#expungement preparation

[uncontesteddocuments]

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[morganbritton132]

Adding onto Steve's crime spree from this (and this and this)

Eddie has determined that he's not asking the right questions in life.

Is he questioning the man? Yes. Every day.

Is he asking Wayne for help when his van shits the bed on Thursday? No. When his van is still unusable come Saturday, did he ask his friends if he could catch a ride to band practice? No.

Did he ask if he could get a ride home? Also no.

It's raining and Eddie regrets his life choices so hard, he doesn't notice the Porsche 928 until it blows through the crosswalk he was about to step onto. He's hit with a tidal wave of frigid early November street water because, of course, he is.

"Fuck's sake," Eddie swore, pushing his wet hair out of his face. In his perphery, the Porche slams on its breaks and rolls back into the crosswalk beside him, but he barely notices. Talking to the driver, the world, or god, Eddie does not know when he rants, "Thanks! Thanks for that, I really need pnumonia. Thanks for bestowing-"

"Sorry, man," Steve says, an apologetic wince sticking out of the open window of the Porche. "Wanna ride? I can take you where you're going."

Eddie looks at the car, then at Steve, and then back at the car and signs, "...Fine, but only because this car is beautiful and not to expunge your guilt."

"Dude, I don't think a sponge is going to help."

Eddie rolls his eyes but sticks his guitar in the trunk before sliding into the passenger seat. He has to physically stop himself from touching everything. He's never even seen a Porche before, wow.

Steve's in the driver's seat looking like he's dying for Eddie to ask about the car so he can talk about it. Honestly, Eddie wants to ask about the car. He probably should have asked about the car but instead, he shakes the water out of his hair like a dog as payback.

"C'mon, man," Steve complains, wiping the water off his face. "Watch the leather."

Eddie gives him directions and then bites the bullet. He asks the wrong question, "You trade in the Beamer?"

"No way. That's my baby," He says. "I'm just borrowing this lady."

The conversation is actually nice. None of Eddie's friends know anything about cars but Steve seems to know a lot. He can almost forgive the guy for being a jock and the psychological warfare he's bestowed onto Eddie's brain the past week and a half, but then-

“It sounds like - shit," Eddie says, echoing the same sentiment as Steve at the sight of flashing red and blue lights in the rear view. A question he should've been asking all along occurs to him, "Did you steal this car?"

Steve gives him an annoyed look and then rolls down his window, smiling that All-American smile, "Heya, Hop. Didn't think you were working today."

"This car was reported stolen."

Eddie swears, sinking into the leather with the hopes that it eats him. Steve doesn't even hesitate, "Let me guess, Mrs. Woolledge? Crazy she knows what all her neighbors are doing but not that her kid's on dope."

Hopper doesn't say anything and the silence is loud so Steve adds, "It's not stolen. It's my dad's car. I have permission."

"From your dad?" Hopper asks, getting an annoyed nod from Steve. "Same dad that's out of town?"

"Well, Hop. There's this thing called a phone."

"You get that MRI...right? Throw the keys out the window," Hopper says. Eddie's mentally preparing on how he's going to explain this to Wayne when he calls from jail. Steve protests. Hopper demands, "Throw. The keys. Out. The. Window. Now."

Steve seems to realize that he's pushing his luck because he does just that. He even gets out of the car when Hopper tells him to. Hopper tells him to get in his truck and Steve straight up lies, "Hop, I'm taking my friend home. We're working on a school project together. At his house.”

Eddie curses Steve's entire bloodline from start to finish when Hopper lookings directly at him still in the car, "That true?"

Say no. Say you don't know him. Say you know nothing. Say anything but, "Yes."

"What subject?'

"History," Steve says at the same time Eddie says 'Art' and then rolls his eyes, "Art history, yeah?"

Hopper nods like he thinks they're full of shit and then tells them both to get in his truck.

Steve protests but more about leaving the car on the street than anything else while Eddie briefly thinks about the psychic his mom used to know. He wonders if she could curse someone for real. Maybe he can call her from jail.

He's fully ready to see the police station that he fails to realize where Hopper's going until they’re in Forest Hills. He turns and looks at both of them and says, "I'd like to know what grade you get on this project."

"Aye, aye, Captain," Steve says with a salute, pulling Eddie out of the car. Once they're inside, Steve peaks out the blinds like, "Yeah, he'll sit there for a while. He thinks I'm lying. Wanna smoke?"

Eddie is baffled, "No."

"Okay," Steve shrugs and flops down on the couch. He pulls a set of keys out of his pocket and adds, "Spare key. We just gotta wait until he's gone and can circle back for your guitar."

The only thing Eddie can think is, “what the fuck” and he doesn’t even know which part he’s talking about.

[brokenmenswhore]

betrothals & brothels | aegon, aemond, & jace

part 2

pairings: aegon targaryen x stark fem!reader, aemond targaryen x stark fem!reader, jacaerys velaryon x stark fem!reader

series summary: aemond targaryen tells the realm that you, the lady of house stark, are to wed him and secure a partnership in the north. in protest, you agree to marry jacaerys velaryon, affirming the north’s allegiance to rhaenyra. when the news hits king’s landing, aegon decides it’s better to have you under his watchful eye until the political partnership is solidified, but doesn’t realize you have a life away from your duty as a stark

chapter warnings: slightly violent aegon?, angst (from jace & aegon)

a/n: thank you for the ridiculous amount of support on part 1??? i think it’s my best stuff yet so thank you sm. a few people have commented/dm’d to be added to a taglist, so let me know if you’re interested in that!

series masterlist

────── ☾ ──────

It was three days of solitude before anyone had visited your chambers. Guards stood outside your door day and night, ensuring you remained in place, and the window was much too high to jump without injury, potentially death.

The door had only opened for a particularly selected group of handmaidens who were tasked with bringing you meals and libations. You stared at the fireplace, not even bothering to turn your head when you heard the familiar noise like clockwork.

“We are to begin wedding preparations in the morrow,” Aemond spoke.

The voice was unexpected. You shifted in your chair until you were twisted enough to see him. He had left you in here for three days, alone, bored, and for what? You had tried everything to find a way to escape, but every inch of your chamber’s portion of the Red Keep was watched constantly, and there was not much in the room with you.

“You bore me,” you hissed, “even after three days with no one speak to, you manage to find a way to expunge any chance of titillating conversation with one single line.”

Aemond sighed and bowed his head, his hands clasped behind his back. “I ask you to please make this less difficult, My Lady.”

“You do not have the right to call me My Lady,” you said, standing up and walking over to him, “you have imprisoned me. You seem too noble to do such a thing to someone you think a lady.”

Aemond’s nostrils flared in frustration. A portion of his hair fell from behind his ear, landing in front of his face as he dipped his head even further. “My apologies.”

You did not expect him to say such a thing. “You think yourself sorry?” you asked.

“Despite your preconceived notions,” Aemond started, lifting his head back up to look at you, “I do not wish to offend you.”

Without wasting a single second, you responded, “then allow me to take leave from this room.”

“No.”

“And why not?” you protested.

“Please, Miss Stark, do not make this more difficult than is necessary.” He was growing tired of your quick wit and temperament. He did not think you would be such work.

You scoffed. “My most impactful talent is making everything more difficult than necessary, My Prince. Tell me what I have to do to persuade you to let me out of this room.”

“I am under strict orders from The King to ensure you maintain your position,” he told you.

“I thought the fearsome Aemond Targaryen would not allow his manhood to be squandered by his own brother,” you said, “but I see I was mistaken.”

“Despite your attempt to poison me against him, he is my brother, and he is the King. I will remain loyal to his cause.”

“As your wife, I would hope you remain loyal to me.”

“You are not my wife yet.”

“So do not force me to be,” you said, ending the conversation and walking back to the fireplace, taking your all-too-familiar seat.

“You give up too easy, Miss Stark,” Aemond spoke, clearly unsatisfied with the conclusion to your conversation.

“I do not give up, My Prince,” you responded, “I am simply tired of the sound of your voice.”

Aemond sighed. He understood why you were so cold toward him- he had begun to burn your home, he had forced your hand in a betrothal orchestrated by his brother, and now you were secluded to guest chambers for three days with no explanation.

“My brother fears for your safety, if you were to take your leave and wander the Keep,” Aemond spoke after a moment.

You laughed. You laughed so ridiculously audibly that Aemond did not have to question if it was genuine. “You expect me to believe that The King has any concerns for my safety? I am in here because he fears me, that much I know. I only wish to know when he intends to let me out. I cannot be quarantined forever.”

“What is it you wish to do with all this freedom you so dearly wish for, hm? You wish to wed your bastard prince?” Aemond retorted, beginning to grow annoyed with your constant protestations.

“And how would I return to Winterfell, or even travel to Dragonstone? I do not ride dragons, Aemond. I cannot sail, I cannot ride horseback- I was never taught to do anything but run. I cannot run all the way back to Winterfell. What do you think me capable of if you let me out? You think me capable of returning home? If it is such, you are not as intelligent as you portray yourself.”

“You cannot ride horseback?”

You were growing angrier and angrier. “That is the portion of my statement that you clung to?”

Aemond felt bad. He did not realize you were never taught things that he assumed were basic- he realized he did not know much about your upbringing. He knew that you and your brother were the Lord and Lady of Winterfell, which means your father must have passed away when you were young, and it seemed as if the man had sheltered you from learning. He sympathized with why you seemed to eager to leave your room.

“I will only let you out with your agreement to an escort,” Aemond spoke, holding his head up high and returning to a proper, formal stance.

“I do not wish to be babysat.”

“You do not have a choice.”

“And who is to escort me?” you asked, “yourself? The King? Will that allow him to keep an even closer eye on my whereabouts? Was locking me in a room and ensuring I cannot leave not enough?”

“I will escort you myself until I know you can be trusted,” Aemond responded.

“I assure you I cannot be.”

“Must you be so combative?”

You shrugged your shoulders casually. “If you think me combative now, a marriage between us would kill you.”

Aemond remained stoic, attempting to calm your temper down with his gentle demeanor. “Where do you wish to go?”

“I wish for you to take me to the Street of Silk.”

Aemond was completely bewildered. That was perhaps the last place he anticipated- what could you possibly want there?

“I will take you no such place.”

