#ruthless connor

[shisasan]

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991), dir. James Cameron

[sorryiliketoscreenshot]

[halstaff]

Confession: obtained.

[kayla1507]

Following up on my favorite RK poll, I'm interested to learn about your favorite RK ship. Please help me gather data for "scientific research". 😏

[loveandthings11]

Kendall is throwing index cards at the matching jacket to his before he goes on stage alone... My guess is Roman is supposed to show up for this speech and he doesn't. Maybe this is when Kendall finds out for sure that Roman is back with Logan?

[verved]

Deviant Connor and guilt go hand in hand but I usually see it focused on his past actions. The ones where he genuinely didn't have control over what he did. While maybe he personally might have trouble forgiving himself, in the end, he was just as tied down by programming as any other android, and it simply isn't fair for others to judge him harshly for that.

But what about a Connor that struggles to not act like a manipulative cunt even in deviancy? Where he can't help but analyze every microexpression, the details hidden in someone's appearance, the weaknesses in their character, and use it all to his advantage. Who will switch from considerate and friendly to intimidating and terrifying on the drop of a dime, scaring those close to him, because if he can do a full 180 effortlessly, what's to say the way he behaves towards them isn't an act too?

A Connor who, while governed by compassion and goodwill for his people, still struggles on a personal level because he can't help but read and play on the emotions of those around him to a frightening degree. Who constantly sees the clear ruthless line from point A to B and has to reign in the impulse to act on it. Who has to deal with this compounding guilt, because even if he has good intentions, why do all his actions feel so calculated and exploitative?

What kind of guilt comes from being able to look into someone's soul, know exactly how to break them, and have to consciously choose not to?

[estapa-edwards]

GRUMPY - C. BEDARD

paring: Connor Bedard x fem! reader

word count: 2.4k

requested? yes - connor falling in love with a grumpy girl and trying to get her to go out with him

warnings: use of y/n.

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I never really understood the appeal of hockey. The cold rinks, the aggressive players, the constant sound of blades cutting through ice—it all seemed like chaos to me. Yet here I was, surrounded by it day in and day out, working for the Blackhawks. It was a job, nothing more, nothing less.

I'm not exactly known for my sunny disposition. Some might even call me grumpy, but I prefer to think of myself as practical. After all, there's no room for sentimentality in a world as ruthless as professional sports. 

That's why, when Connor Bedard first sauntered into the locker room with that boyish grin of his, I rolled my eyes and went about my business. He was just another cocky player, another name to remember, another ego to manage.

But Connor, he was persistent. He made it his personal mission to break through my tough exterior, to chip away at the walls I had carefully built around myself. He'd bring me coffee in the mornings, cracking jokes that were admittedly funny despite my best efforts to remain unimpressed.

"You know, Y/N," he'd say with a mischievous glint in his eyes, "you're not as intimidating as you think you are."

And I'd scoff, brushing off his attempts at charm like they were nothing. But deep down, I couldn't deny the flutter in my chest whenever he flashed that smile of his.

As days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, Connor's relentless pursuit began to wear me down. He'd find any excuse to strike up a conversation, lingering in the locker room long after his teammates had gone home.

"I bet I can make you smile," he declared one evening, leaning against the doorframe with a confidence that was both infuriating and undeniably attractive.

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms over my chest. "Is that a challenge?"

He grinned, stepping closer until there was barely an inch of space between us. "You could say that."

And before I could protest, he launched into a series of ridiculous anecdotes, each one more absurd than the last. And much to my dismay, I found myself laughing despite my best efforts to resist.

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Connor's antics became a regular occurrence, each interaction more endearing than the last. Whether it was stealing my pen during team meetings or leaving a trail of sticky notes with cheesy jokes on my desk, he seemed determined to brighten even my darkest days.

One particularly dreary afternoon, he appeared at my desk with a mischievous glint in his eyes and a paper bag in hand.

"Got something for you," he announced with a grin, placing the bag on my desk.

I eyed him warily, wondering what new scheme he had cooked up this time. "And what might that be?"

"Open it and find out," he urged, practically vibrating with excitement.

Sighing, I reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of fuzzy socks, adorned with cartoon penguins. Despite myself, a small smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

"Thought you could use some warmth," he explained sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

I couldn't help but feel a warmth of a different kind blossoming in my chest as I thanked him, tucking the socks away in my drawer.

But it wasn't just the grand gestures that made my heart skip a beat—it was the quiet moments too, like the way he'd reach for my hand during team meetings or offer a reassuring smile when the pressure became too much to bear.

One evening, after a particularly grueling practice, I found myself lingering in the locker room, lost in thought. Sensing my solitude, Connor sidled up beside me, his presence a comforting anchor in the midst of chaos.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice cutting through the silence like a lifeline.

I turned to face him, offering a small smile in return.

"Rough day?" he asked, his tone gentle.

I nodded, unable to find the words to express the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me.

Without hesitation, he pulled me into a warm embrace, holding me close as if to shield me from the world outside.

"You're not alone, you know," he whispered, his breath warm against my ear.

And in that moment, with Connor's arms wrapped around me, I realized that maybe, just maybe, I didn't have to be.

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Connor's presence became a constant source of light in my life, his unwavering support a beacon of hope in the darkest of times.

During late nights at the rink, when exhaustion threatened to overwhelm me, he'd materialize out of nowhere with a goofy grin and a bag of my favorite snacks in hand.

"Thought you might need some fuel," he'd say with a wink, plopping down beside me as if he had nowhere else to be.

As I reached for a bag of chips from the assortment he'd brought, curiosity got the better of me. "How did you know to get all my favorite snacks?" I asked, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips despite myself.

Connor chuckled, leaning back against the cold metal bleachers. "Well, let's just say I have my ways," he replied, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes.

I raised an eyebrow, not entirely convinced by his vague answer. "You mean you went through my desk again, didn't you?"

He feigned innocence, placing a hand over his heart in mock offense. "Me? Never," he said, his grin widening into a full-blown smirk.

I rolled my eyes, unable to suppress a laugh. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

But as I reached for another snack, a warmth spread through me—a warmth that had little to do with the chips in my hand and everything to do with the boy sitting beside me.

Connor shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "Hey, a guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do to make sure his favorite grumpy girl doesn't starve, right?"

I couldn't help but chuckle at his audacity. "Favorite grumpy girl, huh? Is that what I am now?"

He flashed me a boyish grin, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Absolutely. You're my number one source of entertainment around here."

I nudged him playfully with my elbow, a smile tugging at my lips despite my efforts to maintain a stern facade. "Well, I'll try not to let it go to my head."

But deep down, I couldn't deny the warmth spreading through me at his words. In a world as chaotic and unpredictable as professional sports, Connor's unwavering presence was a comfort—a reminder that even in the midst of the madness, there was still room for laughter and friendship.

