I Believe Wholehwartedly That With Every Kid Of The Golden Trio - Ken, Rome And Shiv - There Has Been

Succession Preference: Youngest Sibling Fainting

Requested: I would love either a preference of how each succession character would react to there S/O fainting around them or a baby roy sibling fic were she faints around some of their siblings ❤️Thank you ❤️❤️ - anon

A/N: I combined some of the ideas, I hope you don't mind!! I love this so much it's not even funny like they would all freak out internally I love it. I wanted to show different reasons for the fainting from each sibling, so that's why I chose the preference btw! I hope you like it my love! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Connor is so worried. You're sitting outside his ranch when you go pale. It's been pretty hot out, but today takes the cake. You excuse yourself, getting up to go to the bathroom, when you faint. Immediately he's calling out for Willa, his heart going into his stomach. He loves you more than life itself. He's scared beyond belief. You wake up to the two of them above you, each of them using a tone they'd use to hush a crying baby. What happened? What the hell were they doing? Slowly, they get you up, walking you inside, getting you water and an ice pack for your head. You're burning up. Connor can't help but apologize over and over again. Of course it's not his fault, of course, but he won't hear it. It was the sun you tell him, but he's not listening. It's his job as big brother to take care of you, to make sure you're okay. When you're not, and he doesn't notice, that's on him. Connor banishes you to the inside for the rest of your stay, asking you every fifteen minutes if you feel okay, etc. He won't have you fainting again, not on his watch.

Kendall had no idea what happened. It was a side effect of a medication you were taking and telling no one about. Ever since your father passed you hadn't been able to sleep. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw him, his body. You'd been on the plane, you'd been there through it all. You were dizzy, but only a little. You thought you could manage, that you were fine. You pull up in the car outside of Waystar, getting out, when you faint. Kendall runs around the car, calling your name, trying to shake you awake. You're only out for a minute, but it feels like an eternity. You're groggy, scared, unsure of what happened. He gets security to get you some water, holding on to you despite your fighting. You scare him so much he's gone pale. He doesn't stop asking if you're okay until you're seated in the office, someone checking you out, shining a light in your eyes. That's when you tell him about the pills, the not sleeping. He had no idea, though he knows he should have. He's your big brother, he should be protecting you from everything. He should have been there for you, before this. He makes a vow to himself that he'll be better, he has to be.

Shiv knew something was off. Ever since you'd been officially hired by your father at Waystar, you haven't been eating or sleeping or really leaving the office. You'd been tasked with a minefield and every wrong step would cost you your job. You were in the middle of presenting to your father, in front of everyone: Logan, Shiv, Gerri, Karl, Frank, Hugo, Kerry. You lose track of what you're saying in the middle of the sentence, so unlike yourself. That's when the dizziness hits, when you clutch the desk, when you drop. You bang your head pretty hard on the floor, though there isn't any outside damage. Shiv steps up right away, getting to the floor. Everyone is calling your name, questioning what to do, she's the only one who works. She fans you with her hand, calling your name. You're awake before you know it, terribly embarrassed, apologizing to your father. She doesn't let you get up though, not right away. She doesn't care how much work you have or what your father thinks, you hit your head pretty hard, she's surprised it's not cracked open. She needs to take care of you now, cursing herself she hadn't noticed earlier, hadn't stepped in and intervened earlier. You definitely feared losing your job now.

Roman had no idea how to help. You'd been there with him, before the funeral. Unlike his overly enthusiastic demeanor, you couldn't stop from freaking out. You were hyperventilating, feeling sick to your stomach, calling to him from the bathroom doorway that you didn't think you could go. That's when you faint, from getting all worked up. He drops his cards, running towards you. You look dead. Roman is shaking you, yelling your name, about to be sick himself when you open your eyes. He breathes the biggest sigh of relief, doing something so unlike himself: he hugs you. Hard. You have no memory of falling, of the last few minutes. He makes you stay there so he can call someone, anyone, unsure of what to do. Shiv gives him instructions. Through it all he cracks a few jokes, his heart still racing. You scared the shit out of him. He gets you water and gets you up slowly, bringing you to the couch. Shiv and Ken both on their way, coming to check on you, already in the same car. Awkwardly, he pats your leg, threatening to never scare him like that ever again.

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.

