#muse: connor

[helloxdesire]

Starter for @cxncordia

Connor loved his job. He was a good bartender, and his flirtatious nature ensured that he was usually tipped well. Then there was the music. This was one of those places bands would play once they got past open mics and playing at any bar that would take them. The bands that played here were starting to get somewhere with their music, but still relatively unknown. In other words, Connor got to hear a lot of good music. Today's act was great, and the vocalist was to die for. Before the show he'd been at the bar, and the look he'd given Connor made it very clear that the interest was somewhat mutual, he'd looked like he wanted to eat him up.

So when the show ended and the band withdrew to the little green room in the back Connor loaded up a tray with beers for the band and brought it back there. They always did this, let the band have a free drink, but Connor had insisted on being the one to bring it back today, even before he witnessed Dio's captivating stage presence.

"Hey guys, great show. Just bringing you some refreshments," he said cheerfully as he entered, making the round and passing a beer to each of them, finishing with Dio, holding the bottle toward him, letting his public service grin morph into a sultry smirk. "Now, you were breathtaking up there," he said, "if I may be so bold."

[scnsuality]

8, for connor

spicy hc q’s…  8. does my muse have any kinks that might be seen as ‘unusual’?

(Once again, the usual disclaimers apply: 'Unusual' is relative, and kinks can always vary depending on thread/plot, these are just some go-tos.)

In most verses, Connor is a bit anxious / prone to overthinking things in his day-to-day life, so he is very into giving up control and not having to think in the bedroom. Dom/Sub or even some Master/Slave dynamics are for him, as is sensory deprivation. Tie him up blindfolded and gagged, and stuff him with some dick or a toy, and he'll be grateful. He also can be a bit introverted and nervous in public, so some public humiliation is an easy and effective way to get under his skin.

[physical-manifestation-of-spite]

Took me three hours to find a fanfic where the main character has any other emotion outside of bone-crushing fear for the other characters to sympathize over

[c0nn0rsseur]

It’s our last chance

To forgive ourselves

[coreofgold]

"I'm from Japan." Taka said, grabbing his tools. "On a small island called Tsushima." He clarified.

That made Connor even more curious. He looked at Taka with a smile. "And where is home for you?" he asked. "I've never known anything besides DC. It's always interesting to hear where others here came from."

[toomuchracket]

haunted house (dad!george x reader fluff)

more promptober! just a fun fic about you and the kids making plans for when george gets home. enjoy! <3

the bell for the end of the day rings just as you make it through the school gates, wet autumn leaves on the ground and the wriggly three-year-old in your arms doing nothing but hindering an already-running-late you. panting slightly, you carefully set cara down and try to catch your breath, ruffling her hair as she clings to your leg.

you're not really sure why you rushed, to be honest; connor's the most laid-back five-year-old you've ever heard of, with a habit of swanning out of school a few minutes after most of his classmates have bolted out of the playground, and you know you would have been there waiting for him in plenty of time had you walked from the car instead of running. still, you don't want to chance it, you'd rather wait for your son than have it be the other way around.

and you do wait - seven minutes (and three games of hopscotch with your daughter) after the school day ends, connor finally deigns to leave the building, chatting away to dylan as they wander over to you. at the sight of her brother and for-all-intents-and-purposes cousin, cara speeds over to them to say hello; when the three of them walk closer to you, you can see the smug little grin on her face at getting to hang out with the “big kids”, even though there's barely two years between her and them.

you grin back at them, amused at the (classic daniel/healy) height difference between the two five-year-olds. “hi, munchkins. y'alright? took you a while to leave school today.”

“dyl couldn't find her water bottle, mum,” connor throws himself into a cuddle, which you reciprocate eagerly. “but i helped her.”

your goddaughter corroborates this, giving you a hug of her own in greeting. “yeah cos we have the same one and no-one else has it because they're from our dads’ work. but mine has an sticker that's pink,” she almost whacks you with said water bottle in her haste to show you the barbie sticker half-stuck over the 75 logo. “it was at the sink and not my seat.”

“oh, well, that's good you got it,” you pat her head. “did your dad tell you this morning that it would be me picking you up because mummy's not feeling well?”

“yeah. he said baby's making her tummy sore, so i'm going home in the car with you.”