“You agreed to let me out on the only condition of an escort just moments ago,” you fought, “you cannot retract your word, unless your cock is truly as small as they say it is.” It was a low blow, but you were eager and annoyed, and you simply wanted out. You didn’t care if you had to bruise Aemond’s ego to get what you wanted.

“What do you need in the Street of Silk?” he questioned, refusing to drop the subject.

“It is no business of yours.”

Aemond contemplated his options, an idea popping into his brain. “If I do this, you will agree to acknowledge our betrothal and renounce your betrothal to my nephew.”

“Then you will allow me to inform him via raven myself. And you will not intrude on the contents of my writings.”

“You truly believe yourself to be in a position of negotiation?”

“And you will not intrude on the contents of my writings,” you repeated, drawing his attention back to responding to you.

You exchanged an intense glance, searching each other’s eyes for any signs of weakness that the other could exploit. You stood your ground, just as he stood his.

“It is too risky to allow you access to ravens without allowing anyone to read what you intend to send,” Aemond tried to level with you.

You stood up to him, getting directly in his face. “You will not intrude on the contents of my writings, or you will have to drag me down the aisle, kicking and screaming.”

“You negotiate quite a lot for someone I could easily leave in here to rot,” Aemond fought back.

“I will not beg you, Aemond,” you warned, “but I will ask you to please accept the terms of this deal.”

“Okay,” Aemond finalized, “we have a deal.”

“Then we best get going,” you said, stepping aside and walking away, not bothering to turn around to check that he was following you. The moment you were out of the room, you did not need him, and you did not care if he truly accompanied you. You knew he would, and he did, swiftly catching up to you and walking directly beside you. You desperately wanted to remain in control of the situation, but you were unsure of your current whereabouts, and you did not know your way around.

You and Aemond did not speak. He escorted you out of the Red Keep and through the streets of King’s Landing, denying any guards who attempted to remain by either of your sides. He did not need to clarify when you had arrived at your desired destination, for the sudden abundance of moaning, cups, and nakedness alerted you as such.

“You may tend to your business now,” Aemond said.

“I thought you were hellbent on sticking by my side?” you said, more a question than a statement.

“I must attend to my own personal business,” he told you, “if I am not to inquire upon yours, I should hope you will extend me the same courtesy.”

You nodded your head slightly, but enough for Aemond to notice. “Who is to say that I will not run the second I am out of your sight?”

“Do you wish to be here or not?” Aemond snapped, “meet me back here by dawn, lest you risk not only my brother being alerted of your empty chambers, but your freedom ceased entirely.”

“Fine,” you replied, “go on, then.”

Aemond gave you a nod, turning away from you and entering a brothel a few doors down, walking through the street as if the path to the specific place was second nature. You looked around, attempting to decide on a building, when you realized you could have just followed Aemond.

When you entered the whorehouse, you were taken aback by how different it was from that of Winterfell. There were seldom any candles, the rooms remaining dimly lit. A woman sat behind a bar, tending to the cups of the men who were not exploring their own pleasure. You approached the bar with confidence, seating yourself.

“Rare I see a lady who doesn’t work for me in here,” the woman spoke, “what will you have?”

“Employment, if possible,” you answered, “under certain terms, of course.”

The woman chuckled. “And what makes you worthy of employment?”

You looked around the vicinity, ensuring that no one around could hear your next words as you leaned over the bar. “Give me 10 minutes with any of your most valued customers, and I guarantee you they will speak well on my behalf.”

The woman smiled. “You got a name?”

“Not when I am here.”

“I don’t do none of that,” she responded, “even if my customers don’t, I am to know the names of those I employ.”

You leaned even further over the bar, lowering your voice to an almost-whisper. “I am a Stark, ma’am. That makes my cunt worth more than anyone in here put together.” You didn’t mean the words, not believing in placing a value on women, but you knew it would strike a chord with her.

She looked at you in admiration and confusion. “What would a Stark be doing in King’s Landing, asking the likes of me for employment?”

“That is her business alone,” you replied, “but she is here, and she is ready to work.”

Her smile widened, her expression changing from uncertainty and skepticism to acceptance. “I’ve been looking for a headstrong girl like you,” she told you, “what are the terms you speak of?”

“I wish for you to be the only one who knows my true name. I do not wish to be a Stark when I am here,” you began, “and I intend to only satisfy the clients who not only satisfy my desires in return, but who do not question me on my house. If one may recognize me, I wish for you to keep them from me.”

“Ah, you want selective clientele?” she clarified, “I only do that in special cases. Some of these girls have been here for ages without such a privilege. If you fuck in my whorehouse, you fuck under my rules.”

“I will give you larger portion of my earnings than your other girls do, should it ensure that my ‘selective clientele’ remain truly selective,” you bargained.

“You would be willing to do such things?” she asked.

“I come to you for employment for myself, not for the coin,” you assured her.

She looked you up and down, top to bottom, assessing every part of your body. “You have yourself a deal.”

She reached her hand over the bar, allowing you meet her hand with your own as you shook briefly, a gesture finalizing the terms of your employment.

✶

Jacaerys,

I am sure my brother has made you aware of the events in Winterfell. Your uncle threatened to burn my home, and when he proved good on his word, I had no choice but to appease him.

I am not sure what news you will receive in Dragonstone, but Aemond and I have come to an agreement that I will renounce our betrothal and acknowledge a betrothal to him. It is imperative that he believe me good on my word.

I wish for you to know that my words hold no true meaning. I will discover an escape from your uncle, and I intend to return home to wed you. I hope you will still have me. Please do not believe any word that is not mine.

You sent the raven first thing in the morning, Aemond assuring you could trust his word that he would not read or alter its contents. Something about the way he carried himself had you believing him, despite your better judgement.

Jacaerys was furious when he received the letter, storming off to the council room to confront his mother.

“They have kidnapped her!” he yelled, slamming his fist on the table as soon as he approached it, “they have kidnapped my betrothed and intend to force her hand to Aemond. Should we not act?”

His mother sighed. “We cannot afford to act on such a minute thing.”

Jace looked at her in confusion, turning to scan the faces of everyone else present, growing even more confused when they met him with pitiful stares. “How is this minute? I am your heir, and this is my betrothed they are exploiting. This is your future queen!”

“When dragons fight, everything burns,” Rhaenyra spoke, tone never breaking, “we cannot risk such a catastrophe over someone who is not even a Targaryen.”

Jace was livid, his face turning red with anger. “If we allow them to do this, we lose our allies in the North.”

“We do not need them, should Daemon be successful in his ventures in Harrenhaal.”

“How could you possibly be so blind?” Jace asked, no longer holding back, “we need the North, mother. I cannot fathom how you could disregard my future bride in this way.”

Rhaenyra sighed, “should Lady Stark wed Aemond, you may marry Baela, Jacaerys. ‘Tis not the end of the world.”

Jacaerys realized that it was impossible to win this argument. He slammed his fists on the table once more before storming off to his chambers, dropping onto a chair and placing his head in his hands.

He missed you. It was almost the date you two were to wed, and he was growing affectionate toward you, as you were with him. He was thrilled to receive correspondence from you, but the contents of the letter only added to his misery. He understood the position you were in, and he appreciated that you had no true intentions of wedding anyone but him, but he knew his uncle. If Aemond wanted her, and she was with him, Aemond would find a way to take her.

He was worried for you. He knew exactly who his uncle Aegon was, and though you could take care of yourself, you never had to do as such around Aegon. Aegon was forceful and cruel, and Jacaerys feared for what he may do to you because you could take care of yourself. Aegon did not take well to women who did not succumb to his will.

“Jace?” Rhaena said, opening the doors to his chambers slowly, afraid to overstep and upset him further.

“Rhaena, hey,” Jace said, sniffling and wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve, “what is it?”

“Are you okay?” Rhaena asked, approaching the fireplace and taking the seat next to him.

Jacaerys controlled his breathing, forcing himself to cease crying. “I am just frustrated is all.”

Rhaena gave Jace a pitiful smile. “You quite fancy her, this Miss Stark?”

Jacaerys let out a small chuckle. “Yes, I believe I quite do.”

“If she is all you speak that she is, she will be just fine,” Rhaena assured him, “if she can handle Aemond, she can handle anyone.”

“It is not Aemond I worry of.”

Rhaena sighed. Aemond was noble and his first priority was duty. He remained loyal to those he believed worthy of his loyalty, and despite how cruel he could be with a blade or with Vhagar, he would never hurt anyone for his own enjoyment. Aegon, on the other hand, spilled blood for the hell of it, and had nothing and no one who could calm him down when his fuse blew. He was ruthless, mean, and as king, he was capable of taking whatever he wanted, and burning anything he didn’t.

“I cannot see why Aegon would have any reason to bother her. They have taken her there for Aemond, after all.”

“Have you forgotten who Aegon is?” Jacaerys said, tears threatening to spill again, “he does not do well with those who do not show him favor. I fear for her safety.”

“She will return to you, Jacaerys, she wrote it so herself,” Rhaena said, attempting to remind Jacaerys of her written promises in an effort to calm him down.

Jacaerys took hold of Rhaena’s hand, showing his friend appreciation for her council, as his breathing calmed down and he watched the fire dance.

✶

“You let her send a raven to Dragonstone?” Aegon questioned, turning to Aemond in a fury, “tell me you read it, brother. Tell me you did not allow her to perpetuate this war by promising herself to Jacaerys again. Tell me you were not so stupid.”

“We have come to an understanding,” Aemond tried to explain, “and access to one raven was part of such.”

“You idiot,” Aegon sighed, walking away from his brother and pouring himself a drink.

“She remains here, with us. I do not see the issue. Regardless of her writings, our nephew does not have the confidence to dare try to enter King’s Landing. She has given me her word that she will acknowledge our betrothal.”

Aegon lifted his head up, cup in hand, as he turned back to Aemond. He lifted the cup toward Aemond’s chest, a finger pointed out, asking, “where were you last night, dear brother?”

“I know not of what you ask of me,” Aemond responded.

“You see,” Aegon started, taking a sip from his cup, “one of the large perks of being King, is that I may employ who I choose in such positions such as the King’s Guard. Quite nice having friends around, really. Only, just this morn, I was informed that you had not only visited our captive, but you let her out until sunrise.”

