Connor Roy - Blog Posts
Connor + comforting his siblings Bonus: Connor realizing Kendall needs a hug
The time an upset Kendall spent 3 nights up in the tree and Roman broke his leg scaling the trunk
Aka the day before Logan had the treehouse taken down
kids who will surely grow up to be normal, well-adjusted adults.
succession (2018-2023) // newspaper by fiona apple
The Roy kids and their Father.
literally always unsettled me but had never bothered to articulate why
kendall roy + mentall illness
quick willa and connor sketch. they’re my everything <3
KENDALL ROY: Being Alive
When the failed nepo baby allegations are proven true 😔😔
Petals (Roy!Sibling x Connor Roy)
Character/s: Connor, Shiv, Roman, Logan, Willa, Marcia
Word Count: 1,315
Requested: hello! is it okay if i request more roy baby sibling and connor? i’d like to see them asking connor to dance at shiv’s wedding (or maybe even at his wedding?)! thank you :) - anon
Requested: your younger roy sibling hcs have been rotting my brain recently and now im imagining 8 year old them making a drawing for connor's birthday that is them holding hands with big hearts and "wish you were my daddy" written in big kid letters (probably with spelling mistakes) and connor just like. sobbing when he reads it. i feel like hed be such a big father role to a significantly younger sibling (i personally imagine them and roman having a around 10 year gap, so thats probably like ~35 years of different between them and connor). and we all know what a shitty dad logan is/was, so i can see younger sibling calling connor after some big fight with logan and crying while begging him to pick them up and let them live with him and it breaks his heart cause logan would never let it happen and he tried but couldnt protect ken and shiv and rome and he just wishes he could at least protect his baby sib but he just cant and it kills him. anyway happy thursday thought haha roy family brainrot - @fromirkwood
Inspired By: Petals on the Moon by Wasia Project
Tag: @locke-writes
A/N: I know the second one wasn't exactly a request, but I couldn't get it out of my head!!! Big Bro Connor is my absolute favorite!! I hope this doesn't rot in your brain too long my love lol. I just couldn't get it out of my head, especially when it was combined with the other request!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜
Time is a thief, at least that’s what he thinks when he looks at you, spinning with your sister on the dance floor. Your smile is so bright, so wide, your cheeks flushed. You drank too much, no doubt it was Roman refilling your glass without your notice. The song picks up speed, picks up in joy, and you break out into laughter, you and Shivy. It’s as if you’re in your own world and only she’s in it. You spin and jump and sing along, your niece and nephew beside you and the bride. He hasn’t seen you this electric, this alive, so much like your old self, in weeks. Connor considered himself lucky to be able to watch, to bear witness. Just moments ago you were a baby, doodling with your thick crayons, mistakenly calling him Dad instead of Logan. Only recently had he learned that's who he was in your phone, Dad, that Logan was simply Logan. Years pass, but so little changes. He still had all your fathers day cards stashed away, hidden before your real father caught what you were doing. Stick figures, one tall, one small, hand in hand surrounded by flowers and butterflies and other bugs. Happy Fathers Day Connor. Your uppercase letters always slanted, crooked, his name spelled with one N instead of two. It wasn’t long until his figure started sprouting gray hair, graying far earlier than anyone else in the family, and yours grew taller every year. Connor feared you might have forgotten about him, that you were getting too old to need your eldest brother like your siblings had, but you proved him wrong after that night.
You hadn’t even wanted to go to the wedding. It was so bad. Whatever was said and done remained a mystery. You wouldn’t tell him, tell anyone, just that it was bad. He’d gone with Willa to pick something out for you, knowing you left the house with nothing. You refused to try it on, to come out of the spare bedroom. It wasn’t until the day before when they were getting ready to leave, accepting that there was no way you were going, did you come out with your outfit packed. You weren’t going to miss Shiv's big day because of him, you declared, and it was settled. He couldn’t contain his excitement, grinning from ear to ear. Letting her down, letting him down, just because of your old man, it seemed like a cruel punishment. You sat beside him in the plane, his hand on your knee, trying to disregard the dread in your chest. They’d all heard about your big blow out, they all wanted to know, going to Connor first instead of you. You were the closest, you told him everything. When he had nothing to say, when all he could offer was a warning, it said something, something more than he was expecting: whatever happened got to you. It genuinely hurt you. They imagined the worst, unsure of what to do. He was at a loss, too. Your father could say and do as he pleased, you’d always been the best at ignoring him, especially when he was in one of his moods, but this time? This time was different. It stung more than all of the other fights you’d had with him, and there were some memorable ones. Never had you yelled back like that, never had you stormed out in a fury, never had you sobbed to your brother like that on the phone. This wasn’t the kind of thing that would go away on its own. It wouldn’t heal with time.
