#especially for a... very driven client

[13lunarstar]

Career prospects in Vedic astrology. D-10 divisional chart

If you have ever wondered what your birth chart says about your career, reputation, and public life, look at the Dashamsha chart, also known as the D10. While your main birth chart (the D1 or Rashi chart) tells the broader story of your life, the D10 zooms in on your professional realm—how you're likely to show up in your career, how you gain recognition, and where your work path might lead.

The Dashamsha is one of the divisional charts in Vedic astrology, and it focuses specifically on karma related to profession. It divides each zodiac sign into 10 equal parts, offering a more detailed view of how planetary energies manifest in career and social status.

Simply put: D1 = who you are D10 = what you do (in the public/professional sphere)

For example, you might have a strong 10th house in your D1 chart but still feel professionally lost. Or, the reverse: a confusing D1 chart but a very clear and powerful D10. This is because the D10 often reveals how your career unfolds in real life.

What the Dashamsha reveals

Your natural career style (structured, flexible, creative, technical, etc.) and your overall attitude to career matters

Whether you thrive in jobs, business, freelancing, or service-oriented work

Suitable areas of work

Periods of major career shifts

Hints about public image, status, fame, or authority

Key things to check in the Dashamsha Chart

1. D10 Lagna (Ascendant): sets the tone for your approach to career:

Example:

Cancer Lagna: emotional connection to work; nurturers

Scorpio Lagna: strategic, intense, transformative career phases

Aries Lagna: action-driven, leadership-oriented, ambitious

2. Lagna Lord (Lagnesh): where the ruler of your D10 Ascendant is placed:

In Kendra (1, 4, 7, 10) or Trikona (1, 5, 9) houses – very auspicious and leads to success and recognition in career and public image.

In Upachaya (3, 6, 11) houses – still good, shows growth and results over time.

In Dusthana (6,8,12) - can have mixed results depending on the strength of Lagna Lord itself and whether it is a benefic or malefic planet.

3. 10th house in D10: classic house of career, authority, and recognition.

Check which planet rules the 10th house and where it’s placed.

If well-placed – expect stability and recognition.

If conjunct benefics (like Jupiter/Venus) – support and blessings in career.

If weak or afflicted – may indicate confusion or unconventional paths.

4. Planets in Kendra houses (1, 4, 7, 10): these houses are strong and visible:

Sun in 10th or 7th – leadership, influence, fame.

Saturn in 10th – slow but steady rise; service-oriented roles.

Mercury in 7th – business skills, commerce, communication, partnerships.

5. Check other houses

6th house – employment, competition, corporate careers.

7th house – own business, entrepreneurship, client-based work.

11th house – income from freelancing, large networks, social impact.

6. Check Nodal (Rahu-Ketu) axis in D10

While Rahu can provide insight into the areas where the soul seeks to gain professional experience (and therefore where a person may be more ambitious), Ketu, on the other hand, indicates areas of detachment or accumulated experience from past lives. This past-life knowledge can support the pursuit of professional goals indicated by Rahu in this lifetime. At the same time, Ketu often brings confusion and uncertainty in career matters, especially in the first part of life (Ketu "matures" by the age of 45-47). For example, having Ketu in the 10th house in the Dashamsha (or the Rasi) chart can indicate frequent changes in profession or difficulty in choosing a clear career path.

Final tips for Dashamsha analysis

Always read D10 along with D1: A strong D10 refines career understanding but doesn't override a deeply conflicted D1.

Check your current Mahadasha: Analyse the D10 position of the ruling planet—it often explains what's happening in your career now.

Look for patterns, not isolated placements: The most accurate insights come from consistent themes across both charts.

Pro-tip

To gain deeper insights, used by astrologers:

Analyse the nakshatras of your Ascendant, Sun, and Moon in both the D1 and D10 charts. It’s also important to check the nakshatra(s) of any planets placed in the 10th house of both charts. Each nakshatra carries distinct psychological traits, career themes, and karmic inclinations. When you observe repeating patterns across the nakshatras of your Ascendant, Sun, and Moon in both D1 and D10 - particularly when they point to similar career paths - it often reflects a strong karmic alignment with that line of work.

Additionally, evaluate Amatyakaraka (Amk) in both charts - the Amk planet will give an additional hint regarding the professional direction

[barleyo]

Nobody Rides for Free.

Shiu Kong X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: look at me posting again :3 anyway writing this was a struggle for me because i didn't know how to stretch it out, but i hope you all like it even though it's shorter than my usual work </3

Tags: fwb, p in v, car sex, quickie, semi-public, sex while driving

Wordcount: 0.7k

"Can't see the road over your head, dolly. There you go, that's better."

Your legs were starting to get tired from riding Shiu. You hated being on top, it was so much work. Plus, it felt so much better to be trapped under him. He was driving, though, so you had to relent and prop yourself over his lap to ride his cock. 

"I told you to pull over," you mumbled, keeping your head tucked on his shoulder to keep the road in his view. 

The last thing you wanted to do was to crash. What an embarrassing scene that would make for the first responders. You could imagine the headline clear as day: 'local woman speared to death on the cock of her boyfriend (?) during fatal car crash.'

"I don't have time to pull over. I've got real clients after this, you know. People who I actually have business with."

"Yeah, well," you pulled back, arms thrown over his shoulders to keep you upright, "I can't imagine you're enjoying this very much. You can't even see me with your eyes on the road."

He bucked his hips upwards sharply, satisfied grin on his face. 

"I'm a multitasker. Believe me, I'm having a great time." His eyes darted to his rear view mirror, eyeing the sparse traffic with a faint smugness. "Especially knowing any of these people could see you like this."

You groaned in discomfort at the idea. Getting a ride to work didn't seem worth all this trouble suddenly. Why did he have to be so fond of teasing you? If his dick didn't feel so good, you were certain you would've thrown yourself into oncoming traffic to end the humiliation of nearly getting caught at each turn. 

You swatted half heartedly at his chest and turned away from him, face flushed. Your skirt was crumpled from how you had to roll it up to fuck him. The hem came above your ass where Shiu had greedily parked his hand. 

"Ah— feels like you're close." He slipped his hand from your asscheek to your hip, assisting you in gliding up and down. Quick, steady sets of bouncing and grinding down on his length. "Don't grip around me so tight, I still have to focus here," he said, jaw clenched as he tried not to cum. 

"Fuck." Your mouth desperately pushed against his. 

You cornered him into a sloppy, spit-soaked kiss, letting your tongue twist against his. You focused only on the hot friction that his cock gave you as it milked the ridges of your messy, stuffed hole. 

He broke the kiss briefly, trying to catch his breath. He didn't dare take his eyes off of you. Besides, he had driven you to work many a time. It was muscle memory at this point, so he was quick to get right back into the heat of the moment with you, joining your mouths together  again. 

As the car turned into the lot of your job, you made rough, speedy movements in an attempt to get both of you off in time. Your cervix was taking a real beating from his heavy tip being jammed against it, but the pain was sweet and completely worth it. 

What wasn't worth it was the way that Shiu—lost in pleasure— hit the curb. 

"Damn it, Shiu!"

You clutched your metaphorical pearls in shock. The adrenaline was kicked out of your system and replaced with annoyance at the man. 

"You scared the hell out of me!" you spat.

Clumsily, you pulled off of his lap, leaving his cock stiff and neglected with your absence. 

"Oh, come on, princess." He stopped the car and watched as you grabbed your things and rolled your skirt back down. "Don't be that way."

You shot him a dirty look but couldn't help the hint of amusement that was in your eyes as you slammed his door shut. 

"I think I'll just walk home tonight." You wiped at the slick still dribbling down your thigh with your sleeve, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. 

"Right. Walking." Shiu watched as you stumbled away into your stuffy office building. Your knees had small bruises already forming on them, and your gait was questionable at best. "I'll see you at six."

[withlovenavi]

accountant!ushijima, who works at his father's company, doesn't understand why some people aren't career driven like him.

"you know, ushijima-san, not everyone is going to heir a company," you reply one afternoon. both of you are working on a new client, having to be together as the workload is too much for only one person.

"maybe for some people, someone like me, we just want to work to have a nice and peaceful life. have more or less money isn't important as it's to have a stable life."

you see ushijima taking in consideration your words. for someone so passionate at everything, you know he'll have a hard time understanding why some people don't give their 100% all the time. for all those years you get to know him, you have seen how hard worker, detailed and perfectionist he can be.

as you are voicing out loud those thoughts, surprisingly, ushijima speaks over.

"you're also all of that yet you find more rewarding when the chef at the cafeteria saves you the last carrot cake than close a report on the first try."

ushijima has a very serious expression, especially for someone that young. but you have the knowledge of identify his various emotions in his face. like now, he's genuine curious.

"well, ushijima-san, that's something i could teach you if you like."

and you wink to make more clear that you're joking (or filtring who knows).

but ushijima is ushijima and you wouldn't like him so much if he were different.

with a deeper bow than necessary, he says, all too serious this time, "please, teach me."

[characteroulette]

Okay y'know despite not receiving any answers on Apollo's apparent lack of character, I think I have figured out why people think as much about him. It's purely that they tend to just fill in their perceived lack with a more Phoenix motivation than Apollo's own actual motivations. Apollo gets conflated with Phoenix, especially in DD, despite how in AJ he wants nothing to do with Phoenix after his first case. It's easier to just treat Apollo as an extension of Phoenix since Phoenix is the main stay, the main focus, even if that couldn't be the furthest thing from the reality of the text.

Apollo wants the truth above all else. It's why he reveals that Machi is a smuggler and Vera is a forger despite how it might damage his clients' credibility. (We don't get things like this in DD, and in SOJ it's more revealing Datz is a terrorist would lose his case immediately. I think, at least.) But usually, when I see people muse in their fics on how Apollo would take defending an actually guilty client, they have him swap sides immediately. Just like Phoenix would. And I think that's not what Apollo would do. There's plenty of evidence in AJ that shows Apollo doesn't flip sides so immediately. He accused his teacher since the evidence and logic led him (/us) to that conclusion, but the entire time he was hoping for a different explanation. He pursued the truth in spite of his own misgivings on the situation. He presents the forged card because he is being manipulated into this, being led straight into the waiting jaws of that snake trap made specially to snare Kristoph.

He was naive, and he makes sure that doesn't happen again. Even in the final case of AJ, he makes sure to explain the second forged piece, to explain the same trick of it that Phoenix made for the first forged piece. It doesn't work this time (and I am begging Phoenix to have thought up a better way to get traces of poison from a convicted inmate's cell, even despite how favoured Kristoph was), but Apollo knows what he is doing now. He acknowledges instead of attempting to fudge anything, in direct contrast to Phoenix's own actions from the original trilogy.

I don't think he'd deny his client's guilt if they did truly commit the murder. I think he'd still fight for the truth, wouldn't settle for just a guilty verdict until the whole plot was figured out. Apollo wants to help his clients, sure, but that's never been his driving force. How could it be when it was never his choice who he ended up defending? What he wants is to know the truth. He wants to understand how the crime happened and follows the logical conclusion from that on how this crime occurred.

To be fair to Phoenix, he was under duress when this happened to him both times (Matt and Iris). But Phoenix is driven by belief in his clients while Apollo is driven by the desire to uncover the truth. Similar but very different motivations, I think.