So I’ve been in and out of hospitals as my condition is getting bad to worse

I am a 29 years old woman living in Hungary, possibly the worst political and economically set back EU country. Our healthcare among with many other things like public education, wellfare or transport is crumbling under Orbán’s shitty policies 

This year in February I was diagnosed with MNGIE (Mitochondrial neurogastrointestinal encephalopathy) a condition that affects several parts of the body, particularly the digestive system and nervous system. Currently I am entirely deaf, underweight and in chronic pain. I am doing CAPD at home (peritoneal dialysis) and on the liver transplant list. . 

Yet my condition is worsening as I am suffering from gastrointestinal pain, vomiting and hypokalaemia. 

My doctors pretty much gave up on me. Theyre not treating my pain or my surfacing symptons or even expalining it to me. I have reached out to several clinics (one in Germany and one in the UK), but so far I haven’t even got a reply. I am without any help in this and I feel like its consuming me. 

I am without a job and my monthly income is around 80k HUF = 195 EUR = 195 USD. With current horrible inflation, that is not enough to last me through meds, the dialysis attachements, monthly trips to Budapest and my special diet. 

Please donate to my paypal if you can  paypal.me/gameofstyle

Reblogs help as well

Thank you so much!!!

/some pictures after the cut

Weiterlesen

It's his song

Random Headcanons About Baby Roy:

Warning/s: addiction, addiction mention, drugs, alcohol mention

A/N: I think about Baby Roy all the time, lol. I just love them. I thought some fun headcanons would be nice :) Based on these headcanons and this fic series!

Baby loves screamo. Anything and everything screamo. Also any alternative artist! The more raunchy, the better. Any car or room they're in, they're listening to it or humming it or playing it in their headphones. Everyone's come to expect it and ignore it as best they can. Especially Karl and Frank, they hate it. Gerri just shrugs. it's not hurting you or anyone else, leave it be

It absolutely drives Connor insane, especially when you and Roman gang up on him and recite verses. Roman doesn't love your music, but it's so worth it to watch your other siblings cringe and get all uncomfortable

"That d*ick tastes like yankee candl-" I love Ashnikko lol

"Y/n, please."

"You wanna hear a so-"

"No."

Baby unironically plays Where's My Juul?? by Lil Mariko in front of Connor who has no idea what a juul actually is lol

Baby has a wicked sweet tooth. Kendall's been sneaking them candy since they were little, but it seems like you always have something sweet. A lollipop, gumballs, gummy bears, etc.

"You'll get a cavity."

"This is my one vice, let me be."

Shiv is always holding out her hand for whatever you've got. She doesn't ask, she just expects it. You never mind, it's nice to share with her. Besides, it makes her feel like a little kid, too

Baby loves gory movies. Growing up, when all the kids were together, they'd have movie night. When it was your turn, you always chose the goriest thing you could find. Rome would sit with his hands over his eyes and Connor would hold a pillow, But you, Ken, and Shiv would be totally into it

"Just wait! His head gets ripped off!"

"This can't be appropriate."

Baby is actually very smart. Despite all the partying, their grades were perfect. Logan had no need to worry. Maybe you weren't showing up to class, but you were there for tests and that's all that mattered. You throw your intelligence in your brothers faces

"Can you even spell egotistical?"

You make endless jokes about your sobriety that none of them like except for Roman. The others shoot daggers at you with a look that says "not funny" You think it's funny though, and that's all that matters

"I'll be at the bar, you guys chat. Kidding! I was kidding, jeez."

"Does anyone else need a strong drink right about now?"

"They say the food is like crack, but I know crack and this isn't that."

"I used to take handfuls of pills to this song. Now look at me, I've become a monster."

Connor is horrified. Every time you say anything, he's speechless. Shiv gets very serious and Kendall spirals, but Rome likes it. If you can't joke about it, what good is it?

Baby has lots of tattoos and piercings. It's the only socially acceptable way to self harm that isn't drugs and alcohol. Logan hates them and Connor thinks they're unsightly, but you don't really care. Gerri always wants to see the new ones you got, though she prefers they be covered up in the office

"I like that one, that one's very cute."

"Thanks, Mommy."

She hates when you call her that. For you, your and Gerri's relationship, it's not at all sexual like it is with Roman. She is genuinely your mother figure. She is warm and caring and only wants the best from you. She can always tell when things are getting bad again

"Oh honey, you don't look so good."

