#gwyneth writes

[dickwheelie]

here have the first few paragraphs of my retired holmes/watson fic that is currently at 13k and counting. hoping putting some of it out there will force me to finish it in a timely manner lol.

this is sort of a combo of canon and granada holmes, based on whatever vibes were necessary in the moment. enjoyyyy if ya nasty

____________

It was I who came to him, a few months before the end.

He had written me several times from his lodgings in the Sussex Downs, and so I had his address on hand for a visit I took in late June of that year. It was, I admit, a bit of a whim on my part, otherwise I would have sent a letter ahead, but then again I did not expect to be turned away and had only intended to stay for a few days, perhaps a week at the most. The fact of the matter was that year the summertime ennui had struck me with more strength than I could ever before recall, and with my practice closed for the season and my bachelor's apartments lonelier than ever, I felt I had no choice but to pay a visit to my old friend and colleague.

Holmes had retired to a rather modest cottage in the countryside, with a sizable bee farm, as he had so often spoken about in our younger days. I knew of this from his letters, of course--apparently the honey business was doing remarkably well--but it was another thing entirely to wander up the long drive and hear the incessant buzzing and humming crescendo as one approached the lines of wooden hives that dotted the back yard of the house.

I knocked at the front door with the head of my cane, which by then I was using full-time, but when no staff nor retired detectives arrived to greet me, I wandered round to the side of the house and through the back gate, which was latched but not locked. It was then that I caught sight of him, sitting smartly upon a metal bench at the apex of a small flower garden, a thin silhouette with a proud posture overlooking the lines of the beehives. His back was to the house and thereby also to me, but the bench sat a little off to the right from the gate so that I could see the outline of his profile. That proud, hooked nose, that pointed brow, the thin lips; in silhouette against the late afternoon sky he looked just as he might have back in our rooms at 221b, staring down at Baker Street from that upper window which at one time or another saw the entire world passing by underneath.

It was not my intention to surprise the man any further than my unexpected visit would undoubtedly do already, but taking a few steps across the grass towards him I realized that my footfalls were entirely silent, hidden beneath the unending buzzing of the bees. I might have called out to him, or made my presence known in some less startling way, but I did neither of these as I approached, silent as an Indian tiger in the underbrush.

At least, I had thought so. I was not a meter behind him when a sharp, clear voice cut through the breezy afternoon air.

"My dear Dr. Watson, you might have phoned ahead. I believe that is what the younger set call courtesy these days."

I could not help the bark of incredulous laughter that emerged from my throat as Holmes turned on the bench to face me, his eyes shining with mirth. Up close, with the full light upon him, I could see that he had changed considerably since our last farewell; his face, lined as mine now was, was even more angular than it had been, and indeed it was only those keen, grey eyes that had remained untouched in our decade apart. His hair was entirely silver, a quite distinguished look for his brunette, in my opinion, than the pale grey I had been left with.

He held a cane now, too, which rested now between his knees as he sat. His fashion, I observed, had not changed an iota; not in style, nor in color, nor in cut.

An almost unbearable fondness rose in my throat then, looking upon him in that moment, so familiar and yet so strikingly new. Perhaps if I had more of my wits about me I could have put all that he had taught me to some use and gleaned some clue as to his recent dealings, where he had been that day, what he had eaten . . . but I confess all my faculties faded away in the face of that wry smile, identical to that I had seen countless times across the breakfast table, in the armchair by the fireplace, facing me in a train car, next to me in a cab or in a concert hall. I had not realized, until that very moment, what a drought I had been in.

"Holmes," I said before any hellos, for they could hardly be of any use between us now, "you must tell me how you knew."

Read the rest on ao3!

[thelov3lybookworm]

Misapprehensions and Confessions

(moodboard creds to @sunshinebingo hehe she made it so pretty 🥹)

Day 1: First kiss

Summary: It has been a regular routine for Gwyn to seek out the spymaster for training. And when he suggests helping her out with getting reaccustomed to society, it doesn't take too much persuasion for Gwyn to agree. But when he doesn't show up one day, Gwyn takes up the liberty to accompany herself into the city.

That one decision is all it takes for it all to fall apart.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 3013

Warnings: none for this chapter, though theres going to be yummy angst in the coming parts heheheh 😋

A/n: SURPRISEE!!! WE'VE BEEN KEEPING IT FROM YOU ALL BUT ME AND POOKIE @sunshinebingo HAVE BEEN WORKING ON A GWYNRIEL FIC TOGETHER FOR @sjmromanceweek 🥹

heres the first part for the mini series for day 1 <3

Read on AO3 here

ANYWAYS, ENJOYYYY!!!🥳🥳🥳

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Gwyn's pov.

Gwyn adjusted her belt around her waist after making sure her white t-shirt was perfectly tucked into her high-waisted jeans, then turned this way and that in front of her mirror, her high ponytail swishing at her back as she assessed herself from every angle. Deciding she looked good enough for her weekly trip to Velaris, she walked out of her dorm room, closing the door behind her.

By the time she reached the balcony on the highest level of the House of Wind, her hands were slightly shaky and her cheeks a little flushed. And they had nothing to do with the pace at which she had climbed the steps to the man landing of the house. The reason why her heart was beating faster, chest heaving, adrenaline rushing and her lips were parted stood at the railing with his back to her in a black t-shirt and equally black sweatpants, the curls of his dark hair tousled as though freshly washed and barely towelled. The afternoon sun gilded the edges of his perfect silhouette and added a bright outline that complemented beautifully with the dark shadows swirling around him. 

Gwyn sighed wistfully. 

A few wisps of shadows rushed to her at the sound, as excitable and ticklish as they always were. Their nuzzling caused her to giggle and their master to turn around. 

“Hello, Shadowsinger,” Gwyn laughed, not yet able to look at him thanks to the shadows who wouldn’t stop circling her.

“Alright, alright, I missed you too,” she said to the shadows. “You saw me this morning at training. And you, little sir,” she pointed at one in particular, “stayed with me for a good hour after.” 

The one shadow booped her nose and settled on her shoulder and remained there even when the others moved away from her face so she could see their master. When Gwyn was finally able to look Azriel in the face, she found him staring at her with a look that caused her cheeks to burn. 

Gwyn wondered if she would ever be able to control her blushing in his presence. Wondered if the hazel eyes looking at her would ever not make butterflies come to life inside her.

Today marked the third month since their first outing. It had been during one of their private training sessions at night that Azriel had proposed to be her companion while she braved one of her biggest fears; exploring the world outside the library of the House of Wind. Three months of walking beside Azriel as he showed her around Velaris and a few other places of the Night Court, drinking in every information he offered, his advice and praises, leaning on him for security or simply comfort. Three months during which her gratefulness and admiration for him had grown exponentially, turning into something akin to what the protagonists in the novels she read felt for their love interests. 

Being an avid reader and a good observer, Gwyn knew that there were signs that did not lie. There were certain things heard and seen that hinted at those which remained unvoiced. The stolen looks and the smiles, the banter and subtle flirting, the touches that had gone from accidental to very much intentional and welcomed; all of these combined with the meddling and teasing from their friends and family made Gwyn hope that, perhaps, if she dared be courageous in ways she hadn’t been yet, she could live a life where her daydreams would be reality.

Unfortunately, no amount of reading or even praying had helped her take the leap from hoping to actually confessing her feelings to Azriel.  What if she wasn’t enough? Not pretty enough for this stunning male, not strong enough to be worthy of him, her mere 29 years no match to his 500 of existence and experience? 

And yet, the way those hazel eyes were looking at her right now, appreciating and silently approving of her chased away any doubts, his smile making them float away like the shadows that brushed her cheek as they made their way back to him. He extended a hand towards her.

“You ready, Berdara?”

Her name being voiced by his deep voice caused a fluttering in her heart. And a tingle in other places of her that she blushed even more just thinking about. It got worse when she took his hand and felt a shiver run up her arm at the feel of his skin.

“To spend time with you? Always.” She admitted with a smile.

Azriel brought her hands to his lips for a kiss on her knuckles worthy of a romance novel. Gwyn’s heart beat wildly in her chest as she followed him closer to the railing. As she had done many times before, she wrapped her arms around Azriel’s neck and allowed him to effortlessly lift her up bridal style.