He could almost forget the crack in your voice as he watched you now. That sad, crying child looked so different from the young adult on the dance floor. Eventually you came over to him, asking him to dance. As if on cue, a slower song came on. This was far different than the last time you danced together. You stood on his shoes, swaying, giggling that high pitched giggle, the one that made his heart melt. You were so little then, so tiny, he was scared to let go. Now you swayed on your own, your arms around him as if you’re scared he’ll flee, your face buried into his chest. Thank you for letting me stay with you. It came out mumbled, muffled, but he understood. Anytime, kiddo. You’re a pleasure to have. Your eyes were big when you looked up at him, as if trying to decipher if he was telling the truth or not. His smile, so reassuring, told you he meant it. I’m sorry about Pops. you shook your head, not wanting to hear his name, not wanting your brother to carry the guilt for him. If he was going to apologize you were going to hear it from him. Not anyone else. Connor spent the entire night putting distance between the two of you, becoming your human shield. Logan, it seemed, had completely forgotten about the whole ordeal, kissing Shiv, saying hello to your brothers, like nothing was amiss. They each shared a glance, all looking to Connor for help, for guidance, just like they had when they were little. He knew what he had to do. How bad was it, kiddo? He asks. Bad. It’s all you can say without upsetting yourself all over again.
He called you his greatest failure. Spineless. A mistake. You don’t remember how it started, only that you were bleeding out on the floor before him and he refused to put the knife down. A plague to the Roy name, a curse, a bad seed. You never should have been born. A loser. Incompetent. He’s not sure where you came from, but you are certainly not his. You should be smarter, work harder, but instead you are nothing, you are nobody. No one has ever or will ever love you. It hits you so hard, so forcefully, it knocks the wind out of you. He means it, he means every word, but especially that. That’s what kills you, that’s what makes the tears slip down your cheeks. That’s not true, you try to spit back, but he’s not listening and you’re crying, and you’re proving him right. He keeps talking. You can’t hear it, though. You’re gone. You’ve retreated into yourself, so far back he cannot possibly get you. You stand there, unmoving, as he gets in your face. No one has or will ever love you. No one has or will ever love you. It plays on loop, again and again until you cannot breathe. Finally you back away, you run from him, slamming each door behind you. Marcia calls out to you, hearing what went down, but nothing can stop you. Through the busy sidewalks, sobbing uncontrollably, you call him. You can’t repeat what he said, you still can’t. You know that would make him furious, all of them, and it is not their burden to carry. A quiet fear has settled in the back of your mind: what if he’s right?
If he knew, if Connor knew, he would have killed his father. No one said that to his baby, no one ever dared talk to you that way. But he doesn’t, and he never will. You have vowed to yourself that neither him nor your other siblings will know, for fear that they might agree with him. That they’ll show you he’s right. Instead they watch you carefully, ready to intervene should that be necessary. You hold on to him tight long after the song ends, not wanting to let go, to be alone with Logan's words. Connor doesn’t mind at all. He’s his happiest when his siblings need him, when you need him. He’ll always be there to rescue you. Always. It’s his job, you’re his greatest love. You all are.
Dependence Pt. 3 (Roy!Sibling x Roy Family)
Character/s: Connor, Kendall, Shiv, Roman, Logan
Word Count: 2,054
Warning: addiction, drugs, alcohol, death mention
Tag: @locke-writes
A/N: Idk how angsty this is on a scale of 1-10, but I can tell you it's actually very sweet and very heartbreaking. Baby Roy is going through it!!! I love them!!! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜
Dependence Pt. 1 / Dependency Pt. 2
Being The Youngest Roy Would Include Pt One.