I think this is also what separates Phoenix from Ryuunosuke. Phoenix believes in his clients. Ryuunosuke had to learn that belief but also carries Apollo's drive for the truth. He will claw and scrape until the worst is revealed, even if it hurts someone. (He'll feel terrible about it later, but he will still expose Kazuma's guilt in almost killing a man for the sake of the truth.) Taking this even further, the one who decides how like Phoenix or Apollo's motivations Ryuunosuke is are the choices the player can make. They might be meaningless choices narratively, but they matter in the same way the Matt Endgarde decision matters. You can choose for Ryuunosuke to turn a blind eye to McGilded's forgeries, belief in your client above all else. Or you can have Ryuunosuke acknowledge there is something shady happening here, truth above all else. Or you can have a mixture of the two! (I chose this option, making Ryuunosuke question the new evidence but ultimately pleading for a Not Guilty verdict.) It's a fascinating way to mix these two's strongest driving forces and leave it to the player to determine how much each side affects Ryuunosuke's personality as shown in the text.

Phoenix is willing to fudge the truth for the sake of his clients. We see as much in 3-3. Apollo would never do such a thing, he is here to find out the truth, no matter how ugly. And Ryuunosuke sits in-between the two, a little of column A and a little of column P. I just find this distinction between all of them so fascinating.

All this being said, I'd love to see Phoenix be put in this situation where he isn't under duress for once, actually. What he would do is fascinating to me hahaha

[warrioreowynofrohan]

LOTR Newsletter - September 21

Today's reading is very short, a single brief sentence, but the appendices of LOTR and "The Hunt for the Ring" in Unfinished Tales have more context on what is going on in the wider world.

The appendices tell us that Gandalf is still in Rohan attempting to tame Shadowfax.

The the same time, the Ringwraiths ride north from Isengard to the Shire. Saruman's deception of them is very short-lived, as they learn that that he did not just find out the location of the Shire from Gandalf, as he claimed, but has known it for a very long time.

But first, some context about Saruman's dealings with the Shire. Another interesting part of this section is that it shows that the Bracegirdle's (Lobelia's family; that's her maiden name) and the Sackville-Bagginses are already commercially involved with Saruman. It somewhat evokes a mercantile imperialism, where a foreign power gains local allies and clients because it purchases build of their wealth, and uses that as a foundation for intel and political power. His arrival in the Shire after the War of the Ring thus does not come out of nowhere, but builds on existing ties and existing power - the "ruffians" are available for him to use as a paramilitary force because they had already been being used that way by Lotho, but were always Saruman's people.

Saruman had long taken an interest in the Shire – because Gandalf did, and he was suspicious of him; and because (again in secret imitation of Gandalf) he had taken to the ‘Halflings’ leaf’ and needed supplies, but in pride (having once scoffed at Gandalf’s use of the weed) kept this as secret as he could. Latterly other motives were added. He liked to extend his power, especially into Gandalf’s province, and he found that the money he could provide for the purchase of ‘leaf’ was giving him power, and was corrupting some of the hobbits, especially the Bracegirdles, who owned many plantations, and so also the Sackville-Bagginses. But also he had begun to feel certain that in some way the Shire was connected with the Ring in Gandalf’s mind. Why this strong guard upon it? He therefore began to collect detailed information about the Shire, its chief persons and families, its roads, and other matters. For this he used Hobbits within the Shire, in the pay of the Bracegirdles and the Sackville-Bagginses, but his agents were Men, of Dunlendish origin. When Gandalf had refused to treat with him Saruman had redoubled his efforts. The Rangers were suspicious, but did not actually refuse entry to the servants of Saruman – for Gandalf was not at liberty to warn them, and when he had gone off to Isengard Saruman was still recognized as an ally.

So, Saruman already has agents going back and forth between Rivendell and the Shire. The Ringwraiths overtake one of those agents.

When the Black Riders were far across Enedwaith and drawing near at last to Tharbad, they had what was for then a great stroke of good fortune, but disastrous for Saruman, and deadly perilous for Frodo. Some while ago one of Saruman’s most trusted servants (yet a ruffianly fellow, an outlaw driven from Dunland, where many said that he had Orc-blood) had returned from the borders of the Shire, where he had been negotiating for the purchase of ‘leaf’ and other supplies. Saruman was beginning to store Isengard against war. This man was now on his way back to continue the business, and to arrange for the transport of many goods before autumn failed. [Footnote: The usual way was by the crossing of Tharbad to Dunland (rather than direct to Isengard), whence goods were sent more secretly to Saruman.] He had orders also to get into the Shire if possible and learn if there had been any departures of persons well-known recently. He was well supplied with maps, lists of names, and notes concerning the Shire. This Dunlending was overtaken by several of the Black Riders as they approached the Tharbad crossing. In an extremity of terror he was haled to the Witch-king and questioned. He saved his life by betraying Saruman. The Witch-king thus learned that Saruman knew well all along where the Shire was, and knew much about it, which he could and should have told to Sauron’s servants if he had been a true ally. The Witch-king also obtained much information, including some about the only name that interested him: Baggins.  It was for this reason that Hobbiton was singled out as one of the points for immediate visit and enquiry. The Witch-king had now a clearer understanding of the matter. He had known something of the country long ago, in his wars with the Dúnedain, and especially of the Tyrn Gorthad of Cardolan, now the Barrow-downs, whose evil wights had been sent there by himself. Seeing that his Master suspected some move between the Shire and Rivendell, he saw also that Bree (the position of which he knew) would be an important point, at least for information. [Note from Christopher Tolkien: Since the Black Captain knew so much, it is perhaps strange that the had so little idea of where the Shire, the land of the Halflings, lay; according to the Tale of Years there were already Hobbits settled in Bree at the beginning of the Third Age, when the Witch-king came north to Angmar.] He put therefore the Shadow of Fear on the Dunlending, and sent him to Bree as an agent. He was the squint-eyed southerner at the Inn.

This clarifies a lot of the later events in the first half of The Fellowship of the Ring. The southerner at Bree who is staying with Bill Ferny doesn't have immediately obvious significance in the book. How could he be a spy of Sauron, when Sauron has only just learned the location the Shire and has no presence in northwest Middle-earth? But if he was a spy of Saruman, why would he be helping the Ringwraiths? This passage solves the mystery - and shows how much Tolkien had plotted out even events that are completely left out of the book - by placing him as an agent of Saruman who had been captured and subverted by the Ringwraiths. Which also explains how the Ringwraiths knew to go to Hobbiton in particular, and how they knew where Hobbiton was. And they also learned that Frodo Baggins was moving out of Hobbiton.

If LOTR was a TV show and we were seeing all this happening simultaneous, this would be an intensely suspenseful part of the show, with the Ringwraiths on their way north, knowing where Frodo is, and Frodo still waiting at Bag End for Gandalf and not knowing that there any immediate urgency.

[arthur-likes-frogz]

Hannibal constantly longs to be seen

needless to say, Hannibal is a deeply lonely man. his loneliness strongly affects the plot, and how he interacts with people as well as the world itself.

blatantly enough we have seen how he pokes at clients (especially Will Graham) in search of someone who may understand, see him and the world through his eyes. he has driven many to act like him but he never found someone who really understood him and the atrocity and beauty in the world he sees.

In the past Hannibal was much more careful when getting involved with any aspect of investigations involving his crimes. murders tend to keep close tabs on investigations involving their murders but Hannibal is intelligent and knows far better than to get involved; although, all of that went out the window when Will Graham began working with the FBI. sure, originally Hannibal was asked to help on a case but after having met Will and got a taste of his empathy he kept close tabs on the people involved, Jack Crawford, other psychiatrists in that circle, and, needless to say, will himself. in the beginning will pushed Hannibal away quite a bit, not because Will was weary of Hannibal himself but because Will was cautious about who he let see him, similarly to Hannibal. they both cover their true selves up but in far different ways. they are so very different but at the same time, they are the same, abstract puzzle pieces that oddly fit, (I'll talk about the complexity of both their person suits in a different post dw).

just the slim possibility of being seen, understood, and maybe even finding companionship is like a drug for this man. we can all agree that Hannibal was hooked to Will Graham in this regard. he had spent god knows how long hiding beneath a person suit, searching for some sort of understanding, and finally, he had a taste of being seen, being known truly.

Eventually the two spiral into their own complex world, the two torn open to what lies beneath. this is what makes Mizumono so gut-wrenching. As I've talked about before (and will discuss again), the end of Mizumono was such a hurtful and deep scene packed with so many conflicting parts of themselves, the misunderstanding, the betrayal, and the violent pain sparked between the two is highlighted more than ever when you begin to really look into and understand who they are and how the two changed and developed as they began to merge.

the pure symbolism and art that is pressed through hannibals desperate longing be seen, and what becomes devotion, shapes so much of his relationship with Will and the vulnerability that comes with it.

[theliteraryarchitect]

Hi! I wanted to say, I read that you are a professional editor, and think it's amazing! You also give very logical and well explained advice. I was wondering; would you say being an editor is a job you can support yourself with? I actually aspire to become one someday, but I'm not exactly sure if it's a good plan.

Thank you for your time, and I hope you have a good day/night

Hey there. Great question. It's totally possible to support yourself as an editor. I've done it, and so have other editors I know. However there are a few important things to consider before choosing editing as a career path.

Your chances of being a self-employed freelancer are extremely high. The number of in-house editing jobs in publishing are low and getting lower. While being self employed can give you a certain amount of flexibility, it also comes along with a lot of hustle and hassle, namely fluctuating income, a stupid amount of confusing tax paperwork, and the need to constantly promote yourself to clients in order to maintain steady work.

You probably won't make as much money as you'd think. Editing is one of the many skilled jobs that suffers from market saturation, which has sadly driven down the price the average client is willing to pay for editing services. I can't tell you the number of overqualified editors I know charging barely more than minimum wage for their work. Personally I've stuck to my guns about charging what I'm worth, but I've sometimes suffered by not having as much work as my colleagues who charge less.

Robots have already chipped away at the future of editing as a human occupation, and will continue to do so at exponential speed in the years ahead. They will never obliterate the job completely, as there will always be humans who prefer to work with humans instead of machines. But the outlook will become ever bleaker as more humans compete for fewer gigs, which in turn will drive down prices even further.

If you are also a writer, editing may adversely affect your writing. I don't mean that you'll become a worse writer, quite the opposite. My editing work has brought new depths to my writing, and I'm grateful for all I've learned by working with my clients. However, editing takes time, uses creative energy, and requires staring at a screen (or paper), and personally the more I edit, the less time/creativity/screen-staring capabilities I have left for my own writing.

If you mention you're an editor, someone will troll your post for a typo, grammatical error, or misused word, and then triumphantly point it out to you in the comments. This is mostly a joke. But it does happen every single time.

I hope this hasn't been too discouraging. If you feel a true passion for editing and really enjoy the work, none of the above should dissuade you. However, if you think you might be happy in any number of occupations, I'd honestly advise you to explore other options. Choosing a career path at this point in history is a gamble no matter what, but the outlook for editors is especially grim.

If you'd like to work with writers and aren't attached to being an editor, there are a few jobs (still freelance) that I believe will survive the coming robot apocalypse. Do a little Google research about "book coaches," "writing coaches," or "book doulas." These are people who act primarily as emotional supporters and logistical helpers for writers who are trying to get their book published or self published. Some of them do actual editing, but many do not, and due to the therapeutic nature of their work I believe they will flourish longer than editors in the coming robot apocalypse.

If you do explore editing as a path, the further away you can lean from spelling and grammar (e.g. proofreader or copyeditor), the longer your skills will be useful when competing with robots. AI still struggles to offer the same kind of nuanced, story-level feedback that a human can give. (Speaking from experience here--I'm a developmental editor and have yet to see a dent in my workload because of robots.) They'll catch up eventually, but it could be a while, and as long as there are human readers, there will always be humans who are willing to pay for a human perspective on their writing. Human spell checkers maybe not so much.

Hope this helps!

[peachy-panic]

Dr. Collins Interlude

A rare third-party POV, this time from the perspective of Grayson's therapist. Consider this the preface to the joint-therapy arc, in the works now.