Gwyn was enveloped in his arms and his scent, his shadows acting as another blanket that wrapped around them both. It almost felt like they were pulling Azriel and her somehow closer. 

“You still won't tell me where we're going today?” She asked. 

His wings began spreading behind his back, the sunlight revealing the blue and purple veining on them.

“You’ll see when we get there soon.” 

“Can you at least give me a hint?” She insisted. 

Azriel rolled his eyes. “As much as I hate to admit it for fear that your head grows bigger, you’re too smart for me to give you a hint without risking that you find out before we get there.”

Gwyn frowned at him, although she glowed inside at the compliment. 

“If it sucks, I’m putting a stop to our weekly outings.” She warned him with a lie. 

Azriel looked down at her with a tilt of his head. The smirk that tugged at his lips made him look downright sinful.

“You won’t.” He said. 

“How can you be so sure?” She raised her eyebrows. 

“Because,” he leaned down, his face now so close that the tips of their noses almost brushed, “You won’t dare deprive us both of our favourite day of the week.”

He shot up into the sky without warning. Gwyn squealed and buried her face in the crook of his neck.

She wanted to retort and challenge his last claim. But he was right. And he knew that he was right. It was something they had told each other before, word for word even. A confession that had come out during a picnic on a cliff overlooking the sea, in between a conversation about their respective pasts and another that had been filled with laughter. 

There had been another confession on the edge of her lips back then, threatening to spill out without her permission as he had cradled her cheeks to swipe away her tears. But fear had made her swallow it, just like it did every time they met up.

Gwyn had promised to herself that she would be brave and strong. But confessing one's feelings, she had realised, was much harder than luring a beast or cutting down any physical enemies. She was a Valkyrie, always ready to fight and protect. She had been trained to use every weapon that had been put in her hands and had learned how to turn seemingly harmless objects into deadly ones. Yet Azriel was a ribbon that she had yet to find out how cut.

One day, she vowed as she gazed at him while they flew above the clouds. Soon, she decided when he pulled her slightly higher and brushed his lips to her forehead. 

The flight to their destination was shorter than Gwyn had anticipated. They landed in front of a building at the border of Velaris. But while she had always seen it in a state of construction, now the green tarpaulin had been removed to reveal a place that looked like it had come out of a dream.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Azriel's pov.

Azriel had been on many dates. Romantic, platonic, work related. He had been to plenty.

But none compared to this.

The time he spent with Gwyn. Watching her smile freely, gave him a sense of purpose, a sense of him doing something right. She was beginning to open up to him, and it made him feel like he was on top of the world. The fact that she trusted him, no one else, to take her down to the city and get reacclimated to socialising after a traumatic event no female- or male, for that matter- should have to go through was truly a freeing feeling.

It made him feel like he was not just inherently bad, like he wasn’t just a sadist who tortured people for a living and a messed up sense of obligation. The tainted hands he owned, the shadows that he used to spy on people, they could be used to bring comfort, happiness.

They could make someone feel secure, safe.

Even now, as Azriel placed his hand gently on the small of Gwyn’s back, the feelings remained. He led her into the beautiful two-story white stone building with wide terraces on each level. Gwyn stared at the place in awe, marveling at all the green plants they had been able to fit on the ceilings and at every column and railings. Azriel watched with rapt attention as her eyes roved over every surface, wide with wonder.

As they climbed over the few steps that led to the entrance, he nudged Gwyn, motioning with his free hand. Her lips parted as her gaze landed on the fountain that glimmered inside no doubt what was the lobby, only confirming this place as coming out of a dream. It was the epitome of elegance and romance.

And Azriel wondered if she too described this place as that. As something romantic.

Wondered if she knew he felt such feelings. That there was a reason he brought her to such an intimate place.

He told her to wait, then hurried over to the reception. One of the workers dressed from head to toe in pristine white garments tinted with light gold shimmer led the two to a table in the far back.

The inside was almost opposite from the outside in that the outside seemed to be shining under the afternoon sunlight. The interior, though, was darkly lit.

Everything seemed mysterious, from the candles that hung from sconces, to the ones that stood proudly on the candelabras on the white cloth covered tables. Stained glass windows covered large portions of the walls, changing colour with every step they took, further adding to the dark allure. One moment, they displayed a plethora of reds, then blue the next step.

It was easy to assume the glass panes were most likely charmed.

The worker stopped at a table next to a window that displayed a beautiful portrait of a woman peering up at the skies, her eyes upturned and hands raised in prayer. It almost looked haunting.

Azriel hurried to pull Gwyn’s chair back for her, then walked over to the other side to settle down himself.

“Azriel, this place is beautiful.”

Even the syllables of his name rolling off her tongue made his ears turn warm.

“You think so?” She nodded, her eyes still wandering around. “So you like it?”

She looked almost offended that he’d even asked such a stupid question. “Of course I like it! Anyone would love this place. It is so beautiful.”

Azriel folded his arms over the table, smiling as he gazed at Gwyn. “It opened recently, so I thought we could try out the food.”

She nodded. “I’ve seen this place before, but I think they were under construction then.”

He hummed. “So, what have you been up to this past week?”

She groaned, leaning back in her seat and dragging her hands down her face. “Don’t ask. Merrill has been bothering me so much. It’s almost like she’s trying to kill me or something.”

Azriel raised an amused brow. “Why is that?”

Her brows furrowed in annoyance. “Are you laughing at me?”

“Me? Laugh at you? Never.” He raised his hands, his smirk widening.

She huffed. “Go away. I won’t tell you.”

He chuckled, mirroring her position. “I’m sorry, I won’t laugh. Please, tell me how the awful female has been causing you woe.”

“One day, I will force you to work with her, and you won’t be so amused anymore.” She grumbled under her breath.

It only took a bit more encouragement, but she finally began speaking, forgetting his initial disrespect to her frustrations. She spoke throughout the whole time they spent in that restaurant, and Azriel was only too happy to listen.

Time lost its meaning, and before long, they were walking side by side down the market square.

“Can we go home?”

Azriel glanced over at her, then towards where the sun was setting. “Why?”

She sighed. “I need to finish researching some nymph-fae relations from centuries ago. Merril wants me to hand them in before tomorrow.”

Azriel’s lips twitched, but he nodded dutifully, avoiding her narrowed eyes as he bent to scoop her into his arms.

“One day, Azriel. I will make you pay for making fun of me.”

Azriel only looked up to the skies, then pumped his wings, catching the breeze and gliding over it. She squealed, her hold tightening on his neck. Azriel found it adorable, how she never really got used to flying. Each time, she’d make surprised noises and cling to him tighter.

“Would it kill you to give me a warning?!” She said into the skin of his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

He’d be lying if he denied not warning her before jumping into the skies on purpose.

Lights were beginning to come on by the time he levelled out, and he squeezed Gwyn’s waist, prompting her to glance down. She smiled, her eyes tracking over all the tiny lights and their reflections off of the Sidra.

“I can never get used to this.”

He said nothing, just watched her. Sure, Velaris was beautiful and he himself remained in awe of the city, but nothing was more beautiful than Gwyn smiling. The way her eyes twinkled, the way her skin crinkled around her eyes and lips, the way her freckles shifted. Everything about her had him hypnotised, and he would never, ever, complain about anything in his life if he got lucky enough to see the sight all day, everyday.

For now, though, he was grateful he could even see the beautiful sight twice a day at training.

Too soon for Azriel’s happiness, his feet made contact with the floor on one of the house of wind’s balconies. It was the one closest to the library. He didn’t even know why he always picked this particular balcony to land on, but maybe in his subconscious, he wanted Gwyn to feel safer by landing in the place closest to her place of comfort.

Gently setting Gwyn on her feet, he straightened. She turned to him, and he knew what was coming.

It was a ritual, almost. After every outing of theirs, Gwyn would turn to him, smile, thank him, and then kiss his cheek.

It always left him a blushing mess.

He could see her preparing to rise onto her tiptoes, smiling up at him. Maybe if he kissed her cheek before she could, maybe he wouldn’t be left flustered?

Yes. And she might get shy and blush…It would be perfect, his shadows whispered excitedly.

But… no. It would be too forward of him.

Why? They complained.

Because I do not know if she is comfortable enough with me kissing her, he replied to them.

She likes master.