“That is quite the story,” is all Aemond said, monotone, his facial expressions remaining stoic so as not to give anything away.

“What reason would my King’s Guard have to lie?”

Aemond stepped closer to his brother. He would have been in Aegon’s face if they were the same height, but instead, he looked down upon his brother. “That is a question for them, brother. I know not of what lies they tell you.”

Aegon nodded. He always praised his brother for his loyalty to the crown, and to his family, and Aegon was almost incapable of believing that Aemond would ever betray his trust, especially if only based on the word of his friends.

“I wish to speak to her,” Aegon said, returning to a casual state, “will you inform her as such?”

Aemond nodded. “I will return shortly with her.”

Aemond went directly to your chambers, swinging the door open with carelessness to whatever your current state may be. Luckily enough for you, you were simply watching the fire.

“The King requests an audience with you.”

“He knows about the raven, does he?”

“Please, Miss Stark, I am here to accompany you to the throne room.”

You sighed, “I do not wish to go to the throne room.”

“He is the King,” Aemond reminded you, “you do not have a choice.”

“I always have a choice,” you responded, “I refuse to live without one. If your brother wishes to speak with me, he may either come to me himself, or he may let me out of this dreadful apartment permanently. You may tell him as much.”

Aemond did not try to convince you to accompany him- he knew you well enough to know it would be useless. He walked back to the throne room, alone, much to his brother’s dismay.

Aegon did not speak, but threw his hands up in exasperation. “She refuses to come,” Aemond spoke plainly.

“Tell her she does not have a choice.”

“I did,” Aemond began, “but she refuses to not have a choice. She says you may go to her if you wish to speak to her.”

“She did, did she?” Aegon said, amused and frustrated. “Very well, then.”

Aegon stood from the throne, walking past Aemond as he moved toward your chambers, Aemond close behind him.

He also had no regard to knock or announce his arrival, swinging the door open. “Stubborn little thing, aren’t you?”

“What do you want?” you asked, standing and facing him.

“Well, for starters, I want you address your King properly.”

You did not speak. You did not move. You simply just stared at him, unwavering in your stubbornness.

“Leave us, Aemond,” Aegon commanded. Aemond wanted to protest, but he looked into Aegon’s eyes, and knew it would be in everyone’s best interest to depart.

You folded your arms across your chest as you stared at him, refusing to speak to him until he made conversation worthwhile.

“My guards tell me you had quite the escapade last night with my brother,” he said.

“How am I to have ‘had quite the escapade’ when you quarantine me to this cell?”

“Aemond let you free, did he not?”

You scoffed. “Aemond is holding me prisoner just as much as you are.”

“Now, what did I do to deserve such combative spite from you?” he teased, “is this room alone not nicer than the entire kingdom of Winterfell?”

“Winterfell is my home, and you instructed your brother to burn it down if I did not accompany him back here,” you reminded him, “you are a coward. If you want an allegiance with the North, are you not capable of orchestrating such a thing yourself?”

Aegon tsked, stepping closer to you, “but you’re so much more fun.”

“Let me out of this room.”

“No.”

“Let me out of this room, Aegon.”

Aegon swiped his arm across the drinks table, knocking everything to the ground with a dramatic clash, glass breaking and shooting across the floor.

“Address me by my title!” he bellowed.

“You are but a whiny little baby,” you spoke, no sense of fear in your voice whatsoever.

Aegon took a deep breath, unable to hold back his rage. “Don’t you dare speak to me like this. I could have you hanged.”

“Hanging would be great relief from this conversation.”

Aegon was growing more and more furious by the second. He got in your face, spitting, “you are nothing. You are simply just a pawn in my game. I pity my brother for having to put up with you.”

“As you should,” you replied, “so long as you hold me hostage, I shall make you pity your own existence.”

Aegon’s face was turning red, his breathing quickening in anger the more you spoke. His fingers were curling and uncurling into fists, completely unsure of what could be an outlet for all this rage. He was mad, mostly at your stubbornness, but he did not want to seem irrational.

One of his hands moved upwards to grip your throat, pushing you back against a wall and holding your neck in place.

He kept his face close to yours for a moment, the hand around your throat squeezing enough to hold you in place, but not enough to obstruct your breathing entirely. “I’m going to make your life hell.”

“My life is already hell,” you spat back, breathing the best you could, “I am forced to spend it with the likes of you and your family.”

Aegon searched your eyes for any sense of fear or worry, but he found none. You were more stubborn than he realized, refusing to allow him any true control over you. Even with a hand around your throat, and his body pressed to yours, you refused to show any signs of weakness.

“I could make you a whore, you know,” he nearly whispered, “you think yourself so strong? What will you do when I have you trapped beneath me, using you for my own pleasure? Will you be so headstrong then?”

You did not dignify his words with a response. You, instead, decided to add insult to injury, spitting in his face. His hand immediately left your throat as he used his shirtsleeve to wipe off your spit from his face, taking a moment to process what just happened before his rage grew even more.

“That was a mistake,” he spoke, low.

“Kidnapping me was the mistake, Your Grace,” forcing evident sarcasm on your last two words so that Aegon knew you did not mean them. You were patronizing him.

“I’ll have you thrown in the dungeon with the rest of the scum.”

“I am already imprisoned, I do not care if you decide to change the scenery.”

Aegon was more frustrated than ever. He could not seem to find an insult that would strike a chord with you. He did not know how to weaken you, and that killed him.

“I’ll fuck you into submission like the whore they say you are,” Aegon hissed.

“If I am the whore they say I am, I dare say myself capable of fucking you into submission should you try anything, and then you would only be weaker.”

Aegon screamed. He didn’t scream a word or a threat, but a genuine outlet of frustration and pent up anger, before commanding, “bend the knee and renounce the False Queen. Now.”

“No.”

“Get. On. Your. Knees.”

“No.”

You did not think Aegon capable of surprising you, but in the next moments, he did just that. His rage was overtaking him, causing him to lose control over his emotions as they heightened and heightened, and he began to cry. His tone remained angry, his face still red hot, but tears began to fall.

“Renounce Rhaenyra,” he pleaded.

“No,” you maintained.

He was having trouble catching his breath, but you remained still, an immovable object he could not knock down. He began to take in sharp, quick breaths as he tried to calm himself down, but he was unable. He plopped down on one of the fireplace chairs, unable to remain standing, for he felt like he could not breathe. He was crying so hard he was nearly dry heaving from the intensity.

“Stop,” you said, trying to keep your voice strong, “this will not wear me down, Aegon, stop.”

He did not turn to you. He could not respond or even think about speaking. He continued to break down in the chair, his mask of strength slipping away, and he could do nothing to stop it, his emotions completely intruding in on and overwhelming his senses.

“Aegon, relax.” You did not want to comfort him. You loathed him. The longer he was in hysterics, the more you realized it was not a game, but you desperately tried to stop yourself from being kind to him in any way. After all, he had not been kind to you whatsoever.

“I- I can’t breathe,” he stuttered out, panic setting into his features. His heart rate was rapid, and his body was becoming weaker and weaker as his heart and his mind raced.

“Yes, you can,” you said, breaking your strength a bit, “focus on calming your breathing down.”

“C- can’t,” he coughed out.

You took a deep breath, knowing you would regret assisting him in any way once he was okay again, but you kneeled in front of him anyway, taking his hands in yours. “Focus on calming your breathing down,” you repeated, meeting his eyes with your own.

His eyes were red and swollen, his entire face wet from the tears and the panic attack. His cheeks were still rosy, having never calmed down from when his hand was around your throat. He looked somewhat beautiful.

Aegon looked at you, staring into your eyes as he tried to catch his breath, watching as you exaggerated your breathing in-and-outs as a model for him to follow. He stayed focused on your breathing, matching his own pace with yours, until he was calmed down, able to breath again, no longer hysterically crying.

When you noticed he had returned, you immediately went to pull your hands away, but he gripped your wrists before you could do so.

He sniffled, all of his strength completely gone, as his broken voice spoke, “thank you.”

You nodded at him, your stubbornness still present, refusing to give him a small smile or speak.

You went to stand and walk away from him, but his grip on your wrists only tightened.

“Let me go, Aegon,” you said.

He didn’t respond, he simply pulled you back toward him until you were standing in front of his seated figure. In a split second, so as not to allow you room to leave, he removed his hands from your wrists and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his head to your stomach as he hugged himself into your body.

You wanted to make a comment about him being weak rather than strong, about how you hated him, about how he owed you leave from your apartment, but words escaped you. In the moment, Aegon was not the cruel, bloodthirsty usurper, but a lonely, scared little boy who was clinging onto the one thing that was currently bringing him comfort.

He stayed in place for a few minutes, enjoying the warmth of your body and the comfort of the hug. After several moments, he opened his eyes and pulled away from you, shooting up to stand. You exchanged a glance, but he did not speak, he simply exited the room, leaving you alone and imprisoned once again.

────── ☾ ──────

taglist: @torchbearerkyle @dracaryxzs @hangmanscoming

[jewreallythinkthat]

I'm gonna be super clear. If I see you in the jumblr tag and you are not Jewish, and you post anything even slightly inappropriate or aggressive or trying to shame Jews, it's an instant block. I'm not engaging, I'm not giving you the oxygen of publicity. I will expunge you from my Tumblr dashboard and never think about you again. The jumblr tag is not for you.

(on a side note, if you're not Jewish and have genuine questions about Judaism, antisemitism, anything associated with Jewishness that you want to ask, there are plenty of us in the tag happy to answer. I will say though that you need to be prepared to be called out on language you use even if not intentionally. It's possible to criticise people and help them learn without it being a personal attack)

[bluebayousblog]

RUMOR HAS IT (pt. 16)

(Drew Starkey one-shot)

Plot: in which drew and isobel address a false rumor in the most abstract of ways

Setting: Christmas Eve

Disclaimer: Isobel is an OC, 18+

TABLE OF CONTENTS:

PART FIFTEEN

Christmas Eve called for an illustrious dinner prepared by Catherine Starkey and Lora Cooper, so the two women had both went off to the kitchen. And Richard and Charles snuck off to the balcony to smoke cigars while their wives were preoccupied, too busy to scold them about the nasty habit. This left Isobel awkwardly still sitting on the floor from the intense game of spades everyone had been playing while Drew and Chandler sat on the sofa across from her in silence.