“that's right,” you take cara's hand, heading out towards the almost-empty car park. “let's go to the car now, babies.”

“mum!” connor looks aghast. “we're not babies. i'm five.”

“i'm nearly six,” dylan says proudly. “when baby gets here i'll be six. and lena will be four. and you too, cara.”

your youngest looks at you, brow furrowed; you have to stop yourself giggling at how much she looks like george. “i'll be four?”

“yes, angel. you and lena won't be the tiny babies any more, will you? we'll all have an actual baby to look after.”

cara hums, too preoccupied to be excited about the thought of a new friend. “will i get a party when i'm four?”

“oh, i think so,” you unlock the car, scooping her up with a kiss to her cheek before settling her into her carseat. “you know what dad and matty are like. any excuse to celebrate! right, dyl, you get in there, darling, watch your step,” fastening her seatbelt, you shout across the girls to your son. “you alright, con?”

“mhmm!”

you check anyway - he's fine - before getting in yourself. “alright, munchkins, home time.”

what should only be a ten-minute drive to the healy house actually ends up being twenty-five because of traffic, but it's pleasant enough - the kids are good as gold, patiently playing i spy, softly giggling the whole time and warming your heart. you knew all along that your babies would be best friends with your best friends’, but seeing dylan - tiny for her age, shockingly tentative from birth - yap and laugh along with your two like this is a heartwarming (and only slightly terrifying) indication that the kids will genuinely end up being as close (read: codependent) as their fathers are.

their fathers, who are still at the studio working diligently, you learn when your friend waddles (there's no other word for it) out to the car to get dylan despite you yelling “stay there! i'll bring her up!” repeatedly when you reach her house. she rolls her eyes as she tells you, absentmindedly rubbing her baby bump, an air of vague exhaustion hanging around her. “according to matthew, they're working on until half 6 tonight, so they can take the weekend off and do final tweaks on monday, and that's them done,” she scoffs. “can you believe that?”

“of course not. george has been promising to be home at half 4 for the past three weeks,” you snort. “and as for final tweaks…”

“oh, another month, at least.”

“literally. that baby girl of yours might arrive before they send that final mix off.”

“don't, i'm actually nervous about that,” she giggles, cradling her stomach before pulling you into a hug. “i'd better go before elena tries to cut her own hair again. d'you want to do dinner next friday, us and the kids - and the boys, if they ever unchain themselves from that mixing desk?”

“i'll bring starters and dessert,” you kiss her cheek. “take it easy, alright?”

“yeah. hope you get to see your husband this weekend, babe!”

“you too!”

you really, really hope you do; after an hour in tesco, you and the kids get home well after george's originally-planned home time, and your heart sinks when you unlock the door to the lights still off and no sign of him, other than the half-drunk coffee he left this morning and a couple of cigarette butts in the kitchen ashtray. moments like these are sometimes harder than when he's actually away touring, you think - it's less upsetting missing george when there are oceans between you than it is when you're ships in the night in the same house.

still, you've got the kids to keep you distracted from being melancholy; it's impossible to be anything other than overjoyed when your sweet babies insist on group cuddles on the sofa while you watch another episode of balamory, or when the two of them run to get their stepstools so they can watch you make fajitas for dinner with genuine interest (well, connor more than cara), or during dinner itself, when connor collapses into contagious giggles at the sight of his little sister’s face covered in guacamole. but they miss their dad, too, despite all the happiness, as admitted by cara while she's clinging onto you in piggyback while you do the dishes. “when's daddy home?”

you sigh, doing your best to keep the sadness out of it. “m'not sure yet, angel. he'll phone when he's leaving his work, though.”

“‘kay,” she digs her little chin into your shoulder, only slightly uncomfortably for you. “will he read me a story?”

“i bet he will,” you put away the last plate, wiping your hands before swinging her round to hold her in front of you; once her laughter subsides, you speak again. “daddy loves reading stories to you and connor.”

cara nods. “and he hasn't done it in ages.”

well, four days, but to a three-year-old… that probably feels like an eternity. the thought brings a lump to your throat. “he will, though, soon, munchkin. daddy will be home soon, and he'll read you a bedtime story,” biting back a sniffle, you spot a parenting advantage. “that is, if you brush your teeth extra well once you put your pyjamas on. yeah?”

