#writings: gwyn berdara.

[defygrav1ty]

🌷 starter for @darkslautr.

❝ what do you mean you've never done this before? nesta told me about the sacred snowball fight tradition, and the...particular choice of cool down ritual that takes place afterwards. ❞ gwyn's voice lowers with each word she vocalizes, her cheeks pink not just by the cold, but by the sinful image of azriel without clothes plastered in her mind. the redhead shakes it off like snow dust, before continuing to tease, ❝ i don't suppose you mean you've never fought in the snow with a girl... ❞ gwyn trails, a mischievous smile widening as she rounds out a ball of snow behind her back, before throwing it at rocket-speed. ❝ because i'd find that incredibly sexist, and that'd be very disappointing, azriel. i didn't take you for just any illyrian male. ❞ she hoped she'd guessed right which buttons to push, and that the mother would forgive her for being so selfish as to trick him into spending time with her.

[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.

[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.

[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.

[velidewrites]

Breaking Point

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

Pairing: Azriel x Gwyneth Berdara

Tags: Divergent AU

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

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

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

Read on AO3 or continue to Chapter 1 below!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gwyneth blinked. “Clare?”

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

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

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

“I’ll be twenty-one in a few months.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, someone screamed.

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

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

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

Everything happened so quickly after that.

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

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

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

Murderers. Murderers. Murderers.

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

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

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

The only question that mattered was why.

And Gwyneth was going to find the answer.

***

SIX MONTHS LATER

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Clearly, Merrill thought Gwyneth was here to stay.

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

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

No. Gwyneth Berdara had figured out how to cheat.

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

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

She would be Dauntless.

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Gwyneth Berdara?”

Gwyneth jumped in her seat.

The Candor boy snorted.

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

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

Gwyneth nodded.

“Good. Come on in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s Gwyneth.”

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

“How did she do?”

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

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

“I am.”

“Won’t you miss her in Candor?”

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

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

“Our parents are dead, I’m afraid.”

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

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

Gwyneth shrugged. “It has its benefits.”

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who?” she asked carefully.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go now,” the voice urged. “Go!”

Gwyneth did not waste any more time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tell the truth—Candor.

Keep on lying—Dauntless.

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

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

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

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

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

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

For Catrin.

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What—what is that supposed to mean?”

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

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

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

She had to give her that one. “Many.”

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

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

Gwyneth stopped breathing entirely.

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

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

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

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

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

Gwyneth swallowed. Hard. “I do.”

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

She picked the datapad up again.

“No,” Gwyneth said then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gwyneth knew she had lost.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gwyneth could only stare.

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

For Catrin—for her sister, Gwyneth always would.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gwyneth wanted answers. Gwyneth wanted revenge.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, the Dauntless erupted with a roaring cheer.

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

[kiwi-muses]

Part One Here

It was only a couple of days before his shadow zoomed into his room to alert him that Gwyn was speaking with Bryaxis. It was the middle of the night, and Azriel grumbled as he pulled on his leathers. One of the rare instances where he’d been dead asleep, and Gwyn had to inadvertently ruin it. He made his way into the library, and weaved through the stacks, Gwyn’s voice becoming louder and louder. Azriel silently hid in the shadows, wondering what was so important that it must be spoken of in the middle of the night. 

“Do you sleep at all?” he heard her ask. After a moment in which Bryaxis must have responded, he heard her say, “Well, I suppose in some ways that’s lucky. You get to avoid the issues I have.” She was silent for a moment. “What you said… about my… mate… how did you know?”

Azriel felt his eyebrows raise. Gwyn had a mate? Since when? If Bryaxis spoke of it, perhaps that’s what surprised her the last time. There was an uncomfortable feeling in Azriel’s chest as he thought of Gwyn having a mate, though he couldn’t explain why, exactly. 