No. And even if she does, I do not know if-

Here’s the thing about his shadows. They were just that, shadows. Wispy, dark tendrils of smoke. But they could be corporeal when he needed them to be.

And being their own beings, when they wanted to be. 

So Azriel wasn’t expecting them to become semi solid at that moment as Gwyn’s lips were barely a hair's breadth away from his skin.

Nor was he expecting them to push against his other cheek, making him turn his head in surprise.

Azriel’s eyes widened as he realised the proximity between him and her. He only had a moment to turn his head away, hoping her lips would land on her cheeks.

Alas, he was too slow.

Her lips grazed his cheek, sure, but they also touched the corner of his. 

He froze, his gaze fixed on her face, the skin tinting a deep, beautiful shade of red. She pulled away quickly, her heartbeat so loud that Azriel could almost hear it.

He swallowed, his own heart beating in his throat. Blood rushed to his neck and ears as he looked at her, her eyes wide and lips parted.

I could get used to this sight, he thought.

But now wasn’t the time for such thoughts. He needed to apologise.

“Gwyn I-”

“Bye-”

They both spoke, then stopped. Waiting for the other to speak. Neither of them did.

It got so awkward to the point that Azriel sighed, taking a step away. Maybe it had not affected her as it did him. Maybe he had imagined her heart beating quicker. Maybe he imagined the blush on her face.

It was not a big deal, he wanted to tell himself.

But he knew that it was. A very big deal. At least to him.

But still, he bowed his head, offered her a smile. Motioned for her to speak.

“See you next week, shadowsinger.” She mumbled with a sweet smile. She didn’t meet his eyes, staring instead at the one shadow that had refused to leave her side the entire outing and was now wound around her wrist.

He watched her go, feeling the need to say something but fearing it wouldn't be enough.

It had never been before.

He had never been.  Not for himself, not for anyone.

But, for Gwyn, could he ever be?

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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[stargirlfeyre]

The problem I have with the Valkyries friendship. PT 1

I wasn’t going to write this because I usually can’t be bothered to care about the friendship among these three but if their fans are so obsessed with over analyzing Feyre’s relationships…why can’t we?

One of the main reasons people love to say that the Valkyries are better than than IC is because they would never choose anyone over Nesta but the problems lies in the fact that…they have no one to choose over her.

Let’s break it down.

Gwyn has no one in her life right now. No family and no close friends outside of the Valkyries. I mean you can say that she’s friends with some of the priestesses but close friends? The same can be said for Emerie. She has a family but an abusive one. She is an outcast in her community, runs her shop alone, and like Gwyn has no friends outside of the Valkyries.

Their friendship with one another isn’t even treated as important as their friendship with Nesta. Because of this they look less like a trio and more like Nesta and Gwyn//Nesta and Emerie.If one of them is mad at Nesta who are they going to go to? The other person in their group who also is friends with Nesta and has loyalty towards her? Y’all say that Gwyn and Emerie would never put anyone over Nesta and does that include one another? Is their loyalty and friendship towards Nesta more important than the one they have with each other? In canon it sure is treated as such.

Praising the Valkyries because they would never put anyone above Nesta is not only a void point because they have no one to put above her, but it’s also reinforces the toxic view a lot of Nesta fans have when it comes to her relationships. They don’t want her to have friends, they want her to have followers. They want undying loyalty and turn a blind eye to the obvious shitty writing when it comes to Gwyn’s and Emerie’s relationships outside of Nesta because them lacking those relationships means that Nesta will always have that undying loyalty.

A problem that people have with the Valkyries is they aren’t their own characters when you really think about it. A lot of their characterization surrounds Nesta. And that’s why Nesta’s fans have zero problem with them. Whereas when it comes to the Inner Circle they are their own people before they are Feyre or Rhys’ friends. They have multiple people who are important to them instead of their lives just revolving around this one person. Their relationships with one another is equally as important as their relationships with Feysand.

Gwyn and Emerie are less characters and more like tools for Nesta’s healing journey. All confirmed when, after hearing about how Nesta abused her sister, Emerie of all people went on to say she’s absolved of any fault. Emerie, who is a victim of familial abuse herself, thought it was her place to forgive Nesta’s abuse towards other people. You genuinely want me to believe that some of the things these girls do weren’t written with the sole intention of healing Nesta?

They are not their own people. That’s why it’s easy for this fandom to self-insert onto Gwyn and blatantly ignore Emerie. They don’t have a big enough presence in these books to force you to pay attention to who they actually are. Without Nesta they kind of just fade into the background. You can hate or love members of the IC but at the end of the day you see them.

There’s also a lot to be said about their relationship from Nesta’s end and why she latched onto them…

[nessiandefenseattorney]

Nessian, Gwynriel, Emorie

three brothers three sisters who? more like The Valkyries bringing half of the Inner Circle to their knees by just existing.

Good for them I too would have gone down to my knees for my favorite girls

[sserrafeim]

Gwynriel moments I think about a lot:

- When Gwyn asked Azriel for dagger lessons. Was she shy? Did he ask why she wanted to learn that specific weapon? Did he accept immediately or was he skeptical? How did their lessons go afterwards? Were they an every day thing or not? Did they stop or are they still going on after the Blood Rite? Has Azriel given her her first pair of daggers yet?

- The moment Azriel left the present for Gwyn. Did he think about it afterwards? Did he keep thinking about Gwyn’s reaction to the present for the rest of the day? Did it make him feel more relaxed that day?

- The Solstice night. Did Azriel sleep well after he spent that time with Gwyn? Did Gwyn sleep well after that?

- Did Azriel subconsciously make notes of Gwyn’s progress in training? Was he proud with how much she’s learned?

- Was Gwyn stealing glances at Azriel when he was training the priestesses?

- What was Azriel’s first thought when he learned that the girls had been taken to the Blood Rite? What was his reaction when she and Emerie were transported to the River House after winning? What did he think when she recounted her experience? Was he proud of her smart thinking and the spying skills she showcased?

Now into more headcanon-type scenarios:

- Nesta, Gwyn, Cassian and Azriel enjoying a slow afternoon in the House of Wind. Nesta and Cassian in typical mate behaviour are all over each other, leaving Azriel and Gwyn to talk to each other. They are talking for a long while about various topics. Both are relaxed, Gwyn is sitting on the soft couch drinking her tea and Azriel is sitting next to her, his wings relaxed and the shadows floating slowly around them. They are so absorbed in their conversation that they don’t notice Nesta and Cassian smiling at them.

- Azriel needing help with his research for a mission and asking Gwyn. Them sitting at a desk in the library surrounded by books. Gwyn talking animatedly about a topic she likes and Azriel is marvelling at how her teal eyes are shining in the candlelight and reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair from her face, making Gwyn stop immediately and blush. They are sitting there looking at each other in silence. Gwyn can’t take her eyes off of Azriel’s face and how the candlelight makes his eyes look as if they’re dipped in gold, Azriel is mesmerised by her round, teal eyes and the freckles that decorate her face. Later, Azriel is helping Gwyn shelve all the books, carrying them for her, and Gwyn is happy she’s walking in front of him because that way she can hide her blushing mess of a face better. Azriel starts visiting the library more often after that day.

- Cassian and Azriel are training shirtless and Gwyn has a great time staring at Azriel. No, she definitely wasn’t staring at him, you’re mistaken! She totally gets teased by her friends for it.

- Azriel overhears Gwyn saying that she wants to visit the city sometime and later he volunteers to fly her down.

“I happen to be an excellent tour guide.”

“Ah… let me guess, your side job?”

“Unfortunately, being a spymaster doesn’t pay well.”

“You’ll have to file a complaint to the High Lord.”

“I’m afraid so.”

I might add more later.

[thevalkyriesshadow]

I have a naughty Gwynriel fic idea I'm planning for October 😈

Claim Me by TheValkyriesShadow

Priestess Gwyn works as a healer in a small village. One day, a stranger appears - terribly wounded. Gwyn takes him in and cares for him, but slowly begins to realize there may be something more to the stranger she's welcomed into her home. Something more...sinister.

Read a sexy little snippet under the break!

Please note, this snippet contains acts of voyeurism and mentions of breeding kinks.

I've been watching this quaint cottage in the middle of the woods for three days. I was first drawn in by the enticing smells that wafted from it; the rosemary and lavender that hung drying in the windows, a hearty stew cooking on the stove, and something else, something…salacious.