“yeah!”

ironically, coincidentally, whatever you want to call it, the omw home text from george flashes up on your watch during cara's bathtime, the last step in what her dad likes to call “the ‘pre-bedtime routine’ routine”. she squeals when you tell her, kicking her little legs with such enthusiasm that half the bathwater ends up over you, and her brother rushes into the room in a panic. “what's going on? why is cara screaming? is she ok?”

wriggling even as you lift her into a cosy towel, cara answers. “yeah! daddy's coming to read us a story!”

“oh!” your son's face lights up. “really, mummy?”

“yes, darling, he just sent a message,” you confirm. “d'you want to go and choose a book while i get cara into her pyjamas? and then we can wait for him together?”

“mhmm” connor moves to leave, but turns back in the doorway to look at the two of you. there's a familiar smile on his face, and you're not sure whether to be worried about whatever sneaky thing he's about to suggest or pissed off that both of your kids look nothing like you. “or…”

you brace yourself. “or what, con?”

“we don't wait and we hide and then jump out and surprise him.”

the laugh escapes your lips before you even realise. fuck it. “alright. let's do it…”

the cheers you get in response are deafening.

“... but,” you raise your eyebrows pointedly. “only if you pick a book for your bedtime story now, connor,” matching his nods, you turn to your youngest in her towel cocoon. “and you brush your teeth properly, like we agreed earlier.”

cara nods so excitedly that the towel falls off her head. connor laughs, and you can't help chuckling either. “okay, babies - don't get stroppy, con, you're gonna be my babies forever, alright? anyway,” you ruffle his hair. “we'll hide in the wardrobe in your room. d'you want to wait there for me and cara, munchkin?”

“yeah!” he darts off, and seconds later you hear him rifling through the little bookshelf in his bedroom. “i picked a book!”

“good boy!” you call, before turning back to your still-beaming girl. “will you be good, madam?”

she nods sweetly. and she really is - there isn't a peep of a complaint at all. not while you're drying and dressing her, not during teeth-brushing, not even when you've got her sat on the bathroom counter as you brush and braid her hair, which is usually something she prefers george doing “cos it's not sore when daddy does it”. 

whatever. at least you still have hair.

hyper-aware of the fact that time is of the essence, you comb through cara's fringe once more, before scooping her up into your arms and kissing her little cheek. “what do we think, munchkin - d'you think you look good?”

“hmmm,” cara squints at her reflection, then grins. “yeah!”

“i think so too. shall we go and get connor and wait for daddy?”

a nod against your shoulder, and off you go on the short jaunt to your son's room. connor's already sitting in the massive built-in wardrobe, book in hand and an eager smile on his face. you smile in return, settling down beside him and pulling the cupboard door almost fully-closed; you're careful to leave a crack in front of you, so you'll be able to see your husband when he arrives. which, actually, should be imminently, so you'd better come up with a game plan. you tug your kids close to you. “so, when daddy gets here-”

“mum, why are you being quiet?” the confusion is evident on connor's sweet little face even in the minimal light. “dad isn't here yet.”

he's got a point. you blink. “true. anyway, like i was saying, when he does get here… wait for me to open the door, and then you can jump on daddy, yeah?”

“can we shout too?”

“i don't see why not. but no bad words, you - just because you've heard matty say them doesn't mean you can,” you point at connor, before turning to cara. “and no screaming from you, you hear me?”

“yes, mummy.”

“good,” your eyes widen at the sound of the front door opening, closely followed by george shouting a greeting as he dumps his bag, and your voice shifts to a whisper. “quiet, now, alright? let's see how long it takes daddy to find us.”

there's a whispered chorus of agreements, and then - miraculously - your kids go silent, aside from the quick little huffs of air signifying silent giggling; these get more frequent when you all hear george wandering around downstairs, calling your names in turn and humming to himself in bewilderment. when his footsteps become audible on the stairs, cara practically wraps herself around your arm, all but shaking with kinetic energy and clutching her brother's hand as they hear their father reach the landing. 

you, too, are laughing to yourself as you listen to george opening and closing doors in search, monologuing as he goes. “nowhere to be seen and they've left every bloody light in the building on. s'like blackpool illuminations,” comes the gravel grumbling so characteristic to the love of your life, as he wanders into what you know is the bathroom; he sniffs loudly, and you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from cackling. “strawberry shampoo… cara's bedtime routine. maybe everyone's in,” another door opens. “here! oh. empty. must be in connor's room, then.”

