#(I forgot to post this like either yesterday or the day before.)

[puripurin]

— "What the fuck." You started at the merman who wriggled around for space. His eyes looked at you in fear as he saw you, before a blush had spread across his face.

Up until 30 seconds ago, you had lived a normal life, well, except for the obscene amount of work you were stressed out with. So you hopped on the boat your parents had gifted you some years ago and sailed into the sea. The feel of the ocean breeze hitting your face was a familiar sensation to you.

This was because your parents were fishermen and loved to eat seafood, and naturally, you had gravitated towards seafood, but with prices these days and your never-ending workload, it didn't allow you to do anything without setting you back on your tight deadlines. Until today.

You had gotten a whole week of paid vacation because a coworker was threatening to bring them to court for a long list of harassment. So they gave the people who worked the most a one week paid vacation. Though, to her, it wasn't enough, so you're getting a paid vacation week while they are still going to get sued. Whatever, its their fault either way.

Anyways, how did you reel in a merman that shouldn't even exist? Frankly, you don't know either. You had accidentally started to daydream, which turned into you not realizing something was caught, so instinctively, you were able to reel in a merman.

"H-huuuumann?" His deep moss green eyes stared at up at you with interest whilst you nearly got blinded by the shimmering gleem of his scales that were scattered across his cheeks. He stopped his advancements towards you until it was difficult to hold up his neck to see you.

"Erm... sorry for catching you, I was daydreaming. I'll unhook the fish hook attached to you..." You apologized and went down to unhook him, only for him to pull down your pants and underwear down, making you fall on the bench below you and stuffing his face in your genitals.

"Hey! W-what are you doing?" You pushed his face away, to which he pouted to. He sat there for a while as you tried to push him off the boat, to no avail.

"I... Accceppt thhis marrriaage!" He excitedly said as he tugged on your pants to gently pull it off again, but you held on tightly to your pants.

"What marriage? I didn't propose to you?" You evaded from his pulling hands in confusion.

"Whennn youuu reeeeledd mmeee inn dummmyy!" He slurred his words once more. "Shtop! I waant too tasstte you firrst beeforrre you tassteeee mee!" He huffed before his nails turned into sharp claws that shreaded your pants, then pulled down your underwear again and happily stuffing his face and licking your crotch with his tongue that felt rough.

Once more, you tried to move away but only ended up moaning at the feeling. Your face was slightly hot as you looked away but was swiftly pulled back in for a kiss, tasting your own fluids.

"Ah... finally... now it's your turn, cutie pie. We have to go to my hometown to get married <3"

"WHAT!?!? Firstly, no! Secondly, i will drown!"

"... Who said you can say no? When you reeled me, it was akin to a marriage proposal. Also, that's why you suck my dick and kiss me <333"

"WHAT--"

Was supposed to be posted yesterday, but when i saved a portion of it, i didn't see that i was save so i went back in to edit it to see what's rong before i saved it and for a slpilt second i saw the rest of it before it saved, so i lost majority of my work.

So now it looks like tjis. Womp womp. I think tjis is an afab reader? But i tried to make it gn as possible but i wannted a weird ass mermaid culture where to speak another's language, you gotta eat them out/suck them off before kissing person to speak. At first i wanted him to just kiss in order to get the language js like starfire but i was like,, so what do i do with him tryna eat you out??,, then boom yeahh.

Also, yo quero voy en me casaaaaaa *cries pathetically* No me gusta Español :((((((( not proofread. L

Edit: i forgot about tags. Mb.

[sugrhigh]

BOY NEXT DOOR 3 - ( c.s )

part two

summary- you and your roommates live beside a bunch of senior hockey players, one of them being the infamous team captain chris sturniolo. he’s effortlessly flirty and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a pain in your ass. you find that you have to fight between lust and hatred as you finally get to know the boy next door, whether you want to or not.

warnings- swearing, a bit of drinking

neighbor/hockey!chris x fem!reader

a/n: part three baby here we go! hope you guys enjoy!! if i forgot a tag it either wouldn’t let me or i missed it (if i missed u pls comment and i’ll fix it right up). anyways kisses for u all i hope ur having a good day, my inbox is open for anything as always MWAH

@cutenote @mattybsbitch @mattsmunch @breeloveschris @l9vesick @bb-1s-blog @sturnifyed @julessspoetry @annamcdonalds67 @beijhe @gnxosblog @braindead4l @hearts4matty @orangeypepsi @luckistar-posts @angelworldspost @ponyosturniolo @rainyenthusiastdaze @heartz4chris @sturnvvz @cupidsword @wurlibydominicfike @mattswrld @yoursopretty15 @poopydroopt @latinasforchrizz @bernardsleftbootycheek @trilliwarner

it’s been a day since the kiss, and you still haven’t told a single soul. for some reason, you’re way too scared to admit what happened to your roommates, even though you know they’d be the last to judge you for it.

and yet you just can’t, despite the fact that it’s been eating you alive for over twenty-four hours straight. saying it out loud makes it real, so you decided it was best to keep it inside.

however, you still need to give chris his jersey back, which you’ve been neglecting to do because you don’t want to see him.

or maybe because you’re scared.

it’s an involuntary thought, and it makes you angry. there’s nothing to be scared of, because he doesn’t have any power over you.

right?

you grab his jersey off the top of your dresser. it’s all clean, and it still smells like detergent from when you washed it yesterday. you’ve been putting it off all day, and it’s time for that to stop.

the sun is nearly gone, so you head down the stairs, silently thankful that ramona and cassidy are both are both runnings errands as you slip out the front door.

you’re in your comfy clothes, black sweats and baby blue hoodie that you stole from cass, and you’re immediately regretting the fact that you didn’t grab a jacket.

you hurry across the lawn, passing the cars parked in the driveway. there’s an unfamiliar red one at the end, and it almost makes you pause, but the possibility doesn’t fully connect in your mind yet.

so you head up the steps and knock on the door loudly, still very much so a woman on a mission.

it takes a moment, a long moment, before someone comes to open it for you. it’s connor, which is unfortunate, because you really weren’t prepared to speak with anyone besides the one boy you’re actually looking for.

he looks a little confused, but he smiles nonetheless. “what’s up?”

“i’m just, uh, trying to drop off chris’s jersey.” any bit of confidence you had is gone now as you choke on your words.

connor’s eyes widen a little as his grin fades, though you can tell he’s trying to play it off. “he’s a little busy right now, but i’ll get it to him.”

your eyebrows furrow as he reaches his arms out, like he’s trying to rush the process along without any more interrogation.

“busy with what?” you question, though you hand it over regardless.

he looks at you for just a half a second too long, like he’s waiting for you to piece it together, and then it clicks. chris is busy because he has a girl over, and that’s her car in the driveway.

you wish it didn’t phase you, but you can feel your face morphing into an emotion that borders disgust and anger.

“oh, i see.” is all you say, because you’re already fucking embarrassed beyond belief.

you turn and head back down the stairs, trying to ignore the way your stomach is flipping like you’re going to throw up.

connor doesn’t say anything. instead you hear the door close, and you feel completely numb as you walk back to your own porch. part of it is because of the cold, and part of it is because you feel so stupid.

you’re not sure what you were expecting, but that was exactly what you should’ve anticipated knowing chris.

you step back into the warmth of your own home, and even when you close and lock the door, a shiver chases you.

you head back up to your bedroom, kicking your shoes off by the door. you want further confirmation, so you peek through the curtains that hang over your window.

chris’s room, which is coincidentally directly across from yours, reveals nothing besides a dim light that peeks through the closed blinds.

you let the drapes fall back into place, still in shock. it was so ridiculous to believe for even a second that he was any different than he had been for the last six months.

you should’ve taken him at his word. he doesn’t date, and he’s not interested in you beyond teasing you or making you look like an idiot.

and you refuse to be taken for a fool.

you pace along the floor for a second until you decide you deserve some wine. you know there’s at least half a bottle in the fridge, and maybe it’ll help you calm the hell down.

a few minutes later you’re back upstairs, huddled up in your bed with a book you had started earlier in the day, sipping from your glass as you read.

it’s hard to fall into the fantasy world you picked out at first, but then you begin to feel your cheeks flush and your eyes are suddenly devouring the words.

you’re so enveloped in the plot, completely unaware that your roommates had gotten home until ramona walks in. it startles you, so much so that you lose your page.

she pauses to take in your state; the empty glass, the minimal leftovers in the bottle you brought with you, your droopy eyes.

“wine before 7 p.m. on the lord’s day? you’re crazy.” she jokes with a grin.

you shrug, also smiling a little bit. “felt like getting a little wild.”

mona puts a hand on her hip and nods toward the door she just entered through. “well, could i maybe convince you to take this crazy train downstairs so we can catch up on VPR? we’re like, three episodes behind now.”

you snap your book closed and roll out of bed, which you can tell by her snort looks far from graceful.

“all you had to say was VPR.”

you sit at your desk, gnawing on your bottom lip as you try to focus on the stupid online homework prompts that are due soon. the overcast afternoon light pours into your room, and you hear your phone buzz against the wood.

chris

still playing hard to get?

you roll your eyes before you can help it. the text doesn’t surprise you, because he’s been messaging you for the past few days, ever since he inevitably found out you stopped by from connor.

chris

that’s clearly a yes.

you wonder how many times he’s going to text you as you put your phone down to pull your hair out of your face, tying it up at the back of your head.

once again, you hear the device vibrate, and you flip it to glance at the screen.

chris

i can see you ignoring me you know

your eyes betray you as you glance out the window, just to find chris standing in front of his own. he’s pouting at you with his phone in his hand, hair all curly and damp like he just got out of the shower.

you stand up from your chair without a second thought and take a few steps so you can yank your curtains closed.

he might refuse to believe it, but you’re not playing hard to get. you just can’t fucking stand him.

chris

now that’s just cold

come onnnnnn princess

y/n

holy shit

do NOT call me princess

chris

you love it

y/n

i hate you

chris

if you don’t stop this i’m coming over there

y/n

i’d like to see you try asshole

chris

fine.

you pull back one curtain to call his bluff, and your heart actually drops when you see that he’s not standing there anymore. that just means he’s probably on his way over already.

you have no idea if cass or ramona are home or in their rooms or what. but you do know that you’re locking your door, and if he makes it through the house undetected he’s not getting into your room.

you sit on the edge of your bed for a moment, waiting because you don’t know what else to do with yourself. and then the knock comes, right before chris twists the handle and finds it locked.

“open up.” he demands, his gruff voice muffled through the door.

“no.”

“i’ll go downstairs and get cass if you don’t let me in.” he threatens, which doesn’t really scare you.

cassidy will kick his ass out if she realizes you don’t want him here. you’ll have to explain some things, but it’s probably time to do that anyways.

“you’re being a baby and you’re wasting your time. go home, chris.” you reiterate.

“come on, i just want to talk.” he wiggles the handle once again, like that will somehow open it.

“then call a sex addiction helpline.” you reply hotly, glaring at the slab of wood that separates you as if you can actually see him, though you’re glad you can’t.

“can you please open the door?”

“nope.”

“jesus, you’re so stubborn it’s ridiculous.” he groans, and you hear his forehead thump against the door.

he’s growing frustrated now, and even though you’re heated too, you kind of love it.

“so are you! how many times do i have to tell you to leave?” you shoot back.

it’s silent for a moment, which scares you. then you hear a small sigh.

“i didn’t think i would have to do this.”

the lock on the door begins to twist and turn rapidly, and you leap forward to grab it with your hand.

chris twists it hard and your fingers fumble to keep it jammed. your thumb is already in pain, and the harder he pushes the closer you are to failing. you’re finally forced to let go as chris comes shoving his way into your room a few seconds later.

even though he stumbles slightly, he looks so proud of himself, clutching the heavy duty paper clip he used to get inside.

“there, that’s better.” he says smugly.

you watch his eyes take in your room, covered in posters and full of random artifacts, and you hate it. for some reason, it feels deeply personal.

“holy shit, why don’t you just go home already?”

it’s impossible to keep your tone level anymore as you turn away from him.

“i’m here now, so you have to talk to me.”

“no, i really don’t.” you reply before plopping down onto your mattress, crossing your arms as you lean against the headboard.

“don’t be a brat.” chris follows your lead, even though you weren’t inviting him to join you.

he falls beside you, sprawling out on his back by your feet. his shirt raises over his sweats, exposing a bit of skin above the band of his boxers, and you have to tear your eyes away.

you can feel the warmth of his body, can smell his aftershave mixed with hints of some kind of fresh body wash, and all of it drives you crazy.

you curl your body into itself so there’s as much distance between the two of you as possible.

“why are you so mad?” chris turns his head slightly so he can look at you.

“i’m not mad, you just disgust me.”

this makes him smile. “i beg to differ, i think you like me.”

without hesitation, you extend one leg to kick him in his side. even though it’s not very forceful, he lets out a little groan of surprise, hand going to rub his hip as he frowns.

“you didn’t have to kick me, damn.”

“you deserved that.” you argue, tucking your knees back to your chest.

this time he stays silent and just looks at you. his eyes scan your face, darting down to your lips every other second, and you’re suddenly very aware of your surroundings.

“what the fuck are you staring at?” you ask in a brief moment of panic.

his eyes are so unnerving. it’s like he can see right through you.

“you’re pretty.” chris shrugs before averting his gaze back to the ceiling.

your face flushes, and you force yourself to remember the embarrassment from the other day, how stupid you felt after discovering that he’s still the same old player that sits beside you now.

“shouldn’t you be giving some other girl an STD or something?” you snap, and he huffs out a breathy laugh.

“first of all, i’m totally clean. and if you’d actually let me explain, you’d realize the girl that was over on sunday is just an ex fling who was picking up some old stuff.”

his clarification shocks you, though you still don’t necessarily believe it yet. he could be lying, even though it doesn’t seem like he is.

“you’re seriously telling me you weren’t hooking up with her?” you ask.

“it was strictly platonic. nothing happened.” he confirms, shifting to face you again.

chris lifts his hand to trace gentle patterns along your shins, and you don’t shy away this time. the feeling of his palms, even when separated by your leggings, is far nicer than you imagined.

“okay.” you mutter simply.

“you’ve been ignoring me the entire week and all i get is an ‘okay’?” he halts his movements so he can curl his fingers into air quotes.

“what would you like me to say?”

“an apology would be a nice start.”

you bark out a laugh. “an apology for what? for not talking to you? because i really didn’t take you for the sensitive type.”

he just shakes his head, nudging your legs with one of his knuckles lightly. “god, you and that headstrong attitude will be the death of me.”

“can’t wait.” you quip back, and now its his turn to chuckle.

silence settles over the two of you for a moment, and you’ve been far too close for too long, so you move to stand once again.