No one came out the first night. Just a figure drifting past the windows, their shadow illuminated by an array of candles inside.

They must be a healer, for the next day many people came to the cottage; an elderly woman, a young boy, a pregnant couple…

I grow ravenous as the smell of the fetus yet born met my senses.

Soon. I tell myself. Soon.

Despite half the village coming and going, whoever lived in the cottage never came out. Until the third day of my watch. I was diligent and patient. I knew what I wanted - what I needed - was in that cottage.

Good things come to those who wait. Very, very good things.

The sun was just setting on another busy day for the healer. Gathering herbs is what brought them, brought her, out from the cottage.

My heart all but stopped. She was perfect. Beautiful. I couldn't stop staring at the way her copper hair glowed like molten metal in the low light. The way her eyes - bright like the twinkling sea water - glowed as she hummed a tune. Her voice as she sang, was like a beacon, drawing me near. Her hips, swaying side to side as she bustled around her garden…

The perfect hips. Sat just wide enough to hold my heir in her womb.

I breathed in deeply, my chest rumbling. That scent. The scent I'd been trying to place…it was her. She had that wonderful, lustful scent that had invaded my senses and mingled with the herbs and food she made. 

I stilled. She was standing straight like a rod, like she'd heard something. Heard me. Crouching in the trees. Watching…waiting….

She turned around, perhaps deciding that the low growl she heard was not the rumble from deep in my chest, but something else, a bear or badger…but not me. 

Whoever she was, she didn't know I was out here. Had no idea what lurked in the woods surrounding her cottage. If she did…she wouldn't have left her curtains open. 

Nor would she be undressing.

My cock, already hard from her scent on the wind, strained against the restricting pants I wore. I watched as she let her light blue dress fall to the floor revealing a white silken slip underneath. Her nipples hardened against the cool, autumn breeze that blew through the trees and into her window. I wanted to taste them. Touch them. Suckle them. 

She let one strap fall, then the other and by the gods, good and evil…She was perfect.

Her milky, white skin scattered with rust colored freckles glowed in the dim light. The shadows played with the curves and lines of her body. I was jealous of the natural shadows of the world, feeling her - touching her.

I could. If I wanted to. I could send my shadows out and caress her skin and she wouldn’t know. Would think it is just a string of fabric or a bit of hair.

But - no, this female…this female would know. She’d sense the strange touch of my magic. 

I couldn't place why or how I came to this conclusion. It was this new, inherent feeling I had....perhaps it was the way she diligently checked each and every herb she plucked from the garden earlier. Making sure every piece she took was meticulously inspected. Or how she was currently meandering her room, book in hand, and completely naked. She was an enigma to me. Studious, yet free-spirited. Self-aware, yet careless - leaving her curtains open at night when anyone could peer in.

So for now, I hold them back and enjoy her figure from afar.

Soon.

Soon I’d get to feel her pert breasts, her silky hair, and thighs carved of muscle beneath my hands. Soon I’d get to mark her, claim her, fill her…make her scream my name into the night.

Soon.

Soon she would be mine.

[nisbanisba]

Last night’s episode really bummed me out so here’s a little sickfic-let from my drafts

“Are you sure you want to come in?” Gwyn asks Carlos at the door of the Strand-Morgan residence in lieu of a greeting. “Owen and TK are both sick. And extremely whiny.”

“Not sick,” comes a raspy chorus from the living room.

“And I do not whine,” adds Owen. In a rather morose, elongated tone that is definitely not a whine.

“I’m gonna take my chances,” Carlos says with more confidence than he feels. “TK texted me that he’s totally fine but he just has an irresistible craving for matzo ball soup, so –” he holds up the bags from the deli he stopped at.

Gwyn gives him a smile that makes him feel more seen than he’s comfortable with. “Oh, you’re a good one. I like you.”

Carlos shuffles his feet. “Um. Thank you?”

“You can just drop that off with me, save yourself from the germ warfare,” Gwyn suggests.

He could, but TK’s texts had also pleaded for cuddles, and Carlos is a weak man when it comes to his still-fairly-new boyfriend.

“I’m gonna risk it,” he tells Gwyn, resolute.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Inside, Carlos finds his boyfriend curled up on the uncomfortable couch under several blankets, wearing a familiar-looking hoodie.

“Hey, TK,” he smiles. “I’ve been looking everywhere for that sweatshirt.”

TK looks up at him blearily. “Sorry,” he rasps. “You can have it back if you want.” He makes a lethargic, uncoordinated attempt to tug himself free before Carlos stops him.

“I’m just joking. You look like you need it.”

“I’m not sick,” TK assures him. “I’m just really tired. And it’s cold in here. And my allergies are acting up.” He sniffles pathetically.

“January allergies, those are a huge issue here for sure,” Carlos says, nodding seriously.

“Really?”

Carlos laughs. “No. I don’t think so, anyway. But do you think a hug would help?”

TK nods eagerly, then coughs into his sleeve. “Even though I’m all gross? And my parents are here?”

Carlos is infatuated enough with this boy to truly not care about his current grossness. The presence of both Captain Strand and Gwyneth Morgan intimidates him a bit, but TK is listless and red-nosed and it’s honestly hurting Carlos a bit that he hasn’t hugged him yet. He’s addicted to the way he can make TK go relaxed and boneless in his arms, all tension released, at least for a moment. He wants TK to always feel this safe with him.

“I can handle it,” he whispers to TK, sliding onto the couch and wrapping him up in his arms. TK breathes a raspy sigh of contentment, then coughs into Carlos’s neck.

“Ew,” says Carlos, jerking back.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” TK ineffectually scrubs at the contaminated spot with the cuffs of his stolen hoodie.

Carlos shakes his head and draws TK close again. “It’s ok. I knew what I was signing up for when I came in.”

“You’re sweet,” TK tells him, leaning his head on Carlos’s shoulder and putting a hand on his chest, his fingers tracing patterns on Carlos’s sweater.

“I just wanted to see you,” Carlos whispers back. He can’t believe he gets to have this, this quiet domesticity with this beautiful, brilliant boy.

“Ugh, you shouldn’t look at me like this,” TK whines, turning his too-warm face into Carlos’s shirt. “I look like dog shit right now.”

“He brought your soup,” Gwyn calls from the kitchen.

TK leans back a little, his glazed eyes lighting up. “From the deli by your station?”

“As requested,” Carlos confirms. “Demanded might be a better term.”

“Don’t be mean.” TK pokes him in the chest. “I’m si–” He clamps his mouth shut quickly.

“What was that?” Carlos prods, grinning.

“Nothing.”

“No, no, it sounded like you might have a specific reason for wanting soup.”

“I’m homesick for New York?” TK suggests. He starts coughing again and grabs a tissue to hack into. He’s shivering hard when he stops.

“TK, you can say you’re sick,” Carlos says gently, pulling TK’s back to his chest and resting his chin on TK’s shoulder. He rubs TK’s chest through the stolen hoodie. “You’re really warm, babe.”

“I’m fine. You can keep doing that, though.”

Carlos rolls his eyes but slips his hand underneath TK’s layers to rub his sore muscles.

“I don’t think I can go out tonight. Not because I’m sick. I’m just super tired.”

“Quiet night in, then?”

“You would stay here with me?” TK cranes his neck and looks at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“Nowhere I’d rather be,” Carlos whispers back.

[bibliophiliaxvignette]

To my wonderful @acotargiftexchange giftee @shadowriel I am so excited to reveal myself!! I couldn't wait a moment longer! When I saw you were my giftee I was thrilled! I am a huge fan of your writing and fangirled for a moment. It has been such a joy getting to know you and I hope we key smash in each others DMs from now on because your taste is impeccable and I love you.

My gift to you is Pinky Promise, a spicy and sweet workplace rivals Gwynriel inspired by everything that is good about romcoms. I took inspiration from Ali Hazelwood, Sally Thorne, and Emily Henry and I hope it makes you giggle and kick your feet like all romcoms should!

Snippet below the cut! Read on AO3

Speed walking as quickly as she could into her office, Gwyn huffed as she dropped her overlarge purse onto her messy desk.

“You’re late.”

She spun to glare at her office mate.

“I am two minutes late.” She snapped.