Being The Youngest Roy Would Include Pt. Two
The first number you called was Logan’s. The next was Kendalls. The last was Connor’s. Slurred, sleepy, assuring him you were going to be okay. You would be okay because the shaking had stopped, you were warming up again, you were feeling better. You couldn’t keep your eyes open though, the lids too heavy. Curled into a ball in the booth, cradling a stranger's phone, slipping into unconsciousness. He said something, something that sounded sad, panicked. You were going to be okay, you felt so light. Your pulse is barely there. He yelled again, but it was incoherent. You were tired, the exhaustion setting deep into your bones. If you just put your head down, if you shut your eyes for a moment, then you could get some sleep. You’d be alright. The last coherent words from your mouth was an apology: I’m so sorry, I’m fucked up. I’m sorry. . . You were so light, so far away. It felt nice. No more anger. No more rage. No more self-hatred. Finally, you were free. Free from it all, free from him, from life.
He peered over your crib, taking you all in. you were a few months old, just staring up at him. Your eyes are so wide, so new to the world. You slept in the nursery they’d all been in, though things were different. Boxes of things had been placed in the corners, on the floor of the closet, as if you were only a temporary guest. You reached up, cooing at the mobile. Zoo animals spinning round and round. Your mother and Logan off somewhere, doing something, unbothered by the little life they created. You were a quiet baby, as if you already knew what was coming, as if you could sense the irritation in your fathers voice every time you cried, hissing at your mother to quiet you down. Neither of them were fit for this kind of job, as young as he was, Roman could sense it. When your smile fell, he picked you up, out of the crib, and sat back in the rocking chair. A few whimpers was all you let out, as if you were already bottling it up inside. He remembers how small you were, how sorry he was. Not just for your father, your mother, the both of them terribly one minded, only ever thinking of themselves, but for this life as well. It wasn’t easy, that much he’d learned in his short life. It would never be easy. The money, the luxury, it helped, but it could only do so much cushioning. A fresh bruise throbbed over his eye. That day, in your cramped bedroom where it seemed like they put just about anything in, he made a promise to you. He’d never let you get hurt. He’d never let them hurt you the way they hurt him. You smiled up at him, all gums, like you knew what he was saying, like you were thanking him. It would not be an easy job. Pacing the floors of the emergency room, the realization struck him like a slap to the face: he failed. He failed you. He hadn’t protected you from anything, especially your father. He didn’t do what he’d promised you.
You stood to the side of Shiv’s bed, blankie thrown over your shoulder. You were too frightened to wake her, not wanting to scare her, so you were as still as possible. Your breathing ragged from the nightmare, your cheeks still wet. Lately, you've been having one every night. Your room, without the toys, without the decorations, without anything, felt more like a prison than your bedroom. You were being punished again. Quietly, you tiptoed down the hall, down the stairs, to where their bedrooms were. The boys doors were shut, but Shiv’s had been left slightly open. You took that as a sign, taking the handle in your chubby little hand. Her room had looked the same since you could remember. She slept soundly on her side. Barely above a whisper, you called her name. Shivy? Over and over again until she stirred. She used to jump when you came in, when you woke her, but this had become routine the last few weeks. If it wasn’t her, it was Ken or Rome. One of them always woke up to you in their bed, unable to bear yours any longer. A nightmare, you’d confess. They’d nod, understanding all too well, making room for you beside them. She doesn’t say anything, wordlessly moving to the other side, opening the blankets. You climbed up next to her, making sure Blankie got there too. She let her arm fall on to you, holding you close. She’d always remembered the way you smelled. Sweet, sweaty, warm. Her face buried in your hair, tightening her grip. You were so small, so scared. She couldn’t fall back to sleep until she heard your shallow breathing even. You never had any nightmares with her. That’s what she thought of you when she saw you in that bed, how she was living a nightmare, that if she’d been there for you, if she’d let you climb into her bed, none of this would have happened.