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Despite the joy Connor brought into my life, a lingering doubt nagged at the back of my mind like a persistent shadow. What if his relentless pursuit was nothing more than a game? What if I allowed myself to open up, only to be left with a shattered heart in the end?

I couldn't shake the fear, no matter how hard I tried to bury it beneath layers of laughter and camaraderie. Every whispered compliment, every tender gesture, only served to fuel my uncertainty.

Was I just another conquest to him, another challenge to conquer before moving on to the next? Or was there something more genuine lurking beneath his playful facade?

As much as I longed to believe in the sincerity of his affections, I couldn't ignore the voice of doubt that whispered in the depths of my mind, urging me to tread cautiously, to protect myself from potential heartache.

But despite my reservations, despite the walls I had built around my heart, I couldn't deny the pull he had on me, the way he made me feel alive in ways I never thought possible.

And so, as I grappled with my conflicting emotions, I found myself torn between the desire to take a chance on love and the fear of getting hurt in the process.

But perhaps, just perhaps, the risk was worth the reward

Connor's presence in my life was undeniably intoxicating, his warmth and affection a balm to my weary soul. Yet, beneath the surface, doubts lingered like shadows in the corners of my mind.

Was I merely a conquest in his game of pursuit, a challenge to conquer before moving on to the next? Or could there truly be something genuine blooming amidst the laughter and tender gestures?

I longed to believe in the sincerity of his affections, to cast aside the doubts and surrender to the possibility of love. But the scars of past heartaches served as a reminder to tread cautiously, to protect myself from the pain of shattered dreams.

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Despite the walls I had built around my heart, I couldn't deny the undeniable pull he had on me. His presence made me feel alive in ways I never thought possible, igniting a fire within me that I had long thought extinguished.

As I wrestled with my conflicting emotions, I knew that the decision lay solely in my hands. Would I succumb to the allure of his charm, risking everything for the chance at love? Or would I retreat into the safety of solitude, shielding myself from the potential pain of a broken heart?

But as each day passed, and Connor's presence continued to brighten my life, I found myself leaning more towards taking that leap of faith. Despite the uncertainty and the fear, there was something about him that felt different, something that whispered of authenticity amidst the chaos of my doubts.

I couldn't deny the depth of our connection, the way his laughter echoed in my heart long after he'd gone, or the way his touch sent shivers down my spine. And deep down, I knew that hiding behind my walls wouldn't protect me from the inevitable—the risk of heartache was an inherent part of love, but so too was the potential for joy and fulfillment.

So, with a hesitant yet determined heart, I made a choice—to open myself up to the possibility of love, to embrace the vulnerability that came with it, and to trust in the belief that sometimes, the greatest rewards in life were found in taking the biggest risks.

As the days turned into weeks and weeks into months, my resolve only grew stronger. Connor's presence in my life had become a constant source of joy and comfort, his unwavering support a steady anchor in the storm of uncertainty that raged within me.

Yet, despite the warmth of his affection and the undeniable connection that simmered between us, the words remained unspoken, lingering on the tip of my tongue like a forbidden secret.

But as the air grew colder and the days grew shorter, I knew that I couldn't keep hiding behind the safety of my doubts forever. If I wanted to truly embrace the possibility of love, I needed to take a leap of faith—a leap that would require me to bare my soul and lay my heart on the line.

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And so, on a crisp winter evening, with the gentle glow of the moon overhead and the soft whisper of snowflakes dancing in the air, I found myself standing outside Connor's apartment, my heart pounding in my chest as I prepared to take that leap into the unknown.

Summoning every ounce of courage within me, I raised my hand and knocked on the door, the sound echoing through the silent night like a drumbeat of anticipation.

Seconds stretched into eternity as I waited, my nerves on edge as I wondered if I had made a mistake—if I had misread the signs and allowed myself to hope for something that could never be.

But then, just as doubt threatened to consume me whole, the door swung open, revealing Connor's familiar silhouette against the warm glow of the lamplight.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice a soothing balm to my frayed nerves.

"Hey," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper as I met his gaze, searching for any sign of rejection or reluctance.

But instead of turning me away or offering empty platitudes, Connor simply stepped aside, inviting me into his world with a silent gesture of welcome.

And as I crossed the threshold into his apartment, leaving behind the chill of the winter night for the warmth of his embrace, I knew that this was it—this was the moment I had been waiting for, the moment when I would finally lay bare the depths of my heart and confess my love to the one who had captured it so completely.

Taking a deep breath to steady my racing pulse, I turned to face Connor, my eyes locked on his as I prepared to speak the words that had been swirling in my mind for so long.

"Connor," I began, my voice trembling with emotion as I reached out to grasp his hand in mine. "There's something I need to tell you—something I've been wanting to say for a long time now."

He listened in silence, his gaze never wavering as he waited patiently for me to continue.

"I know I've been hesitant to open myself up to the possibility of love, to embrace the vulnerability that comes with it," I confessed, my heart laid bare before him. "But being with you, it's shown me that sometimes, the greatest rewards in life are found in taking the biggest risks."

A soft smile tugged at the corners of Connor's lips, his eyes sparkling with understanding as he squeezed my hand reassuringly.

"I know I've been afraid to admit it, to acknowledge the depth of my feelings for you," I continued, my voice growing stronger with each word. "But the truth is, Connor, I'm in love with you. Completely and utterly, with every fiber of my being."

And as the weight of my confession hung in the air between us, I held my breath, waiting for his response, hoping against hope that my words hadn't come too late—that they hadn't shattered the fragile bond we had worked so hard to build.

But then, in the quiet stillness of that moment, Connor's expression softened, his eyes alight with a warmth that mirrored my own as he reached out to cup my cheek in his hand.

"Y/N," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper as he leaned in close, his breath warm against my skin. "I've been in love with you from the moment I first laid eyes on you. You've brought light into my life in ways I never thought possible, and I can't imagine facing the future without you by my side."

And in that moment, as our lips met in a tender kiss that spoke volumes more than words ever could, I knew that I had finally found my home—in Connor's arms, where I belonged.

[chaos-theoryyy]

Had a talk with my friend and expanded on the Deviant Nines since his awakening / Machine Connor who refuses to deviate idea

Under the cut for my thoughts about this AU thingy or whatever it is?

So as I said I like the idea of Nines being so advanced that he deviated the moment he was activated, which can only happen (Nines being activated I mean) in a successful Machine Connor Route. I do believe that he'd use his status as the most advanced android to go against his original purpose, without CyberLife's knowledge.

I personally also believe that Connor's loyalty in that specific Route is, while related to Cyberlife and ultimately Amanda, his unwavering loyalty is to his function, his role as THE Deviant Hunter and terminator of "defective machines", seeing everything he did to squash the revolution in that route. I do also believe though that he's a deviant in denial, and would probably resent Amanda, CyberLife and RK900 for replacing him after his success as he is perfectly functional.