“You still used the word late in that sentence, Berdara.”

Azriel smoothly stood and strolled around his desk to lean against it with his arms crossed, staring at her.

Gwyn rolled her eyes, refusing to admit she didn’t have a retort to that.

Also a huge shout out to @temperedink for being my beta reader and my cheerleader all throughout this process!

[sunshinebingo]

Gwynriel - 600 words - Just fluff

Inspired by the picture used in the title card, and a conversation with some friends on discord. I wish I remembered who was in that discussion so I could tag them specifically. Sorry guys 🥺

"It was a beautiful mystery, she thought as she gazed at him, how some people came together as intuitively as the laws of nature. Were such people born already belonging to each other, or..."

Gwyn pauses. She lifts the hand that isn't holding her book to cover her mouth as a yawn break from her lips. She turns the page and continues to read aloud, her hand going back to playing with the silky hair of the male who is holding one of her legs hostage.

"...or was it some gods who, after much observation, placed them on the same path? She had never truly unders..."

Her voice starts to come out a little slurred. Her eyelids droop. The words on the page start to merge, the c blending into the e, the same e that looks no different from an a. She yawns again.

Gwyn picks up the blue ribbon she uses as a bookmark from her lap and places it in between the pages before closing the book.

Her arms rise above her head as she stretches her body to get rid of the stiffness that has settled in after hours of sitting on this couch.

Azriel grumbles. He hugs her left leg tighter, preventing Gwyn from straightening it properly. She huffs and brings both of her hands to his head to push him away. But all pretence of annoyance is erased from her face when she looks down at him.

Gwyn can't stop herself from smiling at the sight of one of the scariest looking and broodiest male that she has ever known holding onto her leg like a child would their comfort blanket. His large body is turned on his side with one of his feet dangling off the end of the couch. His bare chest rises and fall with each slow breath he takes. There is a slight furrow to his brows, no doubt from Gwyn having apparently so rudely dared to interrupt his sleep.

She brushes away the few curls of his obsidian hair that have fallen on his forehead. The sound that rumbles out of him when her nails gently scrapes along his scalp is akin to the purr of a contented cat. Gwyn's whole body shake from her giggle despite her attempt to stifle it. Azriel grumbles again and tightens his hold on her. Any tighter and he will cut off the blood circulation in this leg.

"Can I move?" she asks with a light tug on his hair.

"No," Azriel mumbles, his deep voice barely audible. "You're stuck with me."

He nuzzles his face against her leg. One of his hands glides higher and stops at the seam of her sleeping shorts where his thumb starts caressing her skin.

She shakes her head. Of course she is stuck with him. She smiles. But there is no one else she would rather be stuck with.

Very slowly so as not to awake the grumbling sleeping beauty, she slides herself lower on the couch until she is mostly lying down and she can place her head on the armrest. She adjusts the few cushions she can reach beneath her head and at her sides. Gwyn sighs when she finally manages to get somewhat comfortable.

Unable to properly kiss him goodnight, she kisses her own fingers instead and lightly slaps them on the small part of his face that isn't buried between her leg and the cushion beneath it.

She picks her book back up and opens it again, intent on reading incomprehensible words until they put her to sleep. Her other hand returns to its rightful place in Azriel's hair. Tomorrow she will need to find a way to remind him that he is also stuck with her. She hopes that eternity won't be too much for him.

[inkywhisp]

after reading the Azriel's BC for the first time today, there is one i have to get out (even if it is nothing new):

it would have been SO EASY to make it a good chapter about eIriel. make az say he likes being around elain, she makes him comfortable or calm or anything.

but NO

he only has sex-fantasies about her? wants her because he thinks he "deserves" her? cmon its not that difficult to say something nice about why you want to kiss/be with Elain.

and one of the few things we know about Elain is that she wants a partner who sees her. and if anything, that just proves that Az doesn't. he only likes the idea of her (and that she is pretty)

it would've been easy for sjm to write them in a way that makes us excited to see more of their dynamic.

because she managed exactly that with gwyn. they were comfortable with each other, joking around and showed that they had a good dynamic between them.

now that was a set up for a love story. not the trainwreck that was eIriel.

[clockwork-ashes]

@sjmromanceweek

Summary: Gwyn and Az go on their first date.

Gwyn had been feeling remarkably brave lately.

Just a couple of months ago, Gwyn had started going on weekly outings with Nesta and Emerie in the city, simply because she felt like it. Just last week, she’d spent several days in Dawn studying some ancient scrolls with no one but Merrill and Ananke as company. Just yesterday, Gwyn had gone with Azriel, Nesta, and Cassian to a new bookshop-cafe overlooking the Sidra.

And just that morning, when Azriel had suggested they go for dessert – only the two of them – Gwyn had said yes without a moment’s hesitation.

Gwyn had, of course, run to Nesta with the news. Gwyn had found her friend curled up on the comfortable couch by one of the library windows, reading a new book. She had thrown herself at the seat, speaking quickly and without a care about having interrupted Nesta’s quiet reading.

“I have to tell Cassian,” Nesta had said, triumph in her blue-grey eyes, her book forgotten at her side. “I knew it, I’ve been telling Cass all week that Az was going to ask you on a date.”

Gwyn had hoped that was what Azriel had been intending, but she had not been entirely sure. All the same, when Nesta had offered to braid her hair and help her find a pretty dress, Gwyn had been quick to take her up on the offer.

Az had come to her dressed in all-black, looking as lovely as ever, and acting as though there was nothing happening that was out of the ordinary.

When Az had taken her hand in his much larger one to winnow them from the House of Wind onto the still-sunny streets of Velaris, Gwyn had brushed it off as a friendly gesture. When Az had not immediately let go, and then had proceeded to interlock their fingers as he led her down the busy, pedestrian-filled walkways, Gwyn still wondered if perhaps she was overthinking and simply assuming Azriel had any sort of romantic intentions.

Perhaps Nesta’s enthusiastic claim that Cassian now owed her for always being right about everything had given Gwyn the wrong impression and had unnecessarily raised her hopes.

Two slices of cake and three cups of coffee later, Gwyn could state with great confidence that Azriel had, in fact, asked her out on a date.

Azriel was holding her hand again as they left the quiet cafe, and Gwyn’s cheeks hurt from how much she’d been smiling. His shadows were trailing lazily behind them, more coming to follow now that the sun had gone down. Azriel held her hand as they walked along the city streets, undeniably so much lovelier at night, all the way back to the House of Wind.

“I don’t believe you.”

“And yet,” Azriel said, a smile in the tone of his voice.

“Black can’t be your favourite colour,” Gwyn shook her head, a few copper strands of hair freeing themselves from her intricate braid, “Too predictable.”

“I also like very, very dark shades of blue,” he replied, amusement lacing the words.

Gwyn’s laughter was loud, unguarded, as Azriel winnowed them right to her room, just outside her door.

“I had a really nice time,” Gwyn told him, hoping he felt the same. She placed her hand on the doorknob just in case Azriel had had an awful night and she needed to escape to her room and not have to face him until training.

“That’s a relief,” Az smiled, and Gwyn thought she had never seen anything lovelier. “Nesta threatened to gut me with a soup spoon if you came home unhappy.”

Gwyn laughed and one of Azriel’s shadows darted towards the fingers she still had lingering by the door.

“Goodnight, Gwyn.”

Gwyn was planning to wish Azriel a goodnight, maybe even be forward enough to suggest they do something like this again sometime soon.

The Gwyn of a few months ago would have done just that, but she was feeling a small pull, ever so gentle, towards Azriel. And, as Gwyn had noticed, she was feeling remarkably brave lately.

Azriel was standing so close, his wings making it seem as though only the space between them existed. Holding his wrist, careful to make it quick so she would not lose her courage, Gwyn got on the tips of her toes and kissed Azriel, only for a brief moment, on the lips. She felt her cheeks burning, her heart beating thunderously in her ears.

“Good night,” Gwyn breathed, rushing into her room to rather rudely slam the door shut. Despite her best efforts not to give Azriel one last look, she still managed to catch the surprised smile on his face.