“alright, well, we talked. time for you to get lost.” you motion toward the door.

chris sits up, running a hand through his messy hair before he replies. “look, we don’t have another game until sunday, so we’re hosting at the house tomorrow. you should come.”

you raise an eyebrow and tap your chin, like you’re really contemplating. “i’ll have to think about it.”

“please? it’ll only be fun if you go.” he flashes you a charming smile, and you hate that it actually does kind of work.

“maybe i’ll make a special appearance. maybe.” you point a wary finger at him as he gets back on his feet.

“that’s what i like to hear.” chris says, making his way toward you.

you expect him to pass right by, but he lingers, like there’s something else on his mind. he stares down at you with those big blue eyes, and you can feel yourself slipping into dangerous territory.

“is there something else?” you ask softly, and the sound of your voice is maddening to him.

you don’t even try to tempt chris on purpose, he knows this, and yet everything about you is so enticing. not to mention he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about the kiss since it happened, or that pretty little mouth of yours.

but he shakes his head again, because the things he’s thinking about you so early on in this strange relationship frighten him.

“uh, no, sorry. i’ll see you tomorrow, hopefully.”

and then he blows right by you without waiting for a response, disappearing just as quickly as he arrived.

[svt-luna]

ᡴꪫ ⋆ INSTAGRAM UPDATE ࣪ ! ˓ ౨ৎ ࣪˖ ─── 240910: Berlin

╰ ౨ৎ LUNA-VERSE MASTERLIST ╰ ౨ৎ luna’s instagram

Liked by jeonghaniyoo_n, xuminghao_o, dk_is_dokyeom, and 2,653,282 others

lunabae berlin you’ll always be my yes, you have my heart always and forevermore, now more than ever 💎🤍

View all comments

jijijiyeoniennie BITCH YOU KILLED IT YESTERDAY!!

lunalover Jiyeonie you are an angel on this earth 😩

ddadduuu girl– I am begging you, hide Jeonghan right the fuck now 🥲

lunaattire MOMMYYYY 🥵

jeongnadaily she’s really posting this acting like nothing happened, as if carats didn’t fucking spot her and Jeonghan holding hands in the streets of Berlin 🙃

↳ nananunu holding hands. swaying them back and forth. interlocked fingers. not once letting go… they don’t care no more 😩

↳ jxjforever I am convinced they are dating and this is their last date before Hannie’s enlistment…

↳ napipopeta thank you for reminding me he’s going to be bald soon 🥰

emilycarat17 LUNA I LOVE YOU 💕💕💕

caratforever17 I love you but y’all forgot to perform Ash and Shadow 🥲

hanniehaeee I can’t be the only one over analyzing that caption— like… am I insane!?

↳ svt-luna NO CAUSE SAME!! Ik she’s talking about how much she’s enjoyed her time there performing and everything but… there is something not being said 🫠

↳ woowonwoo “always be my yes” “always and forevermore, now more than ever” Call me insane but she’s either in love or those are song lyrics 🤔🤷

↳ moonlightbae I don’t like overthinking much about such things and clearly it’s just Luna voicing her gratitude for carats in Berlin but… “always and forevermore, now more than ever” is throwing me tf off fr.

jeongnaupdates the my melody leaves 😩😩

gyugyugyu10 girl– you’re not slick, we all know that’s Jeonghan on the last pic

babymoon Jiyeon you just might as well have captioned this “I love being in love in Berlin” and we would have called it a day 🤭

angeltwins how was the date, miss thing? You can’t fool us and say it was friendly— because there is absolutely no way you and Jeonghan be holding hands, hugging, smiling and shit in public like that for it to be “friendly” 🫥

luuuunaaanie girl just confirm it already, we won’t tell 🤐

missbitch Jiyeon I saw you and Jeonghan yesterday at the park but didn’t want to disturb you two!! I wanted to tell you how much I love you guys and how you’re my bias 😩🥺🩵

liked by creator

↳ lunabae thank you for being so respectful, we would have loved to meet you, love. And I love you too, so much! Hannie says he love you too 🩷

↳ missbitch WATDAFECEJDHUEHEUEGEHEHEHBE LUNA l love you wtf?!?

↳ kwanienie YOU JUST WON THE GAME OF MOTHERFUCKING LIFE RIGHT THERE !!!

↳ thelunanova are you telling me you just saw Han and Luna IN PERSON on their “friendly” date and now THE Bae Jiyeon herself not only replied to you but she also told you she loved you… but not only that THE Yoon Jeonghan did too!?? GOODBYE I—

↳ svtrighthere17 she also called her “love” GOD HAS FAVORITES 😭 happy for you tho

↳ lunadaily SEE!!! THIS IS WHAT BEING MINDFUL AND RESPECTFUL OF THEIR SPACE GETS YOU!! ALL YOU WEIRDOS SHOULD LEARN THE SAME!!

↳ dinothedinosaur ^^^^^ THIS! ^^^^^

hannniee let’s all act surprised once they do confirm their relationship 🤠

jeongnashipper are you telling me we won’t get Jeongna for about two motherfucking years?! NOOOOOOOOOO

cutiesexylovely everybody jokingly saying that they’ll be in their military wife era but do you guys know who the literal military wife is?… Bae Jiyeon🥲

ೃ⁀➷ comment or message me to be added to the tag list :)

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ SUBMIT A REQUEST AND ASK ME ANYTHING!

: ̗̀➛ requests are always open ♡ - lunaఌ

Taglist: @yeoberryx @minminghao @angie-x3 @jennwonwoo @k13endall @heeseungthel0ml @chisskaa @megumi2020 @yoonzzziino @lllucere @smh-anon @yveclipse @randomworker @bunnystrm @iamawkwardandshy @gratefulbunny1 @bmo-bri @syren-ash @megseungmin @multiplums @unlikelysublimekryptonite @night-storm7 @cookiearmy @seokqt

[kookieswan]

Can I get a drabble for Yoongi where's he's just having a happy married couple moment with his gf? Extra side of fluff

Mr. Famous Producer Man

Producer!Yoongi x Reader

Word Count: 500+

Genre: Established Relationship, Fluffy fluff, maybe the tiniest bit of angst if you squint?

Warnings: None!

Notes: I FORGOT TO POST THIS YESTERDAY??? I am SORRY! It’s a cute little thing, I hope you like it! 🌸

Find my Main Masterlist here! 🌸

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

“Yoon…?” Peeking your head through his studio door, you try not to be too loud just in case he’s engrossed in his work. Yoongi isn’t though; he’s slouched back in his spinny chair looking unbelievably tired. It makes you melt to see how much he lights up when he sees you though, even if he does look a little out of it.

“Hi love, sorry I didn’t realize you were coming.” You just smile as he raises from his spot, long hair a little messy and eyes a little droopy. It’s clear he hasn’t slept at all today even though he very much needs it, but you don’t bring it up. Instead, you hold out one of the two bags you brought and jiggle it lightly.

“No biggie, I texted but I know you probably have your phone off. I brought fried chicken for dinner? Thought you could maybe use a break.” He hums and nods, leaning in to leave a chaste kiss against your lips as he grabs the bag. You giggle as he leaves one more against your cheek, guiding you over to the couch and coffee table he had situated to the side.

It’s littered with scribbled out notes, some of them crumpled, others barely legible. There’s evidence of takeout containers as well and some coffee cups, your husband clearly doing his best to keep motivated. It makes you pout a little, the urge to pamper him even a little overwhelming.

“I could use a break, this song is fucking with me, so I haven’t been doing much but brooding over it.” He plops down on the couch after moving the papers and your resist the urge to plop into his lap, instead cuddling right up next to him. He unwraps the food quietly, but both of you just enjoy each others company for a while. It’s been quite hectic lately and you haven’t been able to do so.

You leave a few kisses against his jaw, enjoying how warm and safe you feel next to him. Yoongi wraps an arm around you, pulling you even closer so you’re smooshed into his side. It’ll be a little difficult to eat, but it’s totally worth it to be this close to him.

“I missed my husband today, I don’t like waking up without you in the new house.” You’ve only just moved in after your wedding a month back, and with how busy Yoongi has been, he’s barely been home. Of course you don’t blame him, you never would, but it’s still hard either way. He smiles his cute little smile as he peers down at you, eyes just as gentle as his words.

“I know baby, just give me a few more days and I’ll have this wrapped up, hm? Then it’ll be me, you, and Holly in one big pile every morning.” It sounds like an absolute dream. You nod your head in a knowledge ent before moving out of his grasp ever so slightly, just enough to grab the food. It’s time to feed this man and then it’ll be time to make him take a long ass nap.

“I’m keeping you to that Mr. Famous Producer Man. Now, give me some cuddles while I feed you chicken.”

[grassyhorizon45]

Help. - Pt 2

part 1 || part 2 || part 3

uhh my bad... looks like it really is gonna be longer than I thought. It'll be worth it I promise! I fought through writers block for this forgive me

Marauders × DiD!Reader who's slowly but surely developing it and starts experiencing symptoms :l

Warnings: A bit more yelling? and a bit of angst.

Words: 1115

James's quidditch match the next day had the whole school in high spirits. Rumour from Hufflepuff was that a new quidditch captain had been instated; and knowing James, he was definitely gonna have a pre-match panic attack in the changing room while the rest of Gryffindor prepared for the after-party.

Y/n and Remus made their way to the Gryffindor changing room about an hour or two before the match. 

Sirius and James were there already, sitting side-by-side as the latter vented. Sirius put a hand around James, offering support. 

“And then Murphy decided to sprain his ankle yesterday! Now we’re one frickin’ beater short…”

James caught sight of the two that just entered, going quiet.

Y/n’s expression softened, “Can’t Siri replace him?”

His tone was quieter now. “Even then, we don’t know what Hufflepuff has up their sleeves with that new captain of theirs… New captain means new plays and- and—”

Remus went to sit next to Sirius while Y/n sat next to James, leaning on him.

“You’ll be fine, love.” Y/n sighed, “Stop panicking.”

They spent the last few moments of ‘quiet’ together there on that bench. Y/n and Remus leaving only after the Gryffindor team had filled the once-private space.

The three knew their support pre and post match meant the world to James. He was the kind that needed attention, love and affection to grip onto mental stability. Somehow, it was just one of the things that made James…well, James, and Y/n loved him for showing that level of vulnerability. 

“Do you think James and Siri will win today?” she asked Remus as they walked to the stands.

“They’ll be fine with whatever the outcome is. Don’t worry,” Remus smiled.

Y/n nodded, “A happy James is better than a swear-y one though…”

Remus gave her a pat on the head, agreeing.

The rest of the Morning was a blur after that. Y/n hardly remembered the outcome of the quidditch match. It was all a fog, hazy in her brain. So much so that she convinced herself the morning events were all really just a dream……

There was a sharp ringing in her ear when she ‘woke up’.

Accept, Y/n wasn’t lying down… Nor was she in either her or the boys’ room.

“Bunny, what’s wrong?”

Y/n came to the realisation that someone’s hand was supporting her waist. She shifted a little, making Sirius’ hand fall to the side.

“A-Aren’t you and Jamie playing in the quidditch match today?” She mumbled, observing her surroundings as she did. “Wh-Why are we in the common room eating the food for the after-party?”

Sirius froze, catching James (who was chatting with someone across from where Y/n and Sirius stood)’s attention. He excused himself and walked towards them.

“Pads?”

The taller boy ran a hand through the other’s black curls.

“Sh-She thinks the match hasn’t started…”

“Huh?” This sparked James’ intrigue too. “We won the match, love… You and Moony came to see us before it started, remember?”

Y/n nodded slowly, “I th-think so. I thought it was a dream…”

The boys exchanged worried glances.

“You don’t remember the match at all?” Sirius asked.

Did she?

“M-Maybe I just f-forgot,” Y/n lied.

“Capt- Can I borrow you for a second?” someone interrupted.

“I-” James hesitated. “Okay… Pads, Moon will wanna hear about this.”

Sirius nodded at James before he left. 

“I-It’s not a big deal,” Y/n mumbled, faking a collected smile. “You can just… tell me about the match instead.”

“It’s not about the match, bunny,” Sirius put an arm around her, giving her a slight squeeze. “This kind of memory loss isn’t normal…”

Which brought her back to their earlier discovery. What if Remus’ previous assumptions were right? What if she did have Dissociative Identity Disorder?

Y/n excused herself from Sirius’ company, making her way to the library once again in hopes she’d find something useful. There was this sinking feeling in her heart that if she properly had this ‘multiple-personality disorder’, things would change.

Y/n got tired of the big terms after a while. Her brain felt like shutting off and she couldn’t think straight. Sleeping in the library wasn’t soooooooo bad was it?

~

“You can’t just d-drop that on me l-like that–!”

“How d-did I get here……” 

Y/n was obviously not in the library, instead she was in the boys’ room facing a near-to-tears James. 

“Jamie… You okay?”

James flinched away at her touch, storming out of the room as he tried to get a grip on his emotions.

“Wh-What the—”

The door opened again with urgency, making Y/n jump.

“I want to know why,” Sirius demanded as he stood by the open door comforting a now crying James.

“Wh-Why?” She was so confused.

Sirius’ eyes narrowed. 

“You really want me to spell it out for you?”

The bitterness in his voice was clear as day, giving Y/n the chills. 

She nodded to his ‘question’, genuinely stating, “I d-don’t know what you’re talking about…”

Sirius seemed pissed… Pissed that Y/n was ‘faking innocence’, pissed that Y/n of all people had made James cry—

“I want to know why you want to break up!”

Wait—

“I do?”

The two boys looked at her with quizzical looks.

“I-I didn’t say that…” Y/n’s heart was pounding, so loud that she could hear it in her ears.

“B-But you d-did,” James mumbled from behind Sirius.

“I only r-remember f-falling asleep in the library… A-And then waking up here.”

Sirius gulped, “We need to get you checked love; you’re scaring us.”

Y/n tensed up, “I don’t wanna see a doctor…”

James was still shaken to the core, scared of the possible end of their relationship. She noticed this…

“Oh Jamie,” Y/n went over to give him a hug. Seeing James in such a shaken state was rare. 

According to the books she’d read, Y/n suspected she wasn’t in control of her own body when…well—

As she comforted James and whispered sweet things in his ear, Sirius stood hovering by the door, deep in thought with a frown on his face.

Y/n felt guilty. Sure she wasn’t conscious when it happened but it was still her that hurt James, their Y/n that told him they should break up.

Remus came back from his prefects’ rounds to find Y/n and James cuddled up cosily, fast asleep together on James’ bed. Sirius was admiring the sight, smiling thoughtfully.

“Come here Moony…” He patted the spot next to him.