WARNINGS: Talk of captivity, talk of abuse/noncon, PTSD, referenced suicide attempt

Dr. Collins was twenty-six years old when he began practicing. In the private practice he operated alongside three of his colleagues, he had been the youngest by almost twenty years. For his first few years, he took on the heaviest cases that came through their doors; victims of child abuse and domestic violence. People with PTSD so severe that it impacted their daily functioning.

His older colleagues warned him against fatigue and burnout if he continued to shoulder such an intense workload, but he never once considered backing down. 

Their warnings weren’t baseless. The first few years were hard, and all the more difficult for the fact that he was in a new town, in a new state, without any kind of support system around him. There were a lot of long, lonely nights, and more than one unhealthy coping mechanism he used to shake off the weight of his dark days. 

Things got better, gradually. He made changes. He met the love of his life and married him just after his thirtieth birthday. They bought a home together and filled it with color and life. He learned the meaning of a work-life-balance and watched as his work became more rewarding than it was exhausting. Things got easier. 

He was no longer a young man when Grayson Dawning came into his life, but he was the first client in a very long time that stirred up those long buried fears of inadequacy. 

Dr. Collins knew about him before he met him as a client. It felt like everyone in the country knew. Definitely everyone in the state, and most especially in several-town radius of the church that had launched the disastrous mission. 

After two months of radio silence following the disappearance of the two young missionaries, most everyone began to assume that they would never come home. Dr. Collins had come to believe it, too, as much as he ever allowed himself the space to think about the missing young men.

And then, beyond all hope, word of their rescue reached their town. 

And soon after, Dr. Collins received a call from the pastor of the church, wanting to arrange a long term treatment plan for one of the rescued men. Boys, really. They were so young, still. Dr. Collins had not hesitated to take him on.

He hadn’t known many details, then, about the trauma Grayson and his counterpart had endured in their time away from home. After several months of intensive sessions, he regretted to say that he still didn’t know nearly as much of the story as he should. It seemed that the more he leaned on Grayson to open up, the more he closed in around himself. 

Guilt was the primary emotion Grayson exhibited in their months of sessions. It weighed on him, as if he had been the sole survivor. In some way, he thought Grayson might actually see it in those terms. Their captivity was framed, in his perspective, as something that had happened to Elijah, and something Grayson bore witness to. It was Elijah who was taken. It was Elijah who was tortured. It was Elijah who was raped.  

(There were private doubts Dr. Collins held but didn’t push too hard. There were too many blanks in the story. Certain territories Grayson refused to touch).

It was for this reason that he couldn’t be entirely surprised the night he got the call that Grayson was in the hospital after an attempt. It didn’t mean he felt the impact any less.

Seeing Elijah for the first time in the hospital that day—the trembling young man holding a bouquet of flowers in Grayson’s hospital room doorway—had driven home the idea he had considered pitching to his patient for weeks. 

He could admit that he didn’t know how it would go, putting them together in a session like this for the first time. He had even been a little surprised when both of them agreed to see it through. He wanted to do everything in his power to be worthy of that trust. 

TBC...

****

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[vickyvicarious]

I have a lot to talk about in this scene, boy oh boy. First of all, I love the character implications of Enoch's reaction here. He isn't happy at all at the reveal that Courtney was the one who actually killed Asman. The fact that he gets outright angry at her is so interesting. It reveals just how deeply he desires his revenge, and how emotionally driven his actions are despite his logical thinking. He's able to keep himself from outright confessing for a long time even when it's fairly clear what he's done, because he knows there's no actual proof and he doesn't want to implicate himself. He suppresses his pride again and again, hinging his defense on the pretense that he doesn't understand stuff or made dumb mistakes (his clients' designs, the scene in the graveyard, his claim to be a merely average student). But here, he can't hold himself back. He gets so mad, because in his eyes she has stolen his revenge out from under him, in much the same way she was one of those who helped to steal his future back then. It infuriates him.

And his word choice is super revealing too. He asks if she's been taking him for a fool first. Because that matters hugely to him. He is just fine playing the role of someone who is less intelligent (meaning only average rather than above, he never really tries to act outright dumb) because he knows that he is playing a role. Every time someone believes him about that, it's in the context of him successfully fooling them to get his way, it's him outsmarting them. He still has his Young Scientist award. He never got the formal qualifications or the career he aspired to, but he's always seen that as the fault of others. His own capabilities are something he has faith in. So the fact that not only did his murder plan fail to actually kill his target, but that Sithe has successfully lied to and fooled him makes him utterly furious. He's supposed to be the one who tricks others. He's not supposed to get tricked himself. It spits on his pride in his intellect, the one thing that has never been compromised.

So that's Drebber in isolation.

But I also want to talk about Sithe here. She also snaps, shouting and collapsing on to the podium. For someone usually so cool and collected, this is a big deal. And it confirms that she has a completely different set of priorities. She feels so weighed down, and has for years now. Exactly what went down back then is still unclear, but it's obvious that she has a deep sense of duty that she places even above her own wellbeing. Whether that is the Yard's reputation, her staff, or the secret from so long ago... she tries to keep it covered up and safe as much as she can. She's willing to break the law and even commit murder, and then eventually to admit to varying degrees of doing so, before she is willing to tell the truth. It's clear in this moment that she doesn't enjoy any of this. But she feels like she has to do it. I don't know if her motives are truly big-picture all the way down or if there is some element of coercion much deeper than what Drebber tried on her (something with her daughter, maybe?) but either way it is her duty to someone/something outside herself that dictates all her behavior.

I especially love noticing both of those things about each of them here, because on a more surface level they have a lot in common. They both have a really cool 'cold scientist' aesthetic, they both are very logical and mostly calm, very intellectual about what they say. They both have a scary smile. They share a very similar color pallete, with pale hair and skin, gold accents, black and white as the overwhelming colors in their clothes (just in reverse, with Drebber wearing black with a white tie, and Sithe wearing a white coat with darker clothes underneath). The way they both collapse forward onto their arms when overwhelmed is really similar. And they both do that here! But for very different reasons. Enoch is driven by emotion, by revenge and pride. Sithe is driven by duty, by protectiveness and burdens.

Drebber has a bad reputation but pride in himself, going in to this. Sithe had a good reputation but guilt weighing on her. And in this scene, that reverses at least a little. Drebber's proved correct about the events in the graveyard, and innocent of any actual murder... but he learns that he has been fooled. Sithe's proven to be corrupt and a murderer... but as a result, she no longer has to be responsible for the way things turn out anymore. It's not total in either case - Drebber still tried to kill Asman, and Sithe is still keeping secrets - but it's still super cool.

[ysmtttty]

Red Ferrari

Chapter 12

Summary: Azris AU, where Azriel is a mechanic and has his own service station. One day, Eris comes there because something is wrong with his car

AO3 link Chapter 11 Chapter 13

Eris felt like he was in some strange calm before the storm. If you could even call it calm, considering that literally a week ago, his still-wife had broken into his apartment. However, there had been no news from Keir or Beron. Maybe that was for the best.

He and Azriel had talked about Mor's visit. Eris had also asked since when Azriel knew how to pick locks and why he thought teaching Mor that skill was a good idea. Azriel just shrugged and cryptically said he was good with his hands. When asked about Mor, he sighed and said that as a teenager, he really wanted to impress her, which was hard given their financial differences.

Now, Azriel had returned to work at the workshop, and coincidentally, Eris's car had broken down again, right in the middle of a workday. How unlucky!

"Do you think you can fix it?" Eris smirked, watching as Azriel examined the car with a look of annoyance, having already complained a thousand times that Eris was distracting him from his real work.

"I don’t know, the car’s a wreck. I’d recommend leaving it here and just buying a new one," Azriel said sarcastically. Eris only chuckled.

"Why do I get the feeling you just want to steal my Aston Martin?"

"Because I plan to," Azriel smiled, turning to face him with his arms crossed.

From the first day, Eris had loved how Azriel looked in that overalls, worn over a white tank top with one of the straps constantly slipping down. There was something undeniably hot about it, especially with his hair tousled and beads of sweat on his forehead when he worked on something.

During their first meeting, Eris tried hard not to stare at Azriel. He failed miserably, but back then, he could easily mask it with arrogance. To be fair, he was a bit of a smug bastard at the time. Not that much has changed.

"So, what was wrong with the car again?" Azriel asked as Eris reached into the pocket of his oil-stained overalls, pulling out the garage keys.

Eris shrugged nonchalantly, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "The engine was making strange sounds." He paused, glancing at the car, then back at Azriel. "Funny how they stopped the moment I got here."

"Funny indeed," Azriel murmured, his gaze sharpening as Eris pressed the key fob, and the hum of the automatic garage doors echoed through the small space. The metal panels descended slowly, their groaning mechanism closing off the outside world.

Azriel raised an eyebrow in question, while Eris distractedly played with the strap of his overalls, one that had fallen loose on his shoulder. With deliberate slowness, he pulled the second strap down, letting the overalls hang low around his waist.

"When did you say your colleague is coming back?" Eris mumbled as Azriel tried to focus and figure out what he had just asked.

Colleague. Right, Cassian. Cassian had gone on his lunch break about half an hour ago. Considering he had driven to the other side of the city just because Nesta agreed to have lunch with him during her break, it could take him quite a while.

"Not for a while," Azriel replied, his voice dipping lower as he stepped closer. His hands reached out, settling at Eris’s waist. And Eris smiled as Azriel leaned in, closing the distance between them and kissing him hungrily.

Azriel's fingers were already busy, working on the buckle of Eris’s belt, tugging it free with practiced ease. The click of the belt coming undone echoed faintly.

Eris's breath hitched slightly as Azriel’s fingers slid lower, pulling down his pants. "Do you give all your clients this kind of service?" Eris teased, though his voice was rougher now, betraying the heat simmering just beneath his cocky exterior.

"Only to the very, very special ones," he muttered as he dropped to his knees, focusing more on the growing desire to take Eris into his mouth.

Azriel pulled down his underwear, Eris's cock sprang free, already hard, and his eyes widened, full of greed, his tongue licking his lips.

"God, you’re such a slut, aren’t you?" Eris taunted, his hand reaching out to grab Azriel’s hair in a firm grip. "So desperate, wanting me to fuck your mouth."

Azriel’s lips parted, his mouth warm and inviting as Eris pushed forward, his cock sliding in slowly, the sensation making them both gasp. Eris’s eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, overwhelmed by the heat of Azriel’s mouth.

Eris let out a low hiss, feeling Azriel adjust, taking him in fully. In response, Azriel flicked his tongue around before hollowing out his cheeks, and Eris cursed. He took him deep, looking up at him with drool pooling at the corners of his mouth. And for fuck’s sake, it was the most beautiful sight.

Eris began to thrust gently at first, but it wasn’t long before the rhythm grew more demanding. His hips snapped forward, unable to hold back as he began fucking Azriel’s mouth with abandon. Azriel’s hands gripped his hips, leaving crescent-shaped marks on his pale skin as he eagerly took what Eris gave, his body straining to please.

Suddenly, they heard the sound of a car door slamming outside.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, why the hell was Cassian back so early? Azriel paused, his hands twitched, ready to push away and get up, but Eris’s grip tightened in his hair, holding him in place.

"Who told you to stop?" he hissed, his voice rough and breathless, his eyes dark with lust. Azriel’s mind spun from those words, his heart pounding wildly as the heat between his legs intensified.

Without hesitation, Azriel resumed, his mouth wrapping around Eris’s cock again with renewed fervor. Eris's pace grew harsher, more brutal, and Azriel’s gagging was more frequent now, his throat tight and slick as he continued to take Eris in.

