#and it's NOT going to be difficult. it's almost entirely in shadow. most of the forms are indicated in the line art

[lichfucker]

I have done. SO much painting today 😩 I only have one bit left. I could finish it tonight. I could so easily finish it tonight. but I am simply too tired

[cupcakeslushie]

First || Prev || …

Here’s the next part of the Kendratello AU! I knew it was going to be very dialogue heavy, so I figured writing it out would be fast, but I’m so ready to be done with it that I’ve not really beta read it. So I apologize for any errors. But enjoy!

Splinter loves his sons, but these last few days have been eating away at his already shriveled and fraying nerves. Watching his children ambling around their home, for months, each in varying states of anxiety, fear, and distress, hasn’t been easy on his old heart.

They’ve been through so much, experienced more hardships than Splinter has ever wanted for them. But the latest crucible tearing his family apart was caused, not by some ancient demon, or world-ending threat—but a fiendishly smart, young woman.

One who’d kidnapped his son and replaced him with a stranger that Splinter hardly recognized.

The bitter tale is too familiar for the old movie star to painlessly swallow. It seems fate played such cruel tricks sometimes. Always seeming to strike harsher the second go around. With outcomes even more brutal and painful. His son was stolen by a hateful, sadistic woman, and kept locked away, until she was satisfied with the new toy that emerged from the shadows.

So it stands to reason how…relieved Splinter had been that one, early morning. When his three sons had pulled Purple into his bedroom, piling into his bed, nothing but wide eyes and panicked shouting; one over the other. Looking back now, he can recognize how short-sighted his quick relief had been. But in the moment, as a father, Splinter had only seen this new, strange development as a blessing.

Donatello might have been confused, and irritated with his brother’s manhandling, but Splinter could clearly see more life in those eyes than he’d witnessed in months. Splinter had shushed the rest, and spoken to Purple directly, finally getting a better grasp on what his sons were shouting about.

Amnesia.

So, of course, relief. Because how could forgetting all those horrible, tortuous weeks in that woman’s grasp, possibly be a bad thing? By some miracle, Splinter’s boy had been returned to him. Nowhere near that frail ghost of Donatello, which Splinter would sometimes find curled up on the floor of his own lab, screaming Kendra’s name and sobbing to be returned to her care.

He had been spared all of that, like it never happened. Their family had been handed a gift, and Splinter truthfully wasn't interested in the whys of it all…

Until Michelangelo chose to contact Draxum, and words like “brain damage” and “tumor” were thrown into the mix.

An entire day of testing yielded…varying results. They were able to rule out the scariest of options. No dark shadows were seen in the X-rays of his son’s beautifully brilliant brain, and no concerning squiggles were pointed out by the Hidden City doctors who studied the fast moving waves appearing on the EEG. It was all a bunch of nonsense to Splinter, but Donatello nodded like he agreed, when he was handed the papers over to inspect himself.

Everything was normal, physically.

That left the most difficult part of the day. Getting his son to speak to a psychiatrist—seriously, and without snarking back at every possible question he would eventually be asked.

Draxum had thankfully picked a good one. Briefing her beforehand on…everything. She seemed prepared for Purple’s special brand of cynicism. The sheep yokai was apparently at the top of her field.

A tentative diagnosis of “dissociative amnesia” had been given, along with a small number of pamphlets and printouts. The doctor had informed Splinter that certain treatments might improve Donatello’s situation, but no cure had been discovered for something like this.

They would just have to take things one day at a time. And they’d been doing so well. Almost like everything was back to normal.

Splinter had become very good at ignoring that pending feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He smiled at his sons every day onward, like nothing was wrong. And all of them, in return, began falling back into a more comfortable ease around each other. The stress had just been starting to loosen in Red’s shoulders and jaw. Orange was giving real, honest smiles again. And Blue was no longer a shadow around corners, hiding from Purple like a bomb he was scared to set off.

But the other shoe that had been the root of Splinter’s dread, finally dropped, and the rug was pulled from under their feet once more, violently, with no warning.

Even after they’d managed to calm Donatello down. There was no negotiating the terms of his reality, and he was stubbornly convinced that the world around him was fabricated. Without caring about the consequences, he refused to be civil towards any of them, treating them all like jesters in a play, where no one had the script.

The family’s usual process for dealing with Purple’s anger–letting him cool off alone in his lab until he collected his thoughts–was unfeasible this time around.

Splinter didn’t think he could ever forget the image of his son, turning the knife he held in his hands inwards, and threatening to end his own life.

No; leaving him alone was not an option.

Which led back to Splinter’s previously mentioned frayed nerves.

Four days into this new, stressful change, and his genius son was still managing to find creative ways to sneak past their watchful eyes. Six attempts, in total. Each time, caught with seconds to spare, and just as traumatic for everyone involved.

Raphael and Michelangelo at the moment, were going through their home, removing every sharp implement they could find. Anything that could possibly be used to “put an end to the loop” that Donatello was convinced he was stuck in.

While the two performed their important task, Blue and Splinter had the harder of the two jobs; watching Purple.

Splinter was currently sitting comfortably in his chair, but it was far from his usual level of relaxation. Despite plenty of bean bags to occupy, the twins were locked in a shoving match. For some reason, they were fighting over the single, smallest one they must’ve owned.

“If you don’t get out of my personal space, I swear to Oppenheimer you will regret it, Leonardo!”

“And I swear to Ryan Renolds, that I’ll shred all of your softest hoodies if you kick me in the nuts one more time!”

“That Barbenheimer joke doesn’t even make sense, you idiot, that was Ryan Gosling!”

“Who mentioned Barbie? I’m talking about Deadpool and Wolverine!”

“What does that movie have to do with anything?!”

“Fuck dude, what did I just say about nut shots!”

“Then get out of my kicking radius, and your non-existent nuts will be safe!”

“BOYS!”

Both his sons quickly pause their arguing, giving their father their undivided attention.

“Leonardo, go help your brothers.” Splinter demands. “I will watch Purple. He has not had a moment of free time from any of you in days, and it is clearly wearing on all of us.” Blue gives his father one of his patented unimpressed stare downs.

“No offense, Pops, but how is you watching him, any different than me?”

“Because I will sit in my chair, and Purple will scroll on his phone, and there will be quiet.” Splinter can’t stand the bickering any longer. He knows both his sons will benefit from this time apart. It’s just convincing Blue of that.

Donatello’s gaze is boring holes into the back of Leonardo’s head while his second oldest son matches Splinter’s scrutiny. The rat can see the need for some fresh air battling against Blue’s desire to stay close. But Leonardo is his sharpest son, and even he can admit that his constant presence has become too grating for his brother.

“You need to watch him like a hawk, Dad,” Leo glares at his twin out of the corner of his gaze, “sometimes you can get a little…distracted.”

The new projector, playing Splinter’s same old programs, flashes against the curtain hung on the wall. The volume is set to low, but Blue still looks pointedly between his father and the screen. Splinter doesn’t blame him for his concern, so he tries to put all the gravity he can into his tone, enough that when he does promise to stay vigilant, it seems to convince Blue to place his trust in him.

Purple stays quiet through the exchange, only breathing a sigh of relief once his brother is long past the threshold of the den. He looks ready to lean back into his hard won pillows, but Splinter realizes that Blue had something of a point. Donatello is positioned quite far from him, and he’s suddenly nervous about catching something in time.

“Purple, how about you come sit with me.” Splinter suggests it kindly but firmly, and with a smile– so his son can’t refuse. He pats the bit of cushion next to his legs, “I will honor my promise to leave you alone, but I would be much more relaxed if you were within my reach.”

His boy merely blinks at him, blank faced, and staring at the very spot that Splinter has just created for him.

It isn’t as though his recliner is small, even if Splinter himself is. Donatello had custom made it for him, after one too many complaints about his old brown one hurting his back. It practically swallows Splinter, but remains just stiff enough to provide plenty of support for his lower back. He could even lay sideways and still have some space to stretch.

Splinter recalls very clear memories of all his sons fighting for a spot by his side when they were younger. But it has been some time since those days…perhaps Donatello thinks he’s far too old for such a thing as sitting by his aging father. Yoshi remembers himself at eighteen, and shudders. He’s forever thankful that no matter how lacking his parenting skills might have been, that his boys are kinder to him than he ever was to his Jiji.

Donatello pulls at some invisible thread of his black leggings. Since this new alteration of his memories, Purple has taken to wearing more layers. It’s nearing fall, but not nearly cold enough for the large sweatshirt, black leggings AND socks that his son is currently donning.

Splinter just barely hears Purple murmur a jumbled, “Huh?”

Splinter catches some sort of emotion actively being suppressed behind the bewildered shock at his offer, but it’s hard to tell what it is. Over the years Splinter is ashamed to say, he has grown very bad at reading his own children. Especially Purple, who, if he was being honest, has always been very hard to decipher.

Splinter starts to think the offer will be rejected, when Purple finally climbs to his feet and ambles slowly over. The unknown emotion skittering at the edge of Donatello’s expression morphs into something closer to suspicion. This one easy to identify, especially when it practically drips from his next words.

“Trying to endear yourself to me won’t sway me into falling for your tricks.”

The barb is said just as unkindly as everything else Purple has thrown at his family these last few days. Splinter lets it slide off him like water. He knows his son would (probably) never speak to him like that if he wasn’t stuck in such a painfully clear mode of survival and uncertainty.

“Yes, yes.” He says, untroubled. “Come sit and I can finally lean my chair back.”

Donatello watches him the entire time as he cautiously settles into his spot. He yelps when Splinter grabs his ankles and pulls his son’s long (thin, still much too thin) legs across his lap. For an instant, Splinter freezes, growing worried he’s overstepped. The act had been done without a thought. It’s the way Purple has always liked to sit, finding it more comfortable than any other way. Donatello preferred to keep his distance. A deviation from his siblings, for sure.

Michelangelo would press as close as possible, two sides smushed together like a hug, only without the constricting limbs (though, if Orange were ever to fall asleep in Splinter’s chair, those too would eventually find their way to catching him in their hold).

Leonardo preferred to sit on the arm of his chair, never staying still for long enough to find a comfortable position. But when he slumbered, after a long night of binge watching Novela’s with Splinter–he would curl up, head in his father’s lap, limbs held tight to his body. Like he was afraid even that was asking for too much.

Raphael, his poor, eldest son, hadn’t sat with him in so long. Splinter could still remember a little turtle tot in red, climbing up and splaying out onto his lap when he needed a good cry–or just a moment of peace from his much too loud siblings. Sadly, it wasn’t long before his Red was too big, and his father too small to provide such a refuge. The last time Raphael needed consoling; after the Krang, Splinter had been forced to climb up onto his own son’s knees in order to reach and wipe away his tears.

In the few rare instances of Purple seeking out physical touch, this was all he would allow. Legs stretched over his father’s lap, but his upper body was always off limits. Pulled just far enough away from the threat of any sort of long term contact.

Splinter used to wonder if Purple was scared to ask for anything more, like Leonardo, or if he thought depriving himself of a comforting hug would make him seem stronger, like Raphael, or even the rare times when Michelangelo wished to appear more mature and refused to be comforted. Eventually, Splinter caught on to the truth. His son was asking for comfort, in his own unique way. He was content with the minimal amount of closeness, as long as he felt like he was able to dictate the terms.

But one thing Purple would always allow his father to do, was loop his fingers around his ankles. Trusting the grip would hold his legs in place and keep him stable. He once said the pressure was small enough that it wasn’t overwhelming, but strong enough that it could ground him when everything became too much.

Even now, the act of reaching out to pull his son’s long legs up had been so instinctive. When Splinter looks over and sees the uncertainty still on Purple’s face, he knows he’s pushed too far too quickly.

It’s a risky move, but he’s already pushed, and it’s something that never fails, not once since he’s discovered it.

Purple has always been the most ticklish of all his brothers. Another thing that never really helped his sensory issues. But Splinter long ago discovered that there was a particular spot, which could always earn him a giggle and a brighter smile.

Splinter grips the meat of Donatello’s right knee and jiggles it back and forth. The silly action seems to do the trick and knocks something loose in his son’s overwrought head. His gamble pays off spectacularly, and Splinter is overjoyed to see a small smile erase most of the uncertainty clouding Donatello’s face. It isn’t a full peal of laughter, but the wariness makes way for something softer, and the huff of air from his nose is just as rewarding as a full body laugh.

His boy rests his shoulder and head onto the cushioned back of the chair and Splinter presses the button that will lift up the leg rest, and recline them both into a more restful position.

After a few moments of quiet, Donatello slowly pulls his phone from the pocket of his hoodie. Even without looking directly at him, Splinter can feel his son watching and waiting for the reprimand he thinks will come. Instead, Splinter raises the volume of his show just loud enough for him to hear, but not enough to completely shatter their peace. He wants to make Purple feel more at ease; like he’s not being constantly surveilled–not providing more overstimulation.

They sit like that for some time. Splinter rubs a thumb back and forth across the meatier part of Donatello's calves. He’s learned that repetitive touch is the best kind of grounding technique for Purple. The patterned motion always worked to calm his nerves.

Even still, after only so long Splinter catches Purple lowering his phone.

He keeps his own gaze forward, locked on his commercials. Splinter can see, without looking, that his son is studying him, trying to take apart something in his mind that he doesn’t understand. Splinter allows him all the time he needs to gather his thoughts.

Finally Purple speaks, “Dad…?” It’s so quiet, if Splinter hadn't been waiting for it, he might’ve missed it.

He pauses the repetitive kneading for just a moment, squeezing his hold, and humming in order to prompt his son to continue his thought.

“Can I tell you something?” The inquiry is whispered to him so delicately. It takes everything in him to keep his face open and soft and his movements steady. It’s clear that Donatello is trying his best to remain aloof, but his gaze is locked on his hands that are settled in his lap, the fingers of one pulling on the digits from his other.

At some point he must’ve put his phone completely away. Splinter feels the pressure of having Donatello's complete focus aimed at him.

The tugging intensifies. Splinter wonders if he should reach out, but he’s not sure how well that would be received. It doesn’t look painful just yet.

“I don't know what Kendra is accomplishing by showing me this.” Donatello growls, suddenly digging his palms into his eyes like he can still feel the weight of the screen blocking his vision. “Trying to make me happy, only to rip it all away from me? Or attempting to make me feel, even more like a useless burden than I was?”

It’s the first crack in his armor that Purple has shown in days. A clear sign that he was not as unaffected by Kendra’s lies as he’d been trying to project. Donatello sighs, but as it dies out Splinter thinks it sounds closer to a sob.

“You can’t tell the others…” Donatello looks at him with wet, desperate eyes, and it’s unclear if his son still doubts who he’s speaking to, but Splinter works to ease his fears all the same.

“I swear, whatever you tell me will remain between us, alone.”

Donatello nods faintly, eyes trailing downwards once more. Splinter may have had trouble before, but now the many emotions jumping across his son’s face—fear, shame, frustration, all are easy to catch.

With a shaking breath he whispers his secret. “I lied.” He’s crying now, real tears that he doesn’t even bother to wipe away. The pulling at his skin grows more violent, and Splinter finally interferes to carefully pry Donatello’s hands apart before damage is done. In place he cradles his son’s hands like delicate porcelain and runs a thumb over Donatello’s palm.

“I told everyone that I could tell. That I wasn’t being fooled, but that’s not exactly true. The last few loops have…it’s been getting harder, and harder to remember things— how they really happened. Too much is…plausible.”

Splinter keeps silent. This confession has clearly been weighing on Donatello. He deserves to get it all out, and hopefully feel lighter for it. Even if Purple suspects the family, something is letting Donatello open up enough for him to share his fears.

“There was one loop…Mikey broke…he broke the remote…When I said I didn’t have time to fix it. He threw the pieces at my head. He would never do that, though…right?”

“No, of course not,” Splinter answers immediately, quick to banish the doubt from his son’s mind. Donatello only blinks at him, like his thoughts are moving too slow, and cannot comprehend such a simple, stark contradiction to what he experienced.

“It felt so real…it all feels so real. But…I could feel how one of the sharp, broken corners had cut through my mask and how the wet fabric stuck to my skin with blood.”

Donatello raises a hand and touches the spot where the phantom wound must’ve sat. The pain now gone, but the memory of it haunts his eyes and rattles the tremors building in his hands.