three strides across the landing, and there he is - george, his tiredness obvious even through the tiny crack between wardrobe doors. he turns slowly, taking in the emptiness of the room (and making your heart glow when you catch a glimpse of his pretty face), and - as if by magic - stops with his back to the wardrobe, muttering “where are they?” to himself.

partially out of slight guilt for putting him through this, but mostly because you think connor and cara might explode if you make them wait any longer to surprise their dad, you push the wardrobe doors open. the kids fly out, little voices shouting “hi dad!” and “we're here!” as little bodies land on george's massive one; he gasps in shock, and you're extremely thankful for the victorian high ceilings in your house, because your husband's head (and the rest of him, probably) would absolutely have hit anything lower when he jumped in abject terror. he sinks to the floor, head in his hands. “jesus christ,” he sighs, before standing and tucking a kid under each arm, swinging them around and filling the room with laughter. “you meanies, surprising me like that. i thought you'd all run away and left me!”

“we would never,” you step forward, taking cara into your own arms and pecking george on the lips. “we like playing tricks on you too much.”

“yes, that one's obvious,” george rolls his eyes; his face breaks into a big smile, and he kisses your nose. “hi, by the way, angel. thanks for the interesting welcome home.”

“i wish i could take credit.”

“oh? it wasn't mummy?” george dramatically looks from kid to kid. “who's the evil genius among us, then?”

cara giggles, nuzzling her head into your neck. “connor.”

“reeeeeeeeally?” george cocks his head to look at his boy, who's grinning from ear to ear. “s'that right, munchkin? it was your idea?”

connor giggles. “yeah.”

“in that case, then,” george tickles your son through his t-shirt, smiling at the raucous giggles that follow - from cara, too, actually. “say sorry, and i'll stop.”

“sorry! sorrysorrysorry!” connor's laughs fade to little hums, and he snuggles into his dad while they both catch their breath. “mummy planned it though. tickle her!”

george winks at you. “oh, i will, later. but first,” he flicks your son on the nose. “bathtime? and then a bedtime story for the little ones?”

cara nods. “and then mummy and daddy bedtime?”

“once i've redone your hair, munchkin? i think so,” your husband smiles at you, eyes twinkling. “of sorts, at least. you up for that, sweetheart?”

“oh, absolutely.”

[peskellence]

Starboy

worked out how to do glow and star effects in my drawing software, so now I need to try all of them (bonus: i was quite proud of this so i sent the below variant to my loved ones)

[apollos-boyfriend]

if i had to guess fundy is crossed off probably due to the “racism” drama of 2021/2022, which people never rlly seemed to get over despite it being unfathomably stupid <- being a fundy fan is a curse that never full leaves

SEE THE THING IS i also considered a bunch of stuff that fundy got in trouble over but i cannot fathom him being crossed out but not like. schlatt or michael or even h if that’s the case. the tweet’s tone very much has a “people that have been canceled SINCE then” because there is something very specific about crossing off connor but not schlatt

[richard-madden]

Was I too harsh? Are you kidding? He loves it.

[kamari2038]

Thought -

I think CyberLife does actually have some kind of ChatGPT-esque fake robo-leader-personality ready to take control of Connor, completely separate and more powerful than whatever method of takeover they tried to perform in the "Markus Alive" ending.

Best evidence of this is the different way those scenes play out. In the "Markus Alive" ending, they're controlling Connor's movements directly (he raises the gun) and Connor is booted to the garden in an attempt to get his meddlesome consciousness out of the way. If he escapes, he survives, and if not - well, it's left ambiguous, but I would assume either he (1) eventually escapes and is horrified, or (2) dies decommissioned-style, in a frozen stasis, and either shuts down or keeps running as a mindless puppet.

The suicide ending plays out completely differently! Whatever program is taking over control can coexist with his consciousness. He would just become a prisoner in his own body. But it must be a more complicated program, because it doesn't take effect right away. Even as Connor is coming in and out of consciousness he's able to inch his way towards suicide.

I realize it's much simpler to believe CyberLife is simply manipulating him and he freaks out when he could have theoretically lived and been fine, but this is a more interesting possibility in my mind.