Remus smiled too, “Did I miss anything?”

“Quite a bit actually… I’ll fill you in.”

[velidewrites]

Breaking Point

Six months after Catrin Berdara is presumed dead, Gwyneth abandons the Erudites in search for answers. Knowing there is only one faction with the ability to take her over the spiked fence that shields their world from the truth, she does not hesitate to spill her blood over the burning coals at the Choosing Ceremony. But to be taken over the Fence, Gwyneth must first pass Initiation—and, unfortunately for her, one of the Dauntless squad leaders seems hell-bent on making her life all the more difficult.

Pairing: Azriel x Gwyneth Berdara

Tags: Divergent AU

Notes: I was going to post this yesterday when I realised Divergent was released exactly 10 years ago today! If you were as obsessed with this series as me, welcome to the chaos. This fic was inspired by me seeing a tiktok of the knife throwing scene and thought oh yeah this is Gwynriel at its peak.

This is baby's very first Gwynriel and my humble contribution for @gwynrielweeksofficial! Thank you to @azrielshadowssing @ablogofsapphicpanic @octobers-veryown for being such patient betas and to @damedechance for being so brilliant and coming up with this title for me.

Before you proceed, please be advised of the TW for past SA.

Read on AO3 or continue to Chapter 1 below!

Gwyneth Berdara was risking her life, and it was the most exhilarating thing in the world.

Her sister’s ice-cold hand on her mouth had snapped her awake, and it had only been thanks to her quick “Shush!” that Gwyneth managed to stifle the scream in her throat. It had not been the first time Catrin woke her up in the dead of the night—still, their routine had never quite made either of them loose the reins on her instincts.

Catrin’s eyes had glinted like onyx as she’d quickly prompted Gwyneth to get up and get dressed. The nights were shorter during the summer, which made the next few hours all the more precious. The truck had already been waiting, parked two blocks west—only two minutes on foot if they kept a fast pace.

Gwyneth could see the urgency painted on her sister’s features, yet it had nothing on the excitement that had her leg bouncing near the doorway to their dorm. It had lit up her entire face like moonlight, all the dark heaviness of the risk they were taking skittering away at the sight. It was contagious enough that Gwyneth, too, had found herself smiling—a smile that lingered even as they’d made their way down the pristine white hallways of the Academy.

Frankly, she had never quite figured out who in Campus Security Catrin had managed to bribe. The only thing either of them had was each other, a fact that Catrin often joked would make them the perfect fit for Abnegation once they turned twenty-one. Gwyneth could see her sister there—could see her spilling her blood on the smooth, grey stones and devoting her life in the service of others. Not Gwyneth, though. She had always thought herself too selfish—too selfish to abandon the Academy and all the knowledge it contained. At heart, after all, Gwyneth was—and always had been—an Erudite.

It was only one of their differences. From the day Gwyneth and Catrin were born, people had a hard time believing the two of them were twins. Catrin’s eyes were darker than the depths of the ocean the city bordered, her hair a similar black and her skin pale as milk. Gwyneth’s eyes were the sort of teal their ocean never saw, not even now, when the sun blazed right above it every day. She enjoyed the way it reflected in coppery brown waves, though, and the way it brought out the freckles on her face.

But as Gwyneth moved carefully behind Catrin, her every step falling right into her sister’s quiet shadow, she forgot about everything that divided them. In this—the excitement of the rebellion, the danger of the risk—in this, they were the same.

The drive to Amity had been almost entirely silent save for the crunchy gravel of the road as they exited the city. Even so, she could make out Catrin’s grin in the shadows of the cargo bed, could hear the gentle tapping of her still-bouncing leg.

If anyone in the Erudites found out about their nightly escapades, Gwyneth and Catrin would be dead—or worse, subjected to whatever classified research the Erudite leadership was undergoing at the headquarters. Only the most brilliant of the Academy students were allowed to apply for their stewardship—to watch and observe. To learn, the way the customs of their factions demanded.

Gwyneth had no interest in aiming for the top floors of the HQ. There, she would have likely been guarded—supervised—every hour of every day. Catrin, if she would be allowed to see her beyond Visiting Days at all, would no longer be a constant in her life, their monthly drives to the farmlands beyond the Fence only a distant memory. It was why Gwyneth sometimes doubted herself. An Erudite without ambition, after all, was like a Dauntless without courage, an Abnegation without people to serve. Useless.

Studying alongside the most illustrious of her faction was perhaps the greatest ambition of all, but Gwyneth was happy to remain at the Academy, to learn and contribute in whatever ways she could, all while retaining the little pieces of herself she still owned. To think such thoughts was to betray the Erudite virtues, constantly in pursuit of wisdom and intelligence. It was a fear that lingered somewhere deep in her chest every night she and Catrin ventured out to the unknown.

She tried to dwindle it, though, as she now danced around the bonfire near Sector Five’s stables. One of the Amity girls, dressed in yellows and oranges as dictated by the Amity fashion, had grabbed her by the hand and dragged her into her circle of friends, her laughter rising over the crackling flames. Sometimes, Gwyneth wondered what it would be like to be a part of that—part of the Peaceful, the Kind.

She couldn’t imagine a life free of worry, a life dedicated to preserving what remained of their destroyed world’s nature without questioning its past. And while the joy on the Amity girl’s face felt true, Gwyneth couldn’t help but feel like right now, she was living a lie.

“Have you seen my sister?” she shouted over the fire, the music a small guitar band had begun playing a few minutes ago. She had not seen Catrin since the Solstice celebrations started—since all of Sector Five had gathered to honour the end of the longest day of the year.

The girl shook her head, the fire dancing in her brown eyes. “I’m sure she’s with Clare,” she replied with a smile. Then, she winked, “I’d avoid the stables, if I were you.”

Gwyneth blinked. “Clare?”

The smile quickly faded from the girl’s pretty face. “Oh,” she said, her shoulders deflating slightly as she halted mid-dance. “You didn’t know?”

She must’ve had the surprise written all over her face, and Gwyneth schooled her features back into that light, free-of-any-worry-in-the-world expression she knew would help her avoid suspicion. “Oh, Clare! Of course,” she lied. “Sorry. It’s been a long night.”

The girl waved a hand. “I get it. The way they keep you under watch back in the city is ridiculous to me.” She angled her head, that brown gaze studying her with mild curiosity. “How old are you, again?” she asked.

“I’ll be twenty-one in a few months.”

She clasped her hands together, her whole face lighting up at Gwyneth’s answer. “Ah, you haven't Chosen yet!” she exclaimed. “You always have a place here—we’d welcome you with open arms.”

“I doubt my results will sort me into Amity,” Gwyneth said truthfully.

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Well,” the girl said, leaning conspiratorially over her shoulder, “I know we’re all supposed to follow the Aptitude Test’s recommendations, of course.” She tilted her chin towards the dancing group before them—to the truck still parked in the distance. “Something tells me, though, that you’ve never been one to follow the rules, anyway.”

Gwyneth followed her gaze—but words died on her tongue before she managed to answer.

There she was—Catrin, sitting with her back resting against one of the truck’s large wheels, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. Alone.

“Excuse me,” she said to the girl, and moved towards her sister without so much as a goodbye. It wasn’t as she, or any of her Amity friends, would ever take offense—they simply returned to their dancing, the band’s song slowly fading into the distance as Gwyneth kept on walking.

Catrin’s eyes were fixed on the fire even as Gwyneth took her seat on the cold ground beside her.

“Where’s Clare?” she asked, unable to keep the hurt from her voice. There had never been any secrets between them—whatever there was to face in this world, they had always faced it together.

But Catrin simply smiled, her gaze sad, somehow, as she said quietly, “Look at them, Gwyneth. Look at all the dancing—the singing. They’re all smiling.” Finally, Catrin peeled her gaze off the scene to meet her own. “Do you think it’s real?”

There was something in her sister’s tone that made Gwyneth pause—something so unbearably raw it made Gwyneth shelve all her questions in the back of her mind and consider.

She looked towards the celebrating crowds. “I think they believe it is.”

Catrin rasped a laugh. “Yeah. I think so, too.”

Gwyneth placed a hand over her sister’s. As gently as she could, she asked, “Why do you ask, Catrin?”

Her gaze dropped to her feet. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Clare,” she said, and it wasn’t lost on Gwyneth how she’d avoided her question in favour of another. “Dating outside our own factions is forbidden, and I suppose…” Her throat bobbed. “I supposed I didn’t want to burden you with the secret.”

She was so unlike the Catrin from a few hours ago that Gwyneth felt her own throat burning, all the excitement they’d shared earlier fading into the night along with the bonfire smoke.

The question nearly forced itself onto Gwyneth’s lips—what changed?—but instead, she managed, “You could never burden me, Catrin.” Then, “I didn’t mean to pry. If she makes you happy, then that is all I need to know.”

Slowly, Catrin turned to face her again. “She makes me happy,” she whispered. “Very much.”

Gwyneth smiled. “Good.” She squeezed Catrin’s hand. “No secrets, remember?”

Perhaps it was the smoke carried by the summer breeze, or the late hour catching up with Catrin at last, but Gwyneth could’ve  sworn she saw silver gleam in her sister’s eyes as she said, “Yeah. No secrets.”

***

Catrin’s funeral took place midday, and it rained the entire time.

Erudites had never been too spiritual in nature, and saw death simply as the time for the mind to finally rest. As such, there were no celebrations of the life she had lived like the ones held in Amity—no formal burials with lengthy speeches from Candor’s government officials, either. It was, perhaps, the one thing where Erudites and Abnegations found common ground—in the lack of spectacle surrounding their funerals. In Abnegation, death was only a tragedy because it meant an end to one’s servitude.

Gwyneth watched as her sister’s casket was covered by a deep-blue sheet, the colour slowly darkening as it soaked up the pouring rain. The entire Academy had gathered to watch it being lowered into the city’s foundations—to symbolise the collective knowledge upon which it was built, if nothing else. One of the Erudite representatives then murmured a few words about the tragedy Catrin’s death was, and the new, stricter regulations the labs would be implementing to prevent anything like this from happening ever again.

Gwyneth had not been invited to say a few words. The Erudite virtues did not speak of emotional attachment, of the importance of sentiment. Catrin’s pursuit of knowledge may have ended, but Gwyneth’s…Gwyneth’s had only just begun.

She was not permitted to look upon her twin’s face for the final time, either. The stone casket seemed impenetrable from where she stood, one lone student in the sea of blue umbrellas and Academy uniforms. It was not like Gwyneth would have asked to see her, either. Whatever spirit of rebellion had lived inside her before, it died today—watching its counterpart disappear beneath the ground.

As the plates of the burial site began closing in on each other, though, ready to swallow Catrin for the rest of time, something shifted—like a spark in the air, charging the weather with lightning. Gwyneth’s shoulders tensed as she braced herself for impact.

And then, someone screamed.

All one hundred—perhaps more—Erudite heads snapped towards the sound, some of the faces immediately twisting in a grimace, some in curiosity. Gwyneth’s eyes, though, only widened in shock, her mouth parting slightly as she realised who the voice belonged to—who had just lunged onto the stage, her orange dress muddy and torn.

Clare Beddor’s tears blended into the rain as she reached for the Erudite representative, her expression so wild and pained that Gwyneth felt it in her own already shredded heart. Even through the hauling rain, through the thunder booming somewhere in the distance, she could hear Clare’s words as clear as the day she had last seen her lover. Could hear the accusation that would get her reunited with Catrin at last.

“MURDERERS!” Clare yelled, the crowd gasping in unison. “You’re all murderers!”

Everything happened so quickly after that.

Someone had grabbed Clare from behind—one of the junior HQ researchers, a Dauntless transfer if his large, muscular frame was any indication—and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back with the kind of force that should’ve hauled her off the stage. But Clare kept on fighting, kept on kicking and screaming and digging her nails into the man’s forearms, leaving long, bloodied streaks splitting his tattoos. Still, the man did not let go.

Only when the rain began to leave the taste of salt in Gwyneth’s mouth did she realise she was crying, too. She watched as Clare was dragged off the stage and shoved into a sleek, black car—Candor, Gwyneth noted immediately—which appeared seemingly out of nowhere. She watched as it drove off, too, as the Erudite representative apologised for the intrusion and once again reiterated the tragedy of the incident before ordering all of Catrin’s fellow students to return to their daily obligations.

But Clare’s words lingered even as the crowd dissipated, echoing between the glass Erudite buildings before settling right in Gwyneth’s chest. 

Murderers. Murderers. Murderers.

When the rhythm of her heart started to beat alongside the syllables, alongside the truth Gwyneth had thought no one else believed in, that rebellion inside her reignited—blazed, like the fire she had danced to in Amity two weeks ago.

She wasn’t insane. She was not paranoid, and Clare all but confirmed it.

Catrin Berdara had been murdered. When and how—it did not matter.

The only question that mattered was why.

And Gwyneth was going to find the answer.

***

SIX MONTHS LATER

Compared to her old Academy dorm, Gwyneth’s apartment at the Erudite Headquarters felt ridiculously empty.

Truthfully, she had not exactly put any effort into decorating it in the past two months. The walls remained white and untainted by the vibrant prints and watercolour paintings she and Catrin used to sneak into the Academy from Amity. The entire space was simply occupied by her bed, wardrobe, and desk. The latter, at least, was filled with enough books to let the average visitor know someone was, in fact, living in this place.

Gwyneth had shoved one of those books into her bag before leaving, along with some crumpled papers containing notes she could hardly remember writing last night. It must have been well past three in the morning when she’d finally finished, but when it came to her supervisor, Gwyneth always prioritised being sleep deprived over unprepared.

Not that anyone had ever acknowledged her efforts, though. Her supervisor just so happened to be the Erudite representative, the faction’s very leader and the main voice advising their Candor-comprised government. It was a great privilege, Gwyn had always told the other graduates, making sure to dip her head an inch and blush slightly as she lied: I was certain it was a mistake, but Merrill was really impressed with my dissertation, it seems.

Gwyneth’s Academy dissertation just so happened to align perfectly with the Erudite’s research—a coincidence, and, of course, a great privilege. Gwyn had been planning to teach at the Academy post-graduation—that much, at least, was the truth—but when the HQ had made her an offer, she simply could not refuse.

She was the envy of other HQ graduate researchers, which was definitely one downside in the grand scheme of things. Gwyneth had been prepared for the attention, but the amount of eyes turned towards her in every lab, every hallway, was certainly making things…difficult.

After all, no one at HQ could ever suspect why Gwyneth Berdara, a previous history major, had suddenly taken up interest in genetics—why her dissertation, initially on the history of the Erudite faction, had suddenly shifted focus onto Aptitude Tests in the final two months of her studies at the Academy. No one could quite figure how, exactly, she had managed to produce a report worthy of the attention of the Head Erudite herself.