“I thought…I thought I was handling this—maybe not well…But I’d hoped I would be strong enough to last until you all came for me…And now Raph is saying it’s already over.”

It’s a simplified form of the truth which they had tried to get Purple to believe, but even that much clearly doesn’t sit well with him. “If it is over, why does my body feel like one massive bruise? How did you all find me? How long did I last? Was I in there long enough to…?”

He’s clearly scared to ask Splinter any more questions, so he trails off, curling in on himself and pulling his hands up to his chest, pressing there, as if checking to make sure he feels something still beating.

Splinter decides he’s waited long enough and slowly pulls Donatello out of his hunched ball and guides his head to his own chest, making sure his ear is aligned against his own pulsing heartbeat.

Donatello resists slightly at first, but the moment he’s close enough to catch the sound, his breath catches and he glues himself to the spot.

“I don’t want to be there anymore,” Purple murmurs. It sounds like sleep is catching up with his son, the exhaustion pulling him down and slurring his words.

Splinter cups the back of Donatello’s head and carefully tug his fur lined blanket down from where it’s been sitting on the back of his chair. The blanket slots over the both of them and Donatello curls even closer to his father, tucking himself into his warmth.

“Go to sleep, when you wake up, you will be right here.” He’s sure to say it softly but with as much reassurance as possible, and Donatello seems too tired at this point to hold onto his doubts.

“Okay…,” Donatello mutters. Then, practically hanging on to the waking world for one final query hesitantly asks, “…Dad?…Do you love me?”

Splinter doesn’t even think. “Of course, my son.”

Donatello’s breathing finally evens out, and Splinter feels a few tears finally escape.

He’s not sure what next steps they should take, or what kind of state his son will be in when he wakes, but Splinter can only hope this is progress. He prays it won’t be undone…but regardless, Donatello is home. Any steps back or forward will be taken together, and that is the most important part.

[neiptune]

when you get me alone it's so simple

c/w: 1k wc, megumi is so head over heels in love with you he allows you to do his makeup for a halloween party, sappy and self indulgent and disgustingly sweet pls be nice i haven't written something in forever

“Why are you being so difficult?”

“When am I not being difficult according to you?”

The playful quip makes the cornes of your lips curl into an amused smile.

“Right. But I really think you should come”

Megumi holds your gaze with a seemingly impassive stare, lets the small interval of silence stretch for a second too long.

It’s not that he doesn’t like hanging out with his friends, he actually enjoys the idea of getting to be nothing more than a young man with an exceptionally low tolerance level for Nobara’s antics for once. However, a halloween party? Filled with obnoxious strangers who will get drunk and make a mess of Yuuji’s house? A mess that you have already promised will help to clean out?

Definitely not on his bingo card for an evening he could spend at the movies or in a quiet pub instead.

But then, there’s your strenuous perseverence. The disappointment you didn’t for a second attempt to hide still swarming in those big eyes, the pettish inflexion of your pitch when you had sputtered a what? What d’you mean you’re not coming?

And now there you are, curled up on the other end of your couch, sulkiness oozing from every glance you’ve spared him for the last half an hour.

“I want you there” you innocently cock your head and he feels something melt in his chest “it just wouldn’t be fun without you. Please come?”

Sometimes Megumi wonders if you know about the exhausting effort it takes him to whisk away thoughts a friend shouldn’t have, the way he’s almost lost his mind dwelling on the way you held on to his hand the entire way back to your apartment on the night he came to collect you from the bar, drunk and a giggling, clingy mess. He wonders if you understand just how deeply you can get under his skin and the way he hangs on to every word, every smile, each I want you there.

“Gumi?” you inch forward, brows knit and cool fingers gently grazing his arm.

Jesus, fuck.

“Fine. But I’m not staying to clean up”

You smile knowingly, a light shrug swallowing the of course you will almost spilling from your lips.

“Deal. And I get to do your makeup”

The dim light of your awfully small bathroom has gentle shadows settling into the curves of your collarbones and accentuates your jaw, the apples of your cheeks. There are only so many glances he can steal as the pitter-patter of rain on the window makes the perspective of spending the night out even less appealing.

Regardless, the warmth radiating from your skin and the smell of your perfume cloud his pathetically heightened senses, a multisensory madness that has his heart thumping painfully in his chest and the pads of his fingers tingling with need.

“Will you stop flinching?” only one of his eyes is open and you’re out of focus but that exasperated smile rings loud in his ears.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re doing, it’s an instinctive reaction”

“I’m just using eyeshadow”

You finally allow his left eye to peel open and Megumi almost laughs at your focused stare, creases on your forehead expressing a deep dissatisfaction.

“What? Doesn’t suit me?” he quips “it’s probably because you keep smudging it—”

“I’m going for a dramatic look, you dolt!”

His eyebrows raise in mocking interest.

“Oh, apologies. What’s the issue, then? Not dramatic enough?”

“You’re being surprisingly chatty for someone who is usually very fucking quiet”

Megumi’s sarcastic comeback dies in his throat as you suddenly position yourself over him, not quite straddling his lap because you’re still standing but nevertheless exceptionally close to sitting on his thighs.  

“What are you— what is that?” his voice is thinner and he has to flex his hands to keep himself from positioning them on your hips.

Christ.

“Chill, man. It’s eyeliner. Don’t move, this is the most important part” and then you’re hovering above him once more, except this time you gently grab his chin to tilt his head upwards as you lean closer, so close he stops breathing.

You work quietly, in comfortable silence, although you’re at cotton swab number three and the result still doesn’t seem to fully satisfy you.

“You should wear makeup” it’s a comment made absentmindedly, Megumi can tell by the way you’re not even truly looking at him as you speak, way too absorbed by the task at hand “eye makeup, I mean. It looks really good on you”

“Yeah?”

There must be something in his inflection, because your hand comes to a halt for a second, then resumes its gentle work over his eyelid. All he gets is an affirmative hum.

“Someone would have to teach me how to do it”

He’s not sure where his boldness is stemming from, although he suspects the thumb gently brushing over the same spot close to the corner of his eye would make a reasonable source.

“I’m sure Nobara would be happy to” you quietly chuckle to yourself but this time it feels as if you’re avoiding his gaze on purpose and that just won’t do.

“Doesn’t your back hurt like this?”

“A little bit but I’m almost done with this eye. Are you uncomfortable? I can—” Megumi interrupts you with a gentle but firm hold of your waist, hands far bigger than yours pulling you down to sit on his lap.

You’re dumbfounded and he revels in your shocked expression, in the way you’re the one who doesn’t know how to handle something unexpected for once. In how good it feels to be in control.

“Don’t make it weird” the warning is playful but his hands are still on your waist and give it a light squeeze that has your stomach doing a weird flip.

“I— what? You don’t make it weird! Shut up, stand still” your entire face is on fire and the hoodie you’re wearing suddenly feels all too warm.

Megumi smiles innocently but complies, quiet and as immobile as a sorcerer's body can get.

You pretend not to notice the way he melts into your touch, how his body relaxes as he shuts both his eyes and finally lets you work in peace. No sarcastic remarks, no silly winces. Why does that do something to your chest?

It’s so easy, carefully lining his bottom lash line with your favorite liquid eyeliner. Without thinking, you cradle his face as you gently swipe your thumb over the freshly traced lines to smudge them just right.

But then his eyes flutter open right as you hold his face in your hands and is it your imagination or does the grip on your waist grow more solid in turn?

“Y’know” he murmurs in a way that is so unlike him, so intimate as his indigo gaze burns right into yours “actually, I wouldn’t want Nobara to be the one to do it”

[it-happened-one-fic]

Gluttony - Leona

Author Notes: It was actually really difficult to choose what I was going to post this week. But I've been a little busy lately, so I finally just chose this one rather than working on polishing some of my other fics. I wrote this one to the song "Too Sweet" by Hozier and that most certainly showed in the writing. With that said though, I'm pretty pleased with how this fic turned out. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender neutral reader/ fluff/ some angst with comfort/ romance implied/ some pining/ sfw

Word count: 1528

Leona opened his eyes groggily, a frown on his face, as soon as the sun shone down through the leaves of the tree that hung over him, briefly blinding him before he sat up.

A hum from his left had his ears twitching before he twisted to see you lying right by his side. A slight smile on your face as the shadows of the leaves swayed across your form, and he felt his eyebrows raise.

He wasn’t particularly surprised to see you, though he knew the same couldn’t be said for anyone who might have seen you here.

Leona was no fool. He knew that you and him were pretty much perfect opposites. That’s why everyone always looked so confused when you were walking along beside him. Chattering away with a happy expression or teasing him about something that had recently gone in a way he hadn’t planned for it to.

Leona was the hated second prince. It was his burden, and it was one he’d carried his entire life. It was nothing new.

He was bitter, unpleasant, and something that people preferred to avoid either out of fear or powerful levels of distaste.

And then there was you. Sweet and far more optimistic than he thought he could ever be. And perhaps more interestingly, you were no fool. You knew everything wasn’t flowers and dreams. How could you not when you lived in a place like Ramshackle dorm and didn’t even have a way to get home? 

You were seemingly trapped in a world that wasn’t your own, but you didn’t let that stop you. Instead, you just keep going with your head held high, a smile on your face, and a laugh on your lips as you shrugged it off. It was admirable.

But it also simply wasn’t him. And that was something he knew perfectly well.

That simple fact was also the exact reason your classmates would find it so odd to see you slumbering here by his side and not somewhere else with someone who was a better match for your sweet disposition.

Leona leaned forward, propping his head on his chin as he looked down at where you slept by his side. You’d come here to study in the botanical garden while he’d slumbered next to you. It was something you often did, though he couldn’t fathom why.

It was almost like you either wanted the company or didn’t want him to be lonely. Either of which was ridiculous, since he could think of plenty of people who’d want to be your study buddy, and he certainly didn't want company for his naps.

But then, Leona also didn’t mind your presence, though he had his own reasons for not running you off.

Leona tilted his head slightly, sighing at the sight of you, before pulling the book whose corner was jabbing into your side out of your hands and setting it off to the side where you’d quickly find it after waking up.

He idly scanned the area, half rolling his eyes as he confirmed that your feline companion was nowhere to be seen.

Grim had no doubt long since abandoned you in favor of avoiding anything even close to work.

As for you, Leona didn’t know if you were foolish or bold to have fallen asleep right next to him with no one around to protect you. But here you were curled up at his side, as if he weren’t someone who could easily harm you and were instead someone who would take care of you should you need it.

Which wasn’t something he could really deny to himself, but you didn’t need to know that.

After all, you’d seen him when he’d overblotted and you knew he wasn’t a good person. That should have been enough to send you scrambling to get away from him. But instead, here you were. 

And it was ridiculous.

It was true that it might have taken Jack a little while to realize that Leona wasn’t someone he needed to look up to, but Leona’s actions at the Spelldrive competition had cleared up Jack’s misunderstandings about him. 

Ruggie had always known what sort of person Leona was. It was one of the reasons he hung around. After all, there was safety in sticking close to people like Leona, so long as you remembered what they were truly like.

Both realized, for better or worse, that Leona was not a misunderstood individual who was secretly good. He was jaded, always beaten by others, and essentially worthless.

But then there was you, who was seemingly unbothered by any of this. 

And it wasn’t even like you didn’t believe Leona’s flaws existed; he could work with that. Instead, it was almost like you didn’t care. Like you didn’t really expect him to change outside of your occasional prodding for him to take better care of himself.

You saw his flaws—that much he knew from the times you had bickered with him over something—but you just seemed to accept them. The same way you just seemed to accept other people’s flaws as something that was just a part of them. Only ever really scolding others, or even Leona himself, when their actions either harmed themselves or others.

And that's how Leona knew you were simply too sweet for him. Too sweet for him to endure being near, but simultaneously too sweet for him to turn away.

It was just another show of how worthless he was at anything he tried to do and how little his own efforts mattered. He could try to push you away, but he couldn’t ever stop himself from clinging to you. 

As if you were one of the last sweet bits of his otherwise bitter life. A potent method of making everything else seem to fall away and be ignored so long as he just gets a fleeting taste of that kindness.

And Leona had tried to ignore you, but it was somehow impossible, even when he knew that being close to him could easily taint that sweetness of yours and turn it into a bitterness more like his.

But Leona also knew that you and him were all but opposites, and that was probably where the attraction of being near you lay.

Though that realization did nothing to lessen that attraction, no matter how frustrating it might be.

You shifted, letting out some sort of groggy sound and causing him to snort in amusement at your lethargic movements that had you shifting closer to him as if you craved his warmth. Coming closer to him instead of distancing yourself like you should.

It was ridiculous, watching you now, to think that you’d somehow bested him in the past. But you had. You’d beaten him as well as numerous others at their own game. Making them look like fools, as you seemed to change things simply by existing.

And maybe you did. After all, you weren’t of this world. And perhaps that was why it was so hard for him to detach himself from you.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you twisted to look up at the lion beastman, who didn’t even bother hiding his amusement as you blinked up at him before groggily sitting up, “What time is it?”

Leona glanced around, his ears twitching slightly as he listened to the distant sounds of students chattering as they left their club areas before he looked back your way, “Time to be getting back to the dorms. Club practice has already let out.”

You nodded, not looking terribly surprised and seemingly resigned to having lost the rest of your study period.

“Have you seen Grim?” You frowned lightly as you glanced around, and Leona snorted, leaning back and relaxing once more against the ground, lazily watching you as you collected your books.

“Nope,” At the single word you glanced over at him with raised eyebrows that almost made him want to take back all the previous thoughts he’d had about you being sweet.

But then that tiny bit of bite you had to you only ever seemed to emphasize your sweetness. It was what kept you interesting and at odds with the fools at RSA.

Because, unlike them, you managed to have a certain degree of cunning even with your sweetness. After all, he hadn’t been lying that day when he’d told Azul that you were far more dastardly than the scheming cephalo-punk was.

That was probably another reason why Leona had given up on pushing you away and had even come to expect your presence. He was a glutton for punishment, and with you being a villain that was sweet enough to even catch him unawares, you were certainly enough to keep him on his toes. 

His gaze held yours even as he felt yet another chip in the wall of his defenses fall away, despite the fact that he’d always maintained these walls around himself.

He may not want to let you in, but you really were too sweet for him, and it was reaching the point that Leona was becoming more and more willing to let himself give into his gluttony.

[geospiral]

Taking a look at Mizi and Ivan as symbolic of Till’s desire for escapism vs. having to acknowledge the cruel reality he lives in:

When people think about Ivan and the idea that Till “never looked at him,” many people take this claim either in the literal sense or in the sense that Till was not appreciative of Ivan’s presence when he was still alive, both of which can be disproven with canon material. However, I want to take this idea and apply it in another way, of Ivan being the reality that Till does not want to acknowledge or face.

One of the most defining aspects of Ivan’s character is his rejection of idealism, to the point that you could honestly say that he leans towards nihilism. This is in great contrast to Mizi pre-Round 1, who was sheltered as a child and throughout most of her young adulthood, right up until the actual Alien Stage competition itself. The disconnect between these two and their worldviews can most readily be seen when comparing their intimacy levels with each other, with Ivan having a hard time relating to Mizi due to her innocence, whereas Mizi, although very fond of Ivan, seemingly only knows the version of him that he specifically curated and hid behind for the sake of survival.

(Text: "Intimacy: 75%. A cool friend with a prince-like smile! The object of every child's admiration! Whenever I don't know something, he's always kind and teaches me.")

(Text: "Intimacy: 30%. I like Mizi because she has a purity that is free of lies. As you get older, its natural to become pessimistic about your situation. But sometimes... its so bright it's difficult.")

(Text screeshot taken from a previous post)

Till was most definitely a witness to the different faces Ivan wore, being one of only two people that Ivan let his mask down around. But Till knew Ivan even before he started actively masking, before their first fight even, when he saw Ivan small and beaten from his holding cell.