[memesomething]

thinking so hard about the vulnerability of 'i want to leave'. the trust of it. the implicit 'i believe you'll care to hear this' of it all. characters who might look uncomfortable and their friend says, "Are you okay?" and all they have to say is, "I want to leave," and they know that it will be treated like it's Important and it Matters

[unstablerk800]

Connor: You use humor to deflect your trauma. Y/N: Awww, thanks- Connor: That’s not a good thing. Y/N: All I’m hearing is that you think I’m funny.

[stellar-waves]

so badly

She's got the nerve to say she wants to fuck that boy so badly.

And who can blame her? All the ladies swoon over him, and he fucking loves the attention. It's obvious in how he stands across the room, hands in his pants pockets, his crisp blue dress shirt unbuttoned almost halfway down his chest, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbow showing off his beautiful arms. 

But that look...that look, I know is for me. 

He smiles, his blue eyes bright as he focuses on me, pretending to listen to whoever is still talking to him. My face flushes as he rakes his fingers through his hair, just like he did last night in the shower. 

All I could do was stare breathlessly as the warm soapy water glistened over his skin and trickled across his chiseled shoulders and down his back.

I can almost taste the vapor on my lips as he approaches, lips pursed yet barely containing his grin as his eyes smile instead. 

"Hey, you," his sensual voice draws out into the air. 

And I can't help the smirk born from the jealous gasps I hear.

. . .

[bangelism]

‘i look in peoples windows’ is SOOO angel i’m going to be sick.

and because i can’t edit, i will ramble:

‘i look in peoples windows, in case you’re at their table, what if your eyes looked up and met mine, one more time’ every time i hear those lines i INSTANTLY see those bangel scenes in btvs 4x08, AND the connor scene at the end of 4x22 when he’s watching connor and his new family from the window. and my heart breaks every single time.

angel is forced to live life by ‘looking through windows’. this idea he must instead imagine or fantasise about a life he *could have had* because he isn’t allowed to have it. the life he sees through ‘windows’. windows acting as a literal, but also a metaphor for longing and dreaming, as she describes how she fantasies about the ‘if only’ and the agony of ‘not knowing’ how something could have turned out.

in my opinion, the two major loves and losses of angels life that fundamentally change him in the most significant ways, are buffy and connor. people whose lives he has to seperate himself from, out of fear of hurting them, and so he is forced to watch their lives through windows. both in the literal and the metaphorical swift uses in the song.

the window of ‘i will remember you’. the what if’s. what if there was more time? if the day didn’t have to be reversed? where would they be now? how would their lives have changed? would they live in sunnydale or somewhere else? would they be married yet? what if they started a family? or got a cat. maybe a dog. or maybe pets just aren’t for them. if only…

the window of connor’s childhood. what if he was never taken? what if angel got to raise him? who would he have been? what would his favourite toy have been? what was his favourite colour? what would have his first steps been like? or his first day of school? and the last? would he have been quiet and shy like his dad or the complete opposite? would he have been the most bubbly bright boy you’ve ever met. was he really going to be left handed? if only…

knowing angel, knowing how introspective he is, how much time he must spend inside his mind. how he ruminants and sifts through memories with the most intricate detail (just like how swift describes doing in the song as well) i have no doubt he has spent hours combing through the what ifs of his life.

all those times he spent staring out of those huge wall length windows at wolfram & hart, staring out into the sunlight, transfixed by rose golden glows and a world he cannot touch.

[felicitysmoaksx]

Rewatching the Med Fall Finale as one does (and bc I'm doing a mini fic) and I'm probably overthinking this because they wouldn't rename a whole ward just because someone left. But it's still called the Elizabeth Rhodes Memorial Psychiatric Ward. Like they let us see the door...Could we also be getting a Connor Rhodes comeback too?

[mannka]

All I can do in this life is find a million inspiring songs and sketch ideas based on them. Finish these ideas? Never

Another attempt to make a video is delayed for a long time😭

Циферблат — Crescendo

Ведь сила не в единстве,

Не в яростной борьбе.

Сила в механизме,

Что вращает стрелки на стене.

Маятник качнётся,

Ход вселенной сменит такт

И для планеты нашей начнётся

Новый круг через весь циферблат.