“I think I knew when I first saw him, though there was… a lot happening,” she was saying. “But I’ve never told anyone before. I thought maybe I was mistaken.” Her voice was soft. “No, I don’t wish it weren’t so. He’s a good male. Strong and kind.” She paused, listening, and chuckled. “Well, maybe you don’t think so, and I could certainly see why.” The longer Azriel stood there, eavesdropping, the more bizarre the conversation became. And the longer he stood there, the more that uncomfortable feeling in his chest grew. And a piece of him was almost offended for the unknown male. A mating bond was sacred. Why wouldn’t Gwyn tell this male? He became more agitated before deciding he was done for the night. He stepped from the shadows, and saw Gwyn whirl around to see him. She turned back to the pit. “Looks like our visit is over tonight.” She softly laughed again. “I’ll make sure to sing louder for you next time.” She walked towards Azriel, eyes sparkling. He crossed his arms over his chest, cutting an imposing figure. 

“We talked about this, Gwyn.” His voice was low. 

“You mean you talked, Shadowsinger. No one said I agreed.” He let out his breath in a huff. “How long have you been here?”

“Long enough,” he said. 

She tilted her head at him. “You seem… vexed with me, Shadowsinger. Moreso than usual.” Azriel said nothing, turning to escort her back to the dormitories. “You can tell me, you know. Honesty is the best policy and all that.”

Damn him, Azriel couldn’t control it. The words were going to fly out of his mouth whether he wished them to or not. He stopped in the middle of the aisle and turned to her, seeing her waiting face. “You have a mate. Why won’t you tell him? Those bonds… those bonds are rare, and sacred. Don’t you think he deserves to know?”

He felt Gwyn’s eyes on him, studying him. He could almost feel her weighing her words carefully. “There are many reasons I haven’t chosen to divulge the information yet, Azriel.” The use of his given name struck him. She hadn’t used it before. It sounded less like a curse, and more like a caress coming from her. “Some reasons are mine, and mine alone, and maybe I will tell him one day. But I can say,” she took a deep breath, “I have it on good authority that he cares for another. I respect him enough to allow his choices, and I refuse to be chosen solely because of a bond. I’d rather be loved.” Her words struck him in the heart. It was everything he wanted, needed Elain to say and to practice. He needed Elain to want to choose to be loved, to choose him. Gwyn cracked a small smile. “Besides, I’ve met him and he is otherworldly. And I’m just me. He needs someone who he can be proud of.” Gwyn started walking past him, leaving him speechless. This female… he couldn’t figure her out. People were easy to unravel. They were easy to manipulate, to discover inner motives. But not Gwyn. She was a puzzle to him and with each new piece he handed her, he found something new to wonder over. 

“Gwyn,” he called, striding to catch up to her. She looked up at him. “Any male would be lucky to have you as his mate. And if they aren’t proud to have you, they’re not worth your time.” The dazzling smile Azriel received lit something in his heart. 

“Thank you, Shadowsinger.” She smiled, and something in him softened to know he put that smile on her face. 

“Now will you please stop talking to Bryaxis? I don’t trust that it won’t betray you and try to take you.” Gwyn laughed, though what was so funny he had no idea. 

“Bryaxis and I came to an agreement. If I sing while I work, Bryaxis will be content. I won’t have to go near the pit, Shadowsinger.” He felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He had wrestled Bryaxis back into the pit; he knew what Bryaxis could do, the harm it could cause, if provoked. And he wanted Gwyn nowhere near that sort of danger. “I can make my way from here, Shadowsinger. I need to shelve a few books anyways,” Gwyn said.

“Alright,” Azriel said softly. “Goodnight, Gwyneth.” 

“Goodnight, Shadowsinger,” she replied, making her way through the stacks to her books, leaving Azriel to make his way out of the library, pondering the strange feeling Gwyn left him with. A few words and she could coax a smile from him without his notice, or cause his heart to stop in his chest just by having a conversation with a creature. Azriel wasn’t an outwardly emotive male. Inwardly, he felt everything, but a childhood of torture had taught him to effectively wear a mask. One that, somehow, Gwyn made him feel was unnecessary.