He would resent Nines, who's supposed to be a "better" version of him for turning up Deviant, even though Nines saved his life (in this AU), and would go "rogue" trying to fulfill his function with or without CyberLife's approval, because they're just foolish humans trying to get rid of the ONLY loyal machine that is perfectly capable of doing its function. His mission is too important to let anyone interfere, and if CyberLife and his successor are obstacles, well, he'll need to take them out too. (He likes to believe that's the only reason, not the personal resentment he holds, he tells himself that he's a machine, and machines can't feel. Denial is a river in Egypt)

Idk honestly if this makes sense but it's kind of a fun idea to imagine, most fanfics/ fanon dynamics of this Successful Machine Route are of a machine RK900 hunting down a guilty, sad, deviated Connor, but what if it was the opposite? What if the antagonist just kept being Connor? You saw how ruthless he was wiping out a revolution, I don't think he would switch up THAT easily after everything he's done, let him be a bastard for once I'm begging

[just-seeing-everything]

Big fan of deviant route where Connor still is ruthless on his job and got an extreme hostile relationship with Hank

Big fan of villain's redemption arc where he did everything wrong but a flint of doubt still instilled itself inside his brain

[regle-side2]

CyberLife : This is RK800. He is our latest android. He is a dangerous military-detective bot. He is designed to hunt deviants. He is a ruthless weapon.

Connor : I like dogs

[pupmkincake2000]

I'm pretty much tired of people using that Hank's "every time you died it made me think of Cole" line as a proof Hank considers Connor a son. Since it really sucks as a proof at all. So let's talk about that very scene.

First of all

this topic doesn't even come up unless Connor dies multiple times. Instead of it Hank says this

he basically calls Connor selfish, ruthless, and brulat.

To hear it at all, you need to avoid any good relationship with Hank, any hints of friendship. Which means, when Hank says these words to Connor, he dislikes if not hates him to the bone, there is no hint of friendship between them, even if Connor is deviant at that moment. So, to get such a result, Connor needs to remain a machine and/or show no sympathy for androids and die many times. But shouldn't parental love be unconditional? After all, parents love and accept their children no matter what, while Hank hates Connor, even if he became a deviant, but did a lot of unpleasant things before.

Not only he hates Connor here but the humanity in general. He gave up all hopes for the better future.

Secondly, read the phrase again.

Hank says: every time you died and came bak IT made me think of Cole. IT. The fact of death, and not Connor himself. It is not Connor who reminds him of Cole, but simply the fact that humans are mortal. Hank knows humans do not come back. It is this fact that upsets him the most. He is indignant that the machine, which he feels the strongest dislike for, can "die" and come back with ease, while his little boy cannot. This phrase does not mean that he compares Connor to Cole or that he sees Cole in Connor, it is just an unpleasant fact that humans DIE FOREVER, and no matter how much someone wants to, they will not be able to return from the dead, while a machine that is "not alive at all" can be sorta reborn over and over again.

And this is what kills Hank, he cannot bear such injustice and therefore unalives himself. He does not care about Connor at that moment, he does not consider him his son, he does not compare him to Cole, he only understands that machines have no consciousness and no soul, he does not listen even to the deviant Connor. So those who say that this line of Hank's is a proof of their father-son relationship, just didn't watch this moment well. Because it means Hank's despair and dissapointment in humanity and androids, that's all.

And what I mean is that people can, of course, see them as father&son if they wish, but this scene pretty much sucks as an argument they use against shippers.

[camelliagwerm]

OC LORE • MAGNI AEDUCAN

BASICS:

Age: 27 in Origins, would be 49 in Veilguard if alive

Gender & Sexuality: agender (he/him when in Orzammar, they/them topside), pansexual & polyamorous

Class & Specialisation: two-handed warrior; berserker & reaver specialisations

Personality: aggressive, manipulative, ambitious, ruthless, dutiful, traditional

Alignment: lawful evil

Romance: Morrigan (long distance)

Main Parties: Sten, Morrigan, Zevran | Nathaniel, Oghren, Velanna

Status: Fate unknown

ORIGIN: ORZAMMAR'S TARNISHED PRINCE

Second son of King Endrin Aeducan, largely considered the favourite.

While he’s never had his own command before the origin, he has served with distinction in battles against the darkspawn and reclaiming lost thaigs for the past six years.

Had a Reputation for sleeping around, including with a married warrior caste woman that resulted in a bastard when in his early 20s. Upon finding out, the husband threatened to challenge Magni as a matter of honour, but backed down after realizing it was the King’s favourite son — when the child was born, paternity could not be determined as the child did not bear any close Aeducan features at the time. Magni never acknowledged them in this time, and the child was raised in the warrior caste.

As of the origin, Magni had two on-going sexual relationships - one with his loyal second, Gorim, and the other with a noble hunter, Mardy. Both knew about the other and sometimes it was even three-to-the-bed. Magni’s relationship with Mardy was more public, while Gorim’s loyalty was noted by Trian to be exceptional. (He was also engaged to a daughter of Lord Harrowmont.)

He was all but ready to stab Trian in the back anyway by the time Bhelen brought him the rumour that Trian was going to kill him, and I quote “he recognises I’m a threat. Good.” That just emboldened him to do it.

Does he regret killing Trian? No. He would’ve been a terrible king (not that Magni would be much better, mind.) What he does regret is getting caught, falling for Bhelen’s play (though he respects it) and breaking Endrin’s heart.

Any popularity that Magni may have had died that day, even though Harrowmont and some other nobles had pushed to argue that Magni had been set up (maybe, he played beautifully into Bhelen's hand but it would've happened sooner or later.)

THE FIFTH BLIGHT AND THE AWAKENING:

Core choices: sides with the Templars but does not agree to Cullen’s request; Connor is killed; allows the werewolves to get their revenge over Zathrian; Bhelen becomes King and the Anvil is preserved; desecrates the Urn of Sacred Ashes; Anora rules alone, Alistair is executed, Loghain is recruited; does the Dark Ritual with Morrigan.

Magni inherently does not trust magic at first (hence siding with the Templars and choosing to kill Connor) as the Fade is such an alien and unsettling thing to them, as is magic as a whole. They’re also pretty hellbent on getting their own revenge on Bhelen and being powerful enough to do so, meaning they projected that onto others and influenced their decision to desecrate the Urn.

Orzammar is nothing short of a mess. Originally, Magni works for Harrowmont — the older dwarf offers to restore his caste should he become King, as well as reinstate the betrothal between his daughter and Magni, but most importantly, Magni wants to get to Bhelen. Essentially, he plays both sides, digging up what dirt he can find on both Harrowmont and Bhelen so that whoever becomes King will have to heed him. He’s thriving. He’s in his element.