Ivan is like Till’s shadow, ever present. Shown to us to almost always try to be by Till’s side even in his worst moments, especially in his worst moments. And while the two of them are friends, and I’m sure Till is glad that he doesn’t have to go through his ordeals completely alone, what comes with Ivan is an aching reminder of Till’s cruel reality. With Ivan there to care for Till in the aftermath of his mistreatments, there is now a witness that also carries the knowledge of what happened to him, and that can be both comforting and horrifying. These are no longer contained occurrences between Till and his abusers that Till can try and use escapism (Mizi) to ignore. Ivan knows and will always be by Till’s side, and so will the reality of Till’s circumstances.

This isn’t to say that Ivan’s presence is a detriment to Till but far from it! Reality cannot be fully ignored; you must come to acknowledge what is or has happened to you and then go forward with that to try and see what can be done about it.

Which leads us to the meteor show incident.

Till taking Ivan’s hand and leaving what he knows behind is NOT him ignoring reality but is him trying to escape from the constant abuse he suffers. Till should never have to “accept” the torture he is put through, and neither should anyone else who is in an abusive situation. The meteor shower escape attempt is simply a chance for something to be done about Till's circumstances—to leave and hopefully be able to live a life more independent and free away from the creatures and system that torments him, similar to Hyuna’s own escape.

It must be reiterated that in this moment, however, Till is leaving everything he knows behind, his entire life up until this point, and that scares him...

Till letting go of Ivan’s hand isn’t as simple as “Till running back to his crush." It's Till not wanting to leave behind the most prominent source that he’s used to cope with basically everything in his life.

And obviously Till cares for Mizi as a person, but he also sees her as much more than that. She is his light in the dark; she is his hope—innocent and yet to be scarred by the world.

Till going back is NOT a failure on his part or something that he can be blamed for. It's sad, but also incredibly human and understandable. A lot of people would have probably gone back, choosing familiarity over the unknown. I probably would have gone back.

Talking about Round 6 now, it makes perfect sense how devastated Till is over Mizi’s disappearance. It's important to face reality, yes, but it's also important to have something to emotionally rely upon to get you through your darkest moments. Outside of Mizi, Till doesn’t really have anything that he uses to comfort himself; sure, he writes and draws, but he’s made those things about Mizi with her being his muse.

Till’s obsession with Mizi isn’t healthy, but it's also all he believes he has. Ivan is still there, of course, but he’s not like Mizi. Till could never view him in the same light as he does Mizi, but at least he’s still here. Him being the only one left, a reminder of all he's lost, sure, but he's still here.

Then he pulls his stunt, and he’s gone.

And Till, who had decided to give up in the absence of Mizi, is forced to really look.

I don't have much to say about Round 7 because I'm not entirely sure how to feel about it yet, but I want to point out that Till didn't know that Mizi was trying to save him. When he was singing and fighting for his life on that stage, he was doing it for himself. He wanted to live! Despite everything he wanted to live, and the importance of that and that he was doing this for himself cannot be undersold.

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

The Blackwood Knight prt.8

Disclaimer: I wrote this because Victoria is a Shakespeare girlie and loves Romeo and Juliet. She also loves Crimson Peak, which inspired the last two parts.

Description: Benjicot resorts to drastic measures to win back his lady's trust and love, having accidentally placed doubt in her mind as to his true intentions.

Part 7

Playlist:

Gold Rush~ Taylor Swift

The Way I Loved You~ Taylor Swift

How You Get The Girl~ Taylor Swift

Adore You ~ Harry Styles

Warnings: female reader. Nothing else I don't think. Robb being an iconic twink with access to the blueprints for Bracken Hall and too much sass for Westeros to handle.

"Let me get this absolutely crystal clear in my mind. You described your union as 'mutually beneficial'!" Robb cried incredulously, striking Benjicot on the shoulder from behind, as he sat slumped onto a desk in the library of his ancestral seat. 

The glow cast by the lit lanterns, attached to the ancient stone walls, cast shadows over his face which bore signs of the deepest distress. 

"It sounds beyond reprehensible when you repeat those words, words which I most bitterly regret. I did not mean them in the way that both yourself and my lady have interpreted them, but it makes them no less acrid when you repeat them." He responded dejectedly, slumping his head once again upon the desk. 

Mumbling almost incomprehensibly so that Robb had to tilt his head down towards his friend to hear him. 

"What can I do to make amends? She hates me. I fear she will never speak to me again." 

Robb cast a contemptuous look at his friend before retorting. 

"You bloody fool. Not only did you make her sound to even my indulgent ears like a prize to be bartered between Houses, but you also did so with the very fiend from whose taunts you once defended her. Can you not see that you have made a shy, sweet girl who loved and trusted you feel as if the one person who she believed cared for her and would protect her above all others was nothing more than a cipher of the bullies she has sought to shield herself from?!" 

Seeing Benjicot's increasingly pained expression, as he roughly gripped his hair in both hands, Robb relented a little. 

"The damage you have done in your carelessness will be very difficult to remedy. You must show her that you love her and value her above all else. Words are not enough." 

Lifting his head, Benjicot's expression became resolved as he turned it to meet his friend. 

"I will, even if she will never again allow me to be in her presence," He struggled to continue, the thought causing him physical pain, "I must at the very least convince her that my love for her was never a lie. I cannot bear the thought that I have only cemented her insecurities. That I have born my own part in making her feel as if I mocked her...just like her contemptuous cousin." 

At this, he began to rise.

"I must see her." 

Perking up at this and slapping his friend approvingly on the back, Robb moved to lift his sword from the table and responded. 

"Glad to hear it. I'll get the Lads together and we can defend your flank whilst you hop over the border and get on your knees to beg your lady for forgiveness, you're favourite past time I know." 

Looking at him with mild irritation, Benjicot rose, placing a firm hold on Rob's shoulder. 

"Whilst I greatly appreciate the support, I must go myself. She's shy and frightened enough of me, after my misdemeanor, and I don't want you and your cronies scaring her off before I can even apologise." 

Laughing at this, Robb retorted smugly. 

"More likely you're afraid of her falling in love with me. Fear not, my interests lie in another direction entirely, but I'll hold off if you are determined. Of course Kermit will be devastated not to have a free shot at a Bracken, but I will assuage him." 

With this, Benjicot nodded at his friend before rising quickly and striding from the room, through the halls of Raventree as he continued to ruminate with anguish on the distressed face of his lovely lady and the part he had played in causing her distress. He would explain that he loved her and valued her above all else. That he meant every word he had said to her. That he would protect, serve and adore her if she would only let him, only forgive him. He would beg for her forgiveness, even if she could never herself love him again. It would be enough if she would only permit him to continue in her presence as a loyal knight.

It had been a day since Y/N had fled from the man she had come to trust and love, the only one she believed had ever cared for her and seen her as more than a shadow in the background of life....mistakenly. After Aeron had carried her back to her quarters in Bracken Hall she had locked her doors and allowed no visitors, barring her handmaiden. 

She spent the intervening hours between that of the previous days events and the advent of night on her balcony, her still pained ankle raised on a cushion on her chaise, as she read of Visenya. She was mentally and physically retreating to the shelter of her room and her books, determined never to open her heart to another person, as she had so foolishly done this time. She was silly to believe that Benjicot could love her for herself, rather than the political promise she could represent for him. She had trusted him where she had never invested anyone else with such trust. She had begun to gain in confidence in her dreams, her beliefs, and in his love, all for it to be shattered in a moment. Her embarrassment at having opened her heart to another person, to revealing herself so freely, where she was always so careful to be a shadowy presence in others' lives, was overwhelming, as she sunk further into her seat and further into herself. 

Wrapped in these painful thoughts, it was a few seconds before she heard a muffled voice calling her name from the direction of the dark expanse underneath her window. Rising carefully from her seat, using the pillars lining the portico of the balcony to balance herself as she moved towards the edge of it, she looked down to see the hopeful and desperate expression of the man she both hated and loved. Seeing her come into view, his face lit up with irrepressible delight, before quickly falling when she began to quickly turn away, book pressed protectively to her chest as she made to retreat to her room. She did not want to speak with him. 

Seeing her retreat, he quickly called out. 

"Please my love, please, I entreat you to let me explain what you overheard in the woods." 

Stopping where she was, she turned and moved once again back to the edge of the balcony. 

Speaking quietly and timidly, but not so much so that he could not hear her, accustomed as he was to listening for her quiet voice, she responded. 

"Please leave, I do not wish to speak with you now or henceforth. I can't understand why you are here now when you have made it abundantly clear that I myself am not what you seek. I would like you to leave."

Taking a deep, pained breath, Benjicot's expression underwent several changes before it became resolute and he stepped determinedly towards the pillar bolstering the balcony from the ground. 

Confused at his movements, Y/N became panicked when she realised he was climbing the pillar, frozen in position. It wasn't until he had swung his leg over the top of the balcony and had landed gracefully that she turned to flee, forgetting her injured ankle in the attempt, causing herself to stumble and hold onto a nearby pillar for support. Feeling gentle hands enclose around her elbows, she heard Benjicot speak quietly near her cheek. 

"Please don't run from me, my love. Your ankle is still injured. Please just allow me to help you." 

Looking down with concern at the ankle in question, he slowly, with great caution lest his lady should be offended, raised her arm around his neck and held her waist, fully supporting her weight so that he could place her on her chaise.  

Distressed to see his lady look away from him, her expression betraying embarrassment as well as displeasure, he knelt before her, bending his head low, before gently, reverently holding her hands in both of his own. 

"I will not disturb you further if you do not wish it, but I must convince you of the truth of my feelings for you and beg for your forgiveness for making you believe otherwise." 

Stopping him abruptly, Benjicot immediately desisted in deference to her speech, so important was anything she had to say to him, even if she meant only to order him away from her forever. 

Speaking quietly, she interrupted him. 

"I already heard what both you and my cousin said of me when you believed me not to be listening. I know that your protestations of love for me were all a ruse and that you were both in league together." 

Benjicot's expression betrayed the deep pain he felt at her response, drooping his head to rest it on her knees. 

"I can never apologise enough, nor beg for your forgiveness enough, for making you believe such a horrific notion. I had never spoken to your cousin of you before that dreadful moment, except when I first had the honour of meeting you. You were never just a bartering tool between us. I would break his legs if even tried to make such a suggestion. I had only meant to convey to him that I would repair the conflict between our houses so that in choosing me as your husband you would not also be choosing to abandon all that you knew. It is my mistake that I so brazenly worded my intent, my love." He added, casting his face down in desperation. 

"I have loved you since I first saw you sitting with your nose tucked into your histories under the Brackentree and have persued your love ever since. I have meant every word I have said to you since, and will continue to prove it to you in any way thay you will allow me."

His lady slightly turning towards him, Benjicot grew at once desperate and hopeful that she would listen to his entreaties, gripping her hands tighter in his as he raised his face to hers, hoping to convey the truth of his feelings in his eyes. 

"You speak very elegantly but I now know that you are so to all ladies and that this charade is not reserved for me alone." 

Reaching out to touch her face before quickly retracting his hand once he saw Y/N move away from him in discomfort, he instead responded. 

"Whilst I would consider myself to be a gentleman, there is only one lady I would traverse miles of enemy land and scale walls to get to." Saying this with a gentle smile, he continued to gaze upon her reverently. 

When she did not respond, he removed a brown leather volume from its place, stashed underneath his cloak. 

"I found this in my library and I thought it might be of interest to you." 

Hesitantly reaching to take the volume from his hand, she examined it before opening it. 

As she did so, he interposed "May I?" Pointing at the book. 

He turned the pages to an earmarked section, coloured with a rich illustration of a knight kneeling in homage before a queen. 

"This tells the story of a knight loyal to his queen above all else, swearing to protect, serve and..." He hesitated "love her for all of his life".

She gazed curiously down at the illustration in her hands as he spoke. 

"I thought you would like to have it, even should you order me away from your presence now. But I should like it to serve as an illustration of the devotion I feel towards you and as a reminder that I will always protect and adore you, even if only as your knight. Without any conditions. Without any expectation for you to love me in return. Just....let me adore you." He faltered staring up at her penitently, anxiously awaiting her response. 

It was a few agonising moments for Benjicot before Y/N raised her hand towards his shoulder, causing him to hold his breath lest he frighten her in his shock. Delicately placing her hand on his shoulder, she placed the other one on his other shoulder, causing him to subconsciously lean into her touch. 

Looking timidly away from him, she began to speak. 

"So you really did not mean that I was a...political tool." 

Leaning further towards her face, he quickly refuted such a notion. 

"I would thrash any man who suggested it. You are my lady, my love." 

Gazing into his eyes searchingly, she seemed to find what she sought in them, and leant her head gently upon his shoulder. 

Shocked, yet rejoicing at her affectionate gesture and in the comfort she seemed to look to from him, he lost no time in wrapping a protective arm around her waist, pulling her into his torso as he held her head gently in his other hand. Closing his eyes in relief, he held her like that for a few peaceful moments, scarcely believing that his love had forgiven him and that she had initiated their embrace. Taking it as a sign of the trust she had reinvested in him to protect her heart as well as her person, he solemnly swore in his own mind to guard it with more sucess than he had yet done as of late.

She pulled away too quickly for his liking, wishing as he did that she could always be so close to him.

"How did you even find your way here with impunity, let alone my balcony?"

Smirking at this, Benjicot threw his cloak dramatically over his shoulder to amuse her with his antics.

"I of course practiced great stealth, opting for a cloak and daggers approach."

Raising a disapproving eyebrow at him but with her mouth turned up at the corner, Benjicot rejoiced to have made her smile and to have amused her.

"In truth i just walked past the Red Ford and straight until i found Bracken Hall, i wasn't too worried about encountering any Bracken men. I'd just run them through if they tried to prevent me from reaching my Love. As far as finding your balcony goes, i was just blessed to see your pretty person upon it....and my good friend Robb also has an encyclopedic knowledge of Bracken Hall, having planned to storm it so many times." He added, slightly sheepishly.

Rolling her eyes at him, lightly swatting his chest.

"You're crazy."

Smirking again he rose to put his arm against the wall by her face, leaning his face towards hers.

"Crazy about you."

"And ridiculous," she added, laughing.

Reaching out to hold her chin gently in his other hand he leaned in further, before whispering in response "ridiculously in love with you", as his lips crashed onto hers, his arm moving to encircle her waist and support her weight as he did so.

Breaking the kiss, he stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, gazing up at her as if she were the sun. 

"Can i come and see you tomorrow?" He asked tentatively, unable to fully conceal his fear that she would still order him hence.

"I'd rather you didn't risk your life in such a dangerous attempt. I can always come to meet you."

Frowning at this, he stroked the back of her cheekbone with his nuckle. 

"You think i would allow my darling to cross that distance with an injured leg when i can cross it myself?"

Seeing her blush at his appellation, he smiled and reached forward to increase her blush by kissing the corner of her mouth.

"I think not. I have no fear of your Bracken bannermen. Although I do fear having to inform my disapproving lady love that i've despatched all of them because they tried to stop me from seeing her."

Benjicot walked away from his lady love's balcony that evening, not before blowing her a kiss, and silently rejoicing that she had forgiven him and permited him to remain in her presence and in her heart.

@lovebabe18-blog @poppyflower-22 @ithilwen-blackwood @spinachtz @lady-callisto @twistytimesandthoughts @abookloverlawyerfan-blog @mymoonempress @drwho-ess @dancingbaek @aemondslove @cheendrella

[charlesslut16]

Hi love!!

Could you maybe write something for Max like, he and reader had feelings for each other but couldn’t be together and they would meet up secretly to spend time together and have angry, frustrated and sad sex 🥺

Sorry if I’m being vague with this suggested plot 😫 love your write ❤️

-in secret-

summary : you and max are not allowed to be together but you both do not care...

PAIRING : max verstappen x fem!reader

WARNINGS : 18+. smut, NSFW, dom!max, sub!reader, a bit toxish, bit angst, rough sex, p in v, curse words, dirty talk, aftercare, unprotected sex (be safe!).

note : i hope you like it, love! Send in more requests!

masterlist 

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Best Friends. That was what max and you had always been. Friends, since you were two years old. You met through your parents, who were friends themselves.

You spent days, weeks, months, and years together. The bond between the two of you was unbreakable. No one or nothing could ever tear you both from one another.

Except your parents. When you were 13 and max was 15, both your parents had a massive fight, which made your parents so mad that they decided to cut the friendship with max's parents.