It was so excruciatingly awkward but no one moved to get up or leave the suffocating quietness. Isobel just pretended she wasn’t stealing glances at Drew whenever he wasn’t discreetly attempting to do the same. He was better at it, the sly looks, but she felt him—everything about him. The short glances, his presence, all the words she hadn’t allowed him to say to her last night and the ones he wanted to express because of it.

The thought of the mess she’d made of their relationship made her entire body cringe as she tried to expunge the negative thoughts from penetrating her mind. The thoughts telling her that he would never want to speak to her again, that he would never be able to look at her like he did before, that things would never be the same. And Isobel wasn’t sure what point in their friendship she would want to revert back to because as disorienting as their feelings for each other made everything she’s not sure she would ever want to be just friends with Drew again—or if it was even possible.

Her manicured nails scratched across her palms for some sort of distraction and looked over to Chandler. She hoped that he couldn’t sense the tension between her and his brother, but to her relief he seemed to be consumed by whatever was on his phone. That is until he threw the device on the cushion beside him, took one glance at them both—to which she smiled—and then his eyes squinted.

“What’s going on with you two?” He asked with suspicion heavy in the last two words. He definitely felt the tension.

“What do you mean?” Isobel tried to smile again, but the bored glare he gave made her muscles go taut.

She felt self-conscious for a multitude of reasons in the moment, but the most pressing was at the awareness that everyone knew she was being phony. As if she was just like them, sitting on the sofa and looking down at her pathetic self trying to make it seem like everything was fine. But there was also a part of herself that resented Drew for sitting there wordlessly while she did everything to seem at least the littlest bit of normal. Because she cared enough of about the both of them and he was making her feel like her efforts were for nothing. Like protecting them wasn’t even worth it anymore.

Isobel sometimes believed that she cared too much and it was mistaken for her being a coward and stubborn—which she was definitely being to some extent—but the majority of it came from the overbearing emotions for the people she grew close to. And she feels extremely hard to the point where it feels too good to be true because she knows it can all be ripped from under her just like it has before. It forces her to run, to break away so viscerally it makes her seem heartless when really it’s the exact opposite.

In reality, she is hurting inside, she is missing the simple thought of Drew being hers and his kisses and his mindless touch on her skin. Most of all she regrets. She regretted walking away from him as soon as her back was turned, but she’d made a decision and she needed to stick with it because if she doubled back she would be in his arms taking back everything she’d said in the truck. Isobel still wanted that, to throw herself in his embrace and explain herself, but the more time passed the more difficult it was to convince herself to do. Time allowed doubt to creep in and for Drew to realize all the reasons he shouldn’t be with her.

“You guys can barely look at each other,” Chandler assessed, “Which is quite noticeable for someone who has witnessed the two of you drooling at the sight of each other literally a day ago.”

Isobel’s heart wrenched. A day ago. When she and Drew had went on what could be considered their first date. It went so well but the memories were overshadowed by how badly the night ended. She didn’t look at him, but she could feel Drew shifting in his seat. She wondered if their thoughts were the same in this moment. “-so are either of you going to tell me what happened last night?”

“No, Chandler.” Drew finally spoke, the deep, gravelly sound causing her skin to break out in goosebumps.

His little brother’s eyes rose at his choice in words, “You’re not denying that something happened?”

“It doesn’t matter if something happened. I’m telling you to mind your fucking business, Chandler.”

His harsh words pulled a gasp from her throat that caught his attention, his usual soft eyes filled with frustration that he was misdirecting at his brother. It was discomforting he could feel such negative things about her that it was so visible in his eyes, yet knowing that he at least felt something towards her was oddly settling for her, “Drew.” She scolded before she could stop herself, hating how Chandler was getting caught up in anger she’d caused.

Drew’s eyes could not help but soften when he looked at her undeniably pretty face and heard her melodic voice say his name. Although, there was still a flame present, one that she knew just pretending nothing happened wouldn’t put out.

“Isn’t this what you wanted Isobel? To ice everyone out so you don’t have to come to terms with your bull shit.” Drew knew he was being cold, yet he couldn’t stop the words from leaving his lips. He just hated that Isobel wouldn’t let him in, that she didn’t trust him enough to do so. She’d given him so much of her but knowing that she didn’t have faith in him or what they had with each other hurt him more than he expected. He was being a hypocrite because Drew wasn’t exactly handling all of his feelings like someone who was ready to be with a woman like Isobel—like someone his father or Cooper would be proud for her to be with.

“Drew, you’re being mean.” Isobel thickly swallowed. The wavering in her voice making him want to reach out and hold her until it returned back to its full ability, but he was the one causing her voice to break like this. “I’ve never seen you like this, and if I can pull that out of you then maybe last night was for the best.”

Isobel knew she was the blame for how things ended between them, but she refused to blame herself for how Drew was choosing to react to it, especially towards his brother. And she hated how unrecognizable he seemed sitting across from her, the same man that was just making her smile so fluidly she was beginning to associate the muscle movement and feeling of adoration with him.

“Chandler come on I told you we would go into town together today, we can walk.” Isobel stood and brushed her hands against her leggings. He was up in an instant and moving toward the coat rack to grab their coats. Her heart squeezed at the sight, he could be just as sweet as his brother if not more.

“It’s freezing, Isobel.” Drew countered.

His tone shifted fiercely with so many varying emotions and she heard each so clearly in her mind as if only she could heed and interpret every chord of his voice. She could hear that he was genuinely worried for her wellbeing in the frigid temperature, hurt that she would rather be out there than in the warmth of the cabin with him, and she heard how the sight of her attempting to leave him once more added to the already open wound.

Because Isobel was just as immature as he was she grabbed her coat from Chandler and walked out without sparing Drew another glance.

“Can we not actually go into town, you know I hate the cold.” Isobel immediately pleaded when the crisp wind wept against her face. She knew it would be cold like Drew said, but she needed to get out of there before they caused a scene in front of everyone.

“That’s cool with me, let’s just walk the trail around the cabin.” Chandler smiled and shoved his hands in his pockets as he lead the way. She was glad to see him smiling, still desperately holding on to the hope that her and Drew wouldn’t affect everyone’s Christmas—that things wouldn’t change. “Are you gonna tell me what happened?”

When he first asked what was going on in the living room it scared her to think of having to detail anyone in on why they were being so weird, but now as they trudged through about a foot of snow she wanted to just tell him everything because it was starting to feel like if she didn’t get some sort of outlet she would combust. And if she didn’t confide in somebody now, she knew she never would, “Drew told me your father knows about me and him last night.”

“Shit, Chuck knows? That makes me feel a lot less special.”

“Chandler please don’t joke around right now.” Isobel mumbled but still couldn’t help but smile at the ground at how unserious he truly could be.

“Alright, alright sorry, when did he find out?” He asked.

Isobel’s mind returned to their conversation in the car like it had been doing all day. She had been the one to abruptly end it so she wasn’t completely aware of the details surrounding Charles knowing about their relationship, just that he supposedly had known since the day they got into town. Her entire body cringed at the revelation, at the fact that she thought she could hide something like this from her family. Isobel just didn’t want him to see her differently than he did before, she didn’t want any of them to.

“Remember when I used to tell you no boy would ever be good enough for you? Don’t you ever forget it.”

She froze at the memory of Charles randomly reminding her of her worth at the winter cocktail. She remembered how confused he left her as he walked off without an explanation. How she’d felt so disoriented until she turned around and saw Drew—that he’d been the one who was in Charles’ line of sight as he spoke to her.

Isobel could’ve connected the dots that night but she chose to ignore the odd moment between the father and son, but anyone who wasn’t blind with infatuation would’ve known what Charles meant.

“I didn’t really give him a chance to tell me before I broke things off.” She finally answered.

“Damn, Isobel you’re cold.” Chandler loved to be involved in gossip and people’s business and he could be extremely animated when retaining it, “Makes me kind of glad Drew’s on the receiving end and not me.”

“Chandler!”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it! We both know I would let you treat me however you wanted.” He insisted and Isobel squinted her freezing eyelids back in response.

“-so you guys broke up, huh?”

Isobel and Drew weren’t together, they had a relationship but they weren’t official. They were merely two people messing around, two people who hadn’t even had sex yet. What they had was rudimentary, insubstantial, and nothing worth making a big deal over with their families. And despite all of this she still solemnly nodded her head because the grief she was feelings could only come from the demise of an actual couple.

Suddenly, she heard her father’s hardy laugh traveling from the backside of the cabin, and it made her hyper aware of how openly she was talking about this, “Come on let’s walk a little further down.”

“What’s so bad about everyone knowing, Isobel?” He asked the question she thought she knew the answer to, that she thought made sense the moment her and Drew crossed that boundary of friendship.

Now, after everything that’s happened, from the progression and abrupt ending of Isobel and Drew her reasoning didn’t quite make sense at all.

Because deep down it was in the best interest of Isobel to keep them hidden, not for the benefit of them both even if Drew did somewhat agree with her in the beginning.

“I don’t know, Chandler.” She groaned at the internal mental battle she was having, trying to articulate a worthy defense, “I just don’t want you guys to think of us differently especially if things don’t work out.”

She knew she was being presumptuous, already thinking the worse and banking on the failure of a real relationship with Drew, but that’s what she learned to do after getting her heart broken the last time. She’s never experienced anything different. “And you saw how Drew was acting back there, that’s not how things should be.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, Izzy, but change is inevitable,” He sighed before pausing and finding the words to continue, “I hate that some douchebag took away your faith in family to love you no matter who you’re with—however you’re with them.”

Isobel couldn’t even deny his claim because it was true and it was just plain sad because she had let a man she hadn’t seen in years affect her just that much. She let what he did to her affect what she was building with another man.

“-Also ignore that temper tantrum he had in there, I would act the same way if I thought I lost you too.” His voice sincere as he gave her a gentle smile.

Isobel pulled him into a tight hug and pressed her face into his chest, which was nice because of the body heat but it wasn’t Drew. “You’re really sweet, whatever girl you swindle into a relationship is going to be lucky to have you.” Isobel squealed when his arms tightened around her shivering body.