"Such a good boy, Azriel," Eris rasped, his voice hoarse as he neared his peak. His thrusts were erratic, desperate now, and he slammed into the back of Azriel’s throat again and again until he came with a muffled groan, biting down on his hand to stifle the noise.

Azriel swallowed greedily, his lips slick as he pulled off slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Az! Why are you locked in?" Cassian’s voice came from outside the garage door, but he had the good sense not to open it.

Eris let out a breathy chuckle, amused at the situation, as he watched Azriel hastily fix himself up, wiping his face and straightening his shirt. Eris, on the other hand, took his time, adjusting his clothes without any rush, clearly entertained by Azriel’s frantic movements.

Azriel shot him a displeased look when he noticed the amused glint in his eyes, clearly not finding the situation quite as humorous.

“I swear to God, Eris,” Azriel muttered under his breath, earning another teasing smile from him.

“Worth it,” Eris whispered with a wink.

Azriel glared at him, his lips twitching in irritation as he tried to compose himself, and Eris simply smirked, leaning back against the car with a smug grin.

"Next time," Azriel hissed, voice low and dangerous, "I’ll fuck you when you can be as loud as you want."

Eris only chuckled, his chest still heaving from the exertion. "I’ll hold you to that."

Azriel gave him one last glance, filled with a mix of annoyance and lingering desire, before grabbing the keys and heading for the garage door before Cassian could recall that he had his own keys. He wiped his mouth quickly, trying to appear composed

Eris only chuckled, watching him trying to act all composed in front of his friend. He leaned back, watching the scene unfold with amusement. It had been worth every second, risking getting caught.

A few minutes later, Eris’s phone rang, and he saw Lucien’s name on the display. Thinking Lucien either needed money, a car, or bail, Eris prepared to say no firmly before Lucien even started trying to convince him.

But this time, things were different. Lucien answered the phone with maximum seriousness in his voice and asked if Eris could talk. That idiot hadn’t asked if he could talk a year ago when he called Eris at 3 AM because he and Jurian had climbed a tree in some elderly couple’s yard on a dare just because there were cherries, and those two drunks really wanted some. They were arrested that night, and Lucien had no remorse in his voice when he called Eris to bail them out.

So, his seriousness now was extremely worrying.

"What happened?" Eris frowned, his mind racing to figure out what it could be. Please don’t let it be about Aurora’s health, or his brothers, or some new bullshit his father decided to throw at Helion and Aurora out of boredom just because that old bastard could. Anything but family.

"Beron’s flying here," Lucien said, and Eris gripped the phone tighter. Life clearly hated him and wasn’t interested in listening to his requests. "Adrian just called me."

Their brother, who, for some unknown reasons beyond financial gain, had chosen to work for their father’s company, often informed the rest of the family of Beron’s movements. Eris always called him the little spy, which irritated Adrian and prompted him to remind Eris that he wasn’t seven anymore. Still, the nickname stuck with him and all his brothers used it much to his discontent.

"Maybe it’s just a business meeting," Eris muttered, trying to convince himself more than his younger brother.

"Adrian’s not sure," Lucien replied. "But you should know he will be here."

"Thanks. And thank Adrian too."

"Eris, let me know if anything happens."

Eris didn’t bother to offer an insincere promise like "yeah, sure" or something similar. He wouldn’t do it anyway, so lying to his younger brother just to temporarily ease his mind felt pointless. After all, Eris had explained the situation with Keir in very, very vague terms, heavily glossing over the details because Lucien didn’t need to know everything.

The less you know, the better you sleep. That’s why his younger brother slept until noon, while Eris was on the verge of chronic insomnia.

"Something wrong?" Azriel’s voice broke through as he returned, his smile fading a little when he saw the troubled look on Eris’s face.

Eris’s first instinct was to lie. To brush it off, make a joke, anything. Hide everything and try to figure it out on his own, because that’s how he’d always operated. His brain reflexively came up with a good excuse, convenient and plausible, ready to slip from his tongue.

But Eris stopped himself. They had promised each other honesty, and he, in particular, had vowed not to hide the important parts of his life from Azriel. His father’s arrival, as much as he wished otherwise, definitely fell into the category of major problems.

"It’s family stuff," he sighed, putting his phone back in his pocket. "I’ll tell you tonight."

That was the most Eris could offer right now. At least now he was committed to telling Azriel. Azriel didn’t press him or ask any further questions. Instead, he just kissed him, cupping his cheeks with both hands.

"Then I’ll see you tonight," Azriel whispered. Eris could only nod.

After that, he went back to work because, well, the workday wasn’t going to cancel itself.

Eris tried not to think about the possibility that, upon entering his office, he might find his father there, inspecting the books on his shelves or rummaging through the papers on his desk as if they belonged to him. In Beron Vanserra's world, everything, absolutely everything, belonged to Beron Vanserra.

Just as easily, he could have been at Eris' apartment or somewhere else, lurking in the shadows like a predator, ready to strike at the most opportune moment. Eris wished he could say that over the years he had not only learned to expect such attacks but also knew how to handle them. However, that would have been a lie. Beron’s appearance anywhere was always unexpected and unpleasant for him, and knowing that his father was currently in the city only heightened his paranoia. But even that wouldn't save him.

Fortunately, Eris' father wasn’t in his office. After asking his assistant if anyone had come by looking for him while he was out, wary that Beron might have sent someone, he received a negative reply. Only then did he breathe a sigh of relative relief.

Until the end of the workday, Eris occasionally glanced at the door as if expecting it to burst open at any moment. He wanted to be ready, to anticipate the danger and not be caught off guard.

Eris texted Azriel, suggesting they meet at Azriel's place instead of risking the dangerous theory that Beron might be in his penthouse. Azriel agreed, warning him not to expect a five-star hotel experience and offering to make dinner. One problem down.

Beron didn’t visit often. Over the years, his visits could be counted on one hand. Eris, of course, might not have been aware of all his father's appearances, as some could have been strictly for business meetings. But in the instances he did know about, Beron had sought him out. "Favorite son," Eris always thought sarcastically.

He hated it with every fiber of his being. The mere thought that he was indeed the only child Beron acknowledged in any way filled him with disgust and nausea. Even Adrian, who worked for their father, mentioned that Beron rarely recognized him as anything more than the financial director of the branch he managed.

But no one was waiting for him in the empty parking lot, and everything seemed quiet. Eris didn’t risk driving his car, leaving it at the office instead, and took a taxi to Azriel's place. He arrived without any incidents.

Climbing the stairs, Eris was still calculating his next steps when one of the apartment doors opened, revealing Azriel. Dressed casually, covered in some sort of stain, and smiling.

“How does Your Majesty manage without an elevator?” he quipped, and Eris merely rolled his eyes as he followed him inside.

“I’m ready to become a sponsor of this complex if it means they’ll install an elevator,” Eris replied as he removed his coat and shoes.

Azriel led them to the kitchen, where a delightful smell reminded Eris that all he’d had today was coffee.

“Nice place,” Eris muttered, looking around.

It was his first time in Azriel’s apartment, and it was pretty much what he had expected. Eris glanced around at the small space with old, peeling wallpaper, and some damaged furniture—it was, in a word, a place with character. He genuinely tried to be supportive, but...

“Okay, how do you live here?” The question slipped out before he could soften it.

Azriel, clearly used to this by now, laughed and rolled his eyes. It would have been foolish to expect any other reaction from Eris, but Azriel found it amusing to watch him try not to be too critical or sarcastic about his home.

“It’s just a rental,” Azriel shrugged, helping Eris out of his jacket. “I’m only here to sleep.”

“You could afford something better,” Eris said, wrinkling his nose.

“I could,” Azriel agreed. “But I’ve been living here for so many years, and I’m too lazy to move anywhere else. Too much hassle—finding a place, negotiating with the landlord, making sure they’re not a jerk, moving all my stuff…”

Eris snorted and kissed him, Azriel smiling into the kiss, his hand slipping into Eris' hair and gently squeezing.

“Speaking of things that annoy us,” Azriel grinned, “let’s talk about your suits.”

Laughing, Eris just rolled his eyes. “Is that your subtle way of telling me to undress?”

“Actually, I was going to offer you a change of clothes, but if you’re so eager, I won’t object.”

Soon after, Eris was sitting in Azriel’s t-shirt and lounge pants in the kitchen while Azriel worked at the stove. As Azriel stood with his back to him, dodging the occasional splatter of hot oil from the pan, Eris tugged the collar of the shirt closer, inhaling the scent. It was then that he realized just how far gone he was.

As strange as it was for him, part of Eris wanted to linger in this moment for as long as possible. Even though Azriel’s living conditions didn’t suit him at all—he could swear he saw something suspiciously rat-like in the bathroom, though Azriel insisted he was just being dramatic—he simply sat there, watching Azriel expertly cook their dinner. They would eat together, probably just talking about how their day went. And that’s what he wanted. More than anything else.

In recent days, all Eris could think about at work wasn’t how to close a deal with partners or how to seal a case with a bang to boost his reputation but the fact that after work, he would see Azriel.

And it no longer scared him. If before it was something unknown and seemingly dangerous, something he had to quickly build walls around and guard himself against until it was too late, now it was still uncharted territory, but without the feeling of danger.

“What are you thinking about?” Azriel snapped him out of his thoughts by tapping his nose after setting the plates on the table, noticing Eris’ pensive expression. Eris wrinkled his nose and lightly kicked him under the table.

“About the rat in your bathroom.”

Azriel rolled his eyes and simply handed him a fork, pushing the plate closer. Eris smiled slightly, doing his best not to devour the food all at once. He still had manners, even though his last meal was who knows when.

“Do you still want to talk about why you left the workshop like you saw a ghost?” Azriel gently reminded him a little later. The plates were empty, wine was in their glasses, and they sat on the couch—Eris had refused to sit on it until he’d gotten three reassurances that there were no bedbugs.

And so, they approached the topic Eris had been hoping to avoid. But he was an adult and had learned from his mistakes, so he knew avoiding it was the last thing he should do in this situation.

“My father came to the city,” he said quietly, setting his glass down on the coffee table and stretching out on the couch with his head on Azriel’s lap, looking up at him. “Not the most pleasant man, if you remember. So I’ve been on edge the past few hours, trying to figure out why he’s here and if I should be panicking.”

With the explanations about the divorce and the original idea of a marriage of convenience, Azriel should already have formed some impression of just what kind of jerk Beron Vanserra was. And Eris could tell by the hint of anger that passed over Azriel’s face as his hand absentmindedly played with Eris’ hair.

“Welcome to the ‘share your childhood trauma’ evening,” Eris commented sarcastically.

“This time, I can honestly say you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Azriel replied calmly.

“Sorry, but I’ve been mentally preparing for this conversation for hours, and I’m afraid you won’t get another chance.”

Azriel chuckled, and Eris smiled, looking up at him.

“If I’d known, I would’ve opened a bottle of something stronger,” Azriel said. “Or at least mentally prepared for some trauma-dumping of my own, to make it fair.”

Eris just snorted. “I wouldn’t dare ask.”

And… they talked. Eris told him a little about his father, about the unfair divorce where his mother got custody of all the children except him. Eris had partial custody—weekends with his mother and the rest of the time with his father. About some details of what it was like to live under the same roof with Beron Vanserra. About how while all his brothers lived peacefully with their mother and stepfather, Eris was graced with such generosity only on weekends. Azriel listened to it all, his hand continuing to run through Eris' hair in a way that was strangely grounding.

Eris had never thought he needed pity. He truly didn’t. He told all of this in a matter-of-fact tone, just trying to explain why exactly his father’s arrival here was a big deal, not in search of sympathy. But there was something about Azriel’s quiet anger that flickered across his face with every added detail that made him continue to talk. Something about Azriel’s mere presence made Eris more honest, made him want to tell everything himself.