They cut all the connections to one another. That meant that you and max had to be friends in secret to not upset or anger your parents. You had to meet up in secret to not be caught.

Lovers. Years later, the friendship between the two of you turned into more. You had started dating, when max had begun in Formula One, which made it even more difficult to meet up.

But you still tried to. When max was in the paddock in his drivers room, you snuck in and spent time with him until he needed to do media stuff or something else. It was great to spend time with your love, even if it was secret.

It was frustrating to not meet up at each other's houses, in the paddock or in a restaurant because you were too afraid that your parents would find out about your relationship.

Even now that you are 23 and 25, you were still in a secret relationship. You met up on weekends or when he was away, you flew there to support him in the shadows and met with him in the hotels in the evenings.

When you met there was talking, laughing and just having, but mostly there was sex. Sad, frustrated and angry sex. There was nothing better for your feeling than that.

Just as you were having now. You were frustrated and Max was angry because your parents told you that they found someone for you to have a relationship with.

He told you that he wanted to take his anger out on you, not that you minded one day. Max had always told you that you were destined to be with him and that would not change.

You laid naked on the hotel bed, max hovered over you and the anger clearly visible on his face. He gave you a kiss on your lips and then lined his cock up with your pussy.

Max looked at your face for consent, which you gladly gave him, and he stuck his cock into you. As max was halfway in he waited, so you could adjust to his size and then thrusted all of him into you.

You moaned his name out, and he groaned at the pleasure. He thrusted in and out of you, and you rolled your body to his rhythm to provide the most amount of pleasure.

He hissed above you, but you were too far gone to care. You had been for a while, too lost in the feeling of his hands against your hips, his cock dragging against you deliciously.

It was almost embarrassing how easily you let him have his way with you. Your body completely under his control, every gasp of his name only serving to feed his ego, encouraging him to go faster, harder, more, more, more—

“Max—!”

“That’s right, say my fucking name—”

If the squeaking of the old wooden bed he had taken you on wasn’t already a sign of what was happening in the room, the shameless moans escaping your lips would be.

“Let the entire hotel know whose cock you’re begging for.”

You did, without any thought to how loud you may be.The force of his thrusts were brutal against your backside, your body ached, and yet you couldn’t stop moving, desperately trying to meet his every thrust.

It was hopeless, but he seemed to enjoy your attempts at least, a wicked chuckle escaped him as he watched your body move on his own.

“Is this what you wanted, hm? To be used like a pleasure girl?” His body was pressed against your back now, the weight of him blanketed against you. Your breath caught in your throat, his lips whispering absolute filth into your ear.

“Your new 'boyfriend' which you will never get could never fuck you like I do. You will stay with me, like it is destined to be. I don't care what your parents, say, schatje.”

“I know, max. He could never fuck me like you could. But please stop or low don't I can't anymore.”

Max did not stop moving, how could he when you sounded absolutely debauched below him, a picture-perfect image of sin to be molded by his own hands.

He fucked you unrelenting, finding every single one of your weaknesses and taking advantage of them until you cry out that it’s too much, that you couldn’t take it, and didn't give you a moment of reprieve.

“You know? I'm not so sure about that.”

Max was taunting you, dangling your own shameful display in front of your very eyes. Even if you wanted to respond, you couldn’t, the sound of your hips meeting, echoing through the room proved answer enough.

He lets you go, only for that hand to grab your face, fingers pressed against your cheeks. He forced your tear-rimmed eyes to gaze at him from below, a contrast to the sinister look in his own.

“Can’t take it? Too much? I don’t think that’s true—” Another hard thrust had you keening, back arching, a fog of lust clouding your brain. “—I think you’re going to take everything I give and more.”

He was right, of course, and you did, graciously. Your legs threatened to give out, shaking, barely holding on, and in an act of mercy, he grabbed your weakened limbs with a strong hand. Practically a rag doll, legs wrapped around his body to bring him as close as possible. 

You could see him in this position, see the way his brows crease and furrow every time you clench onto his cock, the pleased grin that lingers when you grab onto his arms, seeking purchase.

It’s filthy. Max didn't think he’s seen anything more beautiful.

It’s addicting, sadistic in ways he never thought himself capable of. He can’t get enough.

A painful dance of give and take. He gave pleasure and took your very sanity with it. He took and took until you had nothing left to give, until you were a writhing mess of slurred words and half-mumbled promises.

Max could barely understand you at this point, your mind far away, but he doesn’t need to. He could understand your body well enough. But then both of you were finished, totally drained. You were in desperate need of sleep, and max was in need of cuddles. Max stood up and took a damp towel from the bathroom and cleaned you up.

He came in bed next to you, pulled you into him and cuddled you. Your head laid on his broad chest, while he stroked your hair and ran his hands up and down your arm.

“I want to tell our parents. I mean, we are adults, they can't do anything about it. It is draining, Max.”

“I know that it is draining, but we can do this together, my love. We can tell them that we are together and can start going out for real.”

“Yes, I would love that.”

“Ik hou van jou”

“Ik hou van jou”

I love you

[moronkombat]

ohhh! can you do sfw/nsfw hcs for syzoth as well ?

tw: for mentions of pregnancy tehe sorry can't help it with syzoth

SFW

His methods of flirting is very different than what you are used to. You come from different cultures after all

Syzoth will present his interest through very low humming when he's around you. It is a very deep yet loud sound that sends vibrations all throughout him. You often do not know the intention behind these bellows and will often compliment on how well he hums

He does not stop there either. He'll serve you drinks and he'll blow small bubbles through a straw, making the liquid practically dance. This would make you laugh and Syzoth confused and frustrated. There's got to be a better way, right?

There is and its his last attempt at courtship through the ways he is familiar with. He'll approach you and encroach into your personal space. You open your mouth to question him but you're stopped. His nose comes to ghost across yours in a feathery dance and soon all of his efforts at wooing you are revealed. You two often laugh about it

He is incredibly sensitive to touch. What may feel like but a trace for you is a whole new world of vibrations for him. He shivers and hums when you lay your hands upon him. He always leans into your touch

Although he is sensitive to touch, he often seeks it out. He is rather cold majority of the time and your natural warmth is a wonderful comfort. There are times were he will fall asleep leaning against you or when you're in his arms. You don't have the heart to wake him

Syzoth has his doubts about his appearance. He knows the skin he wears is not his own but an image he conjures. He worries what you think of his natural form

He does not hide himself from you, you don't let him. He's done enough lingering in the shadows and having to hide. You would do well to let him know he is unjudged by you

When he shows you his natural form, he is nervous and so are you. There is a moment of pause but slowly you put your hands together, yours is so very small compared to his. There need no words to be said, you both understand each other with just that sensation of touch

NSFW

Syzoth would be lying if he said he didn't think about sex with his partner often

He enjoys masturbation and indulges frequently. His hominid anatomy is rather fun to explore but that is a secret he is not keen on telling

His partner is the drug that he just can't get enough of. Your scent is what riles him up the most. He will often take articles of your clothing but his motivations not entirely innocent

What's been taking is often used to help him get off. He'll stroke himself with it, finishing at the thought of your scents joining and creating something new and intoxicating

It is not often that he verbally requests for intimacy. He does so through gestures. He will start with light touches, seemingly pure. They are anything but as they begin to morph into sensual sensations

Once he gets going, it becomes difficult for him to stop and soon he is rutting himself against his partner panting and wanting

When having sex he wants his partner as close to him as possible. The heat of your skin drives him to a rapturous stupor

His preferred positions are anything that bring your bodies closer together. He does, however, seem to enjoy what some call the mating press or valedictorian. What does he call it? Pure intoxicating bliss

Syzoth is very vocal during sex. He doesn't let a single sound from him go muffled and he doesn't want yours to be either. He sings for you and you sing for him

He prefers to finish inside his partner. Why? because it is very instinctual for him. He so desperately wants to breed his partner, wants them completely filled with the essence he provides.

Once he finished, he keeps himself inside his partner. Not a single drop must spill. It's almost as if he wants his partner pregnant. That's because he does. It is a huge, and I'm talking huge, turn on for him

If pregnancy were to ever happen? You thought there was frequent sex before? Oh man, you haven't seen anything yet

[stripedstarsblueflags]

goodbye to a world

reading between the lines of the various goodbyes and dismissals to logan sargeant

Pt. 3: Oscar (press conference)

full series

not a goodbye (in the traditional sense of the word) but a fucking statement. obviously. because piastri.

the loscar dynamic is absolutely FASCINATING. out of all the friendships in the grid, this one plays a special role: it reminds the audience that there’s so much more than formula 1, there’s so much more to f1 drivers than this stage of their career. most of us (spectators) have a broad conception of the “typical” driver backstory; rich kid with rich parents, got in a go kart at age 4, karting and then single-seater and junior series was their whole life and they climbed up the ranks like rungs on a ladder. i think a lot of people who only watch f1 (myself included) tend to focus so much more on the Pinnacle of MotorsportTM that everything else just seems like prep. even though most if not all of the drivers grew up either 1) racing each other 2) watching each other on tv, we don’t really think of these relationships beyond and BEFORE f1.

until loscar. because what draws them together? they’re not teammates. they’re not rivals. williams is so far behind that they’re not even competitors. in many way, logan is entirely “out of oscar’s league”.

and yet they have this endearing, sweet, playful friendship that’s exactly what it seems like: people who have known each other since they were kids, grown up together, watched each other become the person they are today. there’s a casual, domestic intimacy neither of them have with their teammates, even if those relationships are also going well, because there’s this history element.

which is recalled no more vividly than when oscar and logan are compared. as they are too often.

total polar opposites. f1 stories practically the inverse of each other. one was a promising young talent who f1 teams had been keeping an eye on for years that, once thrown in the car at that “wait! isn’t he just a kid??” age, immediately proved his worth as a future superstar. Future World Champion, to quote the official moniker. “look at him go! look at OSCAR PIASTRI!” he’s a prodigy, he’s a social enigma, he’s a raw force of pure and driven talent.

then you have the other promising young talent who one f1 team had been keeping a loose eye on for years. who’s never done any free practices or tests. who’s barely even dipped his toe into the waters of f2. who’s shown a lot of raw potential but more noticeably, glittering fancy sponsors. who gets chucked into a car as a last-minute, scrapping underprepared and thrown-together plan B after the previous f2 graduate fails to keep his seat. and, while oscar soared off into the stratosphere, logan flops IMMEDIATELY.

go fucking figure. it’s almost like people like max verstappen and lewis hamilton are exceptions to the rule, not the rule itself, and an underprepared rushed overwhelmed rookie is actually NOT in a position to achieve immediate stardom! in fact, maybe that’s the OPPOSITE of what they need! so, in loscar, we have the exception to the rule (oscar) and the rule (logan). but that’s not the solidified narrative; the story, how history will remember the two of them, is that logan was nothing but a pale and washed-out shadow. always. open and shut case.

what does oscar have to say about it, though?

this was said to gp blog (great website); the full quotes from him are:

I sent him a text yesterday. He seemed okay. Obviously a little bit of a shock. Obviously it wasn't an easy time for him in F1. It was much more difficult for him than maybe I expected it to be going into F1. I think for me, his potential was much greater than what was on show in F1, for whatever reason it might be.

I know firsthand, being his teammate in the junior categories, racing him in basically everything, I know how quick he is. I don't think the change was completely unexpected...

Best of luck to him. Just a shame that, for whatever reason, he wasn't able to show everything that he's got. Because in the junior categories, he was genuinely one of the quickest guys I went up against. I think his potential is much greater than what some people have seen.

first of all, some BEAUTIFUL toeing-the-line from oscar here. he’s even more subtle than alex in that none of his words imply any sort of passive aggression or ill intent; the only emotion that’s really conveyed, in understated tones, is a mild perplexity about logan’s career and failure in general as opposed to its gut-wrenching end in question. the implications in his wording imply nothing more than a personal opinion, but the ambiguity itself is some massive shade. let’s take a closer look:

much more difficult for him than maybe i expected it to be- this is masterful. “yeah, that’s right. i’m the next-gen prodigal superstar talent with my future as a world champion pretty much written for me, and i’ve shown the skill to back it up, and not only did i know logan before the catastrophe of f1 but i regarded him with so much respect that i had actual expectations. his skill had become such an intertwined part of his character in my eyes that i just assumed things would go so much better. because i believed in him.”

his potential was much greater than what was on show in f1…- toeing the line again. balance. acknowledging both the reality and all the roads not taken. “i’m not making false claims. i’m not making excuses for him. i’m not blaming the car or the team or the lack of support or the disgrace or the mistreatment and i’m not challenging the results. i’m not talking about what happened, i’m talking about what could’ve happened. potential. i’m talking about everything that wasn’t on show– and by not on show i mean that his potential, his skill, his pace, him as a person was not seen or understood or respected or prioritized by anyone. i’m not saying ‘oh, one point in 36 starts is all anyone could do with x/y/z excuse’ i’m saying ‘you guys missed the point’.”

for whatever reason that might be/just a shame that, for whatever reason- fucking hell, this is harsh. this is practically an attack. “i’m not gonna make excuses, but i’m gonna leave this open. i’m not gonna call this bad luck or the way it goes sometimes or a bad break, i’m saying that Whatever Reason This Happened is not what should have happened. not a matter of chance or objective misfortune; this situation could have and should have worked out better and whatever obstacle got in the way of that was a matter of misjudgment.”

I know firsthand, being his teammate in the junior categories, racing him in basically everything, I know how quick he is- alex said something similar, about pace. “raw speed” he calls it. and it’s really interesting that his teammates, who learn firsthand about him as a racer, his driving style, his strengths, his weaknesses (whether they’ve been teammates for months or years) identify a specific trait/skill about logan rather than just making the empty claim that “he’s good” or “he’s better than this”. and this is very interesting coming from oscar in particular given his current teammate. lando isn’t the best starter or the best defender or the most coordinated overtaker, but even with all the areas he needs to work on he can still compensate for it by being really fucking fast. his pace is his defense; he gets clean air and boom, he’s fucking gone. obviously that’s an oversimplification but oscar directly competing against that and observing/absorbing that and bringing up the same category of skill in logan– even in flashback– can’t be overlooked. in addition: “yeah, i’ve raced against him in basically everything. you’ve watched him on tv in a backmarker team for a season or so? i’ve known him for YEARS. i know. i don’t care what you’re seeing, i’m the expert on this and i know.”

I think his potential is much greater than what some people have seen- shit, this is as close to passive aggression as he gets, but it’s still done so precisely and subtly that it’s almost an art form. i mean, leave it to oscar piastri to use the phrase “some people” and NOT make it sound like a straight up, poorly-veiled callout. try to use that in a sentence without seeming like you’re shit-talking someone, potentially in the room. this is part of the lovely passive-aggression classic: “….unlike SOME people” (sometimes while staring at them directly, depending on how passive you want the passive aggression to really be. so, he’s (in unofficial terms) calling out who– anyone who hasn’t seen logan’s potential. who have underestimated him. who have invalidated his situation and him as an athlete. this could be any category of haters– negative fans, petty journalists, the horrid type of reports who will ask questions like “what does it feel like to be the slowest driver in formula 1…”. and that would make perfect sense. almost perfect. if we thought oscar piastri paid any attention to the haters, his own or anyone else’s. if it was ever on his mind. so, people who haven’t seen his potential… what, like, team principals? the ambiguity in itself is simultaneously a direct implication and oscar piastri’s intelligence needs to be studied because it is sometimes terrifying.

oscar doesn’t make a statement on social media, doesn’t bring it up further, doesn’t make any sort of personal goodbye available to the media– of course he wouldn’t, not just because that’s incredibly private but also because he’s oscar and he’s basically kimi raikkonen (in this analogy lando is sunshine boy seb but that’s an idea for another post). oscar’s whole public image is that he doesn’t want to have a public image. he doesn’t give the media any more parts of himself than he’s contractually obligated to. what he does give is concise, serious, the strongest points in the fewest words. and because of the enigmatic, tantalizing nature of that approach paired with the fact that he’s a fucking brilliant driver, people listen to what he has to say.

so oscar has a lot more weight to throw around than alex. alex’s image is that he’s a cuddly sunshiney cat dad who is a living anomaly in that he’s a good driver and a total sweetheart at once. whether or not what he says comes from the heart (it does. he’s alex) the reaction can always be “awww look at alex he’s such a nice guy :)” and the focus is on the kindness of the gesture/praise/respect itself rather than what alex is actually saying. so if alex says logan had more potential, that’s alex being alex.

if oscar says logan had more potential, that’s a fucking statement. and if the media wasn’t coming for JV’s head at this point, oscar just gave them a diagram for how to build a guillotine.

beautiful.