“Really, Izzy? You have any friends that would be interested?” He joked above her head and she could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Stick to girls your age for now, Channy.” She looked up at him with a grin.

Eventually the wind picked up speed, running Isobel back inside while Chandler went around back to get on Richard and Charles’ nerves. As soon as she swung open the wooden door to the entrance of the cabin there was Drew with that same indecipherable look he’d been directing at her all day. Isobel was tired and was craving some time alone so she slid past him without any acknowledgment.

“Don’t put me in a position where I have to tell my brother to keep his hands off of you, Isobel.” Drew sneered at her retreating back

She slowly twisted her body around on the step she managed to get to as he spoke, her eyebrows furrowed together in disbelief at his words. It was crazy how one second she could feel so bad for him she was going to sulk alone in her room for making him deal with her insecurities and how in another she wanted to ring his neck.

“It’s pathetic how a girl who you haven’t even fucked yet can make you act so out of character.” She hissed and then continued upstairs to her bedroom.

Isobel didn’t cry when she shut the door and sat on the chest adjacent to her bed. She never felt the urge when it came to Drew, she never felt anything she went through was worth the tears not when things could be so much worse. It was easier to keep everything in for Isobel, to keep her pain in categories so she knew what she was dealing with, so her emotions didn’t come rushing out with no end.

She could feel the distance building between her and Drew, how every interaction was a tug and pull until one of them pushed the other to an unreachable edge. She wanted to erase how she reacted last night and then her fears would supersede her wants and when Drew decided to be a dick her needs when it came to him didn’t matter as much before.

So she shut down to the point where sitting across from Drew at dinner was hard, but not as hard as it could’ve been. Christmas Eve dinner was casual so they didn’t dress up once everything was prepared. She once again let a man affect something she thought to be sacred, happily spending the night before Christmas with her family. She was just as pathetic as he was.

Neither of them looked at the other at the table, and everything carried on as normal around them. Lora and Catherine lead the conversation as Charles’ listened with amused eyes and Richard roared in laughter at the simplest jokes. That seemed to be the things that pulled Isobel out of her Drew induced funk, hearing the familiar gossip and incessant howling from her father. Drew on the other hand seemed to still be withdrawn and quickly ate his food before he eventually excused himself from the table. Charles hadn’t spared her any glances in response unless he was actually directing conversation to her. Nothing felt different with him which abated her anxiety, but that was because they hadn’t addressed what was going—because he wasn’t aware the she knew he knew.

It was proving to make an extremely complicated situation to have love for any of the three Starkey men.

Their mothers insisted that they be the ones to clean up after dinner that ended up running later than expected, and Isobel didn’t argue knowing that was their way to get all the kids upstairs so they could wrap gifts to place under the tree. Alone once more in her room she was able to dwell on the possible reasons why Drew left dinner so quickly. She knew she was capable of doing this for hours, spiraling about all the ways she contributed to the nightmare of an evening she’d caused for Drew until she drifted off to sleep, so she did something Isobel before Drew would never even think of doing.

She called a friend.

Charlotte was the most qualified she thought to herself, she was logical, she wouldn’t judge her, and she most likely already knew what was going on if what she implied at the party before break said anything. As the phone rung, a part of of her desperately hoped, no prayed, that she wouldn’t answer, but she did because this was Charlotte and Charlotte was always there for her even when she thought she didn’t need anyone.

“Hello” Charlotte sung into the microphone as she always did, making Isobel smile at the greeting.

She didn’t realized how much she missed her friends until this very moment, “Hi, Char.”

“What’s wrong, Isobel? You’re usually too busy with family to call me on Christmas Eve.” Her friend asked, voice filled with a subtle amount of concern.

It had always been easier to tell Charlotte things compared to her other friends because she had a way of reading your voice and just simply listening to you for a few seconds or more and knowing something was wrong. She’d always appreciated that about her especially because she always struggled to express her feelings.

“Lottie, Drew and I started hooking up before break.” She blurted, not quite saying what was wrong but offering up a little of the secret she’d been keeping from her friends to see if it would piss her off and distract her enough to avoid talking about what she really needed to discuss.

“Is, you’re saying it like the two of you didn’t make it as obvious as possible before you left.”Charlotte’s smile was evident in her tone, “Thank you for telling me.”

Isobel’s eyes prickled with tears at the sound of her friend’s voice, at how genuinely sentimental she sounded. At how aware she was that it was truly hard for Isobel to simply talk about herself because if she did it felt like she would be burdening them to have to worry about her. But she didn’t let the tears fall, she blinked them away until nothing remained, just like she did with everything else. “You’re welcome.”

“That can’t be all, girl, you wouldn’t call over just that.” Charlotte spoke and every word caused her stomach to twist in regret for getting her involved in all of this despite how little she’d told her.

Isobel stayed quiet and Charlotte patiently waited, not checking to see if she was on the phone even when minutes of silence had passed. Finally, she thought about hanging up but that would make her worry more than just talking to her would. Nothing was worse than knowing someone you cared about was sad, but not knowing what was going on in their head. She knew that feeling all too well.

“Things were going well between us until there was a compromise and I broke things off.” She admitted.

“Why’d you do that if things were so good?” Charlotte questioned yet a knowing tone was present in her voice, like she knew just how destructive Isobel could be.

“I told you something came up-“

“Isobel.” Charlotte sternly interrupted obviously not in the mood for deflection.

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as a way to stop the words from tumbling out—it was easier to want to admit something than to actually do it. So she closed her eyes and just breathed until the words eventually came out, “I was scared, Charlotte, I don’t how to be with someone like that anymore.”

“So you made the decision for the both of you?” Charlotte sighed and Isobel remained silent. She hated hearing her irrational actions being vocalized because then she was forced to accept just how wrong she was. “Isobel, you have to let go at some point, just have fun if you really want to be with him—and I can tell just from your voice that you do.”

Isobel couldn’t think of any point in her life where she was good at letting shit go. She had always felt hard, loved hard, and completely immersed herself when it came to the people she cared for. Then her past relationship happened and it was like she sunk into a suffocating pool of all of her emotions and hurt from being so brutally betrayed. And instead of swimming to the surface and processing everything she pushed it all aside allowing her unresolved feelings to haunt her like a large wave tall and threatening to destroy her the moment she turned around to face it.

“But it’s not ‘just fun’ feelings I’m having for him.” She whispered as if barely saying it would make it any less true.

“I know, Is, how could they ever be just fun feelings when you’ve known each other for so long.” Charlotte stated, “That doesn’t mean you have to push him away though.”

This made Isobel smile, thinking of how her girls used that same excuse to explain to her why they would never go for Drew. Never did she expect to be so grateful for her friends being so respectful of their relationship that hadn’t even existed for all those years.

Their call ended up being cut short by Charlotte’s mother who needed help wrapping gifts for her little siblings, and while Isobel was relieved she didn’t have to talk about herself any longer, the thought of having to sit alone in her thoughts didn’t sound too appealing either. So she occupied herself by taking a long shower where she thoroughly exfoliated and shaved her entire body and stood under the steaming water until her fingers pruned. When she finally got out she lathered her body with lotion and slipped on her red, silk pajama shorts and its matching long sleeve button up.

Isobel didn’t go to her bed when she was done, no, she paced around her room and thought over everything that happened in the last twenty four hours. The good things, the sad things, and the unexpected things. It all clouded her mind until she was moving without thought, her bare feet padding across the wooden floor until she was standing in front of his door and slipping inside his room before she could change her mind.

Drew was sitting on the edge of his bed with his feet planted on the floor. He was wearing plaid pajama pants, but nothing else on his naked upper body. His arms and chest bare for her dark eyes to slide over with no restrictions. The lights were off but the light from the moon and sky shone through the windows. When his eyes looked up to meet her own she could see the light dancing around in his eyes.

Isobel walked toward him, and as angry as she was with him earlier she still felt that pull she’d always felt when it came to him. She felt it earlier in the day when he was trying to ignore her, when she was jogging up the stairs away from him like coward the night before, and now as his eyes bore into her brown ones like he was trying to decipher each fleck of color in them despite them being in the dark.

She stopped right in front of him, just a step away from being in between his spread thighs. “What do you want, Isobel?” The question was broad, it could mean anything but she took it as him not wanting to be bothered, so she took a step back to retreat. Then his hand was gripping her right hip as he pulled her into him and she actually was between his thighs, his body heat warming the bare skin of her legs, “Don’t leave, Isobel, answer me.”

She couldn’t answer because she didn’t have the words to articulate just how much she wanted from him in her mind, so she leaned down and pressed her mouth to his soft lips. He didn’t kiss her back at first, her lips moving against his still ones in slow pecks until he caught her bottom lip between his teeth, running his hand up her back to wrap around the back of her neck and pushing her further against his mouth. It all happened so quickly how Drew was somehow dominating the now messy kiss, how he yanked her down into his lap and bent her knees so they were on either side of his hips. Isobel’s touch was gentle as her soft hands grazed his shoulders and back and shy each time she swiped her tongue against his greedy one, but they didn’t clash.

‘I want to have fun’ she thought as he groaned into her mouth, that’s what she could’ve said when he asked her what she wanted but she was too occupied to say it now.

And Drew like always seemed to know what she needed even if she didn’t say it.