[thelov3lybookworm]

Misapprehensions and Confessions (part 2)

(moodboard creds to @sunshinebingo🥹)

Day 2: First Fight

Summary: It has been a regular routine for Gwyn to seek out the spymaster for training. And when he suggests helping her out with getting reaccustomed to society, it doesn't take too much persuasion for Gwyn to agree. But when he doesn't show up one day, Gwyn takes up the liberty to accompany herself into the city.

That one decision is all it takes for it all to fall apart.

•○●⛦●○•

Word Count: 3943

Warnings: angst hehehe, misunderstanding, azzie is a dummy but sweetheart cassian is there to make you happy 💪🏻 a teensy bit of an argument, but i think thats it?

A/n: heres the second part for the mini series for day 2 of @sjmromanceweek❣️ writing the angst was so much fun honestly, LIKE IT GAVE ME LIFE 🥹🥹🥹

once again, it was so good doing this collab with my love @sunshinebingo 🥹 ily so much omg thank you for doing this w me😭🥹

Read on AO3 here

ANYWAYS, ENJOYYYY!!!🥳🥳🥳

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

Gwyn’s pov.

Next week came, but the Shadowsinger did not.

Gwyn had been waiting for almost an hour at their usual meet up spot in one of the sitting rooms in the House of Wind, having snagged a book from the library to flip through as she waited.

She had been excited for the meet up, to say the least. She couldn’t stop wondering where he was going to take her this time after going to the restaurant the previous week. The thought had kept her up all night as she twisted and turned in her sheets.

She had gone the extra mile while getting dressed up too, picking out the teal sweater Azriel had once mentioned made her eyes look brighter. Under that, she wore a pencil skirt with tights, having seen one of the females in Velaris wear something similar. She had thought the female looked pretty, and wanted to see what she looked like in it herself.

She continued to flip the pages of the book, reading and reading, smiling at the words. The story was cute, one of a female who was trying to save her family with the help of her siblings and friends, one of them being her love interest. The banter, the softness they shared made Gwyn long for a similar connection, if not more.

She loved the male love interest a lot, and the fact that he was so similar to one of her own friends did not go unnoticed by Gwyn.

Maybe she will have her own love story one day, with the friend she liked more than she should.

More than friends should like each other.

But with each moment that passed, her eyes stopped reading, and remained unseeing. The tilt of her lips fading as she got lost in her own head. She stared down at the soft, crinkling pages, running her fingers over the edges. They were painted in beautiful shades, depicting a scenery of a mountain from the book.

Pretty.

But not pretty enough to distract her from the absence of a certain Shadowsinger.

Footsteps drew Gwyn from her reverie, and she perked up, her gaze lading on the doors she had left ajar. Hope bloomed in her gut, even as she knew it was not the one she had been expecting coming closer to her.

The footsteps were too heavy, too powerful, to be his.

Still, she waited, she watched, she wished.

She hoped.

And a moment later, Cassian strutted into view, a smile gracing his face when he realised Gwyn was in the room. She returned the smile, willing her disappointment to vanish.

“Gwyn! Good seeing you here!” He paused behind the couch adjacent to the one Gwyn sat on. “I thought you might be down in Velaris, this is a pleasant surprise.”

Gwyn sighed, relaxing into the soft cushions behind her. “Yeah, I thought so too.”

His brows furrowed, and he quickly glanced around the room. “Where’s Az?”

She shrugged, setting the book aside and pushing to her feet. “I don’t know. Maybe he’s busy?”

Cassian’ confusion was palpable as he huffed. “He can never be busy enough to put off your dates.”

“We don’t go on dates.” Gwyn scowled. “They are outings.”

He simply smirked in return, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. “Sure, right. My bad.”

Gwyn’s eyes narrowed as she watched him walk over to the balcony, dusting off her skirt absentmindedly. “Are you going somewhere?”

He glanced back at her, nodding. “Nesta’s at the river house with Feyre and Nyx. Gonna go pick her up.”

Gwyn chewed on her lip as she thought, then her eyes shot to him. “Hey Cass?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you take me down to the city?”

This time he turned to her fully, his brows high on his forehead. “I…what?”

Gwyn rolled her eyes, ignoring the new sadness taking root in her chest at the lack of those playful shadows and their quiet master’s presence. “Do you not want to?”

He took a step forward before pausing, extending his hand. “Oh no, no I would love to. I am just surprised, that’s all.”

Gwyn raised an eyebrow, but moved closer to him to let him pick her up. By this point, she was comfortable enough with him that the spike of fear and anxiety no longer pierced her heart when he was in close proximity to her, and it was just another thing she was proud of herself for.

He gently wound his arms under her knees and back, careful to only touch her where needed, and flapped  his wings once. There was a reason the house built in the mountain was called the House of Wind, because as soon as he lifted from the ground, a powerful gust of wind caught under his wings and sent them soaring. He glided smoothly, his wing muscles beating effortlessly. Five centuries of flying practice truly showed in his skills.

Gwyn had once studied about wings and how they work, reading extensively about Illyrian ones. They had been so fascinating to her then, as they were fascinating to her now. The way they moved always had her mesmerized. Every time she flew with Azriel too, she would either always stare at his wings or the city down below.

Azriel.

Gwyn looked away from Cassian’s wings, instead casting her gaze downwards, towards the ground that rapidly grew closer as he descended. His feet touched the ground with a light thump before he bent slightly and set Gwyn on her feet.

“Are you sure about this, Gwyn?”

She turned to him, nodding. “I am. We go out every week so I can get accustomed to socialising once more.” And just because Gwyn was feeling petty, she added. “I’m not going to mess up my routine just because someone cannot be bothered to inform me before standing me up.”

Cassian’s lips parted, but then he closed them with an amused smirk. “Very proud of you, Gwyn.”

Though his expression was teasing, his words sounded so genuine they nearly brought Gwyn to tears.

“Thank you, Cass.”

“I will likely be here for an hour or two, depending on Nyx’s mood and who he is currently attached to today, so you can just come to the River House if you want to go back.” He clasped her shoulder, smiling. “And even if I’m up there, you can just ask Rhys to get me, yeah?”

Gwyn nodded gratefully. “Of course, thank you again.”

She waited until Cassian had turned away, waving in farewell as he climbed up the steps to one of the majestic houses of the High Lord.

Then she turned, and began wandering down the street.

She gazed at everything she passed by, unwilling to miss even a moment of the sheer beauty of Velaris. The shimmering waters of the Sidra, the golden shadows casted by the dying sun across the ground and the flora, the faelights bobbing gently over the entrances to shops and restaurants. Hawkers selling their wares, fruit stalls next to dessert stalls.

She walked without a destination in mind, her hand bent at a slight angle towards her thigh - where she had strapped her dagger under her skirt- involuntarily, the action muscle memory at this point.

She was lost in thought, wondering what could have been so important that Azriel had not even bothered to inform her. It could have been that he was on an important mission, and that he had no way to contact her. It could have been that he had almost completely forgotten.

Gwyn didn’t know. But she did know that she was mad, and she would not forgive him until he had grovelled enough.

The moment she had the thought, guilt followed. What if he truly was busy and if he had taken time off to send her a letter, he could have been in danger?

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the thought as she glanced around her. She felt tired already, so bored out of her mind without him. She had no idea what she even wanted to do anymore. It would have been better if she had stayed home and completed her projects for Merrill.

Home.

It was such a beautiful, comforting word. The word that had meant nothing to Gwyn for years after her sister was taken from her. It was just that, a word. No meaning, no feelings.

But for quite some time now, since she had met Nesta, since the day Gwyn had dragged herself to the training ring, telling herself over and over that she would be fine, better even, that Cassan would not hurt her, that he wasn’t that kind of a male, a male pathetic enough to force females to feel better about his own self, the word had taken on a new meaning.

Gwyn had learned that home meant more than just four walls and a roof. Home meant friends. Home meant laughing over trivial things, freely and loudly. Home meant warmth.

Home meant Azriel.

She didn’t know when, or how, but slowly, he had become the definition of friend, the laughter, the warmth that made a home, home.

And slowly, the intimidating, lonely walls that had kept her from the scary outside world became so much more.

It was almost dark, the horizon tinting darker and darker with each passing moment, when Gwyn stumbled upon the restaurant that Azriel had taken her to the previous week.

She smiled at the sight of those pristine walls, the memories that surfaced threatening to make her giggle. She walked on, passing by the entrance, the beautiful stars leading up to it.