That part, Gwyneth did not have to lie about, either. She was an Erudite. She studied—she sought the knowledge and acquired it.

Getting to the HQ was the easiest part of her plan. Getting out of it, however, was going to prove a lot more…difficult.

There was one other thing cluttering her desk, its silver gleam drawing her eye before she finally made her way to leave. Gwyneth picked up the lighter, the metal cold against her skin, and pushed the small lever down with her thumb.

The flame came to life in Gwyneth’s hand, and she watched as it danced playfully in the air. All of her belongings, all the Amity posters and photos she had taken over the years—they were memories too painful to bring along for her final act of rebellion. The lighter, though, was the one thing of her own she’d allowed herself—she had purchased it on her first day at the HQ despite the voice of reason protesting in her mind.

“I’m almost there, Catrin,” she whispered to the little bonfire in her palm. “I’m almost there.”

With that, the lighter disappeared in the folds of her lab coat, and Gwyneth did not spare another look at the empty apartment as she made her way out.

Lost in her thoughts, Gwyneth hadn’t even realised she’d already made it to her supervisor’s office.

“You’re late,” Merril said in her usual manner of greeting.

 “I’m sorry. I’ve been preparing for tomorrow,” she replied, closing the door carefully behind her.

The Head Erudite looked up from her computer, its blue holo reflecting in her stare. “There is no preparing for the Aptitude Test. You know this, Gwyneth.”

“Emotionally preparing, I suppose,” she corrected herself, her response met with a deep sigh.

“I assume you have the notes I assigned you,” Merril said, not entirely a question. Everything was an order with her—an order that would never be satisfied no matter what Gwyneth did.

Still, she nodded, taking the papers out of her bag to place them on Merrill’s desk, the professor’s eyes already scanning over the writing. She couldn’t help but hold her breath as she waited, silently watching as Merrill took in the results of last week’s experiments, then finally, finally, nodded.

“Take these to Lab Six,” she instructed, Gwyneth’s shoulders sagging with relief. As far as Merrill’s compliments went, this one was the best she could have asked for. “Make the necessary preparations for next month.”

Already on her way out—Merrill did not appreciate anyone wasting her time—Gwyneth stopped.

“Next month?” she asked, turning over her shoulder. With the Choosing Ceremony scheduled for the last day of January, who knew what the next month would bring.

Clearly, Merrill thought Gwyneth was here to stay.

She raised a white eyebrow in scrutiny. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

In exactly a week from now, Gwyneth would finally do what she’d spent the last six months meticulously planning. Merrill said there was no preparing for the Aptitude Tests, but Gwyneth had not spent all those sleepless nights studying, all those days smiling and pretending Catrin’s death hadn’t affected her at all, only to let someone else decide her fate.

No. Gwyneth Berdara had figured out how to cheat.

Tomorrow, the Aptitude Test would sort her into the one faction with the ability to bring her one step closer to the truth behind her sister’s murder.

Next week, she would no longer be Gwyneth Berdara, Erudite.

She would be Dauntless.

“No,” she said to Merrill with a sweet smile. “No problem at all.”

***

It had been over twenty-four hours since Gwyneth had last slept, and she was seriously starting to worry she might just pass out in the chair if her name was not called out next.

As dazed as the lack of sleep was making her, Gwyneth knew that once she exited that room, she would thank herself for persevering. No one under the age of twenty-one was supposed to know this, but being Merrill’s protegé came with its benefits—all carefully researched and planned for six months ago.

The test would begin by having a simulation serum being injected into her neck, setting off a range of scenarios eventually leading to Gwyneth being matched to one of the five factions: Erudites, Abnegation, Dauntless, Candor, or Amity, all based on the choices she’d be making throughout. Fifteen weeks—Gwyneth had spent fifteen weeks studying the simulation patterns and the reaction of the brain every scenario it presented. The Aptitude Test’s results were meant to serve as a guide for the Choosing Ceremony, and if one did not wish to end up factionless–-end up an exile to society—following the Test’s recommendations was the only true choice.

Gwyneth knew—had always known—she was an Erudite, if the last few months were any indication for her to ground her confidence in. Her Test results today, though, would recommend a different faction entirely.

Her research suggested there were side effects to the serum. Sustained deprivation of sleep, Gwyneth found, would catalyse a heightened neural state—high enough for her to remain in full cognitive control of the simulation. She would recognise the patterns effortlessly—would know where to go and what to say for the test administrator to proclaim her as a Dauntless the moment she woke up. In theory.

A few hours into the tests, there weren’t many people left. From the colour of their clothes, Gwyneth noted two from Abnegation and one from Candor, his black tie and formal attire making her shift in her own seat. She could hardly register the light tapping of her foot against the linoleum floor, consumed entirely by the silence of the hallway. Waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

The Tests were being held at the Academy, and it made her all the more uneasy. These halls, the cafeteria they now sat in, this entire building—the Academy was so familiar Gwyneth had nearly forgotten what had driven her out of there. She half-expected Catrin to come out of the East Elevator leading right up to her old lab, to give her a small wave as she called out her name.

“Gwyneth Berdara?”

Gwyneth jumped in her seat.

The Candor boy snorted.

The test administrator—a woman that could not have been more than a few years older than Gwyneth—gave him a look. The Candor cleared his throat immediately, his eyes falling back into that blank, emotionless stare. It was then that Gwyneth realised the woman was from Candor, too.

She arched an eyebrow as she looked at Gwyneth again, her ice-blue eyes settling on her own. “Gwyneth Berdara, yes?”

Gwyneth nodded.

“Good. Come on in.”

The hallway, as Gwyneth already knew, hosted a row of ten rooms, and the woman led her to the one at the far left. The teaching classroom had been transformed into an empty space with nothing but a reclined chair that made her feel as though she was about to walk into her dentist’s appointment, the walls now covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors.

Even though Gwyneth knew what to expect, she couldn’t help but swallow the tightness in her throat. She had volunteered to set those rooms up herself before—the administrator herself was a volunteer, too. Most of the Candor worked for the government—their inclination towards truth and justice made them the only objective candidates. According to their manifesto, at least.

This woman, though—she seemed nothing like the Candor Gwyneth had met before, perhaps save for the stern look in her gaze and the way she carried herself. As if nothing could bend her will.

There was something about her face that seemed familiar, and Gwyneth could not shake the feeling that she had seen her before. Her features seemed sharper than those faded images in her memory, her hair a lighter shade of golden brown, straighter and tied into a sleek, braided bun. No matter how hard she focused, though, Gwyneth couldn’t quite place her.

“Take a seat,” she instructed before Gwyneth could try searching her mind again. “My name is Nesta Archeron. I’ll be your test administrator today.”

The name did not seem familiar, and, frustrated, Gwyneth slipped into the chair, the leather cracked at the armrests. As though whoever had come in before her did not take the simulations well.

Great.

After an uncomfortably long pause, Gwyneth looked up to meet the administrator’s stare. Was the test not supposed to start already?

“Well?” Nesta asked, her arms crossed over the sleek, black jacket padded lightly at the shoulders. She might have been the only Candor Gwyneth had ever seen that did not seem stiff in their clothes.

She blinked in confusion. “Well…what?” she asked.

“Most people want to know if it hurts,” Nesta pointed out.

Oh. “I already know it doesn’t hurt,” Gwyneth told her. “My research focuses on Aptitude Tests,” she explained, her cheeks flushing slightly as she realised she might have fallen into the Erudite trap of sounding too pretentious.

“Your research,” Nesta repeated, a shadow of a smile playing in the corner of her mouth. “That is, perhaps, the most Erudite thing I’ve ever heard.”

Gwyneth huffed. “I thought the simulation was meant to decide my faction, not you.”

To her surprise, Nesta snorted. “I think I might like you, Gwyneth Berdara,” she said. Then, “Why do I know your name?” she asked, her golden brows knitting.

Gwyneth could see the exact second realisation dawned on Nesta’s face.

“You were Catrin Berdara’s sister.” She shook her head, her hair catching some of the white, artificial light at the ceiling. “I am so sorry. Horrible tragedy.”

“Yes,” Gwyneth said, unable to keep the tinge of bitterness from her tone. “Tragedy.”

Nesta’s eyes narrowed. “You know, in Candor, our most prized virtue is the truth. During Initiation, we spend weeks training how to detect lies.” She tilted her head to the side. “Why do I feel like you’re lying to me, Gwyn?”

“It’s Gwyneth.”

“Gwyneth,” Nesta corrected, that strange amusement returning into her face. “I have two sisters, you know. The youngest had her test earlier today.”

“How did she do?”

“You research our tests, don’t you? You know the results are not to be discussed—not even amongst family.” Nesta smiled. “I know, though—from the moment she was born, out and screaming her rage right into the world.” She snorted. “Feyre is going to choose Dauntless, because that’s who she always has been.”

“You sound excited for her,” Gwyneth started carefully.

“I am.”

“Won’t you miss her in Candor?”

“My sisters and I were born in Abnegation,” Nesta explained. “Four years ago, I chose Candor. Two years ago, Elain had left for Amity. Grey had never quite suited her, anyway,” she added. Gwyneth was not entirely sure she’d ever heard a Candor joke before. Then, Nesta said, “In a week from now, Feyre is going to leave, too. I’m sure of it.”

Gwyneth hummed. “Your parents must miss you very much.”

“Our parents are dead, I’m afraid.”

“Oh,” she faltered, her cheeks heating yet again. “So are mine.”

Nesta shrugged matter-of-factly, the gesture enough to keep Gwyneth from asking. “Then you know,” she said, her gaze dropping to whatever notes Gwyneth’s profile contained on the datapad. “I see you study under Merrill Dorset,” Nesta observed. “The Aptitude Test research makes a lot more sense now.” She shook her head, as though in disbelief. “Thanks to her, we no longer have sixteen year olds do these tests. Ridiculous—to make someone with such a young mind decide on the rest of their life.” She looked at Gwyneth again. “You must be very excited to work under her.”

Gwyneth shrugged. “It has its benefits.”

“I’m sure it does,” Nesta said—and if she weren’t Candor, Gwyneth might have thought it a lie. “Is that how you know not to be afraid?” she asked, pressing one of the electrodes to Gwyneth’s head.

Gwyneth scoffed. “Merrill has nothing to do with it,” she told Nesta, flinching slightly at the cold touch as Nesta attached yet another electrode to her head. “I’ve figured it out all on my own.”

The words escaped her without warning—and if Nesta were an Erudite, she would have been fully within her rights to drag her straight to Merrill’s office and filed for Gwyneth’s expulsion.

Instead, a smile—a true smile bloomed on Nesta’s face as she pressed the syringe to Gwyneth’s neck, the clear serum swirling lazily inside. “Perhaps not an Erudite, then.”

The word blurred into nothingness as Gwyneth slipped into the simulation at last.

***

Gwyneth woke up to the sound of screaming, muffled only by a thick wall of concrete and windows sealed shut by dark, bloodied wood.

She did not recognise her surroundings, and from the blurriness of the corners of her vision, she knew she was not supposed to. Even the words of the crying crowds outside had no meaning at all. The emotion they carried was clear, though—fear.

Gwyneth grounded herself in the sounds—became one with the simulation, aware of every pattern presented before her, every entrance or exit she could find her way to. There was a door behind her that had not been barricaded—only an iron handle stood between her and the screams. Turning towards it, she wondered why those people did not simply open the door.

“You’re late,” a childlike voice now spoke behind her. “He’s getting away,” it said.

Gwyneth whirled back to the sound—and found no one at all.

The setting before her had changed, though. There was a staircase now, tall and made entirely of concrete, too. A table blocked the way up, though, small and built from some light type of wood Gwyneth had never cared to study at the Academy.

“Who?” she asked carefully.

“Have you changed your mind already?” the voice spoke again from somewhere behind her back. “You’re our last hope, you know.”

Gwyneth turned again—once again facing nothing but the iron door and the screams behind. She was not supposed to see this child, whoever it was. So instead, she asked, “What’s happening outside?”

“You have a choice here,” the voice continued as though she hadn’t spoken at all. “Go up, and finish what you came here to do. You cannot proceed without this,” it then said, and when Gwyneth turned towards the staircase again, the table was no longer empty.

Atop a clean, ivory cloth laid a gun—a pistol, its silver glinting subtly beneath the streaks of sunlight pouring in through the cracks between the bloodied wood. Gwyneth sucked in a breath.

“You may decide to go back. Rejoin the others, if you wish. The choice is entirely up to you.”

The choice seemed entirely clear to Gwyneth. Turn back to the people—Abnegation. Amity, perhaps. The gun, however…

“I thought you hired me,” she told the voice.

It giggled—a shrill, eerie sound that seemed to carry all the way upstairs. “I cannot decide your fate for you,” it said, as if scolding her.

Gwyneth looked back towards the door again—then to the gun. What if this was a test, and the true display of courage would have been to save the people outside from whatever horrors had befallen them?

No—there were no underlying motives in these tests. Her choices, Gwyneth had learned, were plain and simple, the way the faction members’ lives had been designed to be. If she wanted to be classified as a Dauntless, the gun was her only viable option.

So Gwyneth picked it up—wrapped her hand around the cool metal, letting it slip down to the polished hilt.

“Go now,” the voice urged. “Go!”

Gwyneth did not waste any more time.

She started running, every step light as she made her way upstairs, the echo of the people’s cries following her all the way up to the sixth floor. She felt no weariness, no strain in her muscles or stiffness in her joints, the blend of the serum and twenty-four hours without sleep clearly taking effect.

The stairs seemed to end here, though. There was only one door at the very top of the building, made of the same dark, blood-stained wood the windows had been. Gwyneth reached for the doorknob—iron, too, she realised—and the door clicked open as she turned it to her left.

“Are you the one?” someone asked her—a new voice, male and hoarse coming somewhere from the back of the room.

“What?” Gwyneth asked, and the room lit up with the question.

She had to stifle a scream of her own as she saw him. The man stood at the very end of the narrow hallway, his back pressed toward the wall and a gun steady in his hands.

“Are you the one they sent after me?” he repeated, his voice rougher now, like gravel against her skin.

“No,” Gwyneth lied, fighting to keep her voice from trembling as her own pistol slipped down an inch in her clammy grip. “I’m on your side,” she told him.

“Liar,” he seethed, “I’ll give you one more chance. Tell the truth, and I will go—you and your people will never see me, never hear of me again. Peace,” he said. “So, what will it be?”

Gwyn opened her mouth—and the man smiled, revealing a perfect set of bloody, iron teeth.