[clarisse0o]

Camp Wiegman-Part 64

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle

Alternative Universe : Military School

Words: 5k

Masterlist

———————————————————————

Monday, March 1; 6:15 AM - Alexia and Ona's Room

Returning to my roots stings throughout my entire system. I'm exhausted. My first night away from Lucy's arms was a disaster. Needless to say, I didn't get a wink of sleep. Now she's doing her usual rounds around our beds while I yawn so wide it feels like my jaw might unhinge.

"Rough night, Batlle?" she teases kindly.

I groan pitifully, causing my friends to chuckle. She stops in front of me, scanning me from head to toe, checking my outfit before pulling me into her arms. A sigh of relief escapes me instantly. I bury my nose in her neck, inhaling her scent deeply to ensure I remember it. When I finally lift my head, she lingers on my face. One might think she's scrutinizing my barely-there makeup, but it's probably my dark circles she's focused on. Then she kisses me properly, making Alexia clear her throat after a moment.

"We should get going."

"Yep," Lucy exhales. "Go on, off you go," she says.

I head for the door, following my roommate.

"And Ona," she calls as I reach the threshold.

"Yes?"

"Don't forget your evening classes. Time to get back into the groove."

I smile and nod. We spent yesterday reviewing my classes and finishing the last bits of homework I had left. I'd already done most of them during the evening classes before the break so I wouldn't be bothered during the two-week vacation. It was a good way to get back on track.

"I don’t plan on missing them. Have a good day, Commander."

A smug smile stretches across her lips as I leave the room. I catch up to Alexia, who had gone ahead. She smiles when I reach her.

"Looks like things are going well, huh?"

"Better, yes, but it could still be better without this decision hanging over me."

"Has she changed her mind?"

"Yes and no. She explained the reasons behind her choice," I reply, shrugging. "We'll see. First, I plan to negotiate at my next meeting. Then, I’ll send a few requests to other galleries, and we'll see."

"That's already something. I hope everything goes well."

"Absolutely!"

We step outside, where most of our friends are waiting. My eyes fall on Alessia, reminding me of yesterday’s anxiety. She and her sister know about Lucy. I don’t expect them to tell anyone, but it's still a situation that could make things awkward. We greet everyone before heading to the cafeteria. Good habits really are coming back.

"Your sister’s not here?" I ask Ale.

"Well, turns out she’s got a girlfriend now."

"Really?" I ask, surprised.

"Yeah, apparently she's here, at school, so I assume she's with her."

"Wasn't she a bit difficult because you were away for two weeks?"

"Nope. Seems like having a girlfriend has its perks. I plan to find out who she is just to thank her."

I laugh. I'm curious too. With everything that happened before the break, I hadn’t noticed her getting close to anyone in particular.

"We’ll do our investigation if you want," I tease.

"Oh, for sure! If she thinks she’s going to keep her in the shadows, she's dreaming."

"And you’re the one saying that?" I tease again.

"My case is different."

"Of course," I mock. "Still, it’s time for her to introduce her at least once."

"Yeah, yeah. Soon, since the year is almost over, and I plan to move in with Jenni after school."

Seems I’m not the only one thinking about the "after school" period. I hope she tells her soon because I have a feeling this situation might backfire given how Alba is. We reach the cafeteria. Once we’re served, we sit at our usual table. From where I am, I can see Lucy join her side with Ingrid. I don’t linger, though, afraid I won’t be able to look away from her. The others start recounting their fantastic vacations. I turn to Alessia, who’s sitting next to me. Best to address the elephant in the room right away.

"How were your holidays?" I ask her.

"Pretty good," she admits. "And yours?"

She’s calm. A bit too calm, and probably a little embarrassed too. Lucy did make a point of kissing me in front of her to stake her claim the day they caught us together. I still don’t know if Alessia saw that. All I know is that Lucy marked me with a huge hickey on my neck again last night, just to be sure. My friends haven’t seen it yet since I’ve kept my scarf on, and I plan to keep it that way for a while.

"Good as well," I reply with a small smile.

"Is your girlfriend planning to keep an eye on me from now on?" she retorts, without much emotion.

I glance over at Lucy and see that, indeed, she’s sneaking looks at us between sentences with Ingrid. I bite my lip to suppress a smile. She’s impossible. Yesterday's lecture about jealousy clearly wasn’t enough for her. Maybe it’s time I tell her how much I love her to get her to relax.

"I'll talk to her. Don’t worry."

"Have you seen the hickey she gave her?" Alexia teases mockingly.

"Stop," I groan, unconsciously covering my neck with my hand. "It was the only way to leave without a ten-hour lecture."

Alessia and Alexia laugh at my expense, making me blush even more. To be honest, I like Lucy’s jealousy, but I’d never admit that to them. After our cold moment, she simply reminded me that she loves me no matter what. She knows how to reassure me.

"Did someone say hickey?" 

We turn toward the voice we all recognize. Alba stands behind me with her tray in hand. I smile softly at her. I’ve missed her, actually. I didn’t expect to get so attached to her personality, but I have. She’s genuinely a good person deep down.

"Mind if we join you?"

It’s only then that I notice someone standing behind her. It’s Misa, and judging by the look she gives me, there’s no doubt she’s the girlfriend Ale mentioned. She never hung out with us much, but it happened occasionally. All I remember about her is that she wasn’t very friendly. Her choice surprises me, but after all, I don’t know her well enough to judge their relationship. The question was mostly for show, as they sit down at the end of our table. I exchange a look with Ale, who doesn’t seem thrilled with what she’s seeing. She’s understood the situation just like I have, but I know from previous conversations that she doesn’t like Misa much either. Neither of us knows how to place her.

"So, what’s this about a hickey? Who’s the victim?" Alba asks again.

"Ona," Alessia replies. "Apparently, from her girlfriend."

"Really?" she asks, surprised. "You’re with someone?"

I run my hand through my hair, feeling awkward. I didn’t want this to spread around the table. I feel like Alessia is challenging me, which is irritating. But if Lucy gave me a hickey, it’s because she wants people to know I’m taken, right? After that little internal debate, I nod.

"Uh, yeah. I’ve been dating someone for a little while," I admit.

"Wow, didn’t see that coming," she smiles. "That’s cool! Is she from here? Do we know her?"

"Alba, that's none of your business," Alexia cuts in. "And you? When were you going to tell me you were dating Misa?"

I'm relieved by her intervention. It gives me time to breathe, and she knows why. I can’t afford to reveal Lucy’s identity.

"If I’d waited as long as you to admit I was seeing someone, I wouldn’t have told you until next year," she retorts proudly.

- "What nonsense," she muttered, rolling her eyes before glancing at me.

I stifled a small laugh. I gave her a sympathetic smile, but in reality, her sister wasn't wrong.

- "So, are we not allowed any juicy details?" Alba returned to the original topic.

Of course, she was back to me. Unfortunately, I hadn't had time to think. I just shrugged. I would like to share with them, but I know I can't reveal everything.

- "She's a girl. A few years older than me, and well, that's it. We've only been together for a few weeks."

Only a few weeks. Now that I say it, it feels like we've been together for months. I'm already eager to reach our first month. Unfortunately, that's in a few days, and we'll still be here. I'm trying to stay positive, reminding myself that we'll be in Barcelona this weekend. At least I’ll have the advantage of being on my home turf. I can plan something for her at a place she doesn’t know, with Mapi as my accomplice.

- "So, you're into girls too?" Misa asked.

I leaned to see her as she was sitting just next to Alessia. She kept eating while glancing at me. Surprisingly, she smiled. Now that she knew she had nothing to worry about with Alba, maybe she’d behave differently.

- "Indeed" I replied, without going into detail.

- "And this girl," Alba asked again, "does she treat you well at least?"

Alexia rolled her eyes again, making me suppress a laugh. Honestly, they should have stayed away from each other if they were going to act like this in each other's presence.

- "Absolutely. She's amazing, even if sometimes she struggles to grasp that she's the only one who matters to me."

I punctuated my words by showing off the huge purple, almost black, hickey on my neck. She had pinned me down against the mattress, leaving me no means to defend myself. My friends gasped in disbelief, making me chuckle slightly.

- "Damn, seeing it again now, I realize she didn’t hold back at all," Ale teased as I quickly covered the evidence. "Think I can tease her about it?"

- "You? Tease her?" I raised an eyebrow. "I’d love to see that," I mocked.

- "Oh, shut up," she mumbled.

- "Wait, you know her?" Alba asked, surprised.

- "Yeah. Who do you think I spent my vacation with?"

- "Any particular reason she marked you like that?" Alessia asked, trying to prevent a sibling argument.

- "I don't know," I admitted, shrugging. "Jealousy, I guess. She knows a bit about my friends... I mean, I tell her about them a lot, so she probably feels threatened," I quickly corrected myself.

- "I wonder why. You practically devour her with your eyes. You'd have to be blind not to notice," Ale commented.

I hid my blush behind my mug of hot chocolate. I knew how true her words were. I just hoped it wouldn't be too obvious here at school. Even though there were only two months left and Lucy had said she didn’t care if she got expelled, I wasn’t on the same page. I wanted her with me until the end, so I hoped we could stay discreet. It had been a while, so I glanced over at her table. I was disappointed to find it empty. I looked quickly toward the line where people were clearing their trays, but I had to admit the truth: she was already gone. Clearly, I was already missing her, judging by the pang I felt at this realization. This day was going to feel longer than I’d like to admit.

Monday, March 1st; 5:15 PM - Lucy and Ingrid's Office.

I tried not to seem too eager when I headed to Lucy's office. First, I had to be patient while Alessia talked to me after class, and then I had to weave through the students in the hallway. If it were up to me, I would have sprinted from class the moment the bell rang. But sadly, that only happens in movies. So here I was, standing in front of her office door, which was wide open. I tapped on the wood to announce my presence before stepping inside. I didn’t wait for permission anymore—I felt at home here after having come so often. I was greeted by an empty desk on the left and Lucy behind the one on the right. We were alone. Perfect.

- "Hello," I said cheerfully.

- "Close the door," she ordered without taking her eyes off the screen.

I was already almost at her desk when she gave the command. Oh, she didn't seem to be in a good mood. I turned back to obey without complaint. A few months ago, I would have already retorted for her to do it herself. But now, I sensed this wasn’t the moment. I hoped everything would be fine. I had missed her so much today, and I didn’t want to spend the little time we had together in a bad mood.

- "You're late," she noted, as if it needed pointing out.

- "Did you miss me?"

I tried to joke to lighten her mood. To my surprise, she stood up abruptly to face me.

- "Hell, yes."

Before I could react, she spun me around and pressed me against her desk. Her slightly cold hands slid under my already open jacket. I smiled against her lips as she took them without asking. She grabbed my thighs firmly, lifting me onto the desk. I welcomed her between my legs, running my hand through her hair. For someone who wanted to keep our two relationships separate, we were far from her long speeches.

- "Take off that scarf," she growled, tugging at it.

I laughed harder as I unwrapped it before she could strangle me with it.

- "You like seeing your marks on me? I got so many comments because of you."

- "Really? I didn’t see you take it off today."

I raised an amused eyebrow. So she was watching me. Good to know. To be fair, I wasn’t any better, but now I understood why I kept running into her in the hallways.

- "You did it on purpose, didn’t you?"

- "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

I laughed, wrapping my arms around her neck. She smiled mischievously in return.

- "Well, just so you know, my friends know I’m taken. I talked to Alba this morning, and the others figured it out. They teased me all through lunch trying to figure out who you are. I said you weren’t from the school, but they think I’m lying."

- "Why would they think I’m from here?"

- "No idea. They think I don’t have a life outside of school."

"Well, aside from Mapi, you don’t see many people from your old life," she reminded me. "They’re not wrong, really. »

- "Well, it's easy to meet people nowadays. There are social media or even dating apps."

- "As if that’s your thing... It isn’t, right? Maybe I should take your phone away…"

- "Hey! No way, you idiot. As if I’d do something like that."

I roll my eyes before she kisses me again. I’ve missed her lips. It’s hard to go from two weeks straight together to a sudden cut. I’ll be happy when we no longer have to deal with the constraints of school.

- "Did Alessia say anything?"

- "No. She thinks you’re very... How do I put it? Vampiric. Or something like that. I don’t think she expected you to devour my neck."

She laughs and kisses the mark. I checked it in the mirror again during lunch and realized it’ll probably stick around for a few more days. She then steps back from between my legs, signaling that our little break is over. I hop off the desk, landing on my feet.

- "As long as she doesn’t hover around you anymore, I don’t care what she calls me."

- "Oh please, like she’d even try to go up against you. It’s a good thing she knows now."

- "Hmm... Alright, get your stuff out so we can tackle your homework. How were your classes?"

- "Boring, as always," I sigh. "I’ll be glad when I finally graduate."

- "I get that, me too," she admits with a small smile. "But we’re not there yet. By the way, I talked to Wiegman about your interview."

- "Already?" I ask, surprised.

- "Yup. The sooner it’s settled, the better. That way, we can avoid unnecessary arguments."

- "What did she say?"

- "She’s giving you permission to go, since it’s after your time here. But she’ll have to inform your mom."

I shrug, indifferent. It’s not like my mom doesn’t already know I had an interview. She’ll figure it out soon enough.

- "Will you come with me?"

- "Of course, I’ll drive you," she smiles. "There are perks to still being your guardian. Now, you just need to call Mr. Fields to find out the date."

- "Yeah... Can we also check out other galleries?"

- "I’ve already done some research," she tells me. "I made a list and sent it to Beth. Since she’s more knowledgeable and knows their reputations, she promised to review them and let me know which ones are worth sending your resume to."

- "Thank you. You’re amazing," I reply sincerely.

- "It’s only natural," she says, linking our hands. "I’ve thought about it a lot, and I want to apologize again for making you think I wanted to push you away. That was never my intention."

- "I know, don’t worry," I smile softly. "Let’s wait to see what Fields says before getting ahead of ourselves. He might offer something else."

- "Don’t get your hopes up too much. He can have as many apprentices as he wants. If you say no, that might be it for him."

- "We’ll see," I say confidently. "He seemed really interested in my profile. Maybe he won’t want to let me go so easily."

- "Babe, seriously. I don’t want you to get your hopes up and be let down. I’ll be happy if he offers you something else, but it’s better not to expect too much."

I nod. She’s right. Ever since I got the positive response, I’ve been feeling confident, but I’m likely setting myself up for a fall. I sigh, sinking into my seat.

- "Shall we get to work?"

- "You’ll get to work," she replies with a small smile. "Try to do it on your own, and I’ll correct it. I’ve still got a lot of work to do since the break is over."

I groan as I pull out the management assignment from this morning. Our teacher didn’t go easy on us, and we’ve already been hit with five exercises under the pretext that we need to be ready for the big day.

- "It’s not as fun without you."

- "Oh, come on. I won’t be sitting next to you during the exams. This is the final stretch. You need to learn to handle it on your own now."

I sigh and pout but still get to work. In a few months, I’ll be sitting through the same kind of exercises, except it’ll be on an exam paper for four hours straight. For now, I have nothing to complain about. The stress is slowly creeping in. I know I won’t be fully prepared, especially in my main subjects. Let’s not forget I’m two years behind. And to top it off, I found out today that we actually have compressed courses. Murphy explained that due to the school’s structure, we’re missing a semester out of the usual three years. After quickly doing the math in my head, we only have three semesters instead of four in a given track. At least I understand now why we’re moving faster than normal. Fortunately, my teachers often revisit points that were covered in previous years during the course. Thanks to Lucy, I’ve started asking for help more often. While I think most of my exams are out of reach, Lucy believes in me. She says I might have some terrible grades, but I can still pass. That’s all the support I need. I’m determined to prove her right. I don’t care about having outstanding grades, just passing is enough. I’ll focus on excelling in the subjects I’m stronger in, like literature and languages. They won’t be the most heavily weighted, given the track I chose, but it’s better than nothing. Time passes, and I finally finish the exercises for my upcoming classes.

