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ADAM DRIVER as COMMANDER MILLS

65 | dir. Scott Beck & Bryan Woods

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Adam Driver in 65 Official Trailer (x)

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@somebadguys continued from [x]

He regards her with a gaze that is as cold and calculating as any that he'd ever allowed her to see, that serves to remind her of the validity of his threats, of his promises of what he could, what he would do to her if she failed him again. Especially, in this. She had failed him in the past, and she had suffered for it, had bled and wept for it. She bore the scars of his wrath and disappointment on her skin. She had been so broken, so splintered, when he'd found her. He had molded her, into something that was sharp, and strong, a weapon and a tool, in his hold. His power.

The grip on her throat tightened, watching, waiting. Ensuring that she would not struggle, that she knew her life was in his hands, and that she had accepted her fate, whatever it might be, and her end, whenever he might require it. He could feel her pulse racing beneath his fingers, could feel the shortened, shallow gasps. Slowly, finally, his hold loosened, and fell away.

"There is ... a woman." It's spoken callously, almost dismissively. "Someone I once knew. Someone who once served me, whose ... abilities and wit are a vital component of what I hope to achieve. But for all her skills, and talents, she lacks one very important quality. One that you have in spades, my dear." A rare delicacy, an endearment such as that. "Loyalty."

"To take her by force, now, would be... unnecessarily difficult. I need to get her away from her ..." An almost sneer. "Companions." Her lover, and his knights. "It will take someone who can be cunning, and vulnerable, who can play the victim for her to rescue, to give her the opportunity to play hero, someone that can wile their way into her trust. And her heart, and her bed, if need be." His hand draws up, playing with a strand of disheveled hair that framed her face.

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@ambitionfcrged // ❛ I would never kill you. Not in a million years. What I can do - what I will do is hurt you, worse than I did before. ❜

Goosebumps sweep over her skin. Supplicant, she's on her knees before him, prey to whatever he'd like to do. It takes great imagination to try and conjure any punishment worse than she's felt at his hands; beaten, whipped, bled, left for days on end -- what more could he possibly do?

There's not a single goddamn doubt in her mind that he would come up with something new.

"I won't fail." Fingers grip her chin, painful enough to bruise -- and it will. Nothing more than she deserves. Nothing less. Not once has she dared to avert her eyes, trained as they are on his fathomless depths. The promise of eternal suffering is etched in each line of his face, his clenched jaw, and she's not stupid enough to not feel a primal fear at the punishment he could do. His hand lowers, thumb tucked at the soft hollow under her chin, fingers tightening around her throat. Testing. Pushing. Prove it, she hears, though his mouth hasn't moved to speak.

"I swear." Breathed, gasped. "I won't fail you."

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@ambitionfcrged // ❛  i'm not done with you yet.  ❜

She whimpers, and she hates herself for it.

Blood trails down her stomach, like tears. This is a crucifixion, but she is no saint. Her fingertips, long since gone numb, flex and contract painfully, held in the chains hung over her head. A failure, a failure. He echoes the words, punctuates each condemnation with a whip.

( She got hurt. You let her get hurt. It's your fault. ) It's all she can do to shoulder the blame, etching the burden into her bones. He doesn't offer her salvation. Every crack of leather on skin reminds her that she's not worthy of it. What was she, if not a tool for his use? What was her purpose, her worth, if she couldn't manage to protect one girl? Those wounds should have been writ on her skin. Rosalie was precious -- irreplacable. But she? She was simply the one meant to jump in front of the gun and take the hit.

"I'm sorry." Her voice barely breaks out past the tightness of a throat done long dry. How long has he kept her for? (No, don't think that -- don't think about anything. Don't wonder the day or time.) "Please," she breathes, and her voice breaks. Trails of tears roll through dust stained cheeks. "Please. Let me -- let me make it up to you. I promise," a sob, half caught in her chest, "I won't let you down again."

And even as she prays for redemption, Wren knows she isn't worthy of it.

[ambitionfcrged]

Mr. Robot Rewatch: ↳  eps1.0_ hellofriend.mov

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ADAM DRIVER as MILLS               Every ADAM DRIVER scene from 65 (2023)| Part 83

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@William:

sometimes you have to pretend to be someone else to get what you want.

❝ Dunno, guess that depends on what you want. ❞ Never, not once, had he found himself in a situation where he had to pretend to be someone else to get what he wanted.. then again, he didn't want very much. Good drugs, safe food, money, his freedom and sex: that's all he wanted. ( What more could he possibly need? Nothing, as far as he could tell. )

❝ — What're you after, huh? What's so hard for you to obtain that you've gotta bullshit people to get it?? ❞

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✨arms ✨

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In the decades that he had served the many headed Serpent, he had never found anyone else quite like him -- and no, Mikhail was not ... exactly like him. It was his sister that had first drawn the group's attention. Mikhail had been, initially, little more than a pawn, a source of motivation to obtain Mikkah's loyalty. When the first explosion of lightning had erupted from Mikhail during one of the other agent's interrogation sessions, it had been a surprise to them all. Since then, William had taken an especial interest in the boy. The rage that fueled the Russian was seemingly limitless, and it was always a unique challenge to see how far siblings, especially twins, would go to protect the other. It was a rarity for both to remain so loyal to one another for so long.