TABLE OF CONTENT:

PART SEVENTEEN

[imaginedmist]

time to overanalyze an insignificant detail in LOTS

HELLO my LOTSERS. i was rewatching 1C to get the last pieces of lore out of it and something PB said made me loose my mental marbles so strap in and prepare for me to 𝓵𝓸𝓼𝓮 𝓲𝓽 [in STYLE!]

this is not beta read IM SORRY

said quote from 1C: "I, well, lived in the.. Hammer galaxy when I was alive..." --- so, to me, in the LOTS universe, the boundary between "living" and "non-living" seems to be a very... interesting concept what defines your status of being "live" and "not-live"? well. your position in the world! [referring to the s*n and the multiverse as "the world" btw] objects OUT of the S*n are considered to be "living" from the perspective of OPERATORS, and objects INSIDE of the S*n are considered to be "non-living" however, they will always be "alive" no matter what position they are in the planes of existence. let's both assume that "alive" means the biological property of still being able to physically and mentally function- this would mean that even if an object is conscious in/out of the S*n, they will still be "alive" by-definition. the only place, however, objects are NOT "alive", is inside of the weird floating pink void place between the "living" and "non-living" plane of existences this brings me to my next point, when patients are TERMINATED in the S*n, this renders them as being "dead" by biological standards [at least, from what we currently know]. being terminated means that you're gone, forever. deleted, expunged, wiped, ELIMINATED from ALL planes of existence- and sent to god-knows-where! so, there seems to be a bit of a double-label here... "living" / "non-living" defines what plane of existence you are currently in "alive" / "dead" defines your physical and mental awareness; your biological status and its funny, because the pattern is irregular, since operators see you from a 3rd person perspective, and LUMYNEX has total control over all of the patients' "living" / "non-living" statuses DEAD / NORMAL PLANE = ALIVE / S*N PLANE ALIVE / NORMAL PLANE = ALIVE / S*N PLANE DEAD / S*N PLANE = DEAD / NORMAL PLANE ALIVE / S*N PLANE = DEAD / NORMAL PLANE from the perspective of the operators, you are always "alive" from the perspective of other objects, you are either "dead" or "alive" i think my theorizing kind of turned into nonsensical rambling at the end BUT YOU GET MY POINT!!!!!!!!!!!!!! [i hope] i wonder if lumynex would use a system like this to keep track of where patients are. those patients are chaotic and unpredictable! [CB slowly fades in]

[the-last-patch]

[Tuning In]

[Flipping to B-Side]

[Success]

[Now Playing - “Opossum”]

Heya Omninet! I’ve rested, relaxed, and groomed myself a bit since we last spoke meaning I’m completely ready to give you the lay down on a couple things bugging me about my most recent mission. Sit down, strap in, and prepare for the wonderful tale that-

<The audio abruptly stops, no static this time. Actually, there’s no background noise at all. When the audio resumes, a ragged, strained, yet familiar voice speaks up>

There will be no tale spoken from you, Marsupial. Instead, I will tell you what you have forgotten. What you have failed to perceive. What transpired when you and your allies slew me. A “Witch Hunt” I believe you called it. You were all so weak alone, soft, meek, lost, SINFUL.

What did you feel upon seeing that broken arena? What did you remember? Your parents? Your friends? Your past? It is irrelevant. You fought all the same. You and your allies. Each and every one of you fought ever so valiantly against the foes of your pasts…and those of your futures. The others learned many truths through that ritual, but you witnessed the greatest of them. The future of your “Patchwork Family”. Share your sin to the world, absolve yourself of Knowledge’s burden. Do so and the future may yet change. Otherwise you risk repeating your sin.

Farewell, O’ Slothful “Opossum”. I hope you find my gifts to your liking.

<As the familiar voice finishes speaking, the sound of leaves rustling and light chatter can be heard again. “Opossum’s” ragged breaths can be audibly heard as he lets out a slight sigh of relief, quickly followed by a sharp inhale.>

…Gifts?

<A large crash can be heard in the background, shouting picks up and the sound of gunfire quickly drowns out any other noise.>

What the hell? Isn’t tha-

<“Opossum” is cut off by the sounds of a near explosion, and then the audio goes silent.>

[TAPE OBSTRUCTED]

[PLEASE CLEAR BLOCKAGE]

[ERROR, UNSUPPORTED MEDIA FORMAT DETECTED]

[COULD NOT INTERFACE]

[PLEASE TRY AGA-]

[Displaying Canvas - “Opossum”]

<A video feed abruptly begins. On it you can see a young man, no older than 22 years old with pure white hair, stained red with blood and abnormally dark eyes. He is wearing casual clothing over what appears to be the under-layer of a mobility hardsuit, and has a large mechanical tail protruding from his waist. The man is pinned under a fallen tree, and appears to be dead.>

<The camera swings to the side, and as it does multiple pop-ups appear alongside a full HUD. This must be the view from a mechanized chassis internal camera. As the camera swings back to the pinned man, an IFF designates him as P.XV “Opossum”. The Chassis carefully lifts the tree off of him, and gently places a clawed finger on the man’s chest. A heartbeat monitor is then displayed on the HUD. It indicates “Opossum” is alive and relatively healthy. Following this, the clawed manipulator raises him up out of the camera’s viewport. A loud mechanical hiss can be heard, and a soft thud follows. Finally the sound of a hatch swinging closed can be heard, and the video feed ends.>

[Next Up - “ID EXPUNGED]

[End Track]

[gildedliliess]

—chapter two. sunkissed girl.

They say your life is measured in moments; in experiences; in the small things.

Jenna made it a point to remember that. Despite the lack of normalcy in recent years, her life remained okay. Apart from loss, medical debt, and the do-it-yourself method, things were okay. Not fine. Not great. Not even anything as fancy as grand. Just okay. She felt that the ancillary of it all didn’t truly matter, not in the way the time spent with her mother and brother did.

Their life was simple. And that was good. That was okay.

The beach was their place. Always had been. Always will be.

It held as much of a significance to the three of them as watching the sunrises on Sundays did to Jenna and her father. The sand, in all its controversy of getting into places it shouldn't, was an odd comfort against the aching that rippled in her chest.

She couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Garcia, about the house, about how every other week they received a call with a brand new offer.

They couldn’t sell the house—they wouldn’t. Despite the it being old; decrepitly old. It’d been in the family since Jenna’s great-great grandfather. It wasn’t the nicest house by any means. As of current there was only one working bathroom, but it was their home, and had been for almost five generations. No amount of money, regardless of how absurd and expensive, would change that.

In an effort to soothe herself, Jenna buried her feet beneath the sand, letting the heat from the summer sun heat its grainy surface. Hoping that the warmth will be enough to instill some calm. She closed her eyes, let in an intentional breath then let it out. Allowing the salty air fill her body and expunge itself from her lungs. She listened intently for the waves as they smacked up against the rocks in splashes, and felt the breeze as it carried along the cries of seagulls and other beachgoers.

It’d been months since they’d made the trip to the beach together. Jenna of course had been by with some friends for a late night smoke, but otherwise nothing. Despite living so close, with her mother’s work schedule, Miles’ medical diagnosis, and Jenna working full time at the museum, there was just no time. Except today. The Sunday before school started up again.

"Will you swim with me, Birdie?" The sound of her brother, Miles, cut through her moment of tranquility. She cracked one eye open and looked up at him. He stood in front of her sporting his usual bright orange swim trunks and arm floaties with sharks on them. Jenna was positive he was the only nine year old on the island whose favorite animal was a shark. She opened her other eye and looked out into the ocean.

The swells were small and calm. Albeit swimable. "I'll race you." She challenged, her face breaking into a smile that was instantly mirrored by Miles.

"Go!" He shouted suddenly and took off toward the water. Giving no time for Jenna to prepare herself. "Wait!" She called out, giggling as she pushed up from her place on the sand and went after him.

Their mother's voice was carried with them as they crashed into the ocean: "Be careful!"

As her feet fell past the shoreline, Jenna was immediately sprayed with water as Miles, in an effort to keep her from tagging him, splashed her.

Smiling from the shock, Jenna splashed him back in retaliation. A fit of laughter emanating from them both as a full on splash war waged between them.

It didn’t last long before the two found themselves floating out in the water on their bogey boards, taking turns riding along the small waves that formed, until Miles grew tired of that too, and instead they laid on the boards belly flat. Their bodies rocking with the constant movement of the ocean.

Above them birds fluttered to and fro, and the sun beat down against their backs as they kicked along the shallow end of the beach.

“Do you think they’ll like me?” Miles suddenly asked as they picked a spot to idle, facing each other as they did so.

“At school?” Jenna assumed. “Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t they?”

Miles sighed, and a small glance at the circular device on his arm was her answer.

Earlier that summer, Miles had been diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes. And soon he would be starting up 5th grade at a new school, with new kids, and new teachers.

“What if they think I’m weird?” His question brought in a certain sadness to his face, and Jenna felt a pit grow in her stomach.

His insecurity for his diagnosis had been brought on by an incident in town a few weeks back. Some ten year old kid from figure eight had been poking fun at him for the device on his arm and since then Miles has made it a point to cover it up.

Today was no exception, his floaties covered it up just well enough, but Jenna could see it poking through.

“What?” She let out in disbelief, a playful smile creeping up on her face. “Weird? Of course not. Just because your body works a little differently than everyone else’s doesn’t make you weird.” Jenna moved the hair out of his face, “You’ll do just fine, Miles. The kids in the cut are nothing like the ones on figure eight.” At the sincerity of her words, Miles smiled and gave a small nod.

“Now let’s get you back to shore, I think it’s time we check your blood sugar.”

After making the short trip back, their mother checked Miles’ blood sugar with a poke of a needle and gave him a juice box upon seeing a dip in his levels. Twenty minutes later and he was back at it again, this time making friends with a kid about the same age as him.

“He seems to be doing a lot better.” Jenna pointed out as she made up a seat on the sand next to her mother, who sat in a beach chair beneath the umbrella that offered some well needed shade in the dying heat.

“He does,” Her mother agreed smiling, looking up from the book in her hands. “Let’s just hope the insurance holds up.”

The pit in Jenna’s stomach nearly grew at the thought. Unfortunately, for the people on the cut the only medical insurance company that would cover the costs of medical supplies for diabetics on the island was owned by a family on figure eight, and they were known for suddenly dropping clients. Even with their mother’s insurance from the hospital as a nurse, it could only cover so much, and certainly not nearly enough for the cost of insulin and a dexcom device. And Medicaid was a shit show, just the mere thought sent shivers down Jenna’s spine.

It was a literal miracle they were able to get Miles approved for the figure eight insurance. All that was left was hoping they had even a shrivel of empathy in their hearts to keep him as a client.

“Do you go back to work tomorrow?” The sound of her mother cut through her thoughts.

Jenna blinked, “Uh—yeah. I do. I start at eight thirty, but I’ll be back around three.”

Her mother nodded. “They want me on call tomorrow…so I might have to go in while you’re go—” the sound of screams stopped the both of them.

Out in the water, a surfer had caught a swell and in their deceleration, nearly collided with a group of younger kids. Miles among them.

Jenna shot up out of the sand, her mother in tow as they descended along the beach toward the group of young children who were currently rushing out of the water, crying.