"Mommy, I don't feel so good."

She really does love you. Someone has to. She knows your mother and Logan don't. Someone has to be there for you

Both Karl and Frank are afraid of you. Between the music, the addictions, the tattoos, the piercings, everything is intimidating to them. You're not competing like your siblings, that scares them the most. You want nothing to do with the company

"Think they're rabid?"

"Might be."

You love it, the way they always back away when you get too close, like you're demonic or infected

Baby, I think, would write a lot. Not just your feelings, which are so hard to put into words, but good things that happened, reasons to stay sober

You have a notebook or something that they use to write in. You've brought it to every rehab you've ever been to and constantly reread it over and over. No one knows about it, and if they notice, they don't bring it up. It's yours

Reasons To Stay Sober: Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Rome. Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Rome. Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Rome. Connor, Kendall, Shiv. . .

You have a sobriety birthday and every month you bake a cake. It always turns out shitty, lopsided, and burned and runny at the same time, but decorating it makes you feel like a kid again

You're always wearing your siblings clothes. You're always stealing someone's jacket or socks or shirt or sweater. You like it. It makes you feel close to them

They've just come to expect it

"You look better in that shirt than I do, keep it."

"I was going to anyways."

You have those moments of deep regret and embarrassment and self-consciousness that always end up in tears, but your siblings are there to pick up the pieces

Connor especially will just hold you as long as you need and listen to everything you have to get out

You feel so deeply sorry for hurting them and scaring them so much. You just wanted it to stop. You wanted not to he angry anymore

They tell you they understand, but you know they don't. Not really. They can't unless they've felt the way you have

Baby falls asleep on all the siblings. Even Roman will let them get away with it, but no one else. You snuggle into them and have the best sleep of your life

"Quit moving."

"Don't use me as a pillow, then."

You get away with (mostly) everything because you're their baby and they love you so much. They love you so much it's gross

Connor still prides himself on the way he raised you. There were bumps in the road, but you ended up perfect. Absolutely perfect

They all pride themselves on how they raised you. It wasn't always good, they weren't always there, but they're making up for all that now. Logan is gone. Slowly they're breaking the cycle, for you and for them

Things will get better. You've hit rock bottom so many times and always found a way out. This is that. This is your out

Dependence (Roy!Sibling x Kendall Roy)

((SUCCESSION SPOILERS))

Character/s: Kendall

Word Count: 1,583

Warning: addiction/addiction mention

A/N: Baby girl!!!! I love him so much!!! I love how this turned out too :) it's v angsty, v sad, and hopefully in character! I'm having a lot of fun writing for Succession! 💞 Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Dependence Pt. 2

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include: Pt. 1

Being The Youngest Roy Would Include: Pt. 2

He smelled rich, sharp, daunting. The kind of scent your father would have worn, the kind men like him always did. Bared their teeth to seem more intimidating. It wasn’t like him at all. You sniffled against his suit, knowing your tears sat damp within the fabric, ruining the press he’d probably had. Ruining everything, like always. His arms wrapped around you so fiercely, so violently, holding you in place. Keeping you from running. Escaping. You were trapped on the boat sure, but there were stairwells, closets, you’d swim back if it meant leaving the scene of the crime. Your mind ran with exits, those bright red signs a welcomed attraction. Anything to get away, to be alone, to self-destruct on your own accord. You rubbed your palms against your pants, itching out of his grip, your sleeves balled into your palms. Whatever this attempt at love was, it was beginning to suffocate. He refused to let go. Anger rose in your throat like bile. A fury you’ve tried to outrun began to settle in the middle of your chest. You wanted to throw the same tantrums your father forbid. Kick, and scream, and break everything in sight. Burn the whole world down if it meant feeling an ounce of relief. Break your own bones if it meant putting out this fire. Numb it all like you’ve been doing your entire life. Maybe your brother knew this. Maybe he didn’t want the scene, the mess, to have to pick up the pieces. Maybe not. Maybe he was just sad, needing someone to hug. You would never be sure.