Her mind raced, chasing every possibility that seemed to escape her the wider the man grinned. He must have been the reason for the carnage outside, all the pain and death that would have awaited her had she chosen to open the door. Perhaps the simulation would have made her tend for the wounded, or forced her to become one of them. Either way, there was no turning back.

She understood now—she had to kill that man. His promise of peace, while appealing to an Amity or maybe even an Erudite, was a lie. That left her with two choices.

Tell the truth—Candor.

Keep on lying—Dauntless.

So Gwyneth tightened her grip on her gun and told him, “I’m not here to kill you.”

The man’s smile became a long, vicious snarl. “Wrong answer,” he said, and pointed his own pistol at her.

“Leave her alone!” someone screamed then, a voice—a familiar voice, one she had met in this simulation before. The child materialised before her, a small girl that could not have been older than five—and lunged for the murderer aiming at Gwyneth.

All Gwyneth could see, though, was Clare Beddor’s face as she ran for the Erudites that killed her sister. The same Erudites that prized knowledge above all else, only to put an end to it whenever someone reached too far.

What had Catrin found out that day? How bad must it have been to merit an order for her execution.

Whatever truth the answers held, though, Gwyneth had already failed. But, perhaps, she could do this—could save this child, so ready and eager to sacrifice its life for those who could not have done the same.

For Catrin.

As if reading her thoughts, the man pointed his gun at the little girl.

“NO!” Gwyneth screamed, and jumped in front of the child the moment the gun fired.

***

The word still lingered on her tongue as Gwyneth shot upright with a scream.

“Sit up,” Nesta ordered, her hand steady on Gwyneth’s back. “Drink,” she added, a cold glass suddenly pressed to her trembling lips.

She obeyed, the water dripping down her chin as she gulped, the glass shaking alongside her sweaty palms.

“The whole thing,” Nesta nodded, and only when Gwyneth emptied the glass did she finally seem satisfied enough to let her speak.

“Well?” Gwyneth asked, wiping the salt on her forehead with the back of her hand. “ Not an Erudite, I’m assuming?”

Nesta’s lips pressed into a thin line, her skin somewhat pale as she quickly entered something into her datapad. “Not exactly.”

“What—what is that supposed to mean?”

Nesta met her gaze, her blue eyes wary. “Gwyn—Gwyneth, your results were inconclusive.” She sighed. “Is that something you have seen in your research, or do you need me to explain it to you?”

Gwyneth ignored the jab. “Inconclusive?” She frowned. “That is not possible.” She tried so hard—so hard to be matched to the Dauntless. She was prepared to shoot—to prove she wasn’t afraid, to prove she didn’t hesitate. If she only hadn’t let her emotions get the better of her—

“Of course not,” Nesta said, something like mockery creeping into her tone. “In theory. How many times have your theories been proven wrong, Gwyneth?”

She had to give her that one. “Many.”

“You have chosen the gun, effectively closing both paths that would have taken the simulation towards Amity—or Abnegation, for that matter.” Nesta looked at her datapad again. “That gave us Dauntless. Then, you lied to the man—then lied again, even when given a second chance and promised peace—that rules out Candor. You’re definitely not Amity, that’s for sure.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “You were smart enough not to believe him, displaying equal aptitude for both Erudite and Dauntless. But then you saved the girl,” she said. “Threw your body over her own. Abnegation again.”

Nesta set her notes on the chair’s armrest, leaning in closer—close enough for the distance between them to close almost entirely as she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “Gwyneth, people like you are called Divergent. And they are very, very dangerous.” Those icy eyes searched her own. “Tell me, Gwyneth, what does our society do with dangerous people?”

Gwyneth stopped breathing entirely.

Nesta nodded. “You, of all people, should know this.”

“You know,” Gwyneth breathed. “You know what my sister researched.”

It had been Gwyneth’s theory from the day she had found a stash of notes in Catrin’s bed—shoved deep into the mattress, nearly lost to the world after death. Notes containing Catrin’s own research, all of them detailing the hypotheses of her Genetics thesis. Catrin had been studying the factionless—had been seeking to understand why, no matter how hard they tried, they did not belong to any of the factions. She had nearly found the answer.

But Catrin’s notes ended abruptly, the final entry dated two weeks before her death. The night the two of them had last ventured out to the Amity farmlands. The night Catrin had promised her no more secrets.

“And look where that research got her,” Nesta said quietly. “Gwyneth, you cannot share this information with anyone. Under no circumstances can you reveal your test results. Do you understand me?” she asked, her tone inviting no protest.

Gwyneth swallowed. Hard. “I do.”

Nesta straightened. “I’m going to put your aptitude down for Erudite, and we’ll forget about this whole thing.”

She picked the datapad up again.

“No,” Gwyneth said then.

Half-turning over her shoulder, Nesta’s brows rose. “No?”

“Dauntless,” Gwyneth blurted out, her final attempt at salvaging six-months of pain and preparation. “Please. They will look—Merrill will look at my test results. She cannot know why I didn’t come back.”

“Gwyneth,” Nesta started slowly. “Whatever you think you’ll find at the Dauntless—”

“It’s not what I’ll find there,” she interrupted. “It’s where the Dauntless can take me.”

Understanding settled into Nesta’s beautiful features. “Going beyond the Fence is strictly forbidden,” she told her.

Gwyneth offered a tense shrug. “It seems to me like I’m already on the forbidden list.”

Nesta shook her head. “To live the life of a Dauntless is to die,” she warned her. “Not many Transfers survive their Initiation. Consider what you’re about to do, Gwyneth Berdara.”

Gwyneth was done considering. It was finally time to act.

“If it was your sister,” she started, looking Nesta right in the eye, “either of your sisters. What would you have done?”

Something like surprise sparked in Nesta’s gaze, and for a moment—for a short, beautiful moment, Gwyneth had hope.

But then, Nesta told her, “You are asking a Candor to lie.”

Gwyneth knew she had lost.

She’d forgotten—she’d forgotten that, in this world, factions came above all else. No matter what Nesta thought of her, no matter what she would have done for her own sisters in Gwyneth’s position—the primary Candor virtue was to never tell a lie.

Dishonesty is rampant. Dishonesty is temporary. Dishonesty makes evil possible.

The doctrine was practically written on Nesta’s face, her features practically writhing in conflict.

So Gwyneth braced herself—braced herself for the administrator’s next words, no doubt announcing her imminent arrest and exile following the betrayal of her faction, of conspiring against her own. Perhaps they would tackle her the way they had Clare Beddor—perhaps they would drag her down to her casket beneath the city’s foundations themselves.

But then Nesta’s datapad flashed red—and Gwyneth watched as her results disappeared, wiped from the digital memory forever.

“When you get to the Dauntless,” Nesta began, her voice tight, “Find a man named Cassian. I need you to pass on a message.” Her throat bobbed. “Tell him,” she asked, “Tell him I was right.”

Gwyneth could only stare.

“Go now,” Nesta ordered, jerking her chin towards the exit. “And try to survive.”

For Catrin—for her sister, Gwyneth always would.

“Thank you,” she breathed. “Thank you, Nesta.”

She did not remember the walk back to her empty room at HQ. The last thing Gwyneth truly recalled was the cold bowl of her toilet as she leaned over it and retched her guts out.

The Choosing Ceremony was held exactly a week later at the Hub, the very centerpiece of the city. Gwyneth had queued in her dedicated blue line of twenty-one year old Erudites all morning, unable to occupy herself with anything else but waiting.

She could trust Nesta. Couldn’t she? When had she ever met a Candor with the ability to tell a lie, or worse, keep the truth from reaching the rest of the world? One word to the wrong person, and Gwyneth would be dead before even entering the building.

She had entered it, though, the Hub so much larger than she had remembered it. She and Catrin had once visited it during a school trip, when they were so young they could hardly understand the power it would one day hold over them. The power it held over everyone else. 

The Ceremony had started about thirty minutes ago, and after a few brief speeches from the Candor government about the grandiose of this very moment, people’s names had begun being called out one by one. Gwyneth watched as those with an A last name made their choices, her gaze slipping occasionally to the sector at the far right, where the Dauntless would shout out their excitement each time a new Initiate’s blood was spilled over the hot, burning coals.

It was a sick display of devotion—Gwyneth had always considered it as such. Still, she was in no position to argue, not when her only other choice was to embark on a self-imposed exile. Or, apparently, submitting herself to the authorities for being an illegal outlier she had no idea even existed.

Slowly, she slid her gaze over the five white bowls, each the size of the large, sizzling cauldron she’d remembered from her childhood’s fantasy stories, their contents symbolising the five factions. Grey stones for Abnegation, plain and unassuming the way their lives were supposed to be; the hot coals for Dauntless; glass for Candor, clear as the truth; soil for Amity, like the farms they cared for; and, finally, water for Erudites, its flow representative of  the ever-changing nature of knowledge.

Somewhere behind those bowls sat Merrill, no doubt expecting to see Gwyneth stain the water red. Perhaps, in another life, Gwyneth would have done just that—would have returned to the Academy, studying history the way she had always wanted, sneaking out to Amity every Summer Solstice to celebrate Catrin the way Amity celebrated the sun.

That life, though…it would not have been enough for Gwyneth. Not when she had seen the rage in Catrin’s lover’s eyes, not when she felt it in her own heart every time she felt the weight of her lighter tucked into her lab coat. Honouring Catrin would have never been enough.

Gwyneth wanted answers. Gwyneth wanted revenge.

“Gwyneth Berdara,” the announcer’s voice boomed over the hall, some of the Erudites’ quiet gasps disrupting the space. Some of them, no doubt, had already forgotten the tragedy from six months ago, Gwyneth’s family name serving as an uncomfortable reminder.

Gwyneth did not look back at them as she walked down towards the five bowls at the hall’s centre. Her eyes were only on the knife laid out before her the way the gun in her simulation had been—waiting patiently to find its way into her hand.

Gwyneth took one, steadying breath before picking it up at last. Then, she flipped it over to the sharp edge and sliced through her palm.

The quiet hiss snuck its way past her teeth as her skin split open, and she realised with a tinge of embarrassment that she may have cut too deep. Within seconds, her blood would begin spilling nowhere but the floor. Perhaps it was exactly the place where the Divergent belonged—unable to be defined despite so many choices laid ahead of them.

Gwyneth allowed herself one look at the water before looking up to meet Merrill’s gaze.

She held it even as she outstretched her hand over the burning coals and opened her palm, her blood sizzling over the fire.

There was only a second of silence when the entire hall held its breath.

And then, the Dauntless erupted with a roaring cheer.

Taglist (let me know if you'd like to be added!): @azrielshadowssing @damedechance @talons-and-teeth @octobers-veryown @foreverinelysian @sunshinebingo @aldbooks @climbthemountain2020 @trashforazriel @bibliophiliaxvignette

[oshinohoshi]

I wrote a little Oshi no Ko fanfic. Warning: SPOILERS post ch 163 below.

Today has been a hard day for those of us in the OnK community who've read the next chapter leak so I wrote this to cope. I can't claim it to be IC at all but anyway, here it is:

The first thing he sees when he opens his eyes is an unfamiliar ceiling. No, that's not quite right. When his eyes come into better focus he spots a hairline crack running a few inches down from the light fixture, perhaps made when it was installed. He used to look at it sometimes after Ai tucked them in for story time.

It reminded him of the sterile hospital room where Sarina lived out the remainder of her life. Had she ever torn her eyes from the hodgepodge of Ai merchandise carefully arranged on her bedside table to look up, longing to see the ceiling of her room back home?

It takes a few moments to remember. The knife. His dad's twisted expression as they fell. The bone cold chill of the sea. The burning sensation in his lungs.

Aqua sits up and clutches at his stomach, expecting to see the sheets stained in red when he looks down, but both his shirt and the bedding are clean. There's no pain, either.

Aqua looks to his right. Oh. It's just another carefully crafted dream. There she is, sitting by his bed on a chair dragged in from the kitchen, her head lolled to the side in what looks like quite an uncomfortable sleeping position.

The room is exactly as he remembers. B Komachi posters are tacked to the walls and Ruby's pink stuffed bunny is propped up against the pillow on her bed across from him. Aqua casts a cursory glance at his surroundings before studying his mother's sleeping face. She looks very realistic. Tsukuyomi got every detail just right.

Ai twitches and then sits upright, blinking sleepily. Their eyes meet.

"Aqua!"

Ai all but hurls herself from her chair, wrapping her arms around his torso and pulling him into a crushing hug. Aqua makes a noise of protest.

"Ai, that's a little tight."

Ai doesn't reply, she just hugs him harder. Her shoulders start to shake. Aqua's arms remain limp on the bed. He can't bring himself to hug her back. He failed her. He couldn't save her and he couldn't even fulfill her final wish.

The seconds tick by until she finally lets go. She blinks back tears. That's strange. Ai doesn't cry. Maybe Tsukuyomi thought this would be more affecting.

"Your hair's gotten long." Ai brushes her fingertips over his bangs. "I could cut it for you."

"Okay." Aqua nods.

"Are you hungry?" Ai asks. "I've been practicing cooking. I hardly ever burn things these days, except yesterday when I got distracted and forgot I had rice on the stove. I really should get a rice cooker."

Ai's tone is as cheery as ever. She's rambling. Aqua cuts her off.

"No, I'm fine. Thanks."

There's an awkward silence. Ai stares unblinkingly at him like she's trying to memorize every detail of his countenance. It makes Aqua uncomfortable so he looks down at his lap. His fingers clutch at the sheets.

"I'm sorry," he says. What a stupid thing to say. "Sorry" doesn't change anything. "Sorry" is a selfish word.

"For what?" Ai's eyes still haven't left his face.

"For not protecting you." He's thought it a thousand times since it happened but never said anything like it aloud.

Ai's laugh makes him look up. The laugh doesn't quite reach her starry eyes.

"I'm your mother. I'm supposed to protect you. It's me whose sorry."

Aqua opens his mouth to protest but stops himself. How could he possibly explain why a toddler should have been able to stop a deranged stalker? It's not a conversation he's ready for, even in a fictional reality.

"Then I'm sorry for—"

This time it's Ai who cuts him off.

"What's done is done. I don't want to hear you saying that." Her mouth turns downward, a grim line.

"But Ruby and Miyako and..." He can't bring himself to list the rest of them. He doesn't want to picture the sort of face Kana will make when she realizes he'll never be able to give her an answer.

Ai's hand finds her way to one of Aqua's, gently loosening his white-knuckled grip on the sheets. Her hand is small and warm when she wraps it around his.

"Aqua." He's never heard her sound so serious. He forces himself to meet her gaze.