- "Can you check my work?" I ask my girlfriend.

- "Of course."

She pushes aside her pile of papers and grabs my assignments. She picks up a pencil and starts reading through them. I take advantage of the calm moment to admire her. She moves her long brown hair to the side, making her even more beautiful. I smile as she unintentionally reveals the mark I gave her. It’s much smaller now and a few days old. Our bubble bursts with a knock at the door, followed by its immediate opening to reveal my management teacher. His sudden presence reminds me that we’re never truly safe from being interrupted, even with the door closed.

- "Oh yes, I forgot about your evening classes," he murmurs. "Good evening, I hope I’m not disturbing you."

- "Not particularly," Lucy replies. "How can I help you?"

- "I was just following up on the field trip, but I can come back later if necessary."

Lucy leans back in her chair, crossing her legs, but she keeps my packet of assignments in her hand and removes her glasses—the ones that make her look so irresistible—with the other. She places them on the desk and massages the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes for a moment before opening them again.

- "I’ve already told you, Ona isn’t a problem. What do you need?"

I can’t help but smile at her cold tone. He’s definitely getting on her nerves. I turn back to my teacher, who looks slightly flustered.

- "Well, I wanted to confirm that Miss Engen and you will be part of the teaching staff accompanying us."

- "Alright. Is that all?"

- "For now. I’ll let you know the date of the trip and which group you’ll be in charge of."

- "Hmm. If you’re organizing the groups, make sure Ona is in mine. Since I’m designated as her guardian until the end of the year, it’ll allow me to keep an eye on her."

I can’t help but laugh at that request. Thank goodness Wiegman put her in charge. We’re definitely taking advantage of it now. I thought I was being discreet, but Lucy must have heard me because she raises an eyebrow as she glances at me. I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing again. I love it when she plays the serious role like that.

- "Any objections?" she asks me.

- "None," my teacher responds.

It’s too much; I have to laugh again. He doesn’t even know who she’s addressing anymore. Lucy doesn’t miss the opportunity to remind him.

"I was talking to Ona. »

- "No problem, Bronze," I replied with as much seriousness as I could muster in that moment.

- "Good. Well, that's settled then. I'll be waiting for your update."

- "Great. Thanks again for agreeing."

Before he turned to leave, I smiled when I noticed him lingering on Lucy's neck. She couldn’t have chosen a better time to show off the mark I left on her. Then his eyes shifted to me, narrowing slightly.

- "See you tomorrow, sir," I said innocently.

- "Hmm... see you tomorrow."

- "Have a good evening," Lucy added just before he left.

I turned back to Lucy, who had resumed correcting my work as if none of that had just happened. Her glasses were back on her nose. With the door closed again, I seized the opportunity.

- "Is he always that annoying?"

- "He never was."

- "Really? I think he is. He tries to get to you at every chance he gets."

- "Well, now you can be sure he won’t come by after class, not with you here."

Her mischievous tone didn’t sit well with me. I slumped back in my chair, crossing my arms. It was obvious that if he wanted to be alone with her, he wouldn’t come by at this time anymore. That idea bothered me a lot.

- "You're not going to sulk, are you?" she teased. "I was as cold as possible. I think I made it pretty clear, didn't I?"

- "Hmm..."

- "Plus, I made sure you’d be in my group for that outing," she added. "I couldn’t really do much more than that."

- "Yes, you could. You could tell him outright that you’re not interested in men."

- "Fine. I’ll do that if that’s what you want."

A silence settled in. My mood lifted a little. I hadn’t expected her to go that far, but I felt relieved. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore. I watched her as she reached the last page. She had used her pencil several times, so I could already tell there were corrections to make. When she finished, she handed everything back to me.

- "Here you go. You made a few mistakes, but you’ve understood the essentials."

- "Thanks," I replied shyly.

I took my papers and started working on my errors. Most of the time, they were just careless mistakes. Management requires a lot of formulas, and even though I’d memorized them with Lucy’s help before the holidays, I still mixed them up sometimes.

- "How was your night?"

- "Rough," I admitted. "I had trouble getting used to my small bed again, and I didn’t sleep much."

- "Your nightmares came back?"

- "No... I’m a bit afraid they will, but we’ll see. Worst case, I’ll ask to sleep over with Alexia."

I felt close enough to her now that I could ask her for that. I was sure she wouldn’t mind if I did.

- "Hmm... If it’s just her, I think I can accept that," Lucy said with a small smile. "You should take a page out of my book, you know. I know how to control myself."

- "Is that so?" I giggled. "Shall we talk about how you stared down Alessia after I talked to her? I saw you," I accused her shamelessly.

- "I think we should calm down," she laughed. "It’s not like we just spent two weeks living together."

I smiled. She didn’t even try to defend herself.

- "We should, that's true, but I doubt I could resist. I love your jealousy. It makes me feel important in your eyes."

- "You can. You're the most important person to me anyway, baby."

I blushed softly at her unexpected compliment.

- "You are too. Never doubt that. No one even comes close, no matter who I talk to."

- "Noted," she smiled. "Just make sure to remind your friend that you're taken."

- "You do that quite well on your own," I teased, tilting my head to expose my neck. "She knows, don’t worry."

- "Then we have no problem," she smiled wider.

Indeed. Aside from the issue of next year, there didn’t seem to be any more problems between us. I sincerely hoped everything would turn out fine, and even if it didn’t, I was confident we’d find a way through it.

[bunnakit]

one of the most difficult parts of navigating ATEEZ lore is you have to decide which avenue you're going to operate under -

are you operating under the assumption that they've traversed dimensions (A -> Z) with elements of time travel interspersed and the Halateez are tangible human beings they can interact with?

or are you operating under the theory that they've only time traveled "to a different world" (because the future is so bleak it feels like a new world entirely) and the Halateez are shadows of their future, no longer occupying that space-time because ATEEZ has taken their place and the Halateez are only reflections of their inner selves?*

and depending on your choice are you assuming Halazia is a third dimension where the events of the timeline occurred differently? or that it's instead even further into the future and what may be in store for society if ATEEZ cannot fix things in the Z era, the time of the Halateez?

this is why i think it's so difficult to say any one theory is correct when there is so much unconfirmed, so many elements to play with, and so many details to turn over in our head. it's an absolute blast to navigate and experiment with. i wonder if someday we'll have it all spelled out to us but part of me almost hopes it never is. (and i know some things have been 'confirmed' in interviews but we know KQ and HJ are known to be very tricky with the way they word and tease things.)

*i personally find it very curious that we only ever see interactions between the two through some form of reflective surface - aside from answer but even then they're lifting a glass to cheers and it could be said that they're viewing their reflections through that glass. (and we know reflective surfaces are banned in strictland for the sense of identity they can grant.)

there is also no direct dialogue between them in any of the diaries except a brief interaction between hongjoong and the version of him trapped in the glass on the prison island, when he adopts the black pirate costume for himself. we know the guardians can take people's voices, i don't think it's out of the realm of possibility for them to take and contain souls {no more, keep your soul} - especially of those they want to punish rather than dispose of - or for this to be some moment of self reflection and a realization of the path he wants to take moving forward

[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

[deepobssesionsstuff]

Yandere Blaidd The Half Wolf

¡Well well well! What do we have here? A 10-foot werewolf with a heart of gold and the attitude of an edgy young man. And isn't there a single person who makes fics about him? eeehhhh, we have to fix that honey.

You met the half-wolf while you were pulling aquatic plants from the bottom of the lake for your concoctions and potions. You found him dirty and injured at the bottom of the waterfall where you took your baths at night. The half-wolf had the appearance of an abandoned animal. At first you thought it was dead, but you noticed a pulse and a heavy, short breath.

Blaidd is tall as an oak tree, wears massive armor and always carries his trusty greatsword with him. So you can imagine how difficult it was for you to move this good boy to your house. I mean, he probably weights at least 400 pounds.

Once in your home, you weren't entirely sure what to do with him, or his giant armor. You clearly didn't have enough strength to lift him onto the bed, and to be honest, your bed didn't seem strong enough to hold blaidd's weight.

Sooo, you stripped him of his giant armor and left him with a blanket by the fire.

It took blaidd four days to wake up. In that time, you did your best to care for Blaidd. You clean him, keep him warm, feed him and treat his wounds.

When he finally woke up you did your best to try to talk to him. But, the half- wolf just curled up and cried by the fire like a dog that loses its master. Blaidd's words were short, but they all had in common the whisper of a name you didn't recognise.

After three weeks of taking care of him. Blaidd looked so much healthier. But, he still refused to speak most of the times and always seemed to look at you with a tenderness and sadness that broke your heart.

As the four weeks passed, Blaidd began to engage in small conversations with you. He thanked you every time you fed him, and, before you know it, he started to asked you more and more about your private life. He seemed to want to know everything about you, every little detail seemed to be the most interesting thing for Blaidd.

After six weeks, the half wolf was already walking from one side to the other helping you with everything. Do you need help carrying a box full of absolutely nothing? Of course not, but that means nothing to Blaidd. Before you know it, the half wolf was following around like your own shadow.

And, before you know it, blaidd decided to follow you to one of your late-night showers in the river, thing that made you feel uncomfortable... But his wounded puppy expression made you change your mind and just let him follow you around.

As Blaidd and you arrived at the waterfall where your found him, his personality changed radically. He seemed to be afraid that even the smallest and most fragile blade would hurt you. Almost as if a thousand unseen assassins would leap out of the shadows if Blaidd took his eyes off you. You approached the crystal clear water and, in an attempt to ignore the constant warnings of the half-wolf, you took off your boots to wipe your feet.

Blaidd stood by the edge, from a safe distance. Blaidd clearly seemed not to like the idea of ​​taking a bath. As you wiped your feet in the moonlight you gave the half-wolf an accusing look. Your look said: "Are you planning to stay and watch?". Which seemed to annoy him a bit, but after a "Stare-Combat", Blaidd gave up.

"I'll go for a walk, I need to make sure no one comes snooping around while you take your clothes off" Blaidd said with a more authoritative tone than he had ever used before. You responded to Blaidd with a confused and shy nod. And before you even knew it, Blaidd was gone (Which made you feel relieved).

You felt a strange weight on your conscience for being relieved to see Blaidd leave. "He doesn't do it with bad intentions, he's just worried…" you thought as you proceeded to remove your mud-darkened rags. You left your belongings on the shore and proceeded into the depths of the lake. The sound of the waterfall calmed you, for a moment you forgot about Blaidd and his injuries. Now you were just the crazy person who lived in the forest as a hermit, you felt a relaxation and a satisfaction that you had not felt in weeks. Exactly since you dragged the half wolf to your home.

You were so relaxed that you were unable to hear the strange man enter the lake. Like the stealthiest of all snakes the bandit approached with a smart and methodical step, he seemed to want to make sure you didn't hear him, clearly he wanted something more than just your life…

In a fleeting moment, you felt the vibration of the water next to you, and you were able to distinguish the strange figure raising a rusty dagger towards you. But, at the same time that you noticed the figure, you also noticed the giant wolf grab him by the throat, with his claws as sharp as the most lethal of all spears, he tore part of the man's face, and, with a savage movement, he bit the man's neck, causing it to rattle like a weak twig.

In the blink of an eye, next to you, lay the floating corpse of a man you had never seen before in your life. His blood stained the crystalline property of the lake you loved so much. Blaidd's eyes looked at you with an accusing gaze. But, eventually his gaze faded into an expression of compassion and concern. The half wolf approached you, ignoring the corpse of the man floating right at him.

Your legs trembled and tears fell from your eyes like a waterfall. The half wolf brought one of its blood-stained claws close to your face in an attempt to remove the tears from your eyes. With a clumsy movement, you moved away from Blaidd as best you could, managing only to fall on your ass as the sound of the waterfall deafened your attempts to scream and the water made sure you didn't get very far.

Blaidd grabbed one of your legs, digging one of his claws into your foot. You screamed like a pig about to be slaughtered. And, with impressive strength, Blaidd pulled you close, bringing you face to face with him. The half-wolf seemed to be in a trance, his face and muzzle tinged with crimson red. And without a word, he proceeded to pull you out of the lake, ignoring your nakedness. You screamed as loud as you could, but the only ones in that place able to hear you were Blaidd, the dead man and you.

You slapped his back, demanding that he put you down. And, without any emotion in his raspy tone of voice, he replied, "I told you it wasn't safe to come out… but don't worry. You'll be safe now, Y/N. No one will hurt you as long as I protect you." Soon, the forest enveloped your screams, as your giant and fierce protector dragged you into the darkness of the woods.

[ficthots]

Bonded: Chapter Six

A/N: Hello everyone! My absence has ended and I am back writing once more. I've missed you all and I hope this makes up for it. Please remember, this is a hobby and sometimes life overtakes hobby time. Luckily, things have seemed to even out for the time being. As always, enjoy and let me know what you think!

Word count: 5.2k+

Chapter Five

Weather holds more power than most people will ever realize. A planet’s atmosphere has wondrous effects on the life below which is why with each planet you travel to, you will experience a climate you never have before. It was one of the first things you noticed on this galaxy trek.

How one day you can look up and see the crystal skies beaming back down at you, offering immaculate views of the horizon far off in the distance. Yet, landing on another planet just the following cycle, storms wreak havoc over the innocent civilians down below unleashing a fury that blows eyes wide open in surprise and fear.

Demolishing anything that stands in its way, altering life as you knew it right before your very eyes. Watching as lives are ruined, some spared, others continue as before with little to no change.

Packing for such weather was difficult to do. Hence why nearly your entire wardrobe had been brought with you on this trip. As your cruiser descended on a tiny spec in the sector, the humidity pummeled you immediately. The condensation formed on the windows as a repulsive greeting and then dripped downwards towards the forever soggy ground.

A small sigh escaped your mouth as you knew how uncomfortable this short day was about to become. This wasn’t even a planet on your list. A courtesy stop if you will. An unplanned detour that you knew would only last the afternoon and early evening before continuing on with your actual planned route.

“I can only imagine what sort of creatures thrive in this type of environment,” Calista murmured with her nose almost pressed flush to the glass. Briefly looking up from your notepad you watched as Tamsyn began preparing for landing.

Only humming in response, there wasn’t much enthusiasm in your reply. You were exhausted. Having been traveling for nearly two entire months, your journey was finally nearing the end. Another week and you would be back home.

Home.

It was odd to think of the ship in that way, but that was what it was. Home. A sense of longing to go back to it, sleep in your bed, see Kylo. You couldn’t believe that you missed him.

Your eyes drifted to the string on your wrist. A gift before your original departure. A safety measure. A token of thought. That you were occupying his thoughts just as much as he was yours. As your thoughts descend into him, the rough landing of the ship jolted you out of your little world.

Tucking the bracelet under your thin gauzy sleeve, you stood as the ships door opened, allowing you to step into the jungle terrain. This was their opportunity to sell themselves to the Order. Explain how they could be of use. With what you could see, it wasn’t much.

Yet as you walked down towards the small gathered crowd to greet you, they were all beaming with enthusiasm to see you, the Empress, actually here visiting. Tamsyn and Calista were hot on your heels, your personal guard so close the armor he adorned nearly pressed into your side.

A precaution courtesy of Kylo and General Waylan. One you didn’t believe was necessary, but your own thoughts fell onto deaf ears. You weren’t even offered his name. No indication about who he really was.

He was just…there. All of the time. A shadow stapled to your own. When you moved, so did he. He was in charge of all the safety measures in regards to this trip. And he was certainly displeased to discover you made a decision to stop on this desolate crater without informing him earlier.

The leader stepped forward enthusiastically, his robes trailing on the moss ridden steps he descended to reach you. “Empress, we are beyond honored to welcome you here. Thank you for taking the time to join us.” As your eyes settled on the thin man, you nearly fell backwards. The striking resemblance had you hesitating to utter your own greeting.

An immediate cold sweat erupted over your body. The man looked eerily similar to the one who had lost his head at the gala. The gruesome memory flashed in your mind as you watched the lifeless eyes stare at you. Courtesy of your husband, but almost as fast as it hit you, the feeling faded. Almost as if he disguised himself when he saw your discomfort with his appearance. Those fully black eyes now had irises, the color still coal, but some ivory peeked out.

Perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you, you thought to yourself.

As he spoke, he clasped your hand within his own and brought it to his grayed forehead. There was something different about them as you took in the odd faces of the civilians. All looked different than each other, but it was as if they weren’t entirely real. A mask over their true selves. You weren’t entirely sure. But your guard was immediately up.

For being in such a bright and warm environment you couldn’t help but fight the chill that shot up your spine from the ice cold grasp he had. Their eyes almost one solid color, bordering on black, but not quite fully gone. They all appeared grey, no hint of color anywhere on their forms. The palace behind them appeared desolate.

The stark green vines enclosed around the sandstone brick that was almost completely gone beneath the never ending greenery. The varying creatures and animals chirped through the forest, cocooning the group in a symphony of songs. Not one of comfort, but one of warning.

A warning you ignored to heed.

Your hackles were raised without so much as a second thought. “It is our pleasure, Monton. I hope you don’t mind the short visit. We don’t have much time together, but I am looking forward to getting to know you and your people more intimately.” His smile stretched across his taut skin, making him appear less human as he did. Your pleasantries second nature to you despite the overwhelming sense of dread filling each of your senses.

A few hours was all you needed to muster through. Then back to the scheduled trip. You echoed that lifeline in your mind over and over to keep your nerves rested.

Stepping to the side, he gestured towards the ancient building. “Shall we?” Nodding in reply, you turned toward your guard. “We won’t be long, if we need assistance I will call.” His helmeted head only bowed before turning on his heel and ascending the stairs back aboard the ship.

You prayed you wouldn’t need his assistance. A few hours.

Tamsyn and Calista trailed behind you, not interested in any of the information this man was offering. Yet, they did not seem the least bit put off by their odd appearances or behaviors. It ran through your mind that you were being overly cautious. His similarities to the man from the gala had knocked you off your game, but no one seemed to pay that any mind.

You were hardly listening either. The entire time he spoke your thoughts were occupied with what rubbed into your wrist. The bracelet so delicately clasped around your skin felt as though it was burning an indentation, leaving its permanent trace behind in its remembrance.

“Your presence has been requested by the Supreme Leader, Empress.” You were sat in your living quarter, the final details of your galaxy journey had been finalized that afternoon and you were beyond spent. Pulling yourself up from the comfortable cushion, you followed the Order official to wherever they were leading you.

When you arrived at a section of the ship you didn’t recognize, you spoke. “Where is the Supreme Leader?” He stopped walking as he approached to extremely large doors that were monitored by three different entry systems. “Supreme Leader Ren's quarters, Empress.” He turned towards you with a subtle bow before turning and leaving you standing alone in the darkened corner.

You could recall the doors from your private tour with Kylo, but you had been brought an entirely different way and didn’t recognize where you were.

Not sure what you were supposed to do, you walked towards the different identification panels and attempted to solve how to enter. You weren’t entirely certain how long you were stood there, but when the door receded into the walls with a loud whoosh accompanying, you jumped up.

There he stood, helmet removed, gaze immediately pinned to you. “What are you doing?” He spoke, not a crack of emotion on his face, voice the standard deep monotone you were accustomed to. “Um, they said you requested me. I couldn’t figure out the door,” you nervously responded.

A slight tilt to the corner of his mouth was all you received as he returned inside. “Come with me.” You followed a few steps behind him. Eyes darting around to the new sights, the smell of him wafting over you entirely. It was incredibly neat, like no one had ever resided there.

The dark furniture was exactly what you expected. Everything drenched in reds and blacks, his signature colors of course. Almost cliche, you giggled to yourself. The sound alerted him, causing him to turn and face you to see what had you laughing. “What?”

Only shrugging you were still smiling. “Nothing. Just that your quarters are exactly what I expected. The blacks and reds, you know?” Your fit of giggles continued as he eyed you, eyes narrowing in your direction, a slight tilt to his head. Faded remnants of a smile graces his plush lips for only a mere second.

His head dropped, a small box sitting on the corner of a table. “Come here.” You immediately followed his orders, walking towards him and closing the distance. Knowing better than to try and battle him, you were nearly flush against him.

Grasping your wrist with his bare hand, electricity jolted through you. You despised when that would happen. Unable to hide the effect his simple touch had on you. This had been happening more and more. The more time you two spent together, which was occurring much more frequently, it only riled you up more.

His touch was incredibly delicate, the long and nimble fingers worked quickly and effortlessly. It was gone as fast as it had appeared. A slight twinge of sadness nestled in your stomach at the loss of contact. Your eyes never left the new addition on your arm.

It was simple, just a black string with a fabric you were not sure of, a small gemstone sitting squarely in the middle. A glow cast out around the unidentified stone, sitting on your skin. Eyes finally peeling away, you cast your gaze upwards to see his features already studying your own.

He never faltered despite the close quarters you two were currently in. “Specially made by request of myself.” Your brow furrowed in question, looking back down at it. “It’s a beautiful bracelet, Kylo. Thank you.” Offering a genuine smile, you felt warm.

Kylo had specifically gotten something made for you. Gifted to you by Kylo himself. You couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit more…special. That he was going out of his way to please you, bring a small sense of joy. Even if it was a stretch to anything more than him trying to appease you.

“This is for…my piece of mind while you’re gone, dove. If you are in danger, I can only use the Force to communicate with you when I feel the need to. I cannot always sense if something is wrong. I’m still attempting to sort out what this bond means and how to use it. For now, this will do.” His hand cupped your wrist once more, his thumb hovering over the gem.

Clearing his throat he continued. “You press this gem down and to the right. It will immediately track your location and notify me that you are not well. Promise me you’ll wear this the entire time you’re gone, dove?” The gentle tone in his voice had butterflies erupting in your stomach as he spoke so plainly with you.

A knot formed in your throat, but you nodded eagerly. “Of course. Thank you for this. So, just down,” he nodded, his hair lightly falling forward at his motion. “Down and to the right.” You smiled at the demonstration and peered back up at him.

Holding eye contact for the following few seconds was the most intense interaction you two had yet. Peering into one another, it was almost like you were able to communicate with him through look alone. A silent heartfelt thank you for caring about my safety. A glimmer of an unknown emotion first registered in his eyes, then his entire face, before fading.

Admiration? Joy? Something you didn’t quite know how to label because, well, it was Kylo. He only ever showed two emotions. Rage and annoyance. Nothing more, nothing less. A side to him that no one else ever got to see. Reserved solely for you. In these private moments.

Pride bubbled in you at the knowledge that no one else in the entire galaxy saw Kylo in states like this. His hardened facade broken. Not without great effort on your end. In fact, it had been painstaking work for months on end.

After Kylo request to attempt a new beginning with you, you decided to agree to his offer. Whatever that meant for him. After the first couple of days and no changes, no sightings of him, you reached out.

An invitation to accompany you at dinner that evening in your quarters. No response had been given and you were quickly losing hope that anything was going to change, an empty guarantee from him. Then, just as the table had finished being set and you were notified that dinner would be served as soon as you were ready, he entered your quarters.

Not able to fight against the smile that took shape on your face, Kylo looked extremely awkward. Unsure what he was supposed to be doing. Yet, attempting to make the effort. Even though it was almost pitiful to see his obvious discomfort.

Deciding to take the lead for the night, you welcomed him in. You weren’t quite sure of yourself enough to try anything physical like a hug, but you lead him into the dining room. Sitting at opposite ends of the table, you mainly ate in silence.

But he was there and that was a victory all in itself.

You didn’t ask him back the following evening, but he came back anyways. And nearly every night since then. Unless he was gone on a mission, it was almost a grantee that Kylo would be at your dining room table, enjoying a dinner with you.

As these meals happened more frequently so did the conversation. At first, extremely basic and generic, testing the waters to see how well you two could communicate. It didn’t take much time for you to warm up to him enough that you were constantly sharing stories of your childhood, upbringing as a royal, funny experiences you had since joining the Order as their Empress.

Kylo pitched in with conversation despite choosing to let you fill the void of his lack of words a majority of the time. Even cracking smiles, his eyes and features more life like and softened with happiness. You know you had made great progress when you got a laugh out of him for the very first time.

It had been like striking gold. A melody of tone you had never heard and weren’t sure you would ever again. Such a beautiful sound you never wanted to forget it, never wanted it to end.

The following night he had arrived at your quarters for dinner, you eyed the table set up. Grabbing your plates and utensils, you ushered yourself down to his end of the table, sitting on his left side just like at the meeting tables. His eyes watched your movements daringly, unsure of what exactly you were doing.

But when you seated yourself and gave him a large smile, he felt an almost sense of…relief. Having you choose to be so close to him. Something no one had ever done. Dinner carried on like nothing had changed.

The new behaviors of the infamous Kylo Ren had started to bleed out into other aspects of your relationship as well, including professional. One afternoon, you two walked the corridors of the ship together, chatting about your upcoming travel plans, when his hand landed on your hip, pulling you away from a wall of storm troopers rounding the same corner. His hand firmly pulled you into his side, his helmeted demeanor seething at the group. “Watch your movements.”

Instant apologies to Kylo and you were spoken. Your heart rate never went back to normal after that. At one supper, Kylo had asked you if you had ever flown a ship. He was instantly taken aback at your response of no. “When I return from this mission I will be teaching you how to pilot a ship.” You were giddy for his return, counting down the cycles until we was due back home. Unable to contain your excitement when Kylo had entered your quarters for dinner, you crossed the room and embraced him. A warm smile greeted him in accompaniment despite his entire body stiffening the way it did.

It didn’t phase you in the least. Speaking about how you had missed his presence at dinner. His cheeks warmed to a pink hue at the terms of endearment. He spoke, clearing the waver in his voice as he did. “I’m taking you flying tomorrow.”

The following day had been the best you two had ever spent together. That morning, Kylo appeared at your door and you followed him. What was supposed to be just a flying lesson turned into an entire formal tour of his section of the ship. He showed you where his training facilities were, where the Knights of Ren were located, the entry to his residence. You didn’t enter, but at least you now knew where he was located at.

The tour wrapped at the massive bay of ships in the hanger. You were nearly jumping for joy when you knew what was next. Wandering eyes monitored the two of you as Kylo led you towards the ships. A duo that was unanticipated. The Kylo Ren watching as the Empress of the First Order looked like an excited school girl.

You truly didn’t care. As you approached one of the ships on the fleet, you turned and beamed at Kylo. “This one, right?” He shook his head, motioning for you to follow him. Stopping in your tracks, your jaw hung ajar.

“You’re going to let me fly your ship?” The smirk that danced across his mouth had your heart doing somersaults. A squeal escaped your lips, rushing towards the tall man and crushing him to you in a hug. Your arms wrapped around his neck, feeling the soft locks of his raven black hair tickle you, your cheek pressed against his neck. It ended as quickly as it had happened. You didn’t look at his reaction before quickly climbing aboard the Supreme Leaders personal ship.

With only one seat in the cockpit, you weren’t sure how this was going to work for you to learn. Kylo followed you in and within a minute was situated in the pilots seat securely. Standing off to the side, you were about to ask where you were supposed to sit when his arm wrapped around your waist.

Grabbing you from behind, he dragged you effortlessly to his lap. You were in a fit of giggles at the fast motion. Adjusting yourself to sit comfortably for however long you two were about to fly, you were ecstatic to get on with your lesson.

Both of Kylo's arms came from the sides, caging you in as he grasped the controls and swiftly left the hangar. Despite thinking you were going to be taking up too much of his space and view, he flew the ship like it was nothing.

He was silent behind you despite your constant chatter and observations of the planets that flew by. As you two settled on a desolate planet, you were ready to begin. His warm breath fanned across your cheek and neck as he spoke, goosebumps erupting over your entire body.

Fighting the chill that shot up your spine, the slight tremble in your hands you were able to play off. “I’m nervous,” you chuckled, rubbing your hands across your pants. “It’s simple. Here,” he lifted your hands to grab the controls, his sitting over your own.

Given the nature of his sheer size in comparison to your own, you could hardly see your own flesh beneath his own. “Alright dove, you always want to make sure that these lights are on,” Kylo fell into his detailed explanation of the control panel and what each thing meant.

You weren’t sure you could place the exact moment he called you dove for the first time, the term of endearment awarded to you by friends and family, but it was almost second nature to him now. Mainly using it instead of your name or your titles.

It sounded different coming from him. Felt different. Like you only wanted him to use it. Holding a different meaning than everyone elses uses. You adored it. Waited for it to fall from his lips with baited breath each time. Knocking the wind out of you with each muttered dove.

It was safe to say that the flying lesson had not gone well. Apparently it was more of a natural talent activity than you realized. After nearly driving it straight into the ground, you erupted in laughter.

Kylo held onto the controls as you lost control of your laughter. He chuckled smally to himself. “Alright, we’re done for today. I don’t need you destroying the best ship in the fleet.” As your chuckles faded, still seated firmly in his lap, you smiled widely at him.

“Thank you for today. It was a lot of fun,” without so much as a second thought, you leaned in, hand cupping his jaw and turning his head towards you. It nearly happened in slow motion, that first kiss. Feeling the soft, tender flesh of his lips meld to your own. The shock waves that exploded over your body was unlike anything you had ever experienced. You never wanted to stop. But you did and when you pulled back and opened your eyes, you watched as his grip tightened on the controls, you smiled to yourself.

He cleared his throat, refusing to look at you. “You’re welcome.” Kylo left the next day for a mission that he desperately needed. Some space from you so he could catch his breath, readjust his bearings, figure out what was happening between you two. Why he wanted to be sitting at a dining room table with you instead of making progress that he needed to make.

Why he was dreading your trip. That he wouldn’t be near you for so long, unable to do anything to protect you while you were so far. He had his own copy of your schedule, but that wasn’t enough.

Instead, he assigned one of the highest regarded troopers to be your personal guard through the duration of the trip. One he knew you wouldn’t accept unless it came from someone other than himself. Waylan quickly agreed and you accepted with little word otherwise.

Perhaps he was slightly obsessed. Which is why he constructed the bracelet on his own. Something that would allow him direct access to you should you need him. Not that he wanted to bother you, but he still didn’t know the limit of the bond you two shared. Wanting nothing more than your protection covered while away from him.

Seeing your reaction to it as he placed it on you was a relief. Seeing that you seemed more sure of yourself wearing it. Knowing that you could contact Kylo as quickly as possible. A slight weight off your shoulders.

If only you knew what was in store for you.

The tour had dragged for so long and was so dull, you had sent Tamsyn back to the ship to prepare for your departure. The stories shared with you were sending alarm bells tolling your head. Far too similar to the mans from the gala to be purely coincidental. You knew at that moment why they had wanted you to come here.

When you had returned back to the palace you began to take note of some alarming things. Guards blocking each doorway and nearly every window, being led further and further through the maze of doorways and twisting hallways, the men that were directly behind you and Calista were seemingly moving closer and closer.

You knew something was seriously wrong when you entered what appeared to be a drawing room with no furniture present in it. Offering as polite of a smile and interruption you could, you spoke. “Would you mind allowing myself and my lady speak privately for a moment?”

The king nodded, ushering his men out with him, one last eye locking glance in your direction before shutting a door. You wasted no time, whipping around to face her, fumbling to unclasp the bracelet.

“I need you to listen to me very carefully, Calista. I need you to remember every thing I’m about to tell you.” She looked bewildered as you began to speak quickly. “You are going to leave this room as soon as I am done talking,” as the bracelet fell off, you cupped it. “You are going to board the transport and tell the pilot to not, I repeat, not go to the next destination.”

Calista had no idea what was happening. “What are you talking-” you cut her off. “Calista, please we don’t have a lot of time. They are going to be back any minute. These are the same people from the gala just with some sort of disguise on. They are going to attempt to track the transport which is why you are not to go to the next destination.” Her eyes quickly began welling with tears.

Stuffing the bracelet into her palm, you forcibly closed her hand around it. “You are going to get as far away from here as possible. An unknown world or moon or something, okay? As soon as you get there the Order will have already been notified that we have not arrived at our scheduled destination.”

She sighed, going to speak. “But Kylo-” You shook your head. “They won’t tell Kylo because they know he will not be happy and they will want to solve it themselves. When you get to wherever you go, you will activate this.” Calista opened her hand to look at it.