That was when the first bottle of wine was finished. Eris’s energy along with it, as he began to drift off while Azriel changed the topic, distracting him and telling him about new engines running on some impractical fuel type that he hated working with, knowing Eris wouldn’t understand a thing anyway.

The next day, Eris would have liked to spend the same way, but a message came about a meeting, with only the place and time mentioned. No further clarification was needed to know who the sender was.

At the dreaded hour, in the designated place—a simple café in an upscale area, not particularly notable but still fitting their “status” so Beron wouldn’t take offense—Eris was there. He took his seat across from his father, who calmly sipped tea as if such meetings were a regular occurrence for them.

They sat in silence for a moment, the tension thick in the air. Eris could feel his father’s eyes on him, studying him, perhaps gauging his reaction or testing him, as he always did. Eris resisted the urge to fidget, keeping his posture relaxed, even though inside, his mind was racing.

“You wanted to see me, Father,” Eris began, hoping to start the conversation and end it quickly.

"You’re almost divorced," Beron said, raising his cold, calculating gaze at Eris, his eyes narrowed slightly, always assessing something. Eris hated how often he caught himself looking at people the same way.

"Is this some sort of final warning not to do it?" Eris asked, arching a brow, pretending his heart wasn’t about to pound right out of his chest. There was something ingrained deep within him, always surfacing when he was in his father's presence, even though Beron couldn’t harm him now—at least not physically and not in public.

Beron just stared at him, not rushing to continue. Perhaps that was part of his plan, too—to make Eris anxious, to push him to make a mistake. Every interaction with his father was, in some way, a test.

"No, it is not," Beron finally said. He held a pause before adding, "Keir won’t be a problem anymore."

Eris merely shrugged as if he had already expected this outcome. Although he did feel a weight lift off his chest, he couldn’t help but wonder if this meant that Keir was simply dead. That was the way his father solved problems.

"Thoughts on your marriage to Morrigan?" Beron suddenly asked, watching him expectantly.

Narrowing his eyes, Eris tried to figure out what kind of answer his father was fishing for. It probably wasn’t something like, ‘Those four years were like an emotional rollercoaster and living with a childish brat.’ His father only cared about money and the stability of the company, so his answer had to reflect that.

"Not much profit for our family," Eris said bluntly. "At least, none that I’m aware of. There were more effective options at the time. Morrigan’s family brings no real benefit, and their name is far less influential than ours since they’re from a lesser branch of a more powerful family."

Beron smirked, his lips stretching into something resembling a smile. "Looks like I raised you right."

There was a hint of pride in his voice, something Eris didn’t want to acknowledge. Of all the things he might have wanted, his father’s approval was at the very bottom of the list.

"If I’m right, then why?" Eris asked for the first time, realizing this might be his only chance. He had never dared to ask, remembering how their first and last conversation about the engagement had ended, and he was in no hurry to repeat that experience.

"Amarantha," his father replied simply, letting the name settle in the air.

In the ensuing silence, Beron calmly signaled for the waiter to bring more tea. The young man hurried off to the kitchen, clearly rattled, perhaps sensing the danger in the man before him. Eris watched with indifference, not particularly interested in whether his father had scared the boy before arriving or if the waiter was just sharp enough to realize who he was dealing with.

"You invested a lot of your investors’ money in her... business," Eris struggled to suppress his disgust at the word. Amarantha’s business involved too many illegal activities. Human trafficking was just one of them, and her methods were notoriously brutal.

Even as a teenager, Eris had felt sick at the mere mention of her name, yet his father had still tied himself to her dealings, investing company money behind their investors’ backs. Amarantha was a bitch, Eris had seen her once when she visited their home to speak with his father personally. She looked around like she already owned the place and like he was just a pest when all he said was ‘hello’ out of mere politeness that he forced out of himself.

She wanted to demonstrate her power and influence, while all Eris wanted was to stay polite and a crazy woman out of his house. But she stayed for longer, his father and she sat together, sipping coffee as if discussing the weather rather than the sale of illegal goods and the percentage of profit Beron expected to receive.

"It was a mistake," Beron said, chuckling without mirth, as if in regret.

But Eris knew better. His father wasn’t truly remorseful, he was just disappointed that the venture hadn’t brought in the profits he had anticipated. In the end, the whole affair resulted in substantial losses due to the arrests of several key partners, a police investigation that almost linked their family to the dirt, and the murder of Amarantha herself. Whoever ordered her death remained unknown, but Eris was ready to thank them, whoever they were.

"It was supposed to stay confidential," Beron continued, a note of anger creeping into his voice, sending a chill down Eris’ spine. Just instinct, nothing more—a reflex developed in childhood. "But somehow, the information reached Keir."

"Did he blackmail you?" Eris asked, frowning in disbelief. Beron’s face twisted in anger even more.

"The bastard did. And that kind of information wouldn’t just mean trouble with the police, son," Beron said as if Eris didn’t know that himself. "It would scare off all our investors, all our partners. Do you know how long it took me to wash away even the rumors? Imagine what would happen if Keir gave them all the evidence."

Nothing good, clearly. There was also a chance that whoever had ordered Amarantha’s murder might have come for his father, too. Given that all her partners were killed in prison within months of their arrests, the risks were indeed high. And despite his brave front, Beron didn’t want to die—he was, in fact, quite afraid of it.

"So Keir had leverage over you," Eris finally said, his voice low and steady. "And his demand was a marriage between his daughter and me, to gain more resources from our family."

Beron only nodded slightly, confirming his right assumption. It made sense; Keir had debts, and Beron had enough resources to help with that, the bastard just found the right thing to use to gain them.

"Why didn’t you deal with him sooner?" Eris couldn’t help but ask. Even if it was blackmail about Amarantha, it surely couldn’t last that long.

Beron exhaled with visible irritation. "Keir is a clever son of a bitch. He knew that the information about Amarantha wouldn’t be enough, and while I was destroying the copies..."

"He found something else," Eris finished for him. "But he is no longer a problem." He repeated his father’s own words, and the unspoken meaning was clear.

Beron didn’t answer immediately. He took a slow sip of his tea, savoring it before setting the cup down with deliberate care. His eyes met Eris’s, always calculating.

"Keir’s... ambition exceeded his abilities," Beron said indifferently. "He thought he could play the game, but he underestimated the consequences. People like him always do. Unfortunately, they’re also as tenacious as cockroaches."

Eris frowned, realizing that the last remark wasn’t just an assessment of Keir’s survival skills, unless…

"How did you ensure he won’t be a problem?" he asked, and a small smile of twisted pride appeared on Beron’s face, as though Eris had finally asked the right question.

"You’re an adult, Eris," his father said, setting his cup down with a clink. "Did you really think I would clean up your mess? I did my part, knowing you had no idea the danger you put our family in with your impulsive actions. But from now on, you’ll handle things yourself. You’ll deal with Keir with my little push in the right direction." Beron ordered. It wasn’t a suggestion—it was a direct command, one that left no room for error. "And when you do, you’ll let me know."

Eris didn’t want to respond, but he nodded anyway. He had no desire to carry out any assignments, especially those involving violence and manipulation. He was good at the latter—some might even say Eris was a natural—but violence wasn’t his forte. He avoided it whenever possible, but if dealing with Keir was on the table, it might be inevitable.

"That being said," Beron suddenly added before Eris could say anything further, "as much as I think you were an idiot for defying me and nearly finalizing your divorce from Keir’s daughter without my knowledge, it shows that you’re not as lost as I thought. You even managed to keep it hidden from me for a decent amount of time. Good job. At least in this, you haven’t disappointed me."

Eris froze. He stared dumbly at his father, who had never once come close to offering praise. ‘Good job?’ Seriously? This was the same man who used to throw him against walls like a ragdoll for the slightest mistakes. The man who sent him to bed without dinner if, as a child, he grabbed the wrong fork. The man who, as far as Eris could tell, hated him as much as he hated everyone else.

Yet here he was, offering praise. Not just for something business-related, which might have made some sense, but for defying his father. For pushing forward with the divorce behind Beron’s back.

At least in this, you haven’t disappointed me. Eris almost scoffed, but he held back. His father had a way of landing a verbal punch, and apparently, all it took to earn the old bastard’s respect was defying his direct orders. Who knew?

Yet, his father’s words felt like bait, luring him into a game he hadn’t agreed to play—a game where every move could mean survival or destruction. The sudden praise, coming from a man who had only ever torn him down, felt like a threat disguised as approval.

Beron leaned back in his chair, eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. "You’ve proven you can act independently, make decisions without my hand guiding you. But," he paused, voice hardening, "don’t let that go to your head. Defiance has its limits, and you're far from invincible."

Eris bit back the retort on the tip of his tongue. Every instinct told him to push back, to reject the game outright. But rejecting Beron now would be walking into a war he wasn’t sure he could win.

"You don’t need to remind me," Eris said finally, his voice level but edged with caution. "I understand what’s at stake."

"Do you?" Beron’s smile twisted further, something dark behind his gaze. "This isn’t just about Keir. It’s about making sure the mistakes you’ve already made don’t unravel everything I’ve built. One wrong step, Eris, and I won’t be that understanding anymore."

Eris’s stomach tightened, the weight of his father’s words sinking in like lead. Every time he thought he had some grasp on the situation, Beron managed to tighten the noose, reminding him how thin the ice truly was beneath his feet. The room felt colder, the silence that followed Beron’s threat louder than it should have been.

After the meeting, Eris felt a headache. He was planning to return to the penthouse and just sleep until morning, but Azriel had texted him, offering to pick him up, knowing Eris had left his apartment by taxi. He didn’t object.

“How did it go?” Azriel asked as they drove toward his apartment.

Eris didn’t ask to be taken to the penthouse, realizing he didn’t want to be alone today. And maybe his apartment no longer felt as safe after everything that had happened. Not that it scared him, considering that everyone who had broken in was now no longer a threat, according to his father. But the associations with that place were now unpleasant. Perhaps he should move somewhere else, at least for a while.

He pondered Azriel’s question for a moment. How had the meeting gone? Chaotic, awful, good. Contradictory. Eris didn’t want to burden Azriel with his problems, but he felt like he needed to give context on what was going on in his life. Still, it was a big talk and not the one he preferred to have right now.

“As expected,” Eris said instead, giving a faint smile as Azriel’s hand landed on his thigh in a comforting gesture. “I’m just glad it’s over.”

Was it over? Eris didn’t want to think about that. Not now, when all he wanted was to return home and spend another evening in Azriel’s company. Azriel, who had remarkably understood his mood, didn’t ask any more questions, driving them home in silence.

Once back in the apartment, Eris took a shower, putting on the borrowed shirt and pants again while Azriel pulled out some groceries from the fridge, methodically laying them out on the kitchen counter.

“What are you cooking?” Eris asked, coming closer and pressing his nose to Azriel’s neck, inhaling the familiar scent.

“Actually, I thought tonight we could cook together,” Azriel smiled at him, clearly enjoying the way Eris’s expression shifted from calm to confused, and then to full-on disgust at the idea.

“And why would I do that?” Eris asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a good way for you to relax,” Azriel informed him as they stood there, with Eris giving an unimpressed look at the pack of pasta.

“With all due respect, Azriel, I can think of other ways to relax,” Eris said, putting the pack aside and reaching for the waistband of Azriel’s pants. “Much more interesting ones.” But Azriel stubbornly moved his hands away, smirking.

“Nope, I’m going to enjoy making you suffer,” he said with a grin. “It’s just cooking dinner, Eris.”

“Dinner that we could easily order,” Eris scoffed in response, glancing again at the pasta as if it personally offended him.