You stifled a sob, shaking despite yourself. You could see your brother and sister, talking, crying, saying what they needed to. Whatever you said, whatever you told him or begged from him, it was already gone. Forgotten. Your lips moved rhythmically, asking the same thing, but you couldn’t hear it. You couldn’t hear anything, but this high pitch whine.. He rubbed your back, awkwardly at first, hesitant, and then comfortably. Soothingly. His throat vibrating, speaking, again going unheard. You squeezed your eyes shut, not wanting to be here anymore. Not wanting this moment to exist. The last time you’d seen your sister cry, your brother retreat into himself like that, decades ago. Before you knew any of what you knew now. Before you’d been at one another's throats long enough to forget why. The inky black of your world could only do enough. Their voices, muffled, coming back to you. Closer. The hurt dripping from their words like honey. Sticky. Sweet. The fear. You tried to pull away, get some space, air. Again he refused. 

Did I tell him I loved him? Y, yes- of, of course you did. Did I tell him I loved him? 

Your father didn’t love you. He couldn’t stand to look at you in your later years. It was your brothers, sister, coming to your rescue. Scheduling cars, calls, making space for you on their couches, spare rooms, while you picked yourself up from rock bottom. Detoxing in their bathrooms, their beds. All you knew was excess. Excess wealth, yes, but also booze, drugs, pills. Everything except love. Using since you were a child, too young to understand, old enough to know no matter what you did, it would never be what he wanted. Taking drinks of silver platters, mixing whatever you found in the bathroom cabinet, what you found in your brothers pockets, sick as a dog in the morning. He had to know. There were always eyes watching, ears listening, someone to leave clean clothes on your bed when you threw up on yours in the middle of the night or when blood ran from your nose down the front of your shirt. And yet, he never said a thing. He never thought you should see someone, talk it out, get help. The baby of the family. The most expendable. Con was already out by the time you came around, the rest following. An accident, they’d all joked as soon as you were old enough. There was some truth to it, though. A hard truth. Logan ignored Connor, he hit Roman, disregarded Shiv, he thought Ken was incompetent, but you? He loathed you for reasons you’d never get answers to. Too much like your mother, your sister thought. Too much like him, your brother said. Whatever it was, whatever reminder you were, it was enough for him. You weren’t trying to outrun him, his disappointment, his wrath, but rather your own. 

You’d always been an angry kid. Overcome, blinded, by rage. You couldn’t put it into words. You didn’t have the vocabulary. You shattered glasses. Slammed doors. Banged your head against walls. Screamed into pillows until your voice was coarse. When bruises showed, when tabloids dragged your name before you were twelve, you’d receive the only fatherly advice you’d ever get in your life. Summoned to his study, barely taller than the door handle. He didn’t even look up from his papers. When he was done, only two words spoken, the housekeeper led you out. Quiet down. As if you weren’t barely keeping yourself together as it was. You’d kicked a hole through the wall after that, your shoes dusty with plaster. You threw everything in your room like a tornado until, eventually, he took those things away. A bed, a dresser, that was all you were allotted. They tried to help. To understand. To give you advice. What was there to say? How could you defend yourself? He was so much bigger than you, so much more powerful. When your fork ended up in the table, he sent you to your room for days at a time. The door wasn’t locked, but it didn’t need to be. Every so often you could see him, in the crack between the floor, standing there, not saying a word. It wasn’t long after that that you had your first drink. Romans, you think, left unattended. Brown, thick, smelling of gasoline and tasting of fire. It wasn’t a lot, but enough. Enough to settle the fury. Turn the heat down. Take the edge off. Everything clicked. This is what he must have meant. Quiet down. Do what you needed to do without the allegations scorning his name. Do it in secret. 

They didn’t always know when you were drunk, high, both. You weren’t messy, you weren’t about to cause a scene or ruin your fathers reputation. The volume was turned down, that was all. It took them longer than any of them would like to admit to realize that you weren’t okay. That the occasional drink or sip was an everyday occurrence, that those long trips to the bathroom and bloody noses weren’t a coincidence. They had their own lives now, their own affairs. What their baby sibling did was not that the top of their priority list. You didn’t mind. It wasn’t their job to take care of you, it wasn’t your father or mothers, who moved away soon after your anger disappeared, sure you were finally okay. It was your job. Always had been. Now you saw her on holidays if you were lucky, once or twice a year. She thought you’d be better off with him. Leaving a baby in a wolfs den. No wonder you ended up the way you did: a complete disaster. You tried to get sober on you own. Stop cold turkey. That never lasted long. Not that he cared. The first time you overdosed, the second, third, he swept it under the rug. It was easier dealing with you now that you were sedated. A shell. You wouldn’t have gone to rehab if they hadn’t forced you, tricked you with an intervention. Again and again, they did this. For years. When you stayed with your mother, things were more bearable, but she didn’t want a child. She didn’t want to be a mother, so, when she grew tired, she’d ship you off to him again. 