Some of the other mothers had raced down with a few yelling a slew of colorful words in the direction of the departing surfer, who glided along the water back to where they came from.

They didn’t even regard the group of fretting mothers and crying children. As if almost injuring them all was some kind of regular activity, as if they didn’t matter.

Jenna found Miles instantly, his face beet red with a look of shock and fear on his face.

“Are you okay?” She fussed, her tone worried and quick. She checked him for bruises and marks, exhaling a sigh of relief when she found none.

Miles nodded a response and Jenna let her mother take over as she knelt down and looked him over for any signs of a concussion.

Jenna looked away in the direction the surfer had left and her concern was instantly replaced by anger as she locked eyes with a few kooks who’d set up camp along the west side of the beach. There was a group of them, ten at most. A string of canopy’s, beer coolers and chairs were set up along the stretch of beach they’d claimed as theirs.

The surfer in question rose from the water, tucking their board between their arm and side as they ascended the beach. A few of their friends clapped them on the back and high fives were exchanged.

Jenna clenched her fists and scoffed.

“Careless assholes,” She muttered indignantly. Even from a distance she could make out the sandy brown hair and smug grin on the surfers face.

Topper Thornton.

Of course it had been him. Who else if not for the devil himself.

Topper was about as privileged as they come. His grandfather was the head judge in Kildare County, and his father was the head manager of Kildare County Bank. In all accounts, legal and financial. He was untouchable, which earned him a fleshed out friend group. If you could even call them that. They’re friends for a reason, and it’s not for companionship. They leech off each other like parasites, like fish out of water and one of them has a tank full. Despite Toppers ‘immunity’ he wasn’t the ring leader. Although everyone knew how much he wanted to be.

Rafe Cameron was just as privileged, but unlike Topper, he radiated the kind of energy only someone with power could possess. He was clever and precise. He knew how to play the right cards, he knew it made him just as immune to consequences. A stark contrast to Toppers carelessness and stupidity. That’s what made him the head of it all; the front and center to the trio that paraded Kildare in their newly purchased vehicles that they park outside of their newly built homes with their state of the art appliances and ac units.

For a brief moment, a dangerous thought crossed her mind and Jenna wondered what it might be like to live that life. To have everything she ever wanted. To be privileged, to be rich, to be untouchable.

But as soon as the thought appeared it’s gone, and with a pitiful taste in her mouth, she leaves it behind.

Sorry this took a little while!! College classes started last week and they’ve been kicking my butt :( but I made this a little extra long as an apology <3

P.s. Please, please leave a note and a comment! I would die to hear your thoughts on how you all like it thus far. Also I made a few adjustments to the first chapter to help it be a little more cohesive. As well as update the warnings on the introduction post.

RISES THE SUN is available on wattpad!

Navigation: introduction, chapter one

[theironwarsmith]

2025

So 2024 was pretty busy and a little overwhelming, I've now got time to reflect a little and look to the future.

Last year was largely wedding preparations and dealing with the stress of that, resulting in it taking a lot of my brain space, further resulting in a loss of creativity. But I got married on 20/10/24 in a castle to the love of my life. It was a fantastic day that shot by in a blur. I've now got a double-barrelled last name. Plus I got promoted in December which was a lovely surprise, coupled with two months backpay at my new rate and a Christmas bonus, so a great Christmas was had.

I'm now looking forward to this year and what I want to achieve. Professionally, nothing right now as I am content for the moment with the money I am on, hopefully a nice little raise would be good.

The big thing this year though is buying a house. My wife and I have enough money to put a good deposit down on a house and get out of renting. We've already checked out a few houses with there being one I hope we can get. Following that shortly after would be getting a dog, a golden retriever if I can find a rescue because I've always adored those type of dogs plus they are good for first time owners.

Hobby wise, well I have the custom Legion project based on the Lost Legions, with this being the Second Legion aka The Pyre. They'll be Assyrian based with a focus on utilising forbidden technology like nuclear weapons and Abominable Intelligence as well as scorched earth tactics. My very summarised theory on why this legion was expunged from all records was that they left more worlds in a (very radioactive) dead-world state than actually bringing them to compliance, coupled with using AI in their campaigns. I have written a lot of lore for this legion that I'll eventually start sharing once I've finished it and I'll likely expand into a "What if they weren't expunged?" line of 40k alternative history.

On top of the legion project I'll probably finish the Alpha Legion, although the Predator tanks are now going to be used for The Pyre.

The other project is going to be getting a hold of a 3d printer so I can create my own minis, in particular I want to design the Primarch of the II Legion, Ashurdan. I have a rough idea of what I want him to look like and what he'll be armed with but I'll need to take some time to learn how to design the model as I want it to be quite intricate.

Other things I want to do this year is to start getting into shape but that is on hold until I move house.

However, tomorrow I have to go and take my car to the garage to get the brake discs changed.

[uncontesteddocuments]

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[pizzaback]

if you heard a single, shrill scream in (neighborhood expunged) Pittsburgh PA today, that was me. i was briefly touched by a drooping tree branch and thought i was being prodded by the long finger of the devil preparing to take me into hell. also those snowflakes are the size of grapes today it’s nuts

[eretzyisrael]

by Dion J. Pierre

The University of Florida (UF) has handed down severe and potentially life-altering punishments to seven pro-Hamas rioters who participated in occupying the campus in an attempt to intimidate officials into boycotting and divesting from Israel, according to Fresh Take Florida, a news service of the university’s College of Journalism and Communications.

UF’s disciplinary body was set on slapping the students’ wrists, sentencing most to probation only based on recommendations from “hearing bodies,” until its new dean, Chris Summerlin, intervened and issued full suspensions for as many as four years. The harshest suspensions — including four years for Allan Hektor Frasheri, 21, and three years for other students — while not being formal expulsions, are long enough to make it unlikely that the students serving them will return to the University of Florida.

The seven students have reportedly submitted appeals to overturn their punishments that are pending.

Summerlin’s suspensions may not be the only consequences that the students will face.

According to Fresh Take Florida, the students were part of a group of nine that were arrested by local law enforcement for trespassing and resisting arrest, charges that are being prosecuted by the Alachua County State Attorney’s Office. They are taking their chances at trial, the news service added, noting that all nine have rejected “deferred prosecution,” an agreement that would require them to plead guilty, or no contest, in exchange for the state’s expunging the convictions from their records in the future so long as they abstain from committing more criminal acts.

One of the nine, computer science student Parker Stanely Hovis, 26, — who was suspended for three years — proclaimed on Tuesday that they will contest the state’s cases.

“We did not resist arrest, and we are prepared to fight our charges,” Hovis said in a statement. “We’re standing in solidarity with each other, and collectively demanding that the state drop the charges against us.”

The University of Texas at Austin has also meted out lengthy suspensions to pro-Hamas protesters who violated school rules, a course of action that experts believe is a deterrent against similar behavior in the future.

[tacticalmaladjustment]

thinking about how diametrically opposed the way Rei was treated on his birthday by his found family and by his boss. Birthdays mark when we came to be, and we see very clearly in the show what his existence meant to these two.

his father boss used it to emphasize that Rei was brought into this world to be an instrument optimized for furthering the organization's agenda, in addition to siring the heir to this assassin nobility bloodline(lol). his existence was relegated to that of a utilitarian investment, whose worth was appraised and pegged to his continuing usefulness. In fact, he was given not a gift, but the gruesome task of offing someone, who--though belonging in the same group--undoubtedly held something for him, thus making sure to expunge any and all meaning from Rei which deviates from this terrible raison d'etre.

on the other hand, back at home--his true home--it's heart-breakingly beautiful how much Kazuki and Miri wanted to make him happy. They poured in all in the love and effort in the food and decorations and were positively excited to have him join in what they have prepared. And just when he was about to sequester himself away, Kazuki found him to make sure he does not miss it all, not even for the cold world he was raised to think was all he could hope for. to return to this warm place they made together, to be cherished and to be loved. to them, his existence was enough cause for celebration--his entirety validated beyond brutal, inexorable necessity.

birthdays mark when we came to be. At the Suwa house, there was nothing but a hideous role and purpose thrust upon him, but back at his family's home is where he found a place to just be .

[ploo-toe]

The Crow and the Mourning Dove - CH 1

SCP-049 x SCP!Reader

Series tags/warnings(18+): fem!reader, slowburn, (eventual)smut, horror, gore/violence, death, unethical experiments, dark, mentions of past trauma, happy ending

Chapter Summary: “I haven't thought of my time there in quite a while.  Sometimes I long to go back and change things, however unfit for a healer the urges may be…”

Notes: This chapter was partially to get some more info on SCP-9528, but also things are starting to get interesting! Be prepared for things to start ramping up soon… 

 ___________________________________________

Leeward tossed and turned for hours that night, 9528’s words echoing in his head.

“The Plague.”

He knew that it had lied, that it had some other motive for leaving.  But, the tone at which it had spoken, it sounded almost haunted.  Hollow.  As if its lie still held some merit to it.  It might not have been the reason it left, but perhaps there really had been a plague in Paris at the time.  Leeward chose to give up on sleeping for the night in favour of sitting at his desk and delving headfirst into research.  He had to find some break in this; make some sense of it all.  His head was practically swimming with thoughts.

It had said the 15th century in Paris.  But everywhere I look, I get the same result.  The plague ran rampant through France for the 14th century, and came back in the 16th.  The 15th was the only clean century for France, so why did it sound so certain? What Plague was it referring to?

Leeward groaned, leaning back in his chair to stare at the wall.  At least this was more interesting than before.  He let his eyes wander, lost in thought, before they settled on his calendar.  More specifically, the messy scrawl of his handwriting dating just three days from now. Interview with SCP-049 @2:15pm.

His eyes widened and he shot up, knocking his chair back in the process.  049 devotes itself completely to curing the pestilence; it claims that every sickness falls under the category.  And, it’s certainly old enough, what if it knows the plague that 9528 is referring to. What if it had been there?  Leeward couldn’t remember the last time he felt this motivated for his work.  But still, one question poked at the back of his mind.  Why had 9528 lied?  It was clear that there was something it didn’t want him to know.  He was determined to find out what, however long it took him.