Azriel flicked him on the forehead and reached for the kettle, filling it for the pot. The idea of teaching Eris to cook had come to Azriel spontaneously—earlier that morning, in fact, when he watched his boyfriend fumble around the kitchen trying to figure out how to turn on the gas stove just to heat the kettle.

“Cooking is a basic skill,” Azriel argued while Eris stood there, grumpily watching him, clearly trying to show how much he disliked the whole situation.

“And?”

“And you should know how to do it.”

“People around me should know how to do it,” Eris corrected. “And as luck would have it, you’re with me, aren’t you?” He made a step back with a clear intention to leave the kitchen.

Azriel rolled his eyes, pulled him back by the waist after those words, and gave him a quick kiss on the lips. Despite all his protests, Eris stayed in the kitchen, standing there and watching as Azriel chopped vegetables. He made no attempt to help but also didn’t try to escape again.

“Wanna try?” Azriel offered, stepping aside from the cutting board, giving Eris some space. Eris, with a skeptical look, eyed the half-chopped carrot on the board and, with the expression of a martyr, took the knife from Azriel’s hand.

“Happy now?” he huffed as he awkwardly began to cut the vegetables. Considering that Eris had never had to cook for himself in his life, his attempts were abysmally poor.

Azriel watched for a few minutes as Eris struggled, barely able to contain his laughter. Eris shot him a look that silenced the laughter for a moment, but after a few more failed attempts to grip the knife properly, Azriel grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

“Okay, I admit, maybe you should stay away from the kitchen,” Azriel couldn’t hold back his laughter again. Eris wanted to glare at him in annoyance, but that annoyance quickly melted when Azriel kissed him on the neck, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“I warned you,” Eris said. “I’m allergic to kitchens.”

“It’s fixable,” Azriel whispered in his ear, nibbling at his earlobe before pulling back a bit. Before Eris could protest, Azriel positioned himself behind him, his hands covering Eris’ hands.

For a moment, it reminded Eris of their second date at the pool table. But back then, he hadn’t been afraid of appearing like a bad player, simply because he wasn’t one. It had been fun to let Azriel teach him, to guide his body. Here, though, he was completely clueless.

Azriel guided one of his hands to the crooked, oversized tomato slice, adjusted his grip on the knife with the other hand, and brought it closer.

“Like this,” he said calmly, still with a hint of a laugh in his voice. He directed Eris’ hands, helping him slice the vegetables. It still wasn’t perfect, but much better than before.

“Remind me again why we’re doing this?” Eris grumbled.

First, Azriel was standing too close, and with each word his breath brushed against Eris’ neck, making it impossible to focus on anything but his voice and his proximity. Second, Eris absolutely hated getting his hands dirty, especially with vegetables. Third, he still didn’t understand why they were doing this. For all his actions, Eris always needed a logical reason. This time, he couldn’t find a single one.

“Because, according to studies, cooking reduces stress.”

“You made that up.”

“Yes, I made that up.”

Eris scoffed. Nevertheless, they finished chopping all the vegetables, and Azriel finally stepped away, ceasing to distract him with his hands.

“Now what, chef?” Eris asked teasingly, leaning against the kitchen counter.

“Now we cook,” Azriel said, flashing a grin as he stepped back toward the stove, turning on the burner with a quick flick of his wrist. The soft whoosh of the flame filled the quiet kitchen, and for a moment, Eris found himself focusing on that sound rather than his previous irritation.

Azriel moved around the kitchen with ease, comfortable in the space. He tossed a little olive oil into a pan and then added the minced meat, frying it for a while before, with a knowing glance at Eris, handing him the bowl of chopped vegetables.

“Your turn,” he said softly, with a little wink.

Eris stared down at the bowl like it held some kind of mystery, but eventually sighed, stepping closer and hesitantly tipping the vegetables into the pan. The sizzling noise was immediate.

“Just stir them a bit,” Azriel said as he handed Eris a wooden spoon.

Eris took the spoon awkwardly, giving the vegetables a tentative stir. His movements were stiff, hesitant as if he expected the food to rebel at any second, but Azriel’s quiet presence behind him made the task feel a little less daunting.

He tried to appear annoyed that he was still there, doing all this. But in fact, the warmth of Azriel at his back, combined with the soft crackle of the stove, created a strange sense of comfort. The earlier irritation started to fade, replaced by something warmer, more intimate.

Azriel stepped away momentarily to check the pasta, leaving Eris to stir the vegetables on his own. And though it still felt foreign, he didn’t feel quite as lost as before. He found himself falling into a gentle rhythm, stirring the pan while the scent of sautéing vegetables began to fill the space.

Azriel hummed something under his breath—a soft, calming tune—as he drained the pasta. Eris couldn’t help but listen to that sound, finding the quiet humming captivating. It was one of the little details he had started to notice about Azriel over time: he would hum little melodies when focused on something. The first time he noticed this was when Azriel was working on his car a couple of months ago, but back then, he hadn’t paid much attention to such small things.

"You know," Azriel said as he returned to Eris’s side, leaning against the counter, "you’re actually doing a pretty good job."

Eris raised an eyebrow, though there was a slight curve to his lips. "Don’t lie to me."

Azriel chuckled. "I wouldn’t lie about that. I mean it."

Eris stirred the vegetables a bit more confidently, and when they were nearly done, Azriel came up beside him again, reaching around him to grab the pasta.

"I admit," Eris said quietly, his tone thoughtful, "this isn’t as terrible as I thought it would be."

Azriel had a small, contented smile as he added the pasta to the pan, mixing everything. "I told you. Cooking’s not so bad when you’ve got a good teacher."

Eris rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away. "Or a teacher who likes to get handsy."

Azriel grinned, his hand slipping to the small of Eris's back, pulling him just a little closer. "That’s not mutually exclusive terms and you didn’t seem to mind."

Eris smirked. "I didn’t say I did."

When they finished, and Azriel plated the food, they sat at the table in comfortable silence, their forks clinking. Eris wanted to joke about how the food was probably poisonous and dangerous to eat, especially considering the moment Azriel had suggested he add pepper—and who knew the pepper could spill so easily in such an enormous quantity? Eris sure hadn’t known. And because of that, they’d had to add water to dilute the excessive amount of black pepper in the dish.

However, it didn’t taste bad. Not as good as if Azriel cooked it himself, or if they just listened to Eris and ordered takeout, but still, it was edible.

Eris toyed with his fork, pushing a few pieces of pasta around before finally speaking. "You really don’t mind the pepper, huh?"

Azriel looked up, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "I’ve had worse," he said, taking another bite. "Plus, it’s got... character."

"Character," Eris repeated as he snorted. "That’s one way to put it."

"I told you it wouldn’t be a disaster. And now you can say you’ve officially cooked dinner." Azriel chuckled.

"Under very specific and unwilling circumstances," Eris added.

"Still counts."

As they sat in the quiet, the clinking of their forks was the only sound between them for a while. Eris took another bite, chewing thoughtfully, his mind wandering to the way the evening had turned out. He glanced across the table at Azriel, who seemed completely at ease, eating without a care in the world, and Eris thought that Azriel truly felt like home.

When Azriel went to wash the dishes – he tried to convince Eris to do it and failed miserably because there was no way he would do that after he suffered the cooking – Eris watched him from his seat.

He was still worried about his father and his business here. That was his main stress source right now, and he replayed their conversation again and again.

"You’re quiet," Azriel remarked after finishing with dishes, wiping his hands with a towel and turning around to look at Eris. His eyes had a gentle curiosity in them as if he could sense Eris’s shifting mood.

Eris shrugged, leaning back in his chair. "Just thinking."

Azriel tilted his head slightly, waiting, not pushing him to say more. That was one of the things Eris appreciated about him—Azriel never rushed him to speak, always letting him come to his thoughts on his own time.

Finally, after a few more seconds of silence, Eris sighed. "It’s family shit again. Can’t get this out of my head."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Azriel asked as he leaned closer, his expression softening.

Eris hesitated, his fingers drumming restlessly against the arm of the chair. "Not really.”

Azriel’s fingers traced a slow, comforting pattern on Eris’s thigh, inching upward with deliberate slowness, the gesture half-comfort, half-invitation. "You don’t have to say anything," Azriel murmured, leaning closer, his lips just brushing the shell of Eris’s ear. “But if you want to forget for a while, I can help with that.”

"I wouldn’t say no to that," Eris admitted, his voice low, his eyes meeting Azriel’s with a flicker of something unspoken. A distraction wasn’t just appealing, it felt necessary.

That was all Azriel needed. In an instant, the distance between them vanished as Azriel pressed their lips together, the kiss starting slow but with a growing intensity. Eris let himself sink into it, his hands finding their way to Azriel’s waist, pulling him closer. And for once, his mind quietened.

Azriel grinned, his teeth grazing Eris’s lower lip as he kissed him again, harder this time. Eris’s hands roamed his back, feeling the shift of muscle beneath his shirt, pulling Azriel closer until there was no space left between them.

Eris’s lips ghosted along his neck while Azriel's hands roamed lower, slipping beneath the waistband of Eris's pants, giving his cock a few slow strokes and causing a sharp intake of breath from Eris. His fingers tightened on Azriel's shirt.

"Azriel..." he whispered, a hint of need in his voice.

Azriel smirked against his skin. "Let me take care of you tonight."

tag list: @sizzlingstarlightsky @isnotwhatyourethinking @molcat07 @chairofchaos @lilah-asteria

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 19: The Jump—The Prophecy (BoB Fanfiction)

A/N: Ladies and gents, this is the moment you've waited for. I sincerely and genuinely hope you enjoy this chapter so much! I will warn you that there is some graphic content and violence depicted in this chapter, so hopefully that doesn't bother you too much (especially in this fandom haha). ANOTHER NOTE about this chapter is that there are some allusions and mentions about sexual assault that happened a long time ago—this will be further explained later on, but I'm sure you can pick up on just what happened to Winnie. But otherwise enjoy and please please please let me know what you think! I look forward to hearing all of your thoughts!

June 6, 1944

The plane felt unsteady in the air.  That was what Winnie would remember about the plane ride.  The way that as she sat on the bench, she could feel each and every vibration running through her.  The way that the engine roared loudly, drowning out most noise.  The way that no one wanted to speak and ruin the spell that they were all in—because if someone spoke, then surely it would be time to jump and surely this all would go horribly.  

Cigarette smoke was thick in the air.  It was one of the only things that seemed to keep the men from panicking.  A coping mechanism.  A way for them to focus on something other than the impending jump that could, in fact, end all of their very lives. 

No one would have known that Doctor Winnie Allen had any nerves at all—what with her expression of steel, taut shoulders, and the way that her feet remained solidly on the floor of the plane.  The only thing that would have clued anyone into a bit of her nerves was the fact that her fingers were tapping against her arm incessantly and she seemed unable to stop the sensation.  

Doc Roe glanced over at her, the sensation of being tired tugging at his eyelids.  They sat side by side, shoulder to shoulder, and knee to knee.  So even if her leg had been moving, he would have felt it.  His gaze lingered on her tapping fingers for a moment before turning back to the wall of the plane. 

“You’re gonna be fine on the ground,” Winnie’s voice softly cut through the silence near them. 

Roe nearly flinched at the words, not expecting her to speak.  Or to have been reading him as clearly as he had been reading her.  “So are you, Winnie.” 

At that, she gave a half-smile.  “I certainly hope so.  

Truthfully, Winnie wasn’t so certain.  And it wasn’t that she felt ill-prepared in any way, shape, or form.  But the fact of the matter was that sometimes, you couldn’t know if you were ready for something or if you would be fine until you actually did it and came out on the other side.  And that meant that she would have to actually live through whatever it was that was waiting for her outside of this plane. 