And that’s when Mardy finds him, chewing him out for getting her pregnant with their son just two days before his exile. She’s furious that he’s ruined her, that she’s “used up her fertility on a casteless brat.” Mardy had a good life — as good as it could be for a noble hunter, anyway — as Magni’s mistress prior to the exile and it’s come crumbling around her. She pleads to his sense of honour and duty that he would have had as an Aeducan to help her. Now with a son to take into account and ultimately, being an Aeducan who’d prefer to have an Aeducan on the throne at any cost, Magni elects to support Bhelen and does not intervene when the entirety of House Harrowmont is executed for their treason. He and Bhelen don’t bury the hatchet entirely, but they negotiate and it is a start. Similarly, the choice to keep the Anvil preserved is because Magni believes the power it can bring is worth the cost of a dwarven life. Think of what they could reclaim with the Anvil still working!

Choosing to support Anora was an easy decision, and taking on Loghain was even easier. Magni had no respect for Alistair ever since Alistair made it clear he did not want a leadership role, nor power. Anora was willing and capable, and for a time they even entertained the possibility of a politically convenient marriage — to which Anora politely declined. As for Loghain, he was an asset. They would not waste decades of military experience. And Magni allowed Anora to have Alistair executed: after all, that is what you would do in Orzammar. The easiest way to deal with your potential rivals and to consolidate your power is to have them killed.

When Morrigan comes to them the night before the final battle with a way out, they consider sending her away. Not because they don’t trust her, but because that it would interrupt their sacred duty. So she appeals to their sense of ego — Do you really think that Loghain would not take the chance himself to slay the Archdemon if you do not? — and reaffirms how much she’s grown to care for them. And in the end, they cannot deny her. Even if they have their doubts about this old magic, to spend one last night with the topsider they’ve fallen in love with will be worth it.

Core DLC choices: allows Amaranthine to burn, defends Vigil’s Keep; spares the Architect; supports Avernus’ research; investigates Amgarrak; follows Morrigan through the mirror

Magni’s tenure as the Warden-Commander is a…. Unpopular one. Any public approval he had disappeared following the destruction of Amaranthine, even with the Mother’s forces defeated. Similarly, the Amaranthine nobles had been treated poorly, some taken as hostages to ensure they could not move against him. When questioned about that, Magni simply stated that in Orzammar, they’d just be killed outright — so be grateful they’re being treated as “guests.”

They also allow the Architect to leave despite causing the Blight, being interested in its research. The same goes for Avernus. Their mistrust of magic is all but gone, thanks to Morrigan.

Magni resigns from the position of Warden-Commander after the darkspawn civil war. An Orlesian is sent to replace him, Warden-Commander Cecily Caron.

THE SECOND PARAGON AEDUCAN

Following their resignation, Magni returns to Orzammar to establish his nascent House following the Assembly unanimously declaring him a Paragon for his part in the Fifth Blight. Furthermore, their part in stopping the Darkspawn civil war, gaining military aid from Ferelden, and reclaiming Kal’Hirol granted Magni a great deal of popularity among the noble and warrior castes.

Bhelen, to his credit, welcomed his sibling back with open arms, and now regards him as an equal. There is no jealousy, only gratitude, and Magni makes it clear that while he will not go for Orzammar’s throne again — a Paragon is above a King, after all — he can act as both general and advisor. Under Magni’s command, the forces of Orzammar make significant ground after the Blight.

In 9:32 Dragon, Magni agrees to help Jerrik Dace in discovering Amgarrak, a long lost thaig that even Branka would not dare go. Jerrik wants to find his brother, Magni still focusing on wanting to reclaim more of the old thaigs.

Back in Orzammar, Gorim — now raised to noble caste alongside his former Lord, as well as his wife and child — took on the position of Seneschal for Magni’s house. Mardy becomes Magni’s official concubine, as her son with the Paragon (Magni the Younger) would be heir to the House, and later their second child the spare. His former warrior caste mistress even brought her child to meet their father — the Aeducan bloodline was starting to show as the child became older. He would never marry, instead reaffirming that his children with Mardy are his heirs — while still carrying love for Morrigan in their heart, and wonders about the child they’d sired with her. Not long after Amgarrak, he receives a letter from Warden-Commander Caron — Morrigan has been sighted in the Wilds, and Magni leaves Orzammar to give chase.

Morrigan and Magni’s relationship can best be described as tempestuous and even after their reunion at the end of Witch Hunt, Magni’s sense of duty to Orzammar, their nascent house, their bloodline will not survive them disappearing forever, not while their heir is not of a majority. And they also know Morrigan cannot flourish in Orzammar, and Kieran needs to be topside. They let her go after a short time together, to meet their only child conceived out of love.

They spend the next two decades both together and apart, with Magni only spending time with Morrigan and Kieran when they can get away from their duties long enough.

When Magni hears the false Calling, using the research gathered from both Avernus and the Architect, disappears west to chase a lead into curing the Calling. They promise Morrigan that they will return to her and Kieran — for good this time, suggesting they’re willing to give up their status and roles within Orzammar to spend what time they have left with them.

They are good on their word, but when the reaver and berserker madness starts to set in, they start spending more and more time away from Morrigan and Kieran, not wanting to harm them. He also spends less time in Orzammar as a result, thinking it better he stays away from his children too. He leaves Gorim as interim regent until Magni Jr becomes of age. Morrigan is trying to find a cure for it, hoping to save her love from a decision made nearly twenty years ago.

No one knows what happened to them. Some speculate they went to the Deep Roads to die, others think they died by their own hand, or had to be killed.

[freddie-77-ao3]

Riordanverse Characters As EPIC Lyrics

"I no longer dream, only nightmares of those who've died" is Clarisse after manhattan

"Whatever we face, we'll be fine if we're leading from the heart" is Silena in general

"No matter the place, we can light up the world" is Lee and Luke, when they're dreaming of college right before Luke betrays them

"Time... I've unlocked it, I see past and future running free" is Rachel before manhattan, she sees all sorts of visions and doesn't know what's going on, just knows that it isn't happening now

"There is a world where I help you get home, but that's not a world I know" is Leo to Jason. If only he'd made it back just a bit sooner-- maybe jason wouldn't be dead

"A man who gets to make it home alive, but it's no longer you" is drew returning to camp after manhattan, and at the start of this war she was happy and bright, and now she's unrecognizable.

"I'm the only one who's line I haven't crossed"

"What if I'm the one who killed you, every time I caved to guilt"

"What if I've been far to kind to foes but a monster to ourselves"

"Learn to be colder when she got older, and now she saves them the pain" Drew refusing to let aphrodite kids fight. if people don't remember they CAN fight, they won't make them fight. if they're kept out of the worst of the battles... well. drew will have protected them in the way she can.

"Does he throw away his remorse and save more lives with guile"

"Ruthlessness is mercy upon ourselves" that's a general drew and malcolm idea that connor is opposed to but can't get through to them on

"i must become the monster, and then we'll make it home" percy in house of hades (especially with ahklys)

"I have something that I must confess, something that I must get off my chest, until it is said I cannot rest" silena, trying to tell clarisse she's the spy, before she resorts to the drastic pulling a patroclus

"No, i'm not a player, I'm a puppeteer" Drew Tanaka in general. like she won't fight. she'll watch from the sidelines, manipulate people into doing things, but she doesn't want to get her hands dirty again.