“Push down and twist to the right. It will immediately send a signal to Kylo with your exact location. He will get there very fast and when he does, he will be furious. Kylo will read your mind after you tell him about the events that have happened. You must tell him this was my plan, do you understand?”

She sniffled as you continued on. “I’ll be fine. I want you all to get to safety.” Calista pulled you into an embrace, whispering in your ear as she did. “I’ll-I’ll tell him everything,” you offered a relaxed smile to try and qualm her nerves. “Kylo will find me. Now, go. You need to go.” Pushing her towards the doors, she glanced once more at you before rushing away.

A shaky exhale escaped your lips, fear pummeling you at what was about to happen. The leader returned mere seconds later, a large inhuman smile on his features. “Ah, where did the beautiful Calista go?”

Smiling politely you spoke. “To ready the ship for us. I want to thank you for your generosity and enthusiasm today, but we do have a schedule to keep to.” As you took a step back, the leader and his men made one towards you.

“So soon, Empress? We were hoping to enjoy supper and share more tales of our people. Our traditions.” Sweat dripped down the back of your neck. “Unfortunately, it was a fast trip. Perhaps next time we can extend it.”

His smile fell immediately. All warmth snapped from him in an instant. “No. I think you don’t understand.” In the blink of an eye, both of your arms were restrained by the guards he had brought back with him.

The king crossed the room leisurely. “You need to let me go. You know they will look for me.” He smirked as he approached you. Twirling a strand of your hair around his straggly finger, he inhaled deeply. “No, I don’t think they will, Empress. None of you will be leaving here today.”

As soon as he finished, the roar of the transports engines flooded the palace. Barking out an order in an unfamiliar tongue, you let a devilish smirk cross your face. A snarl emulated from him as he whipped his hand back before making contact with your cheek, drawing a surprised gasp.

It was just the start.

Nearly two full days later, their transport ship collided with the rocky terrain of whatever desolate planet they had found. Calista activated the gem as soon as they landed and just as you had said, Kylo ship touched down not long after.

The burnt landscape around them displayed his anger that he had unleashed with his saber upon discovering you hadn’t gone with them. Almost the entire area around them had been decimated.

What you didn’t realize was that Kylo had been unable to connect with you. Despite all of his efforts, the moment he had been notified of your missing status, he couldn’t find you. Connect with you. Speak with you.

Perhaps too far from him. Given you weren’t Force sensitive, this was uncharted territory. One he didn’t realize had a location cap. When you had sent him the ping of your location, it was lie salvation had washed over him.

Upon discovering you were not onboard that ship and had sent them off without you, it only ignited his rage. Far beyond the point of anger, he couldn’t believe you had put yourself in this situation. One he didn’t know how to solve. Fix. Get you back to him where you would be safe and protected.

Kylo's robes whipped around him as he turned and stalked towards the group who had watched the entire scene unfold before them. “Notify all of the Order that my Empress has been taken and is missing.”

He climbed back into his ship, beginning the search for you. His Empress. His dove.

[icarus-does-fall]

Alr alr

Simon x piercer/tattooer reader

I did my best to make my idea a thing 🤷‍♂️

Dub-con!! Trans Simon but it's not a major plot point, might make another one where it is

I just have brainrot and productive energy

.𝆤࿙࿙࿚๋࿙࿚ ⊱♡⊰ ࿙࿚๋࿙࿚࿚𝆤. .𝆤࿙࿙࿚๋࿙࿚ ⊱♡⊰ ࿙࿚๋࿙࿚࿚𝆤.

Simon “Ghost” Riley, a simple man. A stoic and dealy man. A man who was claimed to have no emotions, no connections. To be a ghost. Yet whenever you were around, he seemed to be less of a ghost, he seemed to be human.

Then there was you. You were bright and filled with life, colourful to say the least as you were covered in tattoos and piercing, after all that was your job. The cherry on top, you loved- sometimes you loved too much and got yourself hurt.

He was spending almost all his money on booking appointments at your shop, he never had valid reasons to see you outside your parlour just to see you, feel you. Yet you never minded, Simon was polite, while he didn't always hold the best conversations he never made you feel uncomfortable like some of your other clients did.

Plus maybe you had started to develop a slight crush on the rugged soldier that was constantly spending his free time with you instead of going out with his mates. He made you laugh, smile, and he had an oddly safe feeling about him.

Simon had been away on deployment for nearly a year and the first thing he did when he got back was book something with you. It was a piercing, and one of a particularly sensitive nature- He was asking to get a jacob's ladder done.

You almost didn't agree. You liked the guy and piercing his dick? That seemed to cross a few too many lines, yes it was your job but you were still human and sometimes it is difficult to separate work from life. Simon instead though, he trusted you, you had the experience with it, and he wanted that specific piercing done.

So stealing your emotions and doing your best to lock them all away in a cage so deep within you it wouldn’t be easily found you waited for Simon's appointment time, getting everything ready in the back room- You doubted the man wanted to expose himself to everyone else in the shop… A low blush rose to your cheeks as your thoughts tried to wander about.

What if he liked the public scene?

After all, you didn't know much about Simon other than what simple conversation would allow. He had a dog- A german shepherd. He smoked, sometimes you’d smoke with him. His best mate was named Soap and he drank whiskey. And he was possibly trans? One of the first tattoos you did for him was scar coverups on his chest, but you weren't going to ask any questions. Scar cover ups were one of your specialties. Most people came to you for those types of tattoos specifically.

But his more personal details? Those you weren’t sure about.

Quicker than you thought the time for Simon's appointment showed up. He walked into the shop, looming like a shadow, before seeing you at the counter and his entire mood lightened up.

“Hey lovie.”

You rolled your eyes with a soft laugh. “Hey again Si, fill out your paperwork, I’ll get everything set up in the back for you. And how's that last tat treating you? It heal okay?”

Simon shrugged and then rolled up his sleeve, the newest addition was still slightly red but the tattoo seemed to have healed without issue. It was a bundle of wisteria flowers, one of the few tattoos that you were given full control over. It was just a space filler.

“It’s fine, the lads thought it was too… girly ‘suppose but I like it just fine.”

You pouted playfully while heading to the back room. “Aw ‘just fine’? Thought we’ve moved into actual compliments before you left, you get tired of talking all that much on deployment or somethin?”

Simon merely huffed as he filled out his paperwork and then placed it on the counter. He liked talking to you, he did. Just sometimes his words failed him.

After a few minutes you were ready and called him back. He listened like a well trained dog, raising from where he was sitting without a work and went to where you were. If he had a tail it would be wagging.

Simon closed the door behind him and simply stood there a bit awkwardly as you had just finished wrapping the chair for him to sit on. Your face flushed slightly, it wouldn’t have been noticeable if Simon was as trained as he was to notice the small details.

“You gotta strip Si-” Now your blush was noticeable, it flared brightly. “Not! Not completely! But you gotta lose the trousers before you sit down-”

Simon chuckled slightly at your flustered state. And whether he meant to or if it was all subconsciously done, he slowly undid his belt and took off his pants. You had to force yourself not to stare at him. He took his spot on the chair and got comfortable to the point it’d be easier for you to pierce him.

You rolled your chair in between his legs, your tray of tools right next to you. You looked up at him, doing your damnedest to stay professional. “This will hurt, like… a lot Simon.”

He nodded and sighed out softly, he was thanking every god possible right now that he had his mask on to hide his own flushed face. “I know, go ahead.”

Now Simon wasn’t huge by any means, but he wasn’t small either, but he was girthy. Something that sparked your interest though was the scar lines down there. He unknowingly sent butterflies straight to your stomach as you tried not to blatantly stare at his half exposed body.

With a steady hand but a shaky resolve you took his dick into your hand, tentatively wiping it down with a alcohol wipe and then marking where the piercings needed to go. You were doing three this session. Simon tensed up under your touch and a soft groan slipped past his lips as you began. You froze, mistaking that groan for discomfort and not something else.

“You alright Si, something feel wrong?”

He merely shook his head and then nodded, gesturing for you to continue. You did.

So you lined up the needle with the first mark and went through the skin.

“Fuck! Jesus lovie! Can't give a guy some warning before you stab ‘em?”

You chuckled sheepishly. “Sorry about that Si… First one alway hurts more than the rest, and we still gotta put the barbell in too.”

“Christ-” Simon sighed and laid his head back against the hair, he was trying not to pant or focus on how your hand felt wrapped around his dick- Or the thoughts that followed. He doubted you even liked him, plus it was damn near unprofessional to think like that while you were working.

You apologised once more before putting the barbell into the first piercing, Simon let out another groan as you did that, and then you wiped down the piercing, cleaning it of the small bits of blood that’d showed up. Then you moved onto the second one. Simon's groans got a bit louder and he was biting his lip to hold back the moans that threatened to slip out. The third one went in without issue as well, but by now Simons dick was aching- From both the piercings and how you had been handling him.

He was all but dripping precum with each new piercing and touch of your hand, which you both were trying to ignore. Your heart was racing and your face flushed, Simon was refusing to look in your direction as you worked.

As you pulled away after finishing cleaning him and then took your gloves off you casted a glance over towards Simon. “How's it look? Everything feel okay?”

Simon laid still for a few moments after you began your clean up before he sat up slightly and looked to see how the piercings were done, forgetting just for a moment that you were in the room and ran a hand across the piercings.

He unintentionally came with that action of his. All over the chair and his thighs. He groaned out quietly and moaned and then he blushed hard, becoming nothing but a flustered and stuttering mess.

“Fuck lovie- That wasnt supposed to, ain’t mean to… ‘M not that used to having it yet… I'm sorry, fuck im sorry lovie, makin a mess all over your work stuff not professional at all.”

Your face had gotten bright red and you’d froze in your spot, your eyes couldn’t help but to be drawn towards Simon's leaking dick which was now covered in cum. His words pulled out of your mini trance and hurriedly gave him a few paper towels to clean up with, but he was too focused on apologising to realise you were trying to help.

Taking a breath you tried to steel your nerves and then placed your hand on Simon's calf. It's what was closest to you and you didn’t want to make him- or you comfortable. “Si, calm down- it’s okay honestly… You think you're the first guy who's been a little sensitive after this type of piercing?”

Simon's blush was now visible, even underneath his mask, and he was still avoiding looking at you as he cleaned himself up. His words were mumbled and hard to hear and he was still slightly hard making things worse. “Well… Probably the first to like you as ya do it… As it happens…”

You still heard him though, and you bit your lip while trying to find the words. What were you supposed to do? Admit your possible feelings while he was half naked and covered in cum? Well… you probably shouldn’t but you wanted it. He was a sight to see like that, hell he was whining and desperate for forgiveness. That sight, those feelings, it made your stomach coil.

So what did you do? Breaking all your rules, every boundary you’d been trying to set this entire session, you touched him without having a job to do. Your hands traced along his bottom surgery scars- Simons hands stilled and he looked up at you confused.

“Wha-”

Your hands trailed down to caress his dick and gently you milked out the rest of his come. Simon's eyes fluttered closed and he was reduced to a moaning mess. “L-lovie, what are you doing? Wh-why? What?”

You continued to stroke Simon's dick, careful to avoid the piercings you just placed, technically, for everything to heal correctly you shouldn't have been doing that but you were being careful. “Just wanna show you it's okay, nothing to be sorry for, yaknow?”

Another strangled moan fell past Simon's lips and his dick was twitching in your hands, you looked up at him through your lashes and then leaned forward, kitten licking his tip for a few moments before fully licking him clean. One of his hands ended up threaded through your hair, not wanting you to pull away just yet until there wasn't any cum left.

Finally when you pulled away after he’d been cleaned up, he was gripping onto the chairs armrests and panting softly, you on the other hand while blushing looked similar to how a cat looks after catching the canary.

“Well damn lovie… Fuckin hell… Wasn’t expecting that type of aftercare-”

“You taste pretty good Si…” You laughed softly and licked your lips, “Can I get another taste later?”

Simon groaned out softly and slouched back against the chair he was sitting in again as he caught his breath and once his head was clear he got dressed again and then bit his lip as he walked over towards where you were.

“You're a different type of crazy lovie, make things interesting… It’s why you're my favourite.” He sighed and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Coffee sometime then?- Or dinner?”

You laughed and kissed Simon's cheek through his mask. “I do what I can~ And I would love to, been wanting that for a while actually.”

[death---dealer]

Thanks to my slutty friends on Discord ( thank you all i love you ), I'm trying something new. i am not leaving the planet of the apes fandom i promise JUST EXPERIMENTING.

❗❗Below content has HEAVY SPOILERS FOR DEADPOOL AND WOLVERINE. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK IF THAT IS A GODDAMN PROBLEM I'M NOT RESPONSIBLE IF YOU SPOIL IT FOR YOURSELF. THANKS. ❗❗ If you guys like this, i can write more if not then we're leaving this as is lmao.

Channing Tatum!Gambit x Female!Reader.

The exponential way that he flicked cards between fingers was amusing, the lightened shade of purple captivating your senses that it was difficult to quite pick out where the Ace of Hearts was going to land despite it holding itself stagnantly with sheer force of motion.  There was a smile on your face as a card, not the one that had been playfully teasing its existence literally weaving its way through Remy’s right hand, finally slid in front of you on the hardened and not polished wooden bench used to play. Not exclusively, you stared at the Mutant in front of you with a smug smirk as you plucked the card that slid along the coarse surface with ease due to his power sauntering it to you. 

The table was also used to eat when you were together and feeling chummy, the slower days in the sad existence of cast-outs when the others were not there and you and Remy were forced to be lookouts together. Never fun, the accent was difficult to decipher and you would blow through an entire bottle of Jack Daniel’s just trying to decode the phrases he used. Mixing in and out of Cajun French never helped, but it always left you feeling oddly comforted when the brunette referred to you as ‘Bele’. The table used for explosives here and there when a card had found itself too close to your hand when you reached for the playing deck to draw.

Playfully, you knew that he’d never do anything to intentionally hurt you after being in the Void for over a year now, but there was never certainty in the existence beyond time and away from actual realities. Counter-intuitive, it was used to knives embellishing themselves and carving our bits and pieces of chipped splinters from your first encounter with the  Mutant known as Gambit when you were found in the woods after being casted from your own safety net of a Universe.

“You know, my mom told me never to play cards with a thieving backstabber.” There was a cut in your voice that drenched Remy’s ear with minor flirtations, sharper than even a knife or his favored card to use to slice and dice. Narrow green irises that appeared darker, almost red in the firelight that crackled nearby on your expression, casted shadows of disillusion playing against them as he placed himself a card down.

“M’ Momma…” His head tilted to the side, the quaff of hair moving adjacent with the muscles in his neck, exposed for once to cater to your feasted eyes, skin that was not often left for the taking. The cowl of his head piece, the mirroring face plates around his ears and sweeping against his forehead were forgotten in place of comfort in the dead of night. Remy was handsome, and he knew it. At least, he appeared at times when you two were alone. It begged the question of what his true ability was. Charisma? Maybe, if you could understand him more frequently.

Allure? Most definitely otherwise you wouldn’t be there playing cards with him to begin with and you’d have joined Elektra on night patrol as you so often did to get away and get fresh air.  “Well, if I knew tha’ woman…” The left dealing hand rose itself up as he made a nonsensical gesture with it, swirling through the air before falling back onto the deck of cards and with one strategically placed shuffle, his hardened but teasing expression was alit with lavender cased with more pinkish hues to tease the smile that had ridden against his cheeks, “She ha’ told me… Neva… To play them cars’… With Bonne a rienne.”

“You know I can’t understand you when you talk like that, it’s all a slurred blur. You sure you need to be drinking that?” It was evident that what he had said was meant as a insulting intrgue. Pointing towards the freshly cracked bottle of Whisky next to the stocky build of Remy with your nose, you smiled as he trailed and mimicked your stare with a chortle.

“Tha’ makes m’ sound more clear. Bele,” He leaned inwards, the deck of cards that always sought his favor falling straight onto the table, face down. “Y’should know tha’.”

“Hm,” It was your turn to lean in, the holster that held your knives shifting with your weight as you drifted upwards, “Still can’t understand a word, you Cajun Bastard.”