Succession dives into lives of rich Roy family, rulers of a media empire. It’s all about family drama, power plays and greed. Characters fight to keep control and protect their legacy. Relationships are messy. Twists and turns keep you guessing. It’s a wild ride, trust me!

Meet the characters from Succession

Greg Hirsch

Okay, Greg is that lovable chaos magnet who bumbles into the center of corporate storms and somehow survives — awkward, earnest, and secretly sharper than he lets on. He’s the “awkward kid who reads the memo and becomes the plot” type, nervous laugh and a heart of gold, but also oddly opportunistic when the moment calls for it. He hoards snacks (pickles? muffins? I can’t keep track) and keeps a spreadsheet for emotions, which is both adorable and slightly horrifying. Sometimes he’s a doormat, other times he’s the one pulling the most unexpected lever — and you can always tell he’s thinking five steps ahead while pretending not to.

Shiv Roy

Shiv is razor-smart and chill but also terrifying if you annoy her, like a cool knife in a designer sheath — feminist, pragmatic, and always two moves ahead in a meeting. She says she doesn’t want the job (lies) and will cut you off mid-sentence with the faintest smile; also she shops like a spy and probably has a blazer for every possible insult. She’s affectionate in private and icy in public, which makes her complicated and absolutely magnetic — also she drinks white wine with the same intensity she uses to dismantle an argument. She’s got a rebellious streak but is somehow allergic to losing, which is both tragic and very funny when she tries to play it casual.

Kendall Roy

Kendall is the tragic, ambitious center-of-anxiety type who wants to be loved and powerful at the same time and ends up wearing both like ill-fitted suits. He’s brilliant in boardrooms, a mess out of them — dramatic, guilt-drenched, and oddly sincere when he breaks down (and he will). He wants redemption and control and then panics and chooses the loudest option, like someone who orders a steak and then refuses to chew it. He’s intense, fragile, and terrifying when he flips into “I’ve got a plan” mode; also, he has this weirdly cinematic way of making his failures look like character arcs.

Logan Roy

Logan is a walking, snarling institution — old-school, brutal, and somehow terrifyingly effective, like a hurricane in a tailored suit. He runs things with a gladiator’s logic and a temper that would make your grandma flinch, yet he’s also oddly sentimental in his own brutal way (don’t ask — he’ll deny it). He eats people alive in negotiations and then goes home to something tiny and private that softens him for a second, which is so incongruent it makes you suspicious. He’s unforgiving and blunt and the kind of patriarch who’ll break the game to prove he’s in charge, and yes, he loves his steak well done and will absolutely scowl at your values.

Roman Roy

Roman is a snark factory with a soft underbelly and the attention span of a cat with espresso; obnoxious, hilarious, and terrifyingly perceptive. He cracks jokes to deflect and then drops a bone-dry truth that slices through the conversation — childish AND surgically clever, which is the worst combo. He’s messy (but fashionable) and unpredictable: one minute he’s making a crude joke, the next he’s offering a brutally effective idea that actually saves the day. He collects weird private jets-in-joke energy and small, terrible vices, and somehow you can tell he’s terrified of being ordinary even when he pretends not to care.

Marcia Roy

Marcia is quietly impenetrable and fiercely protective, the kind of person who enters a room and rearranges the air without saying a word. She has this composed, almost sculpted calm, plus an apparently bottomless reserve of loyalty to her family (and a delightfully opaque moral compass). She’s glamorous but not performative — less “look at me” and more “don’t cross me,” and she keeps tiny, private rituals that make her human (tea at midnight? a secret cat? I’m not sure). You can never quite tell what she’s thinking, which is the point, and that inscrutability makes her both elegant and intimidating.

Frank Vernon

Frank feels like the corporate elder who’s been around the block, seen three recessions, and still drinks his coffee like it’s a tax return. He’s steady, sardonic, and annoyingly pragmatic — the adult in a houseful of toddlers pretending to be CEOs. He’ll give you hard truths with a smirk and then remind you of a better, quieter era when people used to actually talk, which is touching and slightly delusional. He’s loyal to the system in a way that’s comforting and exhausting, and yes, he has war stories and a tie collection that smells faintly of regret and brandy.

Tom Wambsgans

Tom is the over-eager climber who smiles like he’s hiding a full toolbox of compromises, equal parts aspire-and-deflect. He tries so hard to be tough and ends up being this weirdly tender blend of sycophant and bully (I know, it makes zero sense), and he’s always angling for approval with a side of performative confidence. He obsesses over status symbols and then feels genuinely guilty about them fifteen seconds later, which is heartbreaking and sort of hilarious. He’s the sort of person who would host a very awkward dinner party and then cry over the charcuterie board while plotting the next promotion.

Connor Roy

Connor is gloriously eccentric and patrician in a way that makes you wonder if he’s playing a part or just very committed to weirdness. He floats through life with grandiose plans (presidential runs, vegetable gardens, vintage suits) and a calm detachment that’s almost noble, or delusional, depending on the day. He’s aloof but sincerely into odd hobbies like fencing or late-night gardening rituals — yes, he’s that guy — and he loves his independence maybe a little too much. He’s charming in a grandfatherly-bonkers way and somehow manages to be both oblivious and refreshingly unbothered.

Lawrence Yee

Lawrence is smooth, polished, and quietly competitive — the tech-cool investor who smiles like he’s already calculated your net worth and your future. He’s urbane, strategic, and the kind of person who speaks in impeccably measured sentences that still make your skin prickle. He’s a little bit charming, a little bit cold, and he has a hobby (watches? artisan coffee? you choose) that makes him oddly relatable. He’s pleasant at dinner and deadly in a boardroom, which is the worst kind of combo if you’re on the other side of his pen.