There was only one other time in Winnie’s life that she could recall feeling like she was jumping like this.  It wasn’t a real jump, more of a symbolic one.  But she remembered the fear that gripped at her chest and ate away at her from the inside of her heart outwards. 

She had been 14, nothing more than a kid. And the worst part about it was that it hadn’t even been the first time.  It had just been the first time that it had been initiated by someone that she trusted.  Her father had driven her to the building and she had recognized it immediately, the colorful lights, the smoky atmosphere, the way the women dressed, and the way the men had leered at her. 

Winnie had been a kid then.  She had pleaded and she had begged and she had cried.  She had bitten and thrashed and her father had still dragged her inside the building.  It was as if she had been pushed from the plane then—and she had no choice but to spiral downwards and try to get her chute open herself. 

And because she was a survivor, she had.  She had numbed herself and taken the pain and the hours of torment that clients had brought upon her—and when she had gotten back in her father’s car, any sense of trust or reliability or safety had been stripped from her.  She retained her pride, her dignity, her spite.  A deep and bitter hatred had taken root in her chest and it was in that particular moment that Winnie knew that she could survive anything.  

She fully intended to. 

So for Winnie Allen, jumping from a plane as a paratrooper was not the scariest thing she had done.  It was not the worst thing she had been through.  And she doubted that there was anything that could happen to her that she hadn’t already been through.  

Why, then, did she feel that same familiar sense of dread in her chest?  As if things were about to go horribly wrong and there would be no going back.  Because once you were shoved from the plane, there was no going back.  And you would be on the ground.  And it was up to you. 

God, please protect Nate and Charlie right now.  If I don’t make it through, please just protect them.  

Things were chaos when the light finally went on and the orders started rolling in.  Winnie’s hands did not shake as she linked everything up and checked over her equipment.  She yelled off that she was good in order, and then the flak started hitting and Winnie was certain that the world was ending.  Everything was loud and the plane was shaking, nearly knocking everyone off of their feet. 

Winnie was knocked sideways, hitting the bench sharply on her elbow and feeling the sting radiate up her arm.  Shrapnel suddenly tore through the plane and someone screamed in horror. “I’m hit!  I’m hit!” 

Being a doctor, she had half a mind to just help the injured soldier—but there wasn’t time for that.  Wasn’t time for her to stay here and fix the situation.  She didn’t even know if the plane was going to still be airborne in a few minutes.  Her ears were drowned out with the noise and with the fact that they needed to jump. She waited until it was her turn and then she sucked in a breath and she jumped.  For a moment, Winnie was weightless and she thought she might just throw up mid-air.  Her chute went up and she was gliding towards the ground—and then darkness. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The first thing that Doctor Winnie Allen was aware of was the fact that her arm hurt like a total bitch . There was a raw sort of feeling in her upper bicep and she gave a low groan, feeling grass on her face.  Winnie’s eyes flew open, immediately focusing in on the fact that she was alive first and foremost. 

And she had made it to the ground. 

Winnie forced herself to sit up, head swimming ever so slightly. She felt like she had been shoved under the water in Lake Lanier.  She just sucked in a sharp breath, eyes searching her surroundings for a moment.  She had landed, somewhat haphazardly, in the thick brush of some woods.  It was a miracle she hadn’t been impaled on a tree or been shot already—she could hear the gunshots in the distance and still see lights sparking in the night sky. 

Compartmentalization was a part of her job as a doctor.  So one thing at a time was what Winnie was going to do.  She took off the chute, unstrapping herself from it and taking inventory of what she had.  A basic first aid kit, a scalpel, some bandages, a pair of scissors, her canteen—and that was about it.  She hadn’t been given a weapon, and Winnie was somewhat regretting that entire decision at the moment. 

Making a split-second decision after looking at her bicep, Winnie grimaced at the sight of the skin torn open and raw.  Whatever she had done had torn through the sleeve of her jacket and as near as she could tell, she had landed on a rock or something.  The skin had been torn clean off and was still bleeding, crimson staining down into her uniform.  Winnie didn’t hesitate in taking the scissors and cutting up a piece of her chute. 

Carefully wrapping her arm, Winnie then melted into the trees.  She was always good at directions and figuring out where North was. Georgia was a place that was covered almost entirely in trees and so you learned how to tell which way North was by the stars. 

And luckily for her, the stars were still visible tonight. 

She had no way of knowing where she was going, no way of knowing where exactly the jump had landed her.  But there wasn’t anyone around, so far as she could tell. Winnie crept quietly through the cover of the trees, eyes watching for any signs of life or danger—both of which seemed to be the same at the moment. 

Please don’t let me come across the Germans . 

Winnie’s thoughts proved to be a treacherous prediction.  She could hear whispers of German up ahead and gunshots.  She carefully peered from beyond her spot behind a tree, gaze locking onto the scene up ahead.  There were two German soldiers, one of whom happened to be hitting an American soldier on the ground. 

What happened next, Winnie never could have predicted.  The American soldier tackled one of the soldiers to the ground and Winnie didn’t even hesitate.  At the sight of the American holding the German soldier in a headlock, using him as a shield, Winnie moved.  Her fingers had solidified around a rock and she moved forward as the other German raised his gun.  Winnie bashed the soldier with the gun over the head in a brutal gesture. 

He didn’t even get a chance to yelp—because then Winnie was forcing him to the ground and slamming it into his throat, the sharpness breaking through the skin of his throat.  She did this three more times—crimson staining the rock and her hands.  For a moment, Winnie just sat atop the German soldier, eyes wide and watching the blood pool in the gaping hole in his throat. 

“Flash,” Winnie mumbled, dropping the rock. 

“Thunder.” 

She recognized that voice and Winnie turned, finding the American soldier to be none other than Lieutenant Ronald Speirs.  “Oh thank God,” Winnie mumbled out, getting off of the soldier. 

“Shit Doc,” Speirs said, noting the number that she had done on the soldier. 

“He was gonna shoot you.” 

“Do you even have a weapon?” 

“I had that rock and it seemed to be enough.” 

“Grab a gun,” Speirs commanded. “I’m assuming you can use one.” 

Winnie gave a weary expression at his words.  But she still leaned down and picked up the gun that the German had dropped on the ground.  “Yeah, I can.  I’m gonna go off on a limb and assume that if I’m here and you’re here—one of us is in the wrong drop-zone.” 

“That’s one way to put it.  I’m only a few miles from where Dog is supposed to be,” Speirs said, checking his own gun for ammo.  

So it was Winnie that was in the wrong landing zone.  She just gave a nod, glancing over at him. “No injuries in the jump?” 

“Not a one, Doc.” 

“Good.  Let’s keep it that way.” 

“Well if we give you more sharp rocks, I’m sure Hitler will be dead by morning.” 

“Hilarious.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Winnie wished she could say that she felt wildly out of her depth here.  But it was her first time taking a life rather than saving one.  And she didn’t feel bad about it in any way.  No—she had been justified in her actions.  She wasn’t sure what the good Lord’s stance on murder in time of war was, or if it even counted for murder, but she figured she’d get a pass for this one. 

Besides, she had helped Speirs and he seemed to know where he was going more than she did at the moment, so she was in no way regretting her actions. 

As they carefully trekked through the forest, Speirs occasionally glanced over at her.  “You handled that surprisingly well.” 

“For a woman?” 

“No, I mean in general.” 

Winnie glanced over at him in slight surprise.  “Well I’m a woman of action.  What can I say?” She asked rhetorically. 

“It’s just that most Doctors are a bit opposed to taking a life.” 

“When it comes to survival, I don’t think moral high ground does any good,” Winnie retorted.  

“It doesn’t hold any place in time of war either.  That’s for after war,” Speirs agreed solemnly.  He paused, taking out a cigarette and lighting it as they continued to trek forwards and towards the checkpoint.  It seemed to give him an unnatural aura of calm around him as they walked.  “Cigarette?” He offered, glancing over at her. 

“No, I’m good.” 

“You got an aversion to cigarettes?” 

“I run on willpower and spite, not cigarettes,” Winnie stated, stepping over a log carefully.  “But keep offering them to me and maybe one of these days, I’ll take you up on it.” 

He gave a small grin at her words.  “Noted.”

As they crossed into a clearing, Winnie’s gaze landed on a paratrooper tangled up in his chute—a mess of stained crimson and shredded skin in the trees.  Her gaze lingered on him for a moment, the scene burning and imprinting into the very recesses of her mind.  “He never even made it to the ground,” Winnie said, narrowing her gaze. 

“Lots of people didn’t make it to the ground,” Speirs said gruffly, grabbing for the pack tangled up in the mess of blood, skin, and chute.  

She didn’t ask what he was doing as he recovered the medical kit, tossing it over to her.  Winnie caught it in a single motion, gaze immediately falling on it.  “Smart, scavenging for supplies.” 

“Beggars can’t be choosers.  Better we take it than some Kraut.” 

“Hell is empty, and all the devils are here.” 

“Shakespeare?” 

“It feels fitting for where we’re at,” Winnie replied with a shrug, gun still carefully held in her hands.  

“Come on Doc, let’s find some of your friends,” Speirs said, gesturing for them to continue onwards.  

Winnie walked side by side with him, and there was an odd sense of comfort that he was the man next to her on the ground.  It was the largest assault on any power ever and Winnie felt completely within her depth because this man was not the type to hesitate when it came to survival.  Dick had been right—you wanted the best of the best next to you. 

“Thanks, by the way,” Speirs added, glancing in her direction. 

She blinked, clearly not even recalling her own actions. “Oh, yeah.  Well I wasn’t gonna just watch them murder you.” 

“Much appreciated.” 

“Besides, I kinda owed you one after you got rid of that creep in Dog Company.” 

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Right, of course,” Winnie retorted dryly.  

“Hey look,” Speirs said, a half-smirk on his face as he gestured up ahead. “Looks like some of my guys and Doc Jr.” 

Winnie’s gaze had landed on Eugene Roe—and relief poured through her.  They were going to get through this, she just knew it. 

[bentnotbroken1fanfiction]

I was going to send you my opinion on THK and how (no offense) I was disappointed with the plotline and didn't even really like FadelStyle as much as I thought I would, but then this morning I found out that THK was supposed to have darker storyline and part of GMMTV part1 but P'Jojo had to change it to lighter and comedic tone because of mass shooting in Thailand at the time. I had very conflicted feelings about THK plot in the latter half, especially how they skimmed over police, Lilly & Laurat's backstories, KantBison's BDSM aspect, Fadel's dead bf plot & his chest scar, lack of KantBabe & maybe a little more backstory on KantStyle, development of both KantBison and FadelStyle relationships, etc. but now it all makes sense. Before hearing this news, I thought P'Jojo wasn't maybe good at wriiting some things, but I can sort of tell now where the story was supposed to go but couldn't due to external factors.

And I cannot express how disappointed I am that THK couldn't get the original storyline! How great it would've been if P'Jojo could write darker, edgier stoy like it was originally suppposed to be! Like we could've had more layers and betrayals and heartbreaks and actual plot-driven show I wanted to watch that SO MUCH!

Not to say I didn't enjoy watching THK and some characters I really liked a lot, but in the end I couldn't help but feel something was missing. I couldn't quite put my finger on it until now. And I know FadelStyle was popular with fans, but I was expecting something more from them, like a bit more edgy? relationship, so I'm sad we didn't get to see what could've been.

So, you are totally entitled to your opinion, and it's ok that you didn't enjoy THK and FadelStyle as much as you thought you would. I actually came for KantBison and fell in love with FadelStyle instead, but I understand that not everyone likes or enjoys their dynamic and that's ok.

The thing I do agree with you about, is that this show had the potential to be so much more (and so much better) than it was, but I really can't fault Jo Jo for that. He only had so many episodes to work with, and if he had originally wanted it to be darker but had to change it up due to external factors, that's out of his control. He did his best with what he had. I still think overall this show was a success.