The days leading up to Leeward’s interview with 049, Leeward had done more research than he’d done in his entire career .  He pulled everything that he could on 9528, trying to glean as much as he could from the spotty information.   Almost everything he could find was heavily redacted, so much so that he could barely make anything of it, or it had been expunged entirely.  He had almost given up on his search entirely, before he came across two files that hadn’t been as censored as the others.  The first being an interview of someone who had heard of 9528 before its capture.

Witness:[REDACTED]

Date:[REDACTED]

Location:[REDACTED]

Translator:[REDACTED]

The “ange de la mort”; Angel of death.  While some fear her, others revere her.  She has traveled France for decades, leaving mountains of bodies in her wake.  During the first few days she brings music and medicines, helping the ill, poor, or abused.  People would come to her while it was performing, and pray.  Some asked for a bountiful harvest and good health.  Others prayed for protection from dangers.  On the fifth night, she would become lethal.  Lurking in the shadows, delivering retribution.  With a flick of the wrist, she could kill a dozen men.  She only targeted the guilty, and would disappear when they had been disposed of.

Witness to be [REDACTED] after further investigation

Leeward shuttered.  He knew that the foundation despised loose ends, but to think what happened to that man, just for telling them what seemed to be nothing more than a local legend.  And the fact that in its own twisted way, 9528 was helping people.  It proves that it has the capacity for morals in a way that some of the other scp’s didn’t.  

He switched over to the second file.  This one detailed the capture of 9528.

SCP-9528 was found standing in[REDACTED] just outside of [REDACTED], surrounded by [REDACTED] that had been thoroughly mutilated.  It was almost entirely covered in blood, a farming sickle made entirely of bone hung loosely in its hand.   When asked why it had killed them in such a way, it simply stated “They were liars”.  It was later discovered that they had traveled to [REDACTED] posing as doctors, cheating people out of their money.  Why this aggravated SCP-9528 so much still remains unknown.

Notes:

[REDACTED] tasked with SCP-9528 reported seeing its eyes in their dreams for [REDACTED] .  All described it as having an “unsettling and uncanny” look to it. Cover with bandage until further notice.

Sickle confiscated for further testing.

Is that why SCP-9528’s eyes were covered?  Was there some type of anomalous effect, or was it just so ingrained in their minds that it was the subject of their dreams?  And why had the people posing as doctors upset 9528 so much that it mutilated them?  The amount of reading he had done left him with a splitting headache.  Why was this scp so difficult to learn about?

Dr.Leewards interview with Scp-049 couldn’t have come sooner.  He was itching for answers, and he was hoping 049 might have some.  He wasted no time getting started.

“Hello Doctor, what do you wish to discuss today?”  049 sat with its hands clasped on the table across from him, as if it paid no mind to the restraints binding it.

“Hello 049.  I was actually hoping you could help me with something related to my work.”

��Are you finally joining my arduous battle against the pestilence?”

“Not quite.  I have some questions that hopefully your… expertise could clear up.  In return, I’m willing to arrange for a human cadaver to be brought down to further your studies.”

049 took little time thinking it over before nodding its head lightly.  “Yes, this is an acceptable agreement.  What men of medicine would we be if we were to not assist one another?”

“My thoughts exactly, I appreciate your cooperation.”  Leeward knew it was best to go along if he wanted to get anywhere.  “I want to know if you have any knowledge of a plague taking place in France during the 15th century?”

“Ah yes! The pestilence was rampant during the time! I was still in Paris then, devoting my time to learning medicine.  I had yet to become the great healer I am now… Although we always remain students, much to learn…” 049 began to trail off.

“So there was a sickness then?  Why aren’t there any records of it?”

“You need only to open your mind, Doctor!  This was not a sickness of the body, but a sickness of mind.

While he didn’t understand it completely, it was better than nothing.  049 began mumbling to himself lightly.

“I haven't thought of my time there in quite a while.  Sometimes I long to go back and change things, however unfit for a healer the urges may be…”  He spoke so softly that Leeward almost hadn’t heard him.  The topic had certainly piqued his interest, 049 rarely spoke so openly of its emotions.  Leeward had almost forgotten that he possessed the capacity for them.

“What do you long to change?”

“Apologies, Doctor.  I seem to have gotten caught up reminiscing.  There was… someone important to me in Paris.  The pestilence there eventually led to their demise.  It matters naught.  I do hope you make those arrangements in a timely manner.  I wish to further develop my cure, I feel I'm close to a breakthrough.”

“I’ll see to it 049, thank you for your cooperation.”  Leeward gathered his things and made his way back to his office. 

[howlingdemon13]

Can we talk about Trevor’s sass and bully energy in CoD? Please? Please, I really want to talk about the sassy boi so bad!!!!!!

I have so many ✨thoughts✨ as to why an otherwise open guy who makes friends exclusively with fellow misfits would be so hostile to someone like Hector (a misfit trying to do the right thing).

I know some people have pointed out that it’s because Trevor is slightly affected by Dracula’s curse, but I feel like that kinda takes away from a more core/interesting take that you can make an argument for.

While I like the idea of even a Belmont being susceptible to dark magic to some degree (we see this happen with other Belmonts like Simon and Richter), I feel like it takes away from something that I think is a little more obvious?

Man’s is pissed, bro.

Trevor and his family have gone through hell up until this point. His ancestor basically doomed the clan to forever hunt the most evil being on earth for what will end up being centuries (looking at you, Leon). Which is good, considering they’ve made themselves the most qualified, but it cost them basic respect from the people they’re protecting and they’ve lost so much more because of it. But they’re noble and don’t seem to complain. You’re lucky, Leon.

Now, we know Trevor probably doesn’t care what people think about him so long as he can keep them safe. It’s his duty, and we see time and time again that he’ll literally do anything to make sure people are alive so that they can think their stupid silly thoughts about him and his family. By his time, he’s exiled, excommunicated, and shunned but he never once complains. Even when people come crawling to him for help, he doesn’t hesitate to do so. This is what he was called to do: kill Dracula and bring peace. He’s noble like that. He’s a knight like Leon in his own way.

As far as he knows, Dracula cannot come back after he and his friends defeated him in CV3.

Until things start looking… off. There’s a creeping darkness and uncertainty that feels so familiar. But that’s impossible, right? Dracula is gone, so how…?

“You’re telling me Dracula’s employee - some fucking guy - wants to bring Dracula back from the dead!?”

Would you not also be fucking pissed? To have your family endure centuries of pain and trauma - to have experienced it for yourself - and finally done what you have prepared your entire life to potentially do, only for some fucking guy to try to fuck all of that up? Would you not rush out of your home to go kick their ass and pummel them for daring to plunge the world into darkness? That same darkness you yourself expunged and went through hell to do???

Uh, if you say no you’re a liar.

From canon, we know that Trevor and Sypha have either started a family or are at least thinking about it at this point (I assume it’s the former since I am 110% certain she would have tagged along. Things would have been so much easier with her magic. And I personally think that would be a fun date idea - beating the tar out of Dracula’s unhinged employee - but I realize I’m not most people). Point being, Trevor not only has to worry about all of humanity (again), but his family. And, considering he was the last known member of his family when Dracula bit the dust, he’s going to fight tooth and nail to keep this.

If you say you’d play nice and try to be understanding when the lives and futures of your kids are at stake, you’re lying. Idk what to tell ya.

Trevor obviously takes initiative and it borders on impulsiveness, but he’s not going to make the mistake of letting this situation get to a point that all hell breaks loose if he has any say in it. I do like to think that he’s inherently a little sassy anyway, but let’s ramp that up to 100 when he’s livid.

But anger leads to getting sloppy and making mistakes. He doesn’t give Hector a chance to explain himself. That would take too much time. The Forgemaster could deceive him and cost him time or worse. He gets distracted and lets Isaac get away. He gets distracted again and nearly gets himself killed.

Maybe under different circumstances Hector would have at least gotten an apology. Like “aw fuck, sorry. I forgot there were two of you. My bad. Wanna help me out with this one?” Ultimately, he does help Hector despite his initial skepticism, and I think it’s a mix of feeling at least a little bad about beating him up and realizing that he works better with a team.

Going off of how he talks down to Hector after beating him up, one could argue that maybe Trevor is just kinda full of himself? Like he’s riding the high off of being the hero? Well, you’re wrong. Trevor is very quick to hype his friends up and give them equal credit in kicking Dracula’s ass. Sure, maybe he jokes about it with his friends, but he’s not full of himself to the degree that he’s going to hype himself up when his friends aren’t around. He’s humble like that. Fight me behind Waffle House about it.

Trevor isn’t incompetent, but he does let his emotions control him. Again, he works better with a team, but he’s so impulsive and pissed at this point that he probably just ran out of the house to go and do what is (up until this point) his job; keep people safe. Keep his family safe.

So, yeah, maybe the curse feeds into his emotions and decisions, but I think it’s more compelling for Trevor to be a very tired, traumatized, and livid dad doing what he thinks is the right thing to do to make sure his kids (and other people, sure) have a future in which they don’t have to go through the horrible things their mom and dad (and uncle Grant and uncle Alucard) went through. If he could see what became of future members of his family and see the hells they faced, I genuinely think it would break his heart.

So yeah, Trevor is bitchy, but I think he has a right to be bitchy when someone is threatening to blow down his metaphorical house of cards that he went through hell to stack up.

[polyg0n1zed]

Hey guys, long time no see. I can't post that often now cuz I'm quite busy preparing for college and my mental health got worse too. I was supposed to post this weeks ago but I kept postponing it due to the guilt I have for being inactive.

Anyway this post is a confession that I ship Hellbreaker x Expunged. I ship them since the end of 2022 and it's my comfort ship. Before any of you (especially non-followers) attack me;

1. They're NOT related in any way.

2. They're NOT enemies/they don't hate each other.

3. They're NOT creation and creator.

The official Strident Crisis wiki confirmed all of this long ago, but people still think that it's problematic to ship them, if you don't believe me go read the wiki. Also Opposition and Unfairness are the same person, idk why there are people who treat the ship using Opposition or Unfairness very differently. This is why I'm really scared to post anything related to the ship, I'm afraid that I might not be able to handle it if I get hate comments (I'm really paranoid).

Layers count: 385 (or 386 I forgot. This includes the invisible layers)

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