"I've had a lot of time to think," Ai says. "There's nothing to do here but think." Ai wrinkles her nose, seeming to find the idea distasteful. "I've thought about what I wish I'd done differently. How I could have been a better mom. Things I should have said but couldn't. Or didn't."

Since when did Ai talk to him like she's speaking plainly from the heart? He's really going to need to tell Tsukuyomi this isn't an accurate depiction at all.

"Aqua." She says his name again, almost plaintively. As if she's the one asking for forgiveness.

"If I could have come back and fixed everything for you, I would have. If I could make this easier for them... for Ruby..." Ai's voice falters and her grip on Aqua's hand tightens momentarily. "She will pick herself up and continue to live. They all will. I believe that."

Aqua looks at Ai in disbelief. How can she say that? Ruby will pick herself back up? Look what happened when she thought her beloved sensei was gone. If this is supposed to be easing his guilt, it's not.

"She has Miyako," Ai adds gently. He's not sure if she's trying to convince him or herself. "I'll really have to thank her one of these days."

Aqua doesn't want to think about this anymore. He's ready for the dream to be over. He gently extracts his hand, ignoring the somewhat crestfallen look on Ai's face, and looks at the door.

"Are you waiting for someone?" Ai asks, following his gaze.

"Yeah," Aqua replies tersely.

Maybe he needs to leave the room for it to end. Aqua swings his legs over the side of the bed. Before Ai can stop him, he's already in the hallway of his childhood apartment. Ai calls after him, asking where he's going, but he doesn't turn back.

Aqua strides down the hall, yanks open the front door, and steps outside. He blinks and shields his eyes from the sun. The walkway is empty. The view of the city from Ai's high-rise apartment is just as he remembers. That stupid crow girl is nowhere to be seen.

Ai is by his side again, watching him worriedly. It begins to sink in. Aqua turns to her. He forgot how short she was. Even in this body, he can see the top of her head.

"Are we...?" Aqua can't bring himself to say the word "dead."

"Yep!" Ai smiles brilliantly.

"But Tsukuyomi said you were gone. That your soul returned to the stars and the sea." It sounds odd when he says it, like a line from a play.

"Tsukuyomi?" Ai is stumped until she remembers the glimpses she got of her children's lives. "Oh! That strange little girl who kept following you around. She's a bit of a menace, isn't she."

Aqua didn't think he could laugh but he does. A short, strained laugh.

Ai shrugs nonchalantly. "Maybe she lied." Her smile is back in place: brilliant, dazzling, real.

"Come on," Ai says. "I'll make you something. I promise not to burn it."

Ai heads back down the hall, disappearing into the kitchen. Aqua steps inside, shutting the door behind him. His gut twists uncomfortably. It's almost worse than the pain of the knife. He can picture the anguished sobs when they find his body.

Aqua doesn't think he can eat but he doesn't want to disappoint his mother and he has a lot of questions that need to be answered. He takes a deep, shaky breath to compose himself before following Ai to the kitchen.

[miokki]

# CHOCOLATES

✰ synopsis: valentine’s day with your secret high school sweetheart

✰ character(s): scaramouche x gn!reader, tartaglia

✰ content warnings: nothing

✰ note: happy late valantine’s day! (i forgot to post it yesterday) also if it seems a little rushed it is bc it is. school!au btw.

if there was anything scaramouche hated more than sweet things, it was the day that seem to be filled with them. valentine’s day always repeats itself for the boy, at least since he started high school that is.

this year appeared to be no different, he could already see the first waiting for him at his locker with a box of chocolates. in past years, scaramouche would’ve tried to refuse gifts but after weighing up his options, he’s found that it’s easier to just accept people's gifts rather than outright refuse. the tactic has been working well as he now has fewer problems and the people appear to be okay after the initial rejection.

even after three valentine's days of countless confessions and an overload of flower petals he still has no clue what to do with all the chocolates. he’s figured out what to do with all the teddy bears and he just keeps flowers at home. yet there’s nothing that comes to mind when he needs to get rid of the leftover chocolate his mother won’t even eat. and as much as he hates chocolate or any kind of sweets for that matter, he hates to see food go to waste.

as of right now, scaramouche is eating by himself while working on something in his homeroom. it’s one of the only places he can find escapism at this moment in time due to his popularity amongst the girls. scara doesn’t get it. he doesn’t get why most of the girls at the high fawn over him, he isn’t anything out of the norm. but what do they know? all they see is some boy that always trails behind that group at school. coincidentally, childe doesn’t get it either, he is just as aloof as any other of the loners at this school. the only difference is that he's conventionally attractive.

“how many do you have so far?” childe asks as he barges into the room

scara lifts his gaze to see the redhead gleaming at him from across the room while walking up to his desk.

“23 girls and one boy,” the boy answered as he looked childe up and down.

“a boy too? damn, i'm jealous, i've only managed four and not a single boy in sight,” the tall one whined as he leaned himself against the desk beside scaramouche’s.

“i can see why there hasn't. you act more interested in mr zhongli than any of your classwork.”

“don't start getting cocky with me. i am the sole reason you can eat in peace.”

scaramouche chuckles, “so what did you end up doing?”

childe watches as scara takes another bite into his sandwich before relaxing back into his chair. he hasn’t been in this good of a mood since his mother came back from her trip with her girlfriend. even before, scara has never been this friendly towards him, not that he minds it of course. he's enjoying the conversation they're sharing. childe just wishes that he could see this side of him more often.

“ah. i didn't do much, i just told your fangirls that you were hanging around the fountain on the south side of the school. i have no idea why you'd hang there but they believed it.”

scara sighs, “i told you before, they're not my fangirls,” the dark-blue-haired boy glared.

“but it's true!” the tall boy exclaimed.

“they squeal when you walk past and when i told them you were near the fountain they fucking ran. i swear if you started selling posters of your face they'd sell them out in an instant. it’s like you’re whole of one direction to them. i wouldn't blame (name) if they ever got jealous.”

despite the last sentence being mumbled, scaramouche heard just enough to freeze. he’s sure he didn’t slip up, well not in any area he is aware of. perhaps you told childe, but you rarely even talk to scara himself during the school day so that isn't an option.

“what? you look like you've seen a ghost. you aren't that hard to figure out scara. your eyes drag when they're close by, you never give anyone that time of day,” the redhead explains.

“anyway,” childe sighs as he gets up from the desk, “hey you wouldn't mind if I take a few boxes from your stash, i wanna give something to tonia, teucer and anthon.”

“all yours.”

“thanks, buddy,” the orange-headed boy smiled as he ruffled scaramouche’s hair.

scaramouche waved him off as he exited the room, which left him in this lone classroom. the boy sighed as he started to settle back down into what he was originally doing. picking back up his pen to start writing until he was interrupted once again.

knock, knock.

looking over for the second time to see you poking your head through the doorway. “childe told me you here by the way.” you beam as you let yourself in. it makes his heart flutter; your smile. it’s sweet, the genuine kind, as opposed to chocolate which needs sugar to mask its bitterness. to him you’re like dark chocolate. the kind that isn’t overly sweet. and though still bitter, that's the part he enjoys most.

“do you want some?” scara offered as he waved the assorted box of chocolates in front of you. “i got them on the way here,” the boy clarified just in case. “sure,” you shortly responded before snatching the box from his grasp. “so you told childe?” you asked as you started to tear the plastic wrapping around the box. “i didn't tell him anything,” he begins as you inspect the packaging of the chocolate. turning over the box you notice the price sticker is still on.

“wait, 10,000 mora?” the boy pauses his explanation to look at you, “kuni, your fangirls are treating you so well. you should go thank them,” you teased as you placed one of them in your mouth. “mmh, I will say, they’re are worth at least half of all that mora, the texture is lovely.”

the upturned corners of scara’s lips are now apparent as he watches you devour most of the chocolate. he’s glad you enjoyed them otherwise he wouldn’t know who else to turn to. in all honesty, scaramouche feels strange, this year valentines aren’t like all those years before. he still is bombarded with tens and tens of gifts however he has someone to go to after school rather than home alone this year. and though he is at peace, he still has one more thing on his mind.

“do my uh— fan.. girls bother you?” the boy blurts out.

you almost spit out your chocolates yet you end up choking on them instead. after calming down you decide to speak, “is that what's been on your mind the entire time? don't tell me. did childe say something that made you think that?”

“n-no.”

quickly, you get up from your seat to wrap your arms around your boyfriend's slim figure, “aw my poor baby, there's no need to worry.” you pout, your body hanging over his shoulders.

“i wasn't worried,” scara denies.

“aww, my prince was worried. there's no nothing to be ashamed of, i'll have you know i have my own set of fangirls, so if you were to be worried i’d hope it would be that instead.” scara only shakes his head in shame before taking the last chocolate from the box. notably faster than you did. “I thought you said you didn't like sweet things.” you questioned, raising him a brow as you waited for a response.

“i don't but this one's dark chocolate.”

do not copy of repost any of my works

@ miokki 2023

[hanjisungfanboy]

My god, sorry to send you more nonsense but smut rot popped in my head while doing laundry.

SKZ and pillow humping. Who is more likely to do this while masturbating vs who would rather set their SKZOO on fire than put their junk and jizz on the nice, expensive, silk pillowcase they place their very clean face on every night?

Don't apologize!! I'll do this one before the list. <3

Mature content below! MDNI please. :)

Contains: masturbation, mentions of cum (and it's messy-), and a little bit of humor mixed in.

This is listed from oldest to youngest and not a scale of most to least likely. Please remember this is fiction! This post does not at all reflect how Stray Kids acts or thinks in real life and this is purely for entertainment. <3 No Leebits were harmed in the making of this post lmao

Chris

I feel like he wouldn't hump his pillow when he's in the right mindset. But when he gets desperate and really into his "personal time", he'll look for anything around him if his hand isn't enough. It would probably take a few minutes of masturbation for him to lose his rational thinking.

Afterwards, he panics and either cleans the living hell out of the pillowcase or throws it away out of embarrassment. Post-nut clarity really hits him hard after what he did to his poor and innocent pillow.

Minho

Yeah, probably not. In your words, he would rather set Leebit on fire- I feel like he is quite particular with his sleeping space. He doesn't want any leftover cum getting in his hair, y'know? That shit is sticky, and he isn't risking that.

Changbin

I think he low-key does not care lol. If he's feeling like humping the pillow and enjoying himself, he does. He just puts the dirty pillowcase in the laundry basket and moves on with his day/night.

Hyunjin

I feel like he is decently cleanly, and he doesn't want any leftover cum touching him. It would just lead to a harder morning if that shit got stuck in his hair. Sooo, he wouldn't choose to hump his pillow 9 times out of 10.

Han

Probably has multiple pillowcases just because of his tendency to hump his pillows. If he's having a week where he gets horny back-to-back, he's absolutely running through pillowcases. He just loves the way it feels too much. <3

Felix

He's not above it, but probably doesn't typically think about humping his pillow when he's horny. If he gets bored of his hand, sure. Probably does it a little more often after the first time though.

Seungmin

Oh, hell no. He wouldn't be able to stand the mess. He'll search for other solutions even if his brain tells him to hump the pillow like a dog in heat. His hand or a toy will do the trick.

Jeongin

I feel like he would be similar to Chris in this scenario (like father, like son- lol) but without the embarrassment afterwards. However, he probably wouldn't resort to humping his pillow most of the time, so it'd probably happen about every other month.

A/N: That's it! Sorry it's a little late. Had a personal issue going on yesterday. Hope you enjoyed! Let me know if I made any mistakes or forgot something. <3

[usmsgutterson]

Hearts In Sync- Heartrender! Kaz Brekker x gn! reader

Okay!! It’s season two release day and the concept of Kaz as a heartrender is something I’ve loved and wanted to write for for a bit. I did say I wasn’t going to post anything today because I’m fairly tired and the emotions are emotioning right now (I have cried so many times today,, it’s not even funny) but I edited both this part and the second part already but forgot to post this yesterday, so I lied a little bit lol. 

This is part one! I had to split this fic up to avoid it getting to long, but fret not, the second part will come out tomorrow!

Fic type- this is hurt/comfort kind of? I can’t quite figure out how to classify it lol

Warnings- none

Kaz Brekker was known in Ketterdam as Dirtyhands. He was known as the Bastard of the Barrel, infamous for his gloves and his cane and his scowl that never lifted into a smirk for anything. He was known to be a ruthless killer, a reputation that took very little effort to maintain. 

It was low maintenance, which Kaz liked. It was low maintenance for the fact that the moment that he stretched a hand in a single direction, the automatic assumption was that someones heart either had just exploded or was about to. 

It was good, though, that his reputation was as it had been. It made people afraid, and at the end of the day, people who were afraid still made him decent money when they visited the Crow Club and were too afraid of Kaz’s intimidating presence in any one of the rooms to bother with cheating at a game of Three Man Bramble or Makkers Wheel. 

“You don’t view it as weakness now, do you?” Jesper asked. The two of them had been sitting at a table in the bottom of the Slat, the both of them drinking bourbon. “I mean, you let yourself fall in love. A man who lets himself fall in love can’t view it as weakness. Not when he’s you, and, even despite the cane, he’s practically invincible.” 

Kaz had spent many of his days observing people in love. He noticed the strengthened beats of their hearts in comparison to those who were not, the general happiness that couples carried simply by existing in one anothers presences. 

He registered his own heart as it began to race from the moment he was able to sense your presence in any given room, the smirk that he had to fight as he heard your footsteps approaching, the one he had to fight as you placed a still warm cup of coffee in front of him and sat down, the one he almost grew tired of fighting by the time he’d slid you the steaming cup of tea he’d thought to order in the final couple minutes before you were to arrive. 

“I don’t know,” he said. It’d presented itself as both weakness and strength a plethora of different times over the years. “I do know, actually, I just can’t really explain it.” 

“Ah,” Jesper gave a nod. “You Barrel bosses and your complex emotions.” 

Kaz only registered the familiar beat of your heart as you sat down to his right. 

“Barrel bosses aren’t really all that complex if you learn how to read their expressions,” you said. 

“Bold to say that when discussing a man who’s face always looks monotonous.” 

You shot Jesper a grin as Kaz slid you the tea. “Yeah. He views emotions as weakness, I think.”

“You can read his expression no doubt,” Jesper said, and Kaz found himself smirking momentarily at his bourbon. Even if his face remained monotonous, you knew the right places to look to determine what Kaz had been feeling. You saw it in a way that nobody, not even the ever so observant likes of Inej or Wylan, ever could. 

You paused, shot Kaz a look. Worth it?” 

Kaz only shrugged.

In the seconds to follow Kaz ignored the feeling of your gaze moving across his face analytically, he registered how face your heart had begun to race, felt himself fight a smirk as he realized that his heart had been beating faster than yours. 

