You wince. This is all your fault. Whatever they were doing, whatever was going on, it was your fault. It was all your fault. Then a voice, softer now. He’s gone, kid. You can come out. Roman. He didn’t sound angry, but when did that ever stop anyone? Certainly not your father. When you don’t, you hear him groan, getting to the floor. Through the door, you can hear the weight in his voice. I’m not mad at you, I, I could never be mad at you. A pause. You honestly think I would have chosen him over you? You nod before choking up a yes. It’s my fault, you start, but he doesn’t let you finish. It’s not, it never was. He’s a fucking creep y/n, a monster. I’m, I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. He's gone now. He won’t come near you ever again. He’s never been so sure of anything in his life. He would never let fucking Mencken do that to you again. He wouldn’t let anyone do that. He shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place, he’d carry this for the rest of his life. He let you down, your big brother. He let you down for the last time.

"girls, boys, neithers, boths, and in-betweens" is actually rificulously inclusive and will forever be better than any variation of "guys, gals and non-binary pals"