And she caught a whiff of the smell she had become so familiar with.

It caused her bones to freeze, her muscles stiffening as she turned her head to look.

The interior was still dark, so different compared to the outside. Soft aroma of chicken, rice, herbs, everything drifted out, mixing into such a sweet smell that it would be impossible to not go in.

But yet, under that, was the smell of cedar, of night, of shadows.

Gwyn’s eyes narrowed, and she had only taken a step up the stairs when she saw him.

Past the reception, past a number of tables and chairs and candles, he sat.

At the same spot he had sat with Gwyn.

With the same smile on his face, his eyes soft. His hand under his chin, his lips tilted as he nodded.

At a female. The chair Gwyn had occupied merely seven days ago was now occupied by a female.

She looked like a complete opposite of her.

Curly blonde hair piled spilled down her shoulders, her eyes and skin the prettiest shade of brown. Her figure was curvy, soft, sweet. So unlike Gwyn.

The female wore a strapless tight fitting dress, the material clinging to her like a second skin.

She looked so comfortable, so confident, Gwyn wondered why she ever thought she even stood a chance with Azriel. Of course he’d be interested in someone who was confident in herself, someone who wasn’t afraid to know and show she was pretty.

His words from the previous week floated around in her head amidst the confusion and hurt, solidifying her new beliefs.

“So you like it?”

“Of course I like it! Anyone would love this place. It is so beautiful.”

Had she been only a friend who he wanted the opinion of to impress the female he was actually interested in? Just a guinea pig?

Gwyn’s eyes prickled, and she took a step away, as if simply the sight of Azriel touching the other female’s hand - smiling secretively, his eyes hooded and seductive- would burn her.

Yet she couldn’t look away, not until someone bumped into her shoulder, apologising profusely. She didn’t even look at the fae. She bowed her head in acknowledgement before willing her legs to move. Hoping to leave before Azriel’s shadows - who for some reason were so attuned to her every move that she would find them anywhere she went - reported her presence to their master.

She moved through the thickening crowds, laughing children and flirting adults. Kept pushing herself to walk, to run, back to the River House. She needed to go back. She knew she could not handle any interactions, especially one with Azriel if he found her before she could drown herself in work.

Just when the house came into sight, she slowed down, blinking hard and regulating her breathing. She could see activity inside the house, soft warm light spilling onto the grass under the windows and the porch leading up to the main door, which opened just as she went to knock.

“Gwyn?” Nesta stared at her wide eyed, brows high in surprise.

“Um, hey Nesta.” Gwyn swallowed uneasily.

Instantly, Nesta was alert. “What happened? Did someone do something? Where’s Azriel?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you Nes. I think Az forgot about their date and Gwyn went into the city alone.” Cassian’s voice answered before Gwyn could, and for that she was grateful, as she wasn’t feeling particularly excited to speak.

Nesta’s eyes hardened as she glanced at her mate. “He mentioned he was going out with a female. Did he not inform you? ” She turned to glare at Gwyn. “And even if he forgot, why the hell did you-”

“Nesta, she is not a child.”

Gwyn’s blood went hot, anger simmering through each vein as she realised he really was on a date. And he had told Nesta, but not her.

She would kill him.

Nesta opened her mouth to speak, then seemed to think the better of it and just pulled Gwyn into a hug. “What happened, Gwyn? Why do you look so spooked?”

Gwyn shook her head as best as she could in her friend’s embrace, her heart finally slowing down slightly at the comforting touch. “Nothing, really. I just got a bit… anxious, that’s all. I just want to go back up.”

Nesta pulled away, nodding and turned to Cassian. “Drop her off at the house please, I can wait.”

“Nesta- no-”

The glare Gwyn received in return was enough to shut her up as Cassian picked her into his arms like she weighed nothing, then shot into the sky.

“She really is scary sometimes, no?”

Gwyn huffed, her lips tilting in a surprised smile. “She was mad when we first met too.”

He laughed, his chest vibrating against Gwyn’s upper arm as she kept her arms folded close to her chest. He quieted after that, his focus solely on the mountain that loomed over them.

He flew towards the main sitting room, which they all used most of the time, as far as Gwyn knew.

But he was not Azriel, and the sitting room was not close to the library.

Just another reminder of how considerate, how attentive Azriel had always been to her. Of how he forgot about her today.

But no, she wouldn’t spend her day thinking about him anymore. Not when he couldn’t even bother to let her know he was going on a real date.

That he was ditching her for the one who he actually wanted.

She bid a goodbye to Cassian, not waiting to see him fly off before she retreated to the dorm she shared with her fellow priestesses, pulling out the large tomes she had been assigned to read through and summarise.

But she knew she wouldn’t be able to focus.

Not with him occupying her thoughts.

Az's pov

Something was wrong. 

Azriel had considered many things in order to understand what was bothering him so much. 

Last night's mission had gone fine; the female he had to seduce to get important intel an easy one to flirt with to get her to talk, even when his entire being had recoiled at his sweet talking and his suggestive touches. Even his shadows had felt uncomfortable and had hissed after every few minutes of the interaction. But it had been a necessity for his job, his duty towards his court. The accomplishment of this mission should have filled him with relief and a sense of freedom from something he had felt reluctant towards from the start. But still…

Rhys and Feyre had thanked him for the information he had gathered that day. Azriel didn't need their thanks for having done something that was expected of him, although having the validation of his High Lord and Lady had been nice. But still…

Something was wrong. 

You know what, one of his shadows whispered. The only one that had bothered speaking to him since his mission with that female. All the others were still oddly silent, leaving that one - the same one which had always favoured Gwyn since they all met her - to occasionally use its voice to throw some scathing comments at him.

Azriel sighed after one of his daggers hit one of the dummies in the training ring. 

“Yes. I know,” he muttered, even with no one but the moon and his silent shadows to hear him.

At least he thought.

Footsteps sounded at the doorway, before the source of Azriel’s troubled mind walked onto the training area. An intense wave of emotion washed over him; hope, relief, joy, excitement…awe.

Gwyn looked breathtaking under the starry sky, the night making her look even more fierce as she walked determinedly to the weapons rack clad in skin tight leathers.

Azriel stood still for a moment, unable to move as he watched his shadows - every single one of them - rush to her. Gwyn giggled at their excited dance around her. He heard her whisper something to them but couldn't make out what it was. He mentally called for his shadows to come back to him. None listened. 

“Uh… hey,” he finally blurted out.

Gwyn turned to him then. Azriel felt a heavy weight drop in his stomach at the apathetic look in her eyes. His heart constricted with fear and worry, so much that he immediately began walking towards her.

“What happe-”

“Hi,” she cut his question off. Her dry tone stopped him in his tracks.

“Are you alright?”

Something flickered in her eyes for a second before she turned her back to him, took a deep breath in, then out, and picked up a few daggers from the rack. 

“I'm fine,” she gritted out without looking at him.

Azriel frowned in confusion.

The hell she was.

He hadn't seen her at training this morning, hadn't caught a single glimpse of her anywhere for the entire day, hadn't heard the sound of her voice. And now that she was here before him, the usual light missing from her eyes and her posture stiff as though from restraint, she dared say that she was fine?

Gwyn walked past him, his shadows trailing behind, and stopped a distance away from the dummies in which the daggers he had thrown earlier were still embedded.

He followed.

“You can lie to anyone about this, Gwyn, but you can't deceive me.”

Her first dagger flew and landed in a dummy's throat. She let out a humorless laugh.

“Is this tonight's lesson then? Lies and deception?”

She threw another dagger, this one lodging itself in the centre of the dummy's chest.

Azriel looked at Gwyn from head to toe, hoping to find answers to the growing mystery unfolding before him. He desperately wished to know what was happening to her. He needed to make her feel better. Azriel needed his Gwyn back.

“Gwyn please,” he took a few steps until he stood right in front of her. His shadows remained closer to her. “What is happening?”

The sadness that darkened her eyes as she looked at him made him feel like the dummy, this invisible weapon sinking straight into his heart. It twisted deeper inside him with the tears that he noticed pooling in her eyes.

He brought a hand up and cupped her cheek. “My Gwyn,” he whispered, unaware that it had made it out of his mouth. 