He’d asked you to dance at your mothers wedding. It was one of the first times in a long time you weren’t drinking yourself to bed. She’d been married four, five times. It wouldn’t last long, they never did. You were just thankful she decided not to have anymore kids. Though, what did that say about you? He found you sitting at one of the many tables, watching everyone else dance. He held out his hand. It took you a moment to realize just what he was asking, shrugging before you stood, taking his hand. She’d invited your brothers and sister despite not knowing them very well, needing bodies to fill up chairs. She invited everyone she knew every time, though the guest list grew smaller and smaller with every debut. There were only so many last names a woman could collect before people stopped caring. She’d whined about it to you before she walked down the aisle, calling them ungrateful and selfish for ruining her day. She seemed happy now, swaying in the arms of another Logan-type, her veil lifted by the wind. Picturesque. He leads you to the dance floor, his hand on your back, the other in yours. Kendall seemed content, a rare occurrence for him. He looked nice, dressed in a lightly colored suit for the summer wedding, smiling down at you. You placed your head against his chest, taking him in, grateful for his presence in that moment. You hadn’t realized how unhappy you’d been, how taxing doing this all over again was. Your mother wasn’t the root cause for your problems, but she didn’t help. It felt like every day was her wedding day. Every day it was about her, her wants, her needs, and it was all a disaster. In the end she got what she wanted, in the end she was the only one left smiling. You caught him watching you think, unsure of what his mind was doing. He remembered it like it was yesterday. You seemed so grown up, so worn down. Not like the baby he remembered. He hugged you a little tighter, not wanting this moment to pass. Now it was too late. You looked so defeated, so young, it scared him. What could he have done to stop this? Surely there was something, something he could have done to prevent this. He never should have let you go.
That night is burned into his memory forever. You were crying, sobbing into the phone. You were so scared, so alone. When he got the call, he moved without thinking. He got in the car and started driving, trying to keep you on the phone. You dropped a pin in the middle of nowhere. You were so tired. Not just exhausted, but you ached in the marrow of your bones. You were so done with this life, with everything. You’d hoped, in your moment of desperation, of sincerity, that your father would care. That he would come to your rescue, save you from yourself. Instead Connor pulled up to the sidewalk you’d been sitting on, opening the passenger side door for you. You wiped your tears with the palms of your hands, unable to say anything, to defend yourself, your actions. He didn’t yell like you were expecting, he didn’t ask a million questions or patronize you. Internally he was lost. Should he drive you to the hospital? Back to Dads? In the end, he brought you home, to his place. You wanted to thank him, to apologize for being such a mess, but all you could do was press your head against the cold window and cry. You weren’t sure what time it was, what day it was, the last time you slept. Days, probably. He grabbed your hand, the other on the wheel, rubbing his thumb against the back of it. That made you cry harder. Connor hated to see you like that. You were his baby after all. He squeezed your hand off and on, three times. I love you. You were small in his car, fragile, covered in bruises. The bags under your eyes were so dark, so painful looking. He’d never forget it, the way you flinched at the sight of him, like you were waiting for an explosion. He wasn’t angry or disappointed, he was petrified for you. If he could go back, would he have done anything differently? He’s not sure. Would changing anything have an impact now? You were sleeping, IV’s in your arms, wires stuck to your chest, the hospital gown hanging off you. You were skin and bone. The rings around your eyes so black, so bruised. He didn’t think you could look worse after that night, and yet, again, you’ve proved him wrong. He didn’t think it could get worse. He squeezed your hand three times, over and over again, so it would be the first thing you felt when you woke up. I love you. I love you. I love you.
They say when you die, your life flashes before your eyes. That didn’t happen to you, not even when you were sure you were gone for good. Instead, it was your life that flashed before their eyes. All the best moments, the worst, the things they had and hadn’t done as older siblings, all their failings. Someone called an ambulance. They used Narcan and charcoal. You were covered in sickness, shaking, gasping for air. In and out of it, not wanting any of them to see you like this. It was you and the nurses, everyone else left to wait in the emergency room, trickling in as soon as they got there. You hadn’t slept in days, exhausted, sobbing. The nurses held you as you cried out, sucked from the blackness back to real life. Everything hurts. Everything stung. Everything you’d done came flooding back. Regret sat heavy on your chest. You were almost gone, so close. It was so light, so airy. You screamed, wanting to go back, wanting to be back there, in that booth, in the club, far away from here. The frustration at yourself suffocated you. It was inescapable. There was no running from it anymore. They gave you something to calm you down, letting you sleep. Finally, It wasn’t the same kind of floating feeling, but it was close enough. Your brothers and sister sat beside you, scared to touch you. You were so little, so broken. Of course you wouldn’t do well, they thought. Of course you shouldn’t have been left on your own like that. Of course this happened. Connor held your hand, the only one brave enough to touch you. They weren’t sure what they were going to do or say when you woke up, but they could feel it on the tip of their tongues: the sadness, the anger, the apologies, the hurt. They knew, whatever they did, they had to be there for you, like they’d been before. When you cried. When you had nightmares. When you were getting better and when you fell again. They’d be there for everything.
hello!! for the mini fic asks I would like to request D) subtle kindnesses, Roy siblings (any dynamic of your choosing!) <3
Hello! LOOK, this is neither a mini fic, nor probably what you wanted, haha, but I hope you like it regardless. <3
-
“Can I take your bag, sir?”