[verifiefangirl]

Do you have any spicy Az thoughts

This is probably my third time writing Spice, ever! I hope you enjoy it!

Azriel eyes dripped with desire as he recalled how Gywn had executed a roundhouse kick and nimbly bent over backward in training this morning.

The move had sent wicked thoughts echoing through his mind. He tried to stop himself but his iron-clad self-control was not enough and he became flustered.

His mind had drifted to the different positions in which he could bend the Priestess over. How the more difficult poses would be easy for them with his strength propping her and the way she could contort so easily.

As his eyes shuttered he could visualise it. His arms held her legs, securing them around his hips while she balanced on her forearms. He entered her from behind...

He could feel himself swell underneath his leathers. His cock pushed against its lacing, demanding his attention.

He let his hands drift over his bare chest as he lay there fantasizing about it, not wanting to succumb to the sweet relief just yet.

Gwyn moaned from his sheer size. He was big, he could see the determination set over her features to take all of him. He freed one of his hands to caress her back as she arched into him as he tunneled further into her.

"Azriel, it's too much."

She writhed around him, panting. He was only halfway in.

"I know you can take it, love." He bent over and kissed the base of her spine.

Azriel's hips stuttered as his fingers ghosted further down and he worked quickly at unfastening his pants. The cool night air hit him as he ran his palm over his slit. He grunted at the moisture he already felt gathering there. He wouldn't last very long today.

He eased out and gave her a shallow thrust back in, not going further than he already was, until she was ready.

Her fingers gripped the sheets tightly. Her cries were muffled into the pillows.

He could feel beads of sweat gather at his temples and down his chest. His abs flexed and contracted as he went deeper, holding her closer to him.

She felt like a vice around him, one he couldn't get enough of.

"More, Azriel. I want all of you."

His breath puffed out of him, sliding all the way in and picking up his pace.

She sobbed and he twisted her burning locks around his fist.

"Good girl." He rasped as the sound of their body colliding created a filthy symphony around the room. She arched all the up, her back meeting his chest, and hooked her arm around his neck.

Azriel's grip tightened on his shaft as his hand moved faster over his cock. His stuttered moans slipped into the dead of night as his cock jumped and twitched in his palm. He was burning up.

"No sassy retort." He gasped in her ear, hand drifting over her breast, circling her nipple gently. Gone was the mischief that danced behind those teal eyes, only pleasure flitted across them. Her pupils were blown wide.

She made a sound of protest as he slipped out of her and flipped her on her back so he was facing him. He wanted to see her face when she came.

She clutched him tightly when he eased back inside, and both of them made a sound of relief. Her fingers tangled in his hair as her leg snaked over his thigh.

"I wouldn't get so cocky, Shadowsinger." She groaned and trailed those hands down his chest. His head threw back at the sensation. He could feel his release climbing up his spine. He'd be damned if he didn't get her there first.

Gywn's peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses along his neck. She knew how crazy that drove him. He buried his face in her crook, his hips losing rhythm. He fisted the pillow above her head as she whimpered. She was close to. He could feel her inner walls fluttering.

"Yesss." She dragged out and he watched as her face screwed up and the rosy flush started at her neck, covering her cheeks as she came with a whimper and a drawn-out moan.

"Azriel!"

Her face was so pretty when she was in the peak throes of pleasure.

Azriel grunted helplessly as white-hot europhia hit him.

"Ugh, fuck." He erupted, spilling endlessly on his chest and neck, rope after rope. His member was red and weeping from how hard he'd gripped himself.

His chest heaved up and down violently as he came down from his high. If his fantasy ever became a reality, he'd be a mess. He'd spilled like a young Illyrian with little grace and finesse. It had to be a record of how fast he got off.