"Of course I'd like to leave now, of course I'd like to run, but I can hardly sleep now, knowing everything we've done" Connor, refusing to run away with Malcolm and Drew the night before a big battle (you choose if it's manhattan, the BOO, or a trials of apollo battle)

"Wouldn't you like a taste of the power, wouldn't you like to use more than words?" some new camper trying to convince drew to fight (and then promptly getting stabbed, because drew CAN fight, she just prefers charmspeak)

"I've got people to protect... so I'm not taking chances" silena on why she chose to join luke. like yeah she was groomed but she also honestly thought it would protect those closest to her.

"i still believe in goodness, I still believe that we could be kind" connor, trying to reason with malcolm, drew, or clarisse in war counsel (about the romans specifically)

"you are reckless, sentimental at best" ares to clarisse about her fighting in manhattan (her loved ones' deaths were the things motivating her and she told kronos to fight her so)

"I know what I'm fighting for, while you're fighting to be known" malcolm to annabeth in an argument early on.

"what good would killing do, when mercy is a skill, more of this world could learn to use?" connor again, probably about the romans.

"the blood we shed, it never dries, is this what it means to be a warrior" sherman praying to his father, (he was so paralyzed by guilt after the battle of manhattan he would have nightmares about being covered in blood again and just throw up), (this is when he loses faith)

"this life is amazing when you greet it with open arms, whatever we face, we'll be fine if we're leading from the heart"

"i'd like to show my friend that kindness is brave" silena about clarisse

"Have you forgotten to turn off your heart?" clarisse to silena

bolded are chb in general

[laurenairay]

Costume party - L. Draisaitl

Summary: finding the perfect couples costume was turning out to be harder than you thought.

The sixth of my Autumn & Halloween blurbs! There’s no way Leon isn’t the most competitive about costumes.

Word Count: 631 words

Tagging: @fallinallincurls @starshine-hockey-girl @lam-ila @kurlyteuvo @tonyspep

@cixrosie

~

One of your favourite times of the year was Halloween. It always had been, but ever since you started dating Leon, it was one of the highlights of your social calendar. The team party especially was always so much fun, mainly because of the costume competition.

Well, competition was a loose term. There were no prizes, no official judging, but it was a matter of pride among the team, and this meant you (and the rest of the WAGs) got swept along into it.

Leon was particularly competitive (who could’ve guessed), and as always he wanted to be the best. And look the best, naturally.

The two of you had spent weeks deciding on your couples costume. There were initially ideas of going as a big group costume with multiple other people, or in a small group costume with Connor and Lauren, but in the end it boiled down to the two of you doing things by yourselves, which was more than fine with you.

Leon had been particularly picky this year though, crossing off ideas from your list with ruthless abandon:

Mario and Princess Peach.

Colin Bridgerton and Penelope Featherington

Beetlejuice and Lydia Deetz

Barbie and Ken

Elizabeth Swan and Will Turner

Jessie and Woody

All of them were decent ideas, and you know the two of you could have easily pulled them off, but your boyfriend wanted something that he knew for certain no-one else on the team would do. Which is how you ended up with your final choice - Rapunzel and Flynn Rider. Leon’s sister had been ranting about having to watch Tangled on repeat thanks to her children, and the idea had struck a chord with Leon, and it hadn’t taken much to persuade you.

Leon had ordered a dark green tunic, billowing white shirt, loose brown pants, and mid-shin high brown boots from a professional costume maker. Apparently he’d used her in previous years through Etsy and now ordered directly. So naturally you’d put in your order with the same costume maker, ordering a pale lilac corset dress with beautiful ribbon detail as well as flower and vine stitching on the shoulder-puff sleeves and hem. On your own you’d found a realistic long blonde wig that you’d arranged for the maker to braid with flowers, as well as buying some lilac silk ballet pumps and a plastic saucepan to hang at your waist. It wasn’t too over the top, but you felt like you’d put in enough effort to get the compliments you deserved. The two of you were going to look amazing together, you knew that much. Especially as Leon had grown out his hair a little to give it that swoopy Disney effect.

“How do I look, liebling?”

You glanced over your shoulder, a wide smile instantly spreading across your face as you turned around to face him properly. Leon was leaning against the doorway all nonchalant, but you could tell his eyes were serious about your approval.

“Very dashing, Flynn. Or should I say Eugene?” you teased.

Leon just laughed, a note of relief sliding in, and he strode forward to peck a kiss to your lips, letting it linger as you tilted your head up.

“You look amazing, just so you know,” he murmured.

“I’d better. This wig and this corset dress took long enough to arrive,” you mused, fighting the heat that rose to your cheeks.

Leon took your hand, stepping backward just enough to spin you around under his arm, making you laugh as you twirled, lilac skirt flaring out perfectly.

“Amazing. Beautiful. Du siehst perfekt aus,” he said smoothly.

Charmer.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you grinned.

“Good to know,” he grinned back, knowing full well what complimenting you in German resulted in.

“Shall we kick some costume party ass then, Flynn?”

“Absolutely, Rapunzel.”

[blackflash9]

The flaws of the Colonial Brotherhood:

-Achilles is a self-righteous fanatic.

-Liam is blinded by dogma.

-Kesegowaase is a ruthless murderer.

-Hope is drunk by power.

-Chevalier is an elitist jerkass.

My point? Shay and Connor, even if they don't interact with each other, their actions benefitted the Brotherhood: Shay wiped out the Colonial Brotherhood and Connor reformes it into the force of good its supposed to be.

LONG POST: The flaws within the Colonial Brotherhood reveal an intriguing wrinkle in the Assassin philosophy itself. Unlike the Templars, who maintain a distinct vision for shaping humanity’s future, the Assassins lack a unified, long-term goal beyond defending freedom from oppression. This gap is starkly highlighted when the Colonial Brotherhood operates unchecked, without the overwhelming opposition of the Templars to focus their purpose. Left to their own devices, the Assassins’ lack of cohesive vision exposes a weakness: idealists without a blueprint, defenders without a clear direction, and crusaders who can become aimless when not challenged by a force as rigid and purposeful as the Templars. In this sense, Shay’s betrayal—while difficult to justify—might have been inevitable. His defection exposes the pitfalls of Achilles’ uncompromising belief in the Assassins’ responsibility to direct humanity, a belief that morphed into dogma and, ultimately, fanaticism. Achilles viewed the Brotherhood’s mission as an imperative, a duty to protect and guide. Still, this self-imposed “responsibility” mirrors the Templars’ mission of control and order, albeit with different means. Without the Templars’ opposition, this unchecked responsibility led to a rigid, almost tyrannical version of the Brotherhood in the colonies. The organization’s noble ideals became tainted by an overbearing sense of purpose, failing to see that by trying to direct humanity, they strayed dangerously close to the very authoritarianism they sought to prevent.