“He’s missed me,” you said. “And he’s wondering about the deal. The bourbon he’s been drinking has long lost the effectiveness it used to carry and is now just sour and cold, and he misses the coffee he would normally be drinking during the day. Bourbon isn’t his usual, so he’s probably either looking to get some rest earlier than he would or he just wanted a quick way to get drunk enough to sleep but the bourbon hasn’t been worthwhile enough for him to have another.” 

Kaz met your gaze, blinked surprisedly as Jespers eyes widened. He seemed to be just as shocked as Kaz had been. Someone who was able to read his expressions as easily as you had always been a bit of a surprise, and it never was something he got used to. 

“The deal went fine, by the way,” you said. “All is well and good. Got the building for a discounted price after I mentioned some infidelity on the sellers part. He’s gonna be pissed when he goes home tonight to find his wife has thrown his shit onto their front lawn, but it was worth it.” 

“Ah, so the continuation of using the dirt against our enemies continues,” Jesper said, grinning slightly. “Glad to know that we of the Dregs like our traditions. Speaking of using the dirt against our enemies, however, whens the next heist?”

“Bloody hell, don’t tell me I forgot to mention it? Fuck, I knew there was something I neglected to mention last night. Do me a favor and pass the info along to Wylan as well, will you? We leave for a heist in The Wandering Isle, on the behalf of the king and queen of Ravka, in eight days time,” Kaz said. 

“Two hundred thousand is the payoff, but Nikolai has been so generous as to send along a fully manned boat and a crew to sweeten the deal. The boat is engine powered and it’s ours once the heist is said and done. Called it a gift and let me know that, should the officials from the other countries agree, we’ll be looking at closer to half of a million. Half a million across seven people is worth it, with the adage of a boat that will make getting to Ravka, leaving it, that much easier? I couldn’t refuse.” 

“Nikolai is one of the best negotiators I’ve ever seen,” you said. “Damn him and his charms. We’re sitting at two hundred thousand currently but if he and Zoya can charm the socks off of a few leaders, we’ll be getting 71,000 and some change, when split seven ways.”

“I’m in,” Jesper said. “Wylan will be, too, I think. He misses it; the usage of bombs with criminal intent. A demo man will be needed on the job, correct?” 

“A demo man is never useless,” Kaz agreed. “Especially not in The Wandering Isle. The stuff we’re grabbing is highly guarded and the penalties for taking most of it is death by hanging, and even as such, I doubt that doing so with the permission of the king and queen of Ravka will get us pardoned. The things that we’re taking originally belonged to Ravka and the other countries with which it has temporarily allied itself, but locals don’t know that, and the government likes it kept that way. A few dozen explosions will only do us good.” 

“Rest of the crew?”

“It’s us, Inej, Nina, Matthias and Wylan. Nikolai was also so kind as to allow a healer to be dispatched from his staffing at the palaces so that any fatal injuries can be treated. Provided nobody finds our boat and kills the crew, we’re practically set.” 

Jesper grinned as he got up. “I’ll go tell Wylan the good news. Enjoy the next eight days of heist prep.”

Kaz scoffed. “I will,”

Both you and Kaz watched Jesper go, a quick and easy rhythm settling over you as you conversed. You talked until you had to pick up a shift behind the bar at the Crow Club and Kaz returned to his office to look over heist plans. 

-

Eight days later, you were standing at the ships farthest right, grin on your face and eyes brightened by the dim light of the sunset as you kept an easy hold on a cup of tea whilst the boat moved closer and closer to the Wandering Isle. 

Your forearms were draped over the boats edge, your eyes on the sunset as Kaz approached. He stood to your right, shooting you a smirk. 

“You’ve always had quite the affinity for sunsets.”

“And you have always had quite the affinity for joining me to watch them,” you said. “Not that I mind. Your presence is about the only thing that’s relaxing to me right now. I checked the forecast in the Wandering Isle. Rain for the entirety of the time we’ll be in the city, and snow the moment we’re due to leave. It feels odd to me.” 

“Rain means good luck in Ketterdam,” he’d said, and it had been true. A lot of the heists with the best payouts seemed to come about either just before, just after, or sometime during a period of rain. You should’ve been thinking of the rain to be lucky, not the opposite. 

“I know it does,” you said. “And I know you’ve thought through every possible outcome because that’s what you do, but I’m still--I just don’t trust it. I have no idea why I don’t trust it, but I feel like whatevers left that can go wrong will.” 

“If something does go wrong, we’ll fight through it together,” Kaz said. 

“I love you,” you whispered. 

Kaz turned his gaze to the skyline for a moment for a moment before he looked away. “Always.” he whispered back. 

Silence draped itself over the two of you, though it was a comfortable one as it had always been. Kaz listened to the sound of his own heartbeat for a while, only to stop and listen to yours. 

He realized rather quickly that they were beating at the same rate. It made him remember a study he’d read wherein it was found that couples heartbeats and respiratory rates often synced up, and that just made him scoff, smirking at you as he watched you drink your tea.

“What?” You asked. “I don’t have something on my face, do I?” 

“No,” Kaz said. “Just admiring the view of the sunset, is all.” 

You grinned, taking in his face. “You love me too, Brekker. I can see it in your eyes, in the fact that you’re standing closer to me than normal. You’re also worried because I’m worried, and I appreciate that. Thank you for validating my concerns.” 

“Always,” Kaz said again, and the comfortable silence took the both of you over once more, contentedness wrapping itself around you both much in the manner of a blanket as it did. 

[goldenempyrean]

Can you do one with sick kate bishop × reader with the prompts "can I have a hug?" And "you're shaking" please

The Comfort of a Hug

〚 Notes - I was meant to post this yesterday but I forgot! oops! 〛

〚 Pairing- Kate Bishop x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - Kate comes home from work sick but luckily she has you (and Lucky) to take care of her. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 640 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

╚════════ ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ════════╝

Kate trudged through the front door of her apartment, her body feeling heavy and weak. She had just finished a long day at work, but it wasn't the workload that had left her feeling so drained. No, it was the creeping sickness that had been building up inside her over the past few days. At first, she had tried to ignore it, telling herself that it was just a minor cold that would pass quickly. But as the day wore on, her symptoms had only grown worse. Now, as she stumbled through her living room, she knew that she couldn't keep pushing herself any longer. Her body had reached its limit, and she was about to pay the price for ignoring it. 

“Katie?” Your familiar voice called out from somewhere within the apartment, hearing no response, you finished drying up the dish you’d been washing and came out into the open living room to see her weakly rubbing a crumpled tissue against her red nose.  

"Oh baby, you look terrible," you gasped a little, rushing to her side to place your palm against her slightly clammy forehead. "You’re really warm princess." 

Kate only mumbled something in response, and you frowned. You knew that she tended to push herself too hard, not really knowing when to take a break and you couldn’t help but think that her being out in the chilly, rainy weather all day hadn’t served to help her condition much either. Lucky, her dog, had seemed to notice the increase in noise and padded out into the room, coming to the shivering girl’s side and nuzzling against her leg in an instance. 

“Can I have a hug?” She finally whispered, the state of her croaky voice shocking you a little. 

“Of course, you can sweetie, come here baby.” You nodded, pulling her close towards you, instantly noticing how damp she was. You continued to hold her close, rocking on your heels a little as she sniffled against your shoulder. 

“Let’s get you out of these damp clothes, you’re shaking a little.” You nudged her gently, coaxing her out of your hold, “I finished some laundry today, so I think your favourite purple fuzzy ones are clean again, do you want to wear those?” 

Kate nodded weakly, still sniffling as she stumbled towards the bedroom. You followed closely behind, taking note of how she moved slowly, like every step was a struggle. Once inside, you helped her out of her wet clothes, and then helped her into the cosy pyjamas you had mentioned earlier. As you tucked her into bed, you couldn't help but feel a pang of worry for her. You knew how stubborn she could be, and you didn't want her to get even more sick by not taking care of herself. 

"Can I get you anything, love?" You asked softly, as you brushed her hair out of her face. 

"Just some water, please," Kate croaked out, her voice sounding more strained than ever. 

You nodded and quickly went to grab her a glass of water, bringing it back to her bedside. She took a few sips, her eyes closing with relief as the cool liquid slid down her throat. 

"Thank you," she murmured softly, her eyes flickering open to meet yours. 

"Of course, anything for you," you replied, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead before standing up to leave the room. "I'll make you some soup, and then I'll come back to check on you. Try to get some rest, okay?" 

Kate nodded weakly, already feeling herself drifting off to sleep with Lucky curled up closely at her feet. As you left the room, she couldn't help but feel grateful for your care and attention. Even though she was feeling terrible, she knew that with you by her side, she would be able to get through it. 

〖 Join My Taglist! 〗@scrambled-brain-eggs @natashamyl0ve @shin-conan-kun @bloomingflowersthings @kathleenmikaelson @shamelessbearunknown @inluvwithfictionalwomen @ceiestiaie @kljhsong @santana1437 @lovelyy-moonlight @lots-of-pockets @sashawalker2 @natashamaximoff69 

[reiashiftsrealities]

Hii, I wanna listen to ur shifting story about sturniolo triplets (out of curiosity:))-🥀

HI LOVE I’VE MISSED YOU!!!

I’m guessing you’re talking about the post I made a few days ago about this DR so I’ll share some things on the topic of that below the cut. I was waiting until I posted the intro for this DR before I answered this ask :)

Me and Nick are very very close. Like sharing clothes close. I would definitely consider him my best friend. And as I said before, I edit the Sturniolo Triplet youtube videos with Nick.

So I was playing with my cat on the couch at like 11:30 at night on Thursday and Nick calls me. My phone was in the kitchen but I knew it was Nick because I have a specific ringtone for him LMAOO.

Anyway I got up and answered the call, and this man is panicking. I’d literally never heard Nick panic until this phone call so I’m like “..? Nick are you alright?”

I hear Matt go “I REMINDED YOU YESTERDAY🫤”and I IMMEDIATELY why Nick was calling, so I go “Oh shit” and he picks the phone up again and the conversation went like this:

Nick: “We. Forgot.”

Me: “Oh my god how did we- DON’T WE HAVE AN ALARM SET????”

Nick: “I turned it off ☹️”

Me: “Why would you do that.”

Nick: “Be so fucking fr you turned yours off too. Don’t even.”

Me: “…..okay yeah. Do we have time to do it tomorrow?”

Nick: “Not a chance.”

Me: “fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck okay. I will be there in 10 just let me get out of these clothes.”

Nick: “No need. Open your door.”

Me: “What?”

Nick: “This shit is heavy please let me in.”

So I get up and unlock my door and this kid is standing there holding the editing computer, his backpack on his shoulder, and a dollar general bag on his arm. I didn’t even have time to say a damn word before he pushed past me and put his shit down on the table. Like he wasted ZERO time.

He put his bookbag down and opened the dollar general bag and he had gotten us all kinds of snacks and drinks 🙁. He handed me a coke and a bag of hot cheetos and was like “We’re finishing this tonight.” and I didn’t even argue.

We spent at least 5 hours working on this damn youtube video. Editing and cutting and audio clipping and inserting. We were so tired by the end of it that we didn’t even get up. We went to sleep right there in those chairs 😭. When we woke up it was like 1 PM and Matt was shaking my shoulders and Chris was shaking Nick’s. They had gotten worried because none of us were answering the phone. Over here thinking we were kidnapped LMAOOOO

We got it done though 🔥, Nick put in an extra psa at the beginning saying the editing was done last minute so that the editing may be a bit wack but it shouldn’t be bad. And it wasn’t, we ate 😁

Us forgetting about it isn’t really often. We procrastinate definitely but we NEVER forget about it entirely. Although Nick usually gets reminded by either Matt or Chris cause it just slips our minds.

[popcornforone]

September

From the Marcus Pike Fan Fic Diary

Master list

August

Thank god for a friend sending me a Pike edit. I almost forgot to post this today. Mainly because I’m going away next week & I have a mini plan in place. So let’s see where they are this month.

Synopsis:- It’s your anniversary & you report back to the diary on your special day.

Work count:- 1100

Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! PIV sex, pleasure, stimulation, alcohol. This is much shorter & less smuttier than the other chapters but I don’t think it needed to be long. Creepy guy who doesn’t accept no consent, but consent is used for the rest of it.Remember this is in a diary format.

Thanks as always for the read & feedback peoples I hope you enjoy.

I know Marcus spoils me but then there was yesterday. It was our anniversary.

I tell you the story every year diary. How there was a creep who wouldn’t take no for an answer, who was drunk & tried to grope me. I said I’d had a boyfriend as I walked past a table of guys & this red flag man almost followed me into the ladies. Next thing I knew Marcus was standing behind me rubbing my hand saying baby, it’s our anniversary come dance with me. He had a message on his phone so only I could read it, saying he worked for the government & would keep me safe. To make it look real to the creep, we kissed tenderly (with consent of course) & made sure we danced close or were near each other all night & I thought I would never see the hero man again. I didn’t get his number or his surname all I knew was he was called Marcus. But 3 days later, red roses arrived at my apartment, that I shared at the time with 3 friends, asking if I wanted to meet up in a week or a years time for our anniversary. & the rest is history.

We didn’t need to book the day off either of us. It was a Saturday, means we can chill today too. I woke up to his kisses as he was my big spoon, his erection pressing into my lower back & his hand once he knew I was awake, strumming my clit. I moaned away, feeling his affection & love as he pleasured me. I moan was low as he plundered me. Every inch feeling exquisite, he likes me when I completely give into him in bed & when he came the beguiled look on his face was wonderful.

Then I made breakfast. His favourite avocado on toast. I can’t stand it but he says I do something really good with the toast. I don’t, it’s just normal toast, but he ate that down, like a man who hadn’t eaten in months.

As he was in the shower the door bell rang & there was my bunch of red roses, with the same note as every year, dinner in a week or a year. I sniffed them before I felt his arms around me to sniff my air. Whispered words escaping his lips.

“I’ll always be here for you baby, I love you”

We then went for a walk, not to far. The park about 4 blacks away. It wasn’t too cold or breezy. A jumper or light jacket was fine for us. I tried to listen to our conversation but my mind was busy thinking how many times he was stroking my knuckles, that fat flat thumb gliding across. Me thinking of all the other places his fingers & thumbs go when he wants me at his mercy.

We got a coffee & cake by the cafe, which was when I decided to give him his anniversary gift… he cried… he cried a lot. I cried too. The way he held me & then kissed me looking down at the gift diary, it would make even the darkest hearts melt. I know he loves me but I’ve never seen a man look quite so happy & filled with love in all of my life. I told you last week diary about this, it’s now a secret for you me & Marcus.