I definitely have my gripes, of course, because I like fleshed out characters and plotlines. I totally think that if we would have had 14-16 episodes we would have seen something amazing. Truly. I believe that!! Because they could have explored Fadel and Bison's backstories and histories more. They could have expanded on Kant and his fucked up servitude to Captain Chris. They could have shown us a more sympathetic side of Kant with his relationship to Babe.

I would have also liked to see more BDSM with KantBison (without the fucking drugging) and a KantStyle friendship. Anything to really cement in the bonds that these guys had before the start of the show, because sometimes it just didn't feel like Kant cared about Style. (until like the last few episodes)

They could have done SO much with the histories and backstories that would have made us love these characters even MORE than we do! And they could have made a better ending for Lily and her cohorts. Like we could have seen an actual well thought out undercover plot!

They literally could have had Bison and Fadel turn into snitches themselves because they found out (on their own) that Lily had killed their mom. They could have had Kant feel out the Cap and see if he'd be willing to make a plea deal for them and they could have slowly worked their way through her web of clients and gotten the cops SO many big fish!! There were so many ways they could have handled the Lily situation, so yeah. I get you. I didn't like how it all wrapped up in five minutes and we didn't even see her getting arrested!!!

But yeah, it's ok that you are disappointed in the show (and the characters) and that you ended up not liking it. Not everything is for everyone. But I get how it feels to be excited about something and it not turn out how you expected it to. I love that you felt comfortable enough to tell me about your feelings though, anon!! I love darker shows so it would have been cool to see a more gritty version of THK for sure!

[mk-writes-stuff]

The Breaking of Kelsey Karlov

What's your favorite thing about it? Which character speaks to you the most?

Hi! Sorry about the long time on getting back to this one :)

It’s time to talk about this WIP that I never talk about despite being like four edits away from done the thing. I do love the story, I’m just very shy about it so I don’t talk much about it

CW for mentions of (temporary) death of a child

My favourite thing about it is absolutely the characters. They all feel so alive and so real and so much like normal people despite the fact that the world they live in is absolutely deranged and their story is more so. It’s a super character driven story and every character has something to contribute and I love them all so dearly

It’s hard to pick a favourite but I think I’m going to go with Ellory because she’s got major Character Of All Time energy. Ellory Vuliev is a twenty-eight-year-old banker with more money than she knows what to do with and a chip on her shoulder larger than the city she lives in. She’s also dead. Ellory died tragically at the age of eight by being kicked in the head by a centaur and was promptly turned into a ghost. So despite being twenty-eight and having the thoughts and maturity of a twenty-eight-year-old, she still looks eight. She’s very angry about how much she gets treated like a child who can’t take care of herself because of this - if she gets one more client asking her where her mother is, she’s going to cuss them out

Ellory is… not an especially good person, to be honest, except when she kind of is. She’s snarky and crass and mean and angry, but she’s passionately loyal to her friends and single-mindlessly devoted to anything she puts her mind to. When her friend she’s fighting with is in trouble, she’ll go to the ends of the world to find out what happened and keep them safe. She’ll snark and snap and get temperamental about the littlest things but she’ll have your back no matter what. She’s generous if you’re nice to her but will ruin you if you piss her off, and when the main villain targets her best friend, she’s out for blood

Here she is, the snarky asshole herself. This isn’t a perfect picrew of her (she looks younger and she has monolids) but it was the best I have

Thank you for the ask! I’m always excited to get asks from you :)

[silvermoon-scrolls]

Soul-searching

GatheringFiKi Trick or Treat 2024 Trick: A Ghost Therapist AU. He could see the ghosts for as long as he can remember. Now he talks them through whatever is keeping them from crossing to the Other Side.

Pairing: Fili x Kili (AU) Words: 820 Content Waring: Character death, rated Teen.

Please keep in mind that this is a Trick prompt.

“So, Tell me about your situation.” Kristoffer leaned back into his armchair and studied his next client. Long, blond hair with intricate braids, broad-shouldered, armored, and — as was custom with his clientele — a bit see-through.

“It’s a long story, Doctor.”

“That’s what we’re here for, isn’t it. You may start wherever you want,” he said with a friendly smile and a gesture to welcome the other to speak. After a few seconds of silence he tried with a more direct question. “What is your name?”

“Fili.”

The ghost was staring at him intently with unbelievably blue eyes. Kristoffer shifted in his chair. Lingering ghosts tended to pick up weird habits — especially those that had been trapped on this plane for a long time. “When did you die?” he asked.

“A very long time ago.”

Kristoffer waited for him to go on, but that was apparently as much as he was going to get about that subject. “And why do you think you are still here after all this time?”

“I need to find my brother.”

“Surely, if you died so long ago, your brother must also be dead by now.”

“I know he is. Was.”

“Was?”

“After I– fell, I clawed my way back to this world as quickly as I could. I couldn’t leave him alone; I needed to protect him.” A haunted look came over him. “But I was too late, he’d already been killed. And before I could find my way back again, he was gone. Reincarnated.”

Kristoffer listened fascinated. “Let me get this straight. You want me to believe that you have been to the Other Side, come back to this world, gone back to the Other Side, and then come back here again?”

“Yes.” Fili was staring at him again, his eyes burrowing into Kristoffer’s soul. It was an improbable tale, Kristoffer had never heard of anything like it, and he shouldn’t believe him, but for some reason he did. There was something very different about the ghost seated across from him; something captivating.

“And what is it you need my help with? I help ghosts who can’t cross over, but you seem able to treat the Veil as a revolving door.”

The end of Fili’s lip curled into a hint of a smile at the joke and Kristoffer felt something stir inside. He felt the urge to try to make Fili smile in full just to see what that would look like — but he shook himself back into professionalism.

“If your brother has been reincarnated, what is it you hope to do by finding him?”

“We are soulmates!” Fili exclaimed with fervor, rising slightly from his seat. 

Kristoffer made a calming gesture, and Fili slowly sat back down. “I have been tracking him.” The blue eyes shone intently. “Sensed and followed the trail of his soul through the centuries. Getting closer and closer. I almost found him in the 1820s. Only a few years too late.”

He felt sorry for the man. Kristoffer didn’t doubt that centuries of searching had driven the poor soul slightly mad with grief. He felt a great need to help him, to see him happy, but he didn’t think Fili’s current approach was doing him any good.

“And as ‘soulmates’,” he emphasized the word, “you will find each other again. So why do you hesitate to join him in your next life?”

Fili had calmed down and was speaking softly with closed eyes. “I don’t want to lose my current memories of him. If we are torn apart, how would I find him again? We should be reincarnated together, as it was meant to be. He means everything to me.”

“You are describing a common fear, but you have nothing to worry about,” Kristoffer assured him. “Intertwined souls don’t need memories to feel their connection. I am sure that the fastest way for you to find your brother is to let go of your past, leave this particular reincarnation behind and let yourself be reborn anew–”

“But I’ve already found him,” Fili interrupted. He rose from his chair. He wasn’t tall, but with the armor he was still very impressive. He would have been intimidating if it wasn’t for the look of bliss in his eyes. “It’s you. You are Kili. I’ve finally found you.”

Before Kristoffer had time to react, Fili’s half-transparent hand was on his chest and suddenly memories were flashing through his mind. Images from a past life. The most prominent among them: Fili’s smile – as beautiful and radiant as he had imagined it to be.

Then Fili’s other hand was on his throat. Squeezing. 

Fili’s ice-blue eyes were burning. “We’ll go through the Veil together. You and me Kili. Like it was meant to be.”

Kristoffer’s fingers clawed feebly at the shockingly solid hand that was blocking his windpipe. Everything was going dark.

The last thing he heard was his brother’s wistful voice. 

“Die together; reborn together. I promise you Kili, we’ll never be apart again.”

[jariktig]

ask for you before I go to bed! 🍑🍌🥝

🍑 If you could make a connection between your favorite character and another work you care about (whether a crossover/fusion or a wonderfully “pretentious” literary reference) what would it be? How would it work?

OK, let me offer you a few of these because I like them.

The first doesn't exactly fit the spec but, well, it's been living in my head for forty years now, so... my teenage self was very much affected by (a) G1 Transformers and (b) Mary Renault's Alexander Trilogy (her writing in general, honestly, but that was the first thing of hers I read. And I had a glamourised? De-sillified? mental version of Decepticon Command that mapped somewhat to the dynamics of Alexander's inner circle as described in the Renault books. Nowadays, I think there's still something there - some of the dynamics are genuinely interestingly similar - but I've grown less naively charitable to both groups: the Alexander set are a fair bit closer to the ruthless propagandist/power-driven imperialist interpretation of Alexander and the Decepticons still less silly but a great deal less glamourised... And ruthless strategists with world-changing ambitions are still my thing, apparently.

Then - well, I've teased you a bit before with my half-shaped Cabin Pressure/TF cross-over, but I remain convinced that Douglas vs Starscream double-cross chess would be the kind of thing one could sell tickets for, that Arthur is a Transformers fan, and that Mr Alyakin's clients would relate to Megatron over both the difficulties of life as a warlord and the need to have a vessel both more massive and less sunken.

And the idea of an interaction between Transformers and the Charles Stross Laundryverse was an off-the-cuff thing in another ask, but it's slightly stuck in my head now. What even does it mean to be a sapient robot in a world where mathematics is magic and computing - or as Transformers would call it, thinking - is the practical implementation of that? (Actually now I think of it, an SG! version of the form where Megatron is a mathematician with a slightly Hari Seldon overlay would be especially fun, and SG!Optimus/the Matrix's interactions with the horrors of that universe could be great too.)

🍌 In your opinion, what’s the funniest joke/reference/pun you’ve made in a fic?

I don't know that it's that funny really, but I still like the bit in Putting on the Glitz where Senator Shockwave drags Orion Pax off to - ah - convince him to engage in the half-baked plan. And there is a song ref in Worked Mettle that amuses me quietly, but I never expected it to be funny to the rest of the world; pure self-indulgence.

🥝 What’s your favorite trope/AO3 tag to write?

Statistically speaking, it's detective fiction/spy fiction, which I think is probably fair enough; I do like the different viewpoints/misreadings/reveal elements of those and I think that shows up.

[lovekylarforever]

also!! lucian doesn't always crave rough sex, it usually leaves him Very spent and he needs time to recover from it. emotionally and physically. it's a little rare for him! i'd say it's a every 4-6 months kinda deal for him lol... sometimes he will crave it sooner than that, but he doesn't always act on it because despite his poor impulse control, it still takes a lot out of him to get the courage to start things. i'd say his desire to be completely degraded, dehumanised and hurt have a lot to do with his emotional state and how he feels about himself at the moment. (hates himself, how he degrades himself in his head, the way his clients speak to him wearing him down, how he doesnt deserve love, how he wants to be hurt as a form a relief) he just chooses to deal with it by being very horny about it

he's also sometimes just not up for it because he's insecure and needs reassurance that kylar loves him instead, he just Needs kylar to be especially adoring and sweet. he's very conflicted about the things he wants, his actions and the things he feels.

i'd say about 90% of the time, lucian just really wants that passion and undying love and devotion in having sex with kylar. he really wants to feel like he can be loved (which is really hard for him, kylar does such a good job at making lucian feel like he's loved even if that feeling doesn't last long due to insecurity rearing it's ugly head once again. it's even harder for lucian to feel like he deserves love in the first place.)

and other times when he's emotionally and/or physically spent but still craves love and intimacy, he loveees having some quick, nasty and instinct-driven sex. no prep, not a lot of talking, just getting straight to pulling each others clothes off and getting right to it. this happens a lot in public spaces lol