He could hear how his brothers would snicker about his stamina and a growl released from his chest as he slammed his head back on the pillow over and over again.

Thank you for listening to my ted talk and joining my filth fest.

Goodbye!

[jennierubyjanersblog]

Gwynriel Academic Rivals AU

“Why did you sign up for that Mythology and Folklore class? You’re not even interested in that, Az.”

Azriel wasn’t.

But Berdara was.

~~~~~~

Lately, I’ve been working on a Gwynriel Academic Rivals to Rivals with Benefits to Lovers AU. Still debating whether or not I should post it. But until I decide, I just wanted to let this moodboard and a snipped of it. 🙂

[sserrafeim]

Rhys or Gwyn? (You can't choose both.)

NOOOOOOOOOOO 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 why are you doing this to me?? I thought we were friends 💔💔

They’re, like, my top 2 fav characters in acotar, maybe in all 3 series, and they switch between no 1 & 2 depending on my mood 😭

My first thought was “both!!” but if I have to pick one I’ll say… Rhys. Because there are two versions of me, Eirene Pre-Rhys and Eirene Post-Rhys. Like, he truly changed my brain chemistry.

I was one of those people who swore to never read acotar (I can’t even tell you why if you ask me) and I bought the first 3 books for shits & giggles (and because my brother paid for them) only to start reading the 1st book, meet Rhys, and be like “damn…” & then I bought the other two before finishing the 1st one so… He has bewitched me if you think about it.

[defygrav1ty]

🌷 starter for @roserotten (azriel).

she'd been mustering up the courage to walk up to the shadowsinger for over a week, leaving a scandalous trail of stolen glances behind on the training ring. if nesta and cassian hadn't been so caught up in eachother's mated scent, they would've noticed it and poked fun at her for it by now. only emerie seemed to realize her inner struggle, but she was kinder with her silence.

don't overthink it, gwyn, just do it. be the rock against which that pretty boy crashes ― that came out wrong, ugh!

shuddering the unexpectedly dirty mantra off her mind, gwyn went to go meet him on the ground, the creak of her leather pants announding her pressence to azriel at exactly the moment the clock striked the end of training. before she knew it, his deep hazelnut eyes were fixed on her with calm curiosity, and her throat immediately dried up. she coughed it back to life, ❝ hey, uhm ― ❞ panic. quiet your mind, gwyn ― ❝ i never got to thank you, with the rite of blood and all, for the private lesson you gave me on the winter solstice. you didn't just help me cut the ribbon, you...also gave me confidence to fight for myself out in the illyrian mountains, before nesta and emerie found me. i couldn't have touched the stone without you. ❞ she confessed, her finger instinctively reaching for the beautiful rose necklace that sat beneath her training clothes. the silence got to heavy for her anxiety to bear, so she quickly changed the subject, ❝ d-do you have a date? for cassian and nesta's ceremony? ❞

[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.”

[sunshinebingo]

Gwyn and Azriel stumble across Rhys as they leave for their date.

Gwynriel with a dash of Gwynsand - 700 words

For @lulling-night-sky who is a sucker for fluff and anything that has to do with Rhysand (except my fics where he gets beaten up)

***

“Ready?” Azriel asked Gwyn after having gaped at her in awe for a while.

Gwyn beamed, her heart fluttering at how flustered she had – not for the first time – rendered the usually stoic Spymaster, and nodded excitedly.

She had been looking forward to this moment for the entire day. Even as she had fed and played with Nyx, her thoughts had kept going back to Azriel and their upcoming evening together.

Having happily agreed to spend the day looking after the little lord with Nesta at the River House so that his parents could focus on their duties, Gwyn had decided to bring everything that she would need and get ready for her date with Azriel here instead of asking someone to winnow or fly her back to the House of Wind. Besides, Emerie and her had spent so much time here with the inner circle that the High Lord and Lady always had a guest room reserved for them.

She took the hand that Azriel offered and followed him from the bottom of the staircase to the foyer. From the living area, she heard the voices of Nesta and Cassian who was enthusiastically responding to the prattling of Nyx, as well as Feyre who had returned while Gwyn was stressing out over whether to put her hair up or leave it down.