In many ways, Achilles embodies the three great ironies that Altaïr once identified within the Assassin Order. These ironies call out: Altaïr Codex #4 [1] Promoting peace through murder [2] Striving to open minds while enforcing obedience [3] Condemning blind faith while practicing it It is woven into the fabric of the Brotherhood and is meant to "ground" the Assassins. Still, Achilles’ actions in the colonies reveal how deeply these contradictions can impact the Order. First, Achilles' devotion to the Brotherhood’s cause leads him to justify violence in the name of peace (i.e., Lisbon), seeing the destruction of potential threats as a necessary means to protect freedom. Shay’s defection, however, exposes the flaw in this approach. By holding to this paradox, Achilles perpetuates a cycle of violence that risks turning the Assassins into the very oppressors they stand against. His unwavering commitment to “peace through murder” backfires, driving away those who once shared his ideals and planting seeds of dissent that ultimately lead to the Brotherhood’s near destruction in the colonies. The second irony—opening minds while enforcing obedience—is also central to Achilles’ leadership. Achilles is a man who believes in guiding others along a strict path, demanding loyalty to the Brotherhood's ideals. Yet this approach, intended to enlighten and protect, veers dangerously close to the authoritarianism he opposes. By expecting his followers to adhere rigidly to his interpretation of the Brotherhood's mission, Achilles stifles the independent thought he claims to champion. Shay’s rebellion against this structure illustrates how such rigid obedience can alienate those within the Order and sow discord. Finally, Achilles’ conviction in the Assassins’ duty reflects the third irony: revealing the dangers of blind faith while practicing it. Achilles believes fervently that the Assassins are responsible for shaping the world, protecting its freedom, and, in a way, “saving” humanity from itself. However, this faith blinds him to the broader consequences of his actions, leading him to impose his vision of zealotry. His certainty in the Brotherhood’s purpose and right to act mirrors the same dogma he denounces in the Templars. Shay’s betrayal underscores the inherent danger in this unyielding belief - Achilles’ commitment to the Order ultimately becomes a self-fulfilling downfall. This lack of a defined endgame may keep the Assassins aligned with freedom.

"There is always something else that needs fighting for. This is something you never warned me of, maybe because you thought I would have been deterred– you would have been wrong but I know you were not accustomed to that. Life carries on here. The people seem happy– they are certainly safe, at least for now. One of my brotherhood asked me something I have been struggling with, what happens if– when– we win? When we stop the Templars? It is a question I certainly do not know the answer to; perhaps you did not either." - Connor Kenway (c. 1781)

Ultimately, the Assassins’ lack of vision for humanity’s future may make them the counterbalance to the Templars. They represent the possibility of freedom unbound by rigid doctrines or imposed destinies. While Shay’s actions may have been destructive, they also cleared the way for Connor’s reforms—reminding the Colonial-later-American Brotherhood that their strength lies in guarding the potential for freedom, not dictating its path.

[peskellence]

Rule Of Nines

New Order

Explicit content, Graphic Violence (18+)

Pairing: Reed900

Tags: AU, Multi-Chapter, Lovers to Enemies, Kidnapping, Crime and Violence, Oral, Anal, Dom/ Sub, Toxic Relationships

Previous Chapter

Read on AO3 here:

Summary: In a world where loyalty is currency and compromise is weakness, Gavin Reed, a ruthless mobster, lives by his own rules. When an old enemy resurfaces with a deadly demand, his life is thrown into chaos-as his trusted second-in-command, Nines, is put to the ultimate test of allegiance. Will he stay committed to Gavin, or will the loyal guard dog begin to stray? (Human Mob!AU)

Warnings: Major Character Death (before events of the story), Graphic Violence, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Dubcon and Noncon

Tag List: @sweeteatercat @wedonthaveawhile @ladyj-pl @tentoriumcerebelli @negative-citadel @faxaway @moriahadi424 @unicorn4genocide @cptjh-arts

♡If you would like to be added to the tag list for future projects, please let me know♡

ONE YEAR LATER.

There had been a hit on one of the Delray warehouses. All contact had been lost with the guards stationed there, and family members sent to investigate had soon become unreachable too. Following an extended period of silence, Nines took matters into his own hands, proceeding to the location himself.

Upon entering the space, the halogen bulbs of the loading bay failed to activate. It was dark outside, the lack of windows only exacerbating the vacuous black. The scent in the air was oppressively potent, clogging his nostrils. 

Gunpowder and blood.

He already knew what they were about to discover as their torches were raised and the first beam of light sliced through the darkness.

Bodies lay strewn across the ground amidst a series of overturned crates, gutted of their contents. The hollowed-out panels proudly presented, with some of the lesser goods strewn haphazardly on the floor. Fairly innocuous, given the extensive stockpile of munitions that had once been contained.

Either the culprits had left in a hurry, their infiltration discovered sooner than anticipated, or they simply took what they’d wanted—the surplus serving to send a message, a brazen exhibition of dominance. Mockery.  

A disrespect which ignited a flame in his gut as Nines bent down to inspect the bullet punched neatly between the eyes of Meyer. Vacant pits that bore up at the ceiling—ashen and lifeless. 

He stayed there for a moment, running a hand through the crimson streaks blossoming from his wound. Connor stood close, glancing down at the body, watching as mislaid life seeped through the cracks of his brother's fingers. While nothing was said, there was a distinct air of sorrow in the way he bowed his head. A show of silent respect and gratitude. 

Vincenzo was more vocal in his discontent, knocking one of the smaller crates with the end of a steel-capped boot, propelling it across the room. “Christ, what a mess. Who’d you think is behind this shitshow?”

It was difficult to say. Most gangs in Detroit, as well as wider Michigan, knew better than to cross Nines. He ran a decidedly more ruthless operation than Reed, seldom opting to take prisoners. The repercussions of such a stunt were well understood, with even the most hardened criminals knowing better than to provoke him. 

This had to be the work of a fledgling organisation, unaware of their precarious position in the hierarchy. Men filled with bravado and confidence that hadn’t yet been beaten out of them.

Nines would be more than happy to serve them this well-earned lesson in humility.

“He’s still warm,” he said plainly, standing from his crouched position. “Scope the area, I suspect we have company. I'd like to have a discussion with them, should they be man enough to show themselves.”

The words served as instructions to the family but also a pointed appeal to any rodents cowering in the shadows. Goading their movement, on the presumption they would act in the same callous abandon that had been demonstrated up until now. Compromise their own position, saving him the trouble of doing so.

His ploy worked flawlessly—as a sudden, flurried rustling broke through the stillness. 

The attention of all family members was drawn in unison. Arcs of light snapped to the source, casting a spotlight on the nearby debris. Then the noise grew louder, more frantic, signalling the creature was preparing to flee. 

Finally, they broke from their hiding place, a blur of frenetic movement tenuously resembling a person. As they darted through the sparse cover, Vincenzo raised his pistol, bellowing out a sharp deterrent: 

"Don't move, you piece of shit!"