Her teal eyes fixed on his hazel ones, searching. For what, he did not know? But he was certain that he was ready to give her anything. Before he could give in to the urge to pull her into his arms, anger flashed on her face. 

She grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away. 

“Don't,” she said as she put more distance between them. 

Azriel didn't hear what she murmured to his shadows due to the beating of his heart resonating in his ears and which drowned out every other sound. He didn't even acknowledge them slithering back to him. He only watched Gwyn run away and disappear through the doorway. 

Azriel stood there, frozen and stunned. Until he felt his shadows smack him in the face, their shadowy forms conveniently solid for a task like this. 

Idiot master, hissed the one shadow.

Is that all you have to say? He scowled at it. What would have been more helpful was if they told him what was wrong and how he could fix things with Gwyn. But that was apparently not in their plans. 

I'm going with her, was all it said before it floated away. The others stayed. They remained silent, leaving Azriel alone with his thoughts. 

The conversation - or was it an argument? He wasn't sure - replayed over and over in his head, even as he descended the stairs down into the House of Wind. He was so distracted that he didn't notice Cassian until he almost crashed into the chair he sat in at the living room table.

“Whoa! You alright here brother?” Cass asked, his mouth full of the cake he had a huge slice of on his plate. 

Azriel pulled the chair next to Cassian and sat down. He pulled Cassian’s plate towards him and snatched his fork right out of his hand.

“I'm fine,” he said. He winced at the memory of those same words coming from Gwyn. The dread he hadn't realised he had been feeling worsened at the mere thought of her name. 

He dug into Cassian's midnight snack, shoving a forkful of cake into his mouth.

“You don't have anything to do with Gwyn rushing down the stairs to the library like the house is on fire do you?” Cassian stared at him with raised brows.

Azriel looked at him. “What…?” was all he managed to ask with his full mouth.

What is happening to her, to us? What did I do? How do I fix this? 

His shadows still remained silent.

Cassian stared at him while rubbing his chin.

“Listen, I'm only asking because she hasn't seemed well since she went out alone yesterday.”

Azriel suddenly felt like he was swallowing stones. “What?” he asked incredulously. 

What is he talking about? 

His shadows did not answer him again. But Cassian thankfully did.

“She insisted that she didn’t mind you missing one of your dates,” he put the last word between air quotes, “but her face told another story.”

Cassian kept talking, telling him how Gwyn had looked when she had joined them at the River House after.

Something clicked inside him. The fork he held fell on the table, its clatter echoing in the room.

Finally, his shadows muttered collectively.

“You're more dense than I thought.” Cassian shook his head, disappointment lacing his words as he dragged the plate back to him.

Azriel’s eyes widened. His heart pounded in his chest. His mind raced in panic.

He fucked up. And now he was paying for it, he realised. He needed to fix this. He had to if he wanted Gwyn back. And Azriel was willing to do anything.

°•°•°•○🌑○•°•°•°

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[sadiegirl2021]

Azriel looking at a knocked out guy on the ground

Azriel: Gwyn! Did you do this?

Gwyn (looking pleased with herself): Yes...

Azriel (smiling): Good job!

[romanticatheartt]

I started listening to Fourth Wing graphic audiobook and so far I'm enjoying it but then I thought which quadrant acotar characters would join ->

Bat Boys? All of them would join the rider quadrant ofc and third year. Morrigan would also join them but she's 2 years younger than the them, so she joins with Feyre. I don't have a back story for them now since I have to read more to remember the world building.

Lucien would join healers. He's not here for the bloodshed since he hates it, so I think it's in character for him to join healer's quadrant. I can see him as one. (I thought he might join infantry but then again combats and war isn't what he's made for) He's also the third year.

Now the sister:

Feyre would join the riders. She has reading disabilities, and it was always her insecurity, that her mother never failed to remind her. Even though she likes books and stories but, in her heart, she's always been a hunter and a fighter, so she joins the rider's quadrant and since she's our main character she's going to get the biggest dragon because I said so hehe. Her mother ignores her at best and never made her displeasure of her joining the riders known even if she had one and quite frankly, she doesn't care about her mother's opinion. Out of all the three daughters, his father was more confidence in her succeeding only because of the sheer amount of stubbornness in Feyre.

Nesta who's the third year and is in a stablished relationship with Cassian. she always wanted to be in the scribe's quadrant, but her father had other plans, so she was forced to be in the rider quadrant even tho her mother disagreed (her mother wanted her to marry and groomed her to be one but also her father would get her to train and getting her ready for being a rider. Let's say she had a hard time lol) But for her mother's disagreement alone, she was a little more willing to join the riders since she's going to be something her mother never wanted her to be. She ofc hated it at first but started to love it because of Cassian and her friend Emerie.

Elain is going to join the scribes and is a second year. That's it!! Even tho her father made it abundantly clear that no child of his will be anything but riders, he made an exception for her, she's secretly her favorite child and knew his princes wouldn't survive. And he saw how she was born to be a healer.

Now Gwyn... Of course she's going to be in the scribe's quadrant. Like come on now!! She's a third year and she love to be in the library and is among her precious books every chance she gets. And a certain shadow wielder has his eyes on her and whenever he gets tired of rolling in his bed, he secretly visits the library to be around her<3 (ps: there's a fanfic for this, so all this happened because of that fic hehe)

Emerie joins the infantry. 6 months before joining, her wrenched father breaks her hip and leads to her having a hard time to sit straddle, but she also doesn't want to be either a scribe or a healer, so she joins the infantry. The very first training is very hard for her to the point of always being in pain. That's when Cassian sees her and make it his mission to help her and train her to the faster healing journey for her hip and getting her stronger and she also meets with Nesta during those time (because she can't keep away from him...) She also bonds with Nesta and they find a mutual hobby in each other which is reading smutty books!! Which leads then to visit the library and meet Gwyn.

Yup that's pretty much it. Although I still haven't made a plot for Bat boys and Morrigan which I will... this might have a part 2!! (Even three if I ever delve into the ships as well)

[thevalkyriesshadow]

Chapter 13 of Break Bones, Not Hearts is 🔥🥵

Restraints + praise k!ink = Dommy Mommy Gwyn

NSFW sneak peek under the cut. 😈

Yeah...it's that hot.

The bed shifted, and Azriel glanced down, watching as Gwyn undid his pants. His cock sprung free as she shimmied them down to his knees, leaving his legs restrained.

His hips bucked up at the sudden warmth of her mouth along the side of his cock, her tongue lapping at his hardened length.

“Oh fuck….Gwyn – Priestess –” he corrected himself immediately, hoping his slip up didn't trigger benevolence from his dominant mistress.

He felt Gwyn smile against his cock, her breath tickling the tip as she said, “I love how you call me Priestess. Say it again.” She licked one long stroke up his member. His cock twitched, his hips tilting up for her.

Like a command, he obliged her. “Priestess….fuck you make me feel so good.” Gods he sounded so desperate, so needy for her touch.

“Again.”

His hips jerked up as her lips wrapped around the tip of his cock. Her tongue swirled against the tip.

“Priestess…Oh fuuuckk,” he moaned out as her mouth slid down over his leaking head and she took him into her mouth, deep.

Gwyn wasn't shy when her mouth was around his cock. The sounds she made had his head spinning, the coil of heat threatening to explode at any moment.

But he couldn't, shouldn't, cum so soon.

Gwyn would never let him forget how quick off the mark he was when she was moaning and sucking and licking…

She moved up and down. The tip of her tongue made slow patterns around his shaft. Her teeth scraped his skin just enough to make him shiver with nerves and exhilaration.

“Priestess,” he begged. He was going to cum. “Priestess, I'm going to cum…please, ah!”

Gwyn popped off the head of his cock with a wet, slick sound. “Already? I've barely begun,” she cooed, her lips curled in a playful smile. “Does your cock need a break?”

Fuck. “Yes.”

She crawled over his body, advancing on him like a predatory stalking its prey. “Good. Because while I love hearing you call me Priestess, it's time for you to put your mouth to use in other ways.”

His heart raced as she came to straddle his head, her knees by his ears. Then she lowered herself, her pussy inches from his mouth. He couldn't tear his eyes from her slick folds. Couldn't wait to taste her.

“Look at me, Shadowsinger.” His eyes flicked to hers. Her form was like a statuesque goddess above him. “Good boy. Now eat me out.”

[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.

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