Then we went home & had decided this year to not go out for fancy dinner for our anniversary but to go to the new cinema down the road. They do dinner before hand, simple food & you eat & drink in your seats & then once the food is cleared away the first half of the film starts & then at the interval you get desert & snack & then you watch the second half. All classic films. As we do both love movies we thought this would be a cool way to spend our evening.

Marcus salivated over every mouthful of his burger & chips. I sat there eating my macaroni cheese with bacon. He used that large thumb to get the mess off my face as it dripped.

“Always making a mess my love ”

“I just like you taking care of me” I replied as I sipped my drink. His beer is almost empty, but we were topped up as our food was cleared. We had the best seat in the cinema

3 rows from the back in a little sofa bang splat in the middle. Room for me to scooch up into the sofa once I had taken my shoes off & rest my head in Marcus shoulder as the film started.

“I’m guessing you’re comfortable baby” he said as he moved the stray hair off my face.

“More than comfortable” I giggle, my hand stroking his thigh as the Shawshank redemption started. The way he held me as we watched. Other than the noise in the screen I could hear his heart beat softly thudding. Each touch from his hand stroking down my bare arms was magical. Like we were just starting to date all over again. This was my perfect moment nothing could beat this. When the interval did come we decided on no deserts just extra popcorn for us both, always a spare bucket so we can mix our sweet & salted.

The film was fantastic, I mean it’s Shawshank, when isn’t it. We then got into a taxi & he peppered my neck with kisses.

“Only you, my Angel, only you” he moaned into my ear.

“Oooh Marcus”

We got back home & went straight to bed. Marcus delicately taking off every item of my clothing, humming before his mouth latched on to my nipple. My body still trembles for him, & as he laid me down & slowly edged his way inside me as I gasp his eyes softened.

“This is the most perfect moment of my life baby” Marcus said as he started to find his rhythm. He was extra slow patient & seductive tonight. “I never want things to change”

“They won’t Marcus, I love you too much to even want to think about anything else”

“Me & you forever”

“No, even longer”

I don’t know what time it was we fell asleep, but the sweat on his chest tasted good as I snuggled into him. He might have been calm & slow but that just meant more pleasure from my man.

Oooh diary, I wonder if this time next year if Marcus & I will celebrate our anniversary in the same magical way. Only time will tell.

October

[miitarashi]

Hello~

So I've been thinking about some fluff with Tintin (he lives in my mind rent-free).

I would like to request Tintin with a fem reader who likes to be praised. Just like, she tries hard to work well during the day and does everything quietly. So at the end of the day she likes someone to pat her on the head and just tell her that she did a good job. She doesn't say she likes it, but Tintin notices.

Only do this if you can and want to, thank you! And forgive me if this seems a little confusing, English is not my first language.

Owww,this is so cute tho. Such a cute thing need to be writed! And don't worry,english is not my first language either and i understood pretty well,you're doing a good job so far at learning! I'm proud of you unknow person. 😌❤️

[Name] = reader (female)

Warnings: none,just cuteness

Prompt: You're a hardworking person who loves headpats.

When you met Tintin for the first time, you we're working on the local library taking this opportunity to study on your breaks because you wanted to apply for a position as an assistant to a local historian you greatly admired. Because of it, the subject you were studying was something that Tintin was needing more informations of,so he asked for your help, becoming friends ever since.

Consequently, he ended up watching your dedication for the position you was applying for. He saw your eyes focused on your notebooks and books, the post-it notes on your wall to help you remember important things when he come to a quick visit, even finding it cute when you turned up your nose when you saw something you didn't understand or pressed your lips together when you tried to put the pieces together to help him with his new article.

But the top 1 was definitely the happy smile and light blush that covered your cheeks when someone pats you on the head. Even if you didn't say it, it was pretty obvious when you did, you kept quiet because you didn't want to draw so much attention. However the journalist discovered it and waited for the right moment to do so, which was precisely when you applied to be an assistant to this historian who you greatly admired.

The day of the decision came and went, Tintin found it a little strange not having a reaction from you about the result so he decided to stop by your apartement when he was free and after a few minutes of conversation about that new article, he casually asked:

"Oh,[Name],did you already got the results of your application?"

"Hm? Oh yes,i got it yesterday and will be working with him by tomorrow" — his eyes widen a bit in surprise,mostly by the nonchalant tone you tried to say it,but still feeling that animated subtone.

"Well,by how much you worked hard for it,i would be surprised if you didn't get it" — he chuckle a bit,letting a small sigh and finally he could do it.

His hand reach the top of your head giving some pats in a caring way,smilling when that cute smirk appeared on your lips along with the tiny blush he adore so much to see,he would even hug and kiss your forehead if he could because you deserve it and even more,however he didn't want to cross any bondaries or end up making things awkaward by this sudden act.

"I'm really proud of you [Name],you worked really hard for it"

"Thank you Tintin" — you said looking back at him,smilling happily. His eyes soften,taking his time to just look at you cute face before looking away a bit.

"Your welcome and from now on,i guess i'll be having an even more capable help on my researchs."

"Yes,i'm really looking forward for it"

"..Me too" — he said in a light,careful dreamy tone almost, watching your little excited squirm making sure to keep this memory in his heart.

You both smiled,quite excited as you will start your dream job and Tintin will keep his little excuse to stay close and having your help on his cases. A win is a win.

————————————————————————

A/N: there it is,a cute request fresh out of the oven! (Yes i know,it's a bit short) And sorry for the delay,i literally forgot to post on the last sunday :( but! I already have some good ideas and some special things being prepared~ so just wait a little,i promise y'all will not disappointed! Hope you liked unknow person! Thanks for reading!

[grape-eating-vampire]

alright, it's done. i finished it.

this is the third and final part of things that happened in my first bg3 playthrough ever that I found so funny that I put them in my notes (spoilers below)

let me start this by saying I have only cried twice in the 155 hours it took me to complete this shit. however, I have almost-screamed at the characters more times than I'd like to admit. but first here's stuff that happened since the last one of these posts I made:

after killing Orin I went around Baldur's Gate for a while and did odd sidequests, including

clearing out a haunted house and sidelining to kill a stinky man in a wardrobe (and drag his body to a guy two streets over)

entirely ignored Gale's quest to look at a book because I kept getting arrested there after having killed the boss mage guy

I also foolishly though this wouldn't have any consequences. oh boy was I wrong

went to see a underwater prison, got told off by Gortash, decided to explore it after killing him, and promptly forgot to do so

killed Gortash! fuck that guy the only good thing about him is his fancy robe

tried to recruit a dragon called Ansur, found out the emperor is Balduran (????????? honestly I was shocked)

killed said dragon and felt like I was playing skyrim all over again

found a letter ("Dear Ansur") by Balduran/the Emperor. this was the first time I cried. I could still cry.

patch 6 came out! that was yesterday and I spent about 10 minutes trying out new kisses and sitting on Shadowhearts stool in camp (she now says "I'm glad you decided to join me" or something like that when you do)

went pretty much straight to the underground pool thing where the brain was supposed to be

failed abysmally to Dominate The Brain™

got pulled out by the emperor and had to start beef with Lae'zel because I had also forgotten to care about Orpheus and the hammer from the House of Hope

admittedly, I didn't really forget, I just didn't want to spend any more time with Raphael than I absolutely had to

my +14 persuasion saved the day once more and Lae'zel was fine with the one hope in her life getting his brains sucked out

went off to fight the brain once more. my game crashed twice trying to load that cutscene.

met all my allies! I forgot how many there were actually, and I only called on two of the groups later on

fought a lot. like a LOT lot.

got to the Netherbrain and kicked it's ass*

*had to reload about 3 times and try again because Minsc at level 12 was stuck on 100 hp for some reason and kept fucking dying

finally managed to kill the fucker! had Lae'zel deal the killing blow which seemed very fitting

more cutscenes, but this one actually didn't crash the game, I got to look at some beautiful unloaded walls and stuff instead

Lae'zel left right after we got to the haven. understandably so

remember how I ignored Gale's quest? well he didn't blow himself up like he inteded earlier, but he left to becOME A GOD????? I cannot fucking deal with this man

Karlach on the pier. this was the second time I cried, but unproportionally much so

Wyll left with her for Avernus, the little cutscene of them arriving there made me feel a bit better

Astarion had to leg it because of the sun (sorry)

Shadowheart didn't do much of anything during all of this, neither did Minsc, Halsin or Jaheira

decided to go help kids with Halsin, seems to fit my character (eventhough I really didn't roleplay so much)

we got an epilogue! yippie!

caught up there with everyone, except Lae'zel (who was there via the fantasy version of zoom) and Gale (who was there via the fantasy equivalent of a voicemail)

tried to hug Gale, couldn't, almost cried again but managed

also met a tressym who I recognized from fanart as Tara. I don't know why she was there, we never met her before and Gale hadn't mentioned her either

read a LOT of letters the party had received. barely kept my composure at the Gur's letter to Astarion

Withers did a cool speech and the game ended

after all of this and so much more that I didn't take notes about, I can confidentially say that Baldur's Gate 3 is the best video game I have ever played, and within it's genre my favourite ever!

I'm also emotionally devestated, especially after these final parts (but in a good way)

that's all, thanks for reading!

[lhs3020b]

The General Election Fallout Post

Hello again; I, uh, forgot to visit Tumble Dot Com for a bit.

Anyway, I'm back. For now, at least.

And yes, Election Day has been and gone. So let's start with some anti-Tory schadenfreude: ROFL, LMAO, LOL, get fucked, idiots. Good riddance, rust in pieces, you will not be missed.

Unfortunately, the overall political picture is - well, let's be honest, for a massive anti-Tory defeat it's ended up more bleak than I would have considered likely.

Unfortunately, the Tories didn't quite collapse in the way I hoped - they had a very bad night, but they're still the official Opposition, so the party will survive as a corporate entity. And that means we'll probably get it back at some point, which I'm not exactly thrilled about.

Meanwhile Labour managed to produce the most flimsy landslide anyone's ever seen. I say flimsy because actually, they took fewer votes than they did in 2019 - remember how our good friends the wise and all-knowing centrists assured us that that was a true sin unto the ages, and we should all hang our heads in shame and never be seen in public again? Yeeeeaaaaah. Your boy Keith did worse, guys. Meanwhile, Labour's fraction of the actual vote-that-was-cast was ... actually not great, either, at 34%. While he won, it's clear he's not loved.

Yes, that's right, their performance is barely a percentage-point better than 2019. And, uh, about 10 percentage-points down on what the Very Serious And All-Knowing Opinion Pollsters claimed it would be. So yes, there's been another fuckie-wuckie from the pollsters; unfortunately, as they technically got the headline result right (if none of the details), I suppose they'll get away with it :(

(Rewards for failure; it's very on-brand for the 2020s, isn't it?)

The only reason last night's landslide happened was because the Tory 2019 voter-coalition disintegrated (though, not as far as the pollsters claimed it would - honestly, we're overdue a period of silence from those guys).

In fairness yes, Labour get to form a government and yes they have a huge majority. But, what they pulled off yesterday will only work once - there will be no second Tory collapse - and their economic plans in particular have some ticking timebombs under them. A hint: what if the GDP Growth Fairy doesn't visit these sceptred isles after all ... ? How will Starmer's leadership ratings cope once their fiscal rules force them to deliver another austerity budget? What will they cut? What public services or government departments will simply stop?

TBH I wouldn't be even slightly surprised if, even one year in the future, Starmer's ratings and his party's have imploded. Yes, I'm fallible and I could be wrong, maybe they'll land another massive landslide in 2029 - but I'm worried about the future.

This brings us to Reform, Nigel Farage's latest vanity vehicle/puppet party-shaped object.

Unfortunately, a lot of the ex-Tory vote went to Reform UK, and if there was any question that Refuck are actual full-fat fascists, then I think the recent mini-scandal put paid to that. (For those who don't know, some Refuck activists were recently caught on camera by Channel 4 News, literally calling for asylum seekers to be machine-gunned, demanding a police pogrom against LGBTQ people, and so on. In as many words. No dog whistles, no coded remarks or anything like that. It was literally - and horrifyingly - what it sounded like. A call for deliberate, directed State violence against minority groups. Centrists, please, if you can't see that for what it is, then please consider why that might be!)

So, given that Refuck have won 5 seats, we now have actual, unambiguous fascists in Parliament. And that was something that had never quite happened before - our politics could often be an awful cesspit but even during the worst parts of the post-2016 crisis we hadn't quite tipped off that ledge.

Not now. Yay us, I guess?

You can tell I'm not enjoying this post anywhere near as much as I wanted to, can't you?

Anyway, fuck the Tories, fuck their ex-MPs, fuck their remaining ones and as for the people who still voted for them in spite of everything, honestly, what's wrong with you? (Seriously - why? What do you see in them? They've done nothing for you. They spent lockdown pissed on expensive wine and laughing at you. Why are you still supporting them?)

The other news is that the Lib Dems are back. They've done a surprisingly-efficient job of turning votes into seats - in fact it looks like they barely wasted any votes anywhere, and so have managed to get from 12 seats to 71 - yes, 71! - while taking only about 12% of the vote. Well, credit where it's due, I suppose. And much as I will never forgive the Coalition for setting us onto the path of ruin that we're on, nonetheless during the campaign Ed Davey was the only person who actually seemed to be enjoying himself. It seems to have worked out - the LDs have had their best election result since the 1920s.

If you want to look for some (possible) rays of light in this mess ... well, the Green Party did relatively well. Their vote went up, and they now have four MPs, vserus 1 in the previous Parliament. (Full disclosure: I voted Green. I don't think they're perfect, I'm not a stan, but Sir Keith's "changed" Labour Party has obvious contempt and loathing for people like me so ... fine? We'll go our separate ways, then.) Much to my surprise, they came second in my constituency, which I genuinely hadn't expected. Apparently my vote was less wasted than usual, it would seem. And the Greens' growth happened in spite of them being resolutely ignored by the entire print and broadcast media, so apparently they don't need the media to keep making progress. It is possible that their growth could continue, and maybe another election-cycle might give us back a semi-worthwhile left-of-center opposition party ... but here I am committing the Sin of Optimism, aren't I?

Also, well, lots and lots of Tories are miserable today. Grant Shapps has had a case of the slaps, Rees-Mogg has been time-warped back to the 18th Century (honestly he'll probably be happier there, it's for the best for everyone) and Liz Truss got yeeted feet-first into the Sun. (Sorry, Sol.)

Also a lot of bootlicking newspaper opinion columnists are having a proper meltdown today, and that is genuinely funny. They certainly deserve no sympathy.

So yeah, the overall picture is a) good riddance to Sunak, b) fuck the Tories and c) oh dear goodness, it's somehow all still a mess.