The figure refused to comply.

A warning shot was then fired at the nearby wall, just barely missing their shoulder. As the bullet skimmed past, a curse echoed through the warehouse, and heavy footfalls momentarily faltered. Floyd and Rooney closed in, restraining the stranger before they could regain their bearings.

“Let me go, you fucking assholes !”

Nines felt shards of ice permeate his veins as matched fractals stabbed their way through his eardrums. Because the sound was not strange at all—but cruelly familiar. 

The same harsh, biting octaves that had relentlessly haunted his consciousness. Poisoning his every thought and memory like a fatal disease that refused to be cured.

The cold beneath his skin was quashed as the man came into view, face partially obscured by tousled brown hair—but still recognisable. His stocky body thrashed and writhed against the grip of his captors, confirming to Nines that this was real.

“Well, would you look at that?” As though further confirmation was required, Rooney grabbed a fistful of hair, pulling back and presenting Nines with the snarling visage he had hoped to never see again. “You've got a lotta fucking nerve, Reed, showing yourself ‘round here.”

Really, this could have been predicted. It wasn't so hard to believe that he would have had some involvement in this. 

There had been rumours of his re-emergence. Ascending from the gutters in order to align himself with a group of freshly rallied degenerates. Charged to a particularly repugnant beast whose name Nines made no effort to learn. 

All he knew was he was similar to DeLuca, without any of the duplicitous charm or cunning. Making enemies left, right and centre in a constant bid for more . The sort who indulged in everything to excess—be it food, drugs, or sex. Although he doubted the latter was something claimed freely; more likely bartered for.

Despite this gluttonous sphere of influence, Gavin looked frustratingly good. Healthy. As though he'd been thriving under the new regime. 

He’d gained weight since the last Nines saw him, a far cry from the skeletal bundle left beaten and bloodied in his basement. New clothes, a clean shave, coupled with a potent reek of aftershave that could be smelled from several paces back.

Amidst the rising swell of revulsion, there was curiosity. Whatever Gavin was doing to win the favour of his newfound associates, it was working. This, in turn, raised the question of what that might be. 

What exactly could warrant such preferential treatment, given the man's contemptuous reputation and lack of social delicacy—

“Eat shit and die.” 

As though to illustrate the point, Gavin swung his legs back and began kicking at Rooney's thigh, flailing and screeching like a madman. This was before he abandoned the effort in favour of an even less dignified lunge. Aiming for his forearm, attempting to sink teeth into flesh. 

As his neck arched, veins bulging from the added exertion, the marks became visible. Some were old and fading, while others were tellingly fresh—patterned in red and purple buds all across his skin.

Revelation struck hard, bringing with it a staunch clarity. It seemed the man’s newest keeper was having to do far less bartering than anticipated in satisfying his physical needs. 

As Gavin accepted he would not be able to brute force his way out of the situation, his demeanour shifted. Much less hostile, although it was clearly a farce. He was simply waiting for the right moment, biding time until a distraction emerged. 

“Good to know you dipshits still can't secure a perimeter to save your lives.” He gestured to the pronounced sea of death surrounding him, snickering cruelly. 

His attention then passed the living occupants, disdainful glare returned with matched abhorrence. It was clear just how desperately the men wished to execute their own justice. Extinguish the spite and overconfidence gleaming in his eyes.

Then focus shifted to Connor, and the sickening display intensified. Murky green turned bright in awe like a child opening presents on Christmas morning. The corners of snarling lips were all but pinned to his ears in an uncomfortably large, twisted grin. 

“Holy-fucking-shit...” He whistled softly, speaking in a slow, mocking simper. “Loving the eyepatch, Connie, very stylish.” 

It was Connor who came close to faltering first, succumbing to lethal temptation. His gun was raised, safety removed, as he trained the barrel on the man taunting him. He was unable to hold the weapon still—shaking with anger, compounded by the persistent tremors that already blighted his muscles.

Despite extensive physiotherapy, he had never fully adjusted to his new left-handed grip, nor the loss of his depth perception.

"I guess I have you to thank for it.” The words were seethed, with bitterness spat from every syllable. “Maybe I should return the favour. What do you think?” 

Gavin was less than fazed by the threat. Taut lips puckered into a kiss as he shamelessly fluttered his lashes. A man with his head on the chopping block, all but begging for the blade to drop.

“I'll pass, don't think ‘pirate�� is really my style.” The sarcastic expression morphed into a commiserate pout as he clicked his tongue in feigned sympathy. “I’d say ‘sexy pirate’, but let's be real. You look like someone was roasting a marshmallow and forgot to take it off the fire.” 

Connor tensed, his finger poised on the trigger. Twitching reflexively as it threatened to pull, shattering the man and his self-satisfaction into a thousand scattered pieces. 

Nines shared in this burgeoning bloodlust but understood allowing the man to escape so quickly would be a kindness undeserved. With tenuously held composure, he applied gentle pressure to the barrel of the pistol, angling it down. 

“Let me handle this.”

His brother looked at him, lips parted, poised on the brink of protest. The rest of the family was equally stunned, as Nines seemingly denied his sibling a golden opportunity for vengeance.

What they couldn't see were the wheels of cognition beginning to turn, spurring with them sadistic machinations. Nines offered assurance to Connor in the form of a subtle nod, a gesture he knew would be understood.

A promise that this wasn't the betrayal it appeared to be, and that the situation was under control. 

Gavin would not be permitted to slip through the cracks of his judgment a second time. He would know precisely the damning mistake he'd made in coming here. 

With the siblings distracted, at least as perceptible from the outside, the captive seized his opportunity. Vying for escape a second time, he successfully clamped down onto the taut flex of Rooney's bicep. The man howled in pain, arm reeling back, as Floyd moved instinctively to assist. 

Dropping to the floor, he swiftly clambered to his feet and sprinted across the warehouse. Pressing a hand to an overturned crate and vaulting himself over before emerging between opposing trails of wreckage.

Guns clicked in unison—an orchestra of impatience—until Nines conducted their restraint, raising his hand before bringing it down in a decisive sweep.

“Don't shoot.”

He watched carefully, observing as Gavin darted and weaved through the obstacles, his confidence mounting with each maneuver. What proceeded was inevitable, shameful in its predictability, as he craned back to mock his would-be pursuers, offering a pointed flourish of his middle finger.

Nines could feel the bemused huff pressing at his lips as he subsequently failed to notice the large metal beam entering his path. He struck it cleanly,  tumbling to the side, landing in a heap on the gnarled concrete.

His head ricocheted off the ground, snapping back unnaturally before flopping limply to its original position. The man groaned, lying sprawled and stunned, incapable of movement.

Nines closed in swiftly, making his way through the chicanes of debris until he was standing by his side. Nudging Gavin's limp form with the tip of his shoe, he mimicked the condescension of his previous tuts. 