Today, you were clean just over a year. From everything. You didn’t do chips or meetings, that would mean admitting to the public that you had a problem, and that wasn’t something you were allowed to do. This was an internal clock. Every day you wanted to cave in and every day you found a reason not to. Today you didn’t have one. Not a single reason came to mind. Because the man you spent your entire life being afraid of was dead and your family was falling apart at the seams. Con didn’t even know. No one had told him yet. Tom stayed on the phone, but no one was speaking. No one had anything to say.  Kendall never loosened his grip. He never let go. He wouldn’t not for a long time, not until he knew you’d be okay on your own. Too many times he’d failed you as an older brother. Every time he let Logan near you was a failure on his part. He was dead. He couldn’t hurt you anymore, but you could hurt yourself and sometimes that was more dangerous. Of course you’d told him you loved him. Of course you did. Even when you didn’t, even when you couldn’t, you did. He did, for the both of you. He wasn’t a perfect big brother, he wasn’t even a good one, but he could try now. He had to try now. For all the times he hadn’t been there. All those years.

Succession Preference: Baby Roy's Relationship (Non-Roy Characters)

Requested: loving all the baby roy content!! but i am curious: What are interactions with baby roy and greg like? does she bully him, too? does she just give him the sad “welcome to the shit show” smile? is she envious that he never had to grow up like this? - anon

A/N: These relationships are based on this particular fic/headcanon set. They're my favorite Baby Roy, and I think it really complicates some of these relationships! I know this was more of a question rather than a request, but I just couldn't get it out of my head!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Tom doesn't like you. You don't like Tom. The feelings are mutual. Not only do you think he isn't good enough for Shiv, which he's not, but you two have a lot of unspoken tension and hostility that's there just because you're you. Tom thinks you're a fuck-up. You're an addict and an alcoholic. You have been since you were a kid. With all the money and opportunities you and all your siblings have had, and yet you turn out like that? Rehab after rehab. Overdose after overdose. Not even your own father could stand you in those later years. He understands why he locked you in your room for days at a time, why he hired nanny after nanny so he wouldn't have to deal with you. Even your own mother doesn't love you. Tom thinks you shouldn't have any power in the company that you shouldn't have any say. Not after the stunts you've pulled. He still can't believe your brothers and sister still ask your thoughts and genuinely listen to you. You've shown him that you're not a Roy. You're not ready to hold that title. If anyone is, it's him. Not you. But he has to put up with you. You both resort to the silent treatment and talk behind one another backs. It's just easier this way.

Greg likes you, at least as much as he likes your siblings. He's kinda afraid of you. He's intimidated by you, to say the least. You're an all or nothing person. Growing up, you were in the thralls of your addiction and often got him involved. Could he go into your room and get you a white circle pill from the prescription bottle in your nightstand? Could he get you another drink? Don't tell Logan. Greg wasn't sure what to do. He couldn't say no to you. He was definitely scared of you, so often he did as he was told. Now that you're sober, he's grateful you can have some type of normal relationship. Kinda. Normal for him, at least. Like your siblings, you order him around a lot. He's in the way or just around too much. Who invited Greg? You don't see him as one of your equals. He's just there, Tom's assistant, basically. When it's just you and him, you're capable of having a relationship, but as soon as Tom invited himself, you're immediately turned off. To you, he's an extension of Tom. He's the puppet to his master. You don't have a lot of respect for him either. He does as he's told. There's no fight, there's no push back. When Tom destroyed his office he just let it happen. You have your issues, but you're not a pushover.