It takes Connor a minute to place the voice, to find the source among the crowd of staff lurking inside the doorway and briefly, he wonders if he’s come in the servants’ entrance, which - - jeez, wouldn’t that be embarrassing? Worse than the time he used the dessert spoon instead of the soup spoon at the Carnegie Weill Gala, or maybe not, given at least the only witnesses here would be the help, but then he casts his gaze up to the oakwood staircase, the gold-dipped chandelier, the ornately framed portrait of Caroline’s grandfather, and - -
Yeah.
Okay.
Not the servants’ entrance.
He hasn’t spent that much time at this particular house – one of the older Collingwood estates, and well out of London, located low on the rolling Cornish Coast – and honestly, he’d spent his last stay here drunk enough on the wine Caroline’s brother had brought up from Veneto that he’s not sure he remembers much beyond the bathroom anyway.
The thought makes Connor pick his duffel up off the floor, take a breath, inhaling the pungent smell of camphorwood and a log fire, somewhere in a room nearby, and, weirdly enough, the slightly saccharine scent of vanilla.
“All good, señor, I’m gonna keep this one on me,” Connor says, stepping out of the way as one of the staff scrubbing at the floor inches closer to his shoes. “Trust me, I know how good the little hands in this house are at getting into things they shouldn’t.”
The butler gives him a strained smile at that, and Connor can’t help but laugh, even as two of the maids flutter past, one carrying a fax machine, the other rolls of paper, which feels - - positive? Maybe? He watches them disappear down the passage, chest oddly tight, and clears his throat, glances up, around, at the high arched ceiling, across the staircase, searching for anyone who isn’t getting a paycheck. Finally, he figures he just may as well ask it.
“Uh, is my dad - - ”
“Connor! You’ve made it!”
It’s Caroline’s voice, bright and loud, that bounces around the foyer, and Connor barely gets a glimpse of dark hair and narrow shoulders, a black draped gown like a Dickensian widow’s, before his throat dries and he bows his head like he did as a boy in Caroline’s ever simmering presence. He adjusts his bag strap, huffs a little at himself, reminds himself he’s not fifteen anymore, before forcing himself to look up as Caroline materialises at his side in a puff of tobacco and cinnamon-infused perfume.
She offers her cheek, and without a thought, he leans in to kiss it.
“Long flight, I imagine,” she says. “Do you want a drink?”
Connor blinks in surprise, glancing sideways at the grandfather clock down the hall, barely having struck midday, and says:
“Isn’t it a little early?”
“Surely you’re still on American time,” she grins, waspish, tilting her head as she steps over one of the floor cleaners and starts down the hall, as clear an instruction as any to follow her. “And a good host couldn’t let you drink alone.”
Stay Soft, Get Eaten 5k words. Succession gen fic. Set in 1987.
Send me mini fic prompts
Connor Roy attending each of his siblings graduation and screaming "THAT'S MY BROTHER/SISTER!" and applauding the loudest. Proud dad photographs after.
Him with the biggest proudest smile with his left arm around their shoulder - Ken with a small smile with his right arm around Connor - Roman looking amused but happy at the same time at Connor - Siobhan leaning her head towards Connor and grinning.
Logan Roy not attending because of "important business"
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.
Connor sitting on the plushsofa in one of the smaller livingrooms of the estate enjoying a hot cup of tea and a rare moment of silence when a 14 y.o Kendall, 11 y.o Roman and 8 y.o Siobhan (age heacanon from me idk open to other ideas!) come barging in, kendall slapping adoption papers on the coffee table "You're our dad now, bitch"
I believe wholehwartedly that with every kid of the golden trio - Ken, Rome and Shiv - there has been a moment or multible moments when they were young (2 - 8 y.o) where they accidentally called Connor "Dad".