By now, at least one of a pairing would have grown tired of suffering on behalf of the other. The training sessions with Mikhail were always guaranteed to be entertaining... and there was a malicious satisfaction in knowing that whatever wounds Mikhail inflected on William would be taken from him by Mikkah. He wondered how much longer it would take for the boy to put those facts together.

A casual, almost confused glance at Mikhail's sudden exhale, a faint stiffening of his jaw and shoulders as the other practically lurched towards him, but he made no move to signal the guards observing the room to interfere. He wanted to see how this would play out. "What, this?" His fingers closed over Mikhail's, digging in between clenched grasp to attempt to pry his hold loose of the necklace. "It was a gift, from a friend of mine actually, which, in point of fact, does make it mine -- and I would greatly appreciate you removing your hand from it before I do."

INDULGENT TROPES MEME // accepting

@ambitionfcrged: one muse wears piece of clothing or jewelry that belongs to the other - okay but hear me out; William coming in for training sessions one day in the early years, and at some point Mikhail notices he’s wearing the cross necklace their parents gave Mikkah when she was a little girl, one she always wore ? I know it’s specific it’s just what instantly sprang to mind

Just like every morning, two armed guards led him through the maze of hallways to one of the many training rooms, slamming the door behind him. It seemed William was to be his trainer today. He was one of the more sadistic ones, he seemed to truly derive pleasure in beating Mikhail down. Often Mikhail would spend the nights after these training sessions barely able to move as he healed from injuries William joyously inflicted on him. The slight silver lining in all of it was that during these sessions Mikhail could fully give into his anger, let out the rage and hatred, and try and give as good as he got. It wasn’t completely lost on him that this was most likely something they wanted him to do.

A glint of gold around William's neck caught his eye. It struck him as odd for the man to be wearing any sort of jewelry during training. A closer look knocked the breath out of him as if he had been struck in the chest. He recognized that charm. A small golden cross, something so innocuous, but he knew it. How many times had he seen that same necklace around his sister's neck? More than he could remember. To see it now worn by this cruel monster made his blood run cold. He was suddenly all too aware of how long it had been since he had last seen Mikkah.

Mikhail closed the space between them in a few quick strides. He grasped the delicate charm in his fist, moments away from tearing it from the man's throat. “Why do you have this? It doesn’t belong to you.”

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Soft Saturday 😌

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@somebadguys

Katheryn Winnick & Adam Driver 245x135

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ADAM DRIVER as MILLS               Every ADAM DRIVER scene from 65 (2023)| Part 85

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@draconisa sent a meme.

{ thrill } : for our muses to have sex somewhere public with the risk of being caught

He has been the living embodiment of polite and well mannered for the entirety of the night spent in the hotel ballroom. Small talk, as grating as it was, compliments and casual conversation, the lies and the flattery dispensed with patience and easy charm. He'd played the part. He'd led her on the dance floor, he'd held her arm on the crook of his elbow. He'd held her drink, her purse, her plate.

He'd patiently ignored the accidental brushes. The way her body nuzzled into his when she stood in front of him. The way her fingers waltzed along the inner edge of his thighs beneath the table. He'd behaved, because it had behooved him to. He had a reputation to uphold, a facade to present to the masses.

He'd bided his time. His hand on her elbow, leading her, at long last, away from the dance floor, to gather her wrap, a hand at the small of her back to nudge her out of the way of others heading towards the front exit of the hotel.

His hand tightens, digging into the curve of her waist, a sharp tug, almost sweeping her off her feet into the (currently) unused bellhop's alcove, the heavy red curtain tugged back into place behind them. His lips are on hers in mere seconds, one hand curling around her throat, digging into collarbone and shoulder in one strong grip, the other catching her thigh to pull her close even as his weight shifts forward, pinning her between the wall and his hips.

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@rubiesintherough / amara sent a meme.

[tease] : sender’s muse purposely teases receiver’s by touching / kissing them

One of the many perks of owning his own bar was that after closing time, there wasn't anyone who could stop him from serving himself drinks, or entertaining his special guests for as long as he so chose. With arms sprawled out over the back of the booth, and more than halfa bottle of alcohol gone between them, he was more than a little warm and fuzzy ... and the way her body felt straddling his? That was just an added bonus, even with the unfortunate fact that they both seemed to be wearing most of their layers of clothes. A glass of amber liquid rested on the back of the booth, held by a just too tight to be casual grip as he watched her through half closed lashes, the precise controlled rhythm of his breath as much of a tell as the bulge that pressed against her as to what effect her idle kisses against his throat and jaw were having on him. "Is that the best you can do?" A casual taunt, the glass drawn to his lips to let him savor a swallow of the liquid that was almost, but not quite, as old as he was.