Marcia wants to act like your mother. She knows your mother is pretty absent and doesn't want to deal with you, contributing to your issues. She hopes that if she steps up, you'll confide in her, and you'll get your act together. She and Logan talk about your issues long before your siblings ever know. But he's not concerned. He sees no problem with it. You've gotten your temper under control. Secretly, Marcia worries, but without Logan behind her, she can do nothing. You don't like her. She's not your mother, and she never will be. Maybe she genuinely cares, maybe not. It doesn't matter to you. Years she spent watching you hurt yourself, and she did nothing. You come and go as you please. When you are home, she fears she'll have to call an ambulance every time. You and Shiv make jokes at her expense and laugh along with your brothers when they have something to say. She was an accomplice all those years, and you can't forgive her for that. She's just another one of his wives. That's it.

Gerri is a lot like your mother figure. She has the relationship that Marcia wants. She's the one you go to when you have no one else, when your father has iced you out. She's always had a soft spot for you. You're the baby, after all. She's there for your first drink, and hopefully, your last. She watched you grow up. She watched you spiral. She knew everything Logan knew. And he knew everything. It was Gerri on the phone with you after a hospital visit, telling you that she was sorry but your father was very busy, too busy to talk to you. She was the one who called, angry, fearing the worst, while in Norway. She sat in the emergency room while you got your stomach pumped. She was there through it all. Not Logan, certainly not your own mother. She gives Roman the cold shoulder, but she can't bear to let you go. You're like one of her own. She still emails, asking how you're doing. You tell her you're still sober. You definitely go to her for all your mothering needs and approval. When she's around you understand what it would have been like had your mother actually been caring and attentive.

Lukas likes you a lot. When you called them during their getaway to Norway, when you overdosed again and they came running to your rescue, he didn't see weakness like everyone else had. He saw power. He saw someone who had a shitty childhood and did something about it. Granted, it maybe wasn't the best thing, but you did something about it. It was a major middle finger to your father and everyone involved in the company. That takes guts. Far more guts than the rest of your family has, he thinks. You wouldn't meet until he signed the Gojo deal. It's there that he expresses interest in you. You aren't like your siblings. Look at you. You're barely clinging on. You're real. You're a real person with real faults and a hell of a history. He'd like to order you a water and hear all about it. Your siblings make sure you stay far away from him. He's screwed them over now. He is not to be trusted, especially around the baby of the family. Not now, not ever. You don't think you like him. He chose Tom for Christ's sake. Tom, of all people. His judgment must be piss poor if he chose Tom. He's not as smart as everyone thinks. That was a bad move for the future of the company.

Stewy is actually a good friend of yours. You've known him as long as he's known Kendall. You grew up before his eyes. You guys aren't that close outside of clubs and bars. He's a bit of partier himself. Like he says, he likes bad drugs. You two would find one another at a club and spend a few hours together. This was before your family knew about your late nights. Stewy was impressed by your tolerance, forgetting you were still just a teenager. He was too messed up to remember to care. You'd get high and dance, and at the end of the night, you'd throw however much you owed him at him. Money was never an issue. He made the mistake of bringing it up to Kendall shortly after they figured out what was going on. Kendall banned Stewy from seeing you from getting near you. How could he? You partied at all the same places. You'd assured him that Kendall was just being dramatic when he said that. Stewy wasn't your only dealer, but he was the smartest. You didn't get anything laced with him. Now you're not as close. He still says hi, but he still goes out, gets fucked up. As much as you want to, you can't.

Uncle Ewan has similar feelings towards you as Tom. He's called you a "junkie" more times than you can count. He doesn't let you defend yourself and doesn't care what your siblings have to say about it either. He doesn't see you as Logan's child or even as a Roy. As far as he's concerned, you don't exist. You don't matter. When you do see him, he always rubs your sobriety in your face. After Logan passes and you self-destruct at a club, he feels the need to ask you how much you've had to drink that day. Even at the funeral, he says he can smell an entire bar on your breath. If you weren't so afraid it would kill him, you'd punch him. Your brothers have to hold you back after a comment like that. He wasn't ever sure why Logan even had another kid. You weren't anything special to begin with. He didn't even like your mother. He knew, from the beginning, you'd be a disappointment. To Ewan, you have always been and always will be a disappointment.

Type "I am" in the tags and whatever follows is your gender today...

Yes, this is exactly what it looks like. (there are also a bunch of euro trash songs on there oops) these are just a bunch of songs i think kurt might also like ( ᵕᴗᵕ )✩

My personal fave on there: Fahradsattel (ofc)