“You know, you really ought to watch where you’re going.”

He then kicked against the sensitive junction between his shoulder and neck—hard—rendering the already debilitated man entirely tranquilised. 

By the time Gavin woke up, Nines had gone to extensive measures to ensure he wouldn’t run again. Instructing his subordinates to secure their catch with heavy-duty fastenings before transporting him to a secure location outside the city border. 

It was on a need-to-know basis where they were headed, with provisions made to ensure the captive would not secure membership to this club. 

Nines watched with clinical detachment as his senses returned. Draws of breath fluttering against the inside of a burlap sack, mingled with pained murmurs until his body seized and the fluttered movements steadily ramped in pace.

Pulling material into the heaving gape of his mouth, he struggled against the restraints. Thrashing wildly in a vain attempt to rock the chair he’d been anchored to. Cries of protest were muffled but nowhere near enough to prevent a profound auditory assault.

Nines took little note, pacing evenly around the chair—a wolf circling its prey. He relished the signs of struggle, the mounting desperation that emerged from an inability to anticipate strikes.  

Despite all the bravado and rage, every footstep was matched with a flinch. Gavin was scared—a primal fear, an innate drive for self-preservation, that was completely unavoidable.

For Nines, it was euphoric. The sense of control that came from watching him reel and squirm, with little that could be done to mask it. He paused in place, calmly removing the rope that bound the sack to his neck before tugging it away. 

Gavin's jaw was forced closed by the clawing grip of his hand, and he was left with no option but to face his captor. He glared up at him, squinting through the sudden onslaught of light as Nines cooly addressed him:

“It's been a long time.”

A grumbled response rumbled from within clenched bone and muscle, sounding indistinguishably similar to “Not long enough.”

"I was surprised when your bloated corpse didn't wash up in a river somewhere. Your father made more enemies than allies, and you've certainly never been popular.”

His chin was released, as Nines opted instead to burrow fingers into his dress shirt, rumpling the gaudy silk as he yanked him close. In the new proximity, he was rudely accosted by a heavy whiff of aftershave. 

It had been bad enough from a distance, but now, the stench was overwhelming. Nauseatingly rich, clinging to him like a second skin. Powerful citruses mingled with a sickly, cloying musk that Nines struggled to place.

“DeLuca was far from the only person who wanted you dead. I wonder what you did to convince your new ‘friend’ to offer protection.”

He already knew, just wished to hear it from Gavin's mouth. To draw the shameful confession from his lips. Ones that formed a humourless smirk as he sharply replied:

"I'm just that fucking charming.”

The grip on his collar was abandoned, gliding down silky trails of fabric before reaching Gavin's hand. With precision, he seized one of his fingers, twisting back until it was strained at an increasingly grotesque angle. His captive hissed, attempting to pull away but being stopped by the hold of his restraints.

"Tell me, how long did you last on the streets before you got down on your knees for the first man who’d have you?" 

He pulled back, further still, until the tip drew close to the knuckle. "How many times have you let him fuck you? Heaving up and down, grunting and straining to keep it hard as his disgusting body drips with sweat—”

"I don't kiss and tell.”

One of the bones reached the limit of its flexibility, snapping in two. "Was it worth it, Gavin? Losing me? Losing everything?”

The mangled digit twitched and spasmed, then stilled, as did the man attached. He gritted his teeth, clenched so tight they also threatened to shatter before they were bared in another hideous grin. 

He wouldn't be willing to succumb so easily, falter to such paltry torture. Nines would have to escalate matters if he wished to secure the desired result. 

The middle finger was clenched next, a known favourite amongst the appendages. “Answer me.”

"I don't have to answer shit.” Gavin's body shook, a combination of defiant chuckles and involuntary trembles. “What about you, Nines? You found someone else to stick it in, or is it all about the hookers these days?”

It was Nines’ turn to fall silent. His hold on the digit tensed, tightening substantially but failing to execute decisive action. 

“You ever think about me when you're pumping their guts?” Another goading flutter of lashes, as though the mockery wasn't already transparent. "Such a shame you kicked me out; we could have been so beautiful together. Had a spring wedding, settled down in the suburbs, maybe adopted some kids—" 

"Stop talking.”

"Did you ever think about it, huh? Us, having a future together?”

The carefully planned finesse of his torment was swiftly forgotten. Nines struck Gavin in the chest. A show of raw, primitive brutality. Fist propelling into ribs that broke with sickening cracks against his knuckles.

The way his skin and bones yielded obediently to the impact, moulding to the shape of his hand, felt almost intimate. This was only exacerbated by the winded gasp which passed his lips as the man buckled over. 

Because it had always been this way, hadn't it? 

It had never been about love or appreciation or even the most meagre pursuit of shared satisfaction. It had always been about control, the desire to take , claiming exactly what they wanted from one another, and omitting anything else. 

Gavin tilted his head to the side, hawking a wad of spit to the floor below. The impact had caused some form of concealed damage, evident in the slither of blood curling its way through the puddle, catching the lights above.

What followed had not been part of the plan. 

Nines had intended to bring Gavin here in order to rectify mistakes. Beat the man to the point of submission, inflicting physical torment comparable to what his brother had been forced to endure one year prior. Leave him for dead, as he’d done to Connor.  

But as Gavin looked at him—blood streaking down his chin, eyes ablaze with provocation—it triggered another, more dormant instinct. Beyond the desire for revenge. 

Because the current arrangement was familiar, starkly resemblant to the warped closeness they had once shared. It was something Nines could only go so far to remove himself from, its heavy hand having been paramount in shaping his identity. Sadistic desire, ingrained as deeply into his psyche as the need to breathe, conditioned by almost a decade of ritual.

Nines had lost his composure, strands of hair tumbling loose from neatly gelled coils. They descended his face like tangled vines. He felt equally discordant, gripped by insanity that only the monster in front of him inspired.

He didn't think, couldn't think, as he lunged for Gavin a second time. This time, capturing his waist with the bruising grip of his thighs. Grabbing his chin, he wiped away the lingering crimson with his thumb and leaned close to growl a demand against the shell of his ear. 

"I said shut your fucking mouth.”

The response came in a broken wheeze, rumbled through a shattered chest. Barely intelligible, yet maintaining a pronounced degree of obstinance. “Make me.”

Nines took this as an invitation, falling prey as he sank deep into temptation.

The kiss was crushing—bruising—not allowing for any protest. The territorial hold on Gavin’s jaw had formed into an iron lock grip, ensuring he couldn't pull away. 

Nines wanted to rip him apart. Tear to ribbons the visage of the man who had come so close to taking everything.

With each movement, he sought to channel this hatred, poised on the tip of a tongue shoved forcefully down his throat. He wanted to show Gavin just how weak he was. Remind him of all the mercies granted up until now and how they formed no indication of power or influence.

Nines had spared him because he wanted to. He was in control, having granted the man an opportunity to escape on one basic stipulation that he couldn't show the decency