She had gone with the third option proposed by Nesta to tie the top half up with a pretty silver hair stick gifted to her by Emerie for Solstice. The best thing about it was the thin dagger hidden inside that could potentially come in handy. She might be going out with one of deadliest – and most handsome – male alive, but she was still a Valkyrie who loved daggers, especially when they were disguised as pretty accessories.

“You are breathtaking.”

Gwyn blushed from his compliment. Emerie and Nesta were right about the fact that her little black dress was the ideal choice. It was also a perfect match to Azriel’s entirely black attire.

“So are you, Shadowsinger.”

His answering smile almost made her trip on her own feet. He brought their intertwined hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

Azriel opened the door and started to leave when another set of footsteps was heard coming their way. Looking to her left, Gwyn saw Rhysand strolling towards them with his hands in his pockets, no doubt having completed his work for the day and ready to reunite with his mate and son.

“Bye Rhys.” She waved a hand at him.

Gwyn still couldn’t believe how close they have become over the past few years. Sometimes they were a High Lord and a Valkyrie who worked together for the well-being of those they cared for, other times they were confidants who listened and offered support. Sometimes they were like protective siblings who looked out for each other, oftentimes they were the type of siblings who teased and pestered the other. But at the core of all these versions of them were mutual respect and care. The kind of bond that Gwyn never thought that she would ever have. None of the relationships that she had forged so far had been expected, yet they were all precious in their own way.

“Be home by midnight,” he ordered, pursing his lips to stop the smile that was threatening to break on his lips. His violet eyes sparkled like the first stars that had started to appear in the sky. Azriel snorted at the curfew that his brother was imposing on Gwyn.

“Fuck off.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re not my father.”

Rhys crossed his arms and puffed his chest. The arrogant asshole, she thought.

“I’m old enough to be.”

Gwyn laughed. She squeezed Azriel’s hand and dragged him out of the door, eager to finally be alone with him.

“You’re old enough to be the cauldron’s father,” she shouted at Rhys before slamming his own door shut in his face.

The sound of Rhys’ gasp on the other side of the door was covered by the chuckle that Azriel let out beside her. What a lovely way to start their evening!

[rose-of-the-grave]

The Birthday Girl

Pairing: Gwyn x Azriel

Hey everybody!! It's been a while but I'm finally returning to the acotar fandom. I can't believe how long it's been since I posted my last fic for this fandom but here's a fluffy established gwynriel fic! I hope y'all enjoy!!! As always I'm the author (please don't repost)

Masterlist Read on Ao3

Warnings: birthday party, fluff, book buying, hiking, kissing, Velaris, Az being a bookworm's dream

Word Count: 1378

Description: To celebrate Gwyn's birthday, Az plans a whole day for her which includes book shopping and spending the day with her friends before having a party

Taglist: @sylveryfire

“Good morning, beautiful.” Azriel leant in, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder. “Happy birthday.”

She turned over to face him. “Thanks!”

“I brought you breakfast.” He motioned over at the bedside table where he had laid a platter of all her favorite breakfast foods. Grabbing it, he set it on the bed next to her so she could eat. Gwyn sat up and started eating.

“So, once you’re done with this I have the whole day planned.”

She gave him a teasing look. “As expected.” He was well-known for having everything planned to the second. She suspected that his plans involved distracting her so everybody could set up her surprise birthday party. Nesta and Emerie had been acting a bit suspicious lately so she had gotten them to confess that there were plans in motion.

“First, we are going to that bookstore I know you’ve been wanting to go to. Afterwards Nesta and Emerie have a whole day planned for you. After that, I have a dinner planned for the two of us.”

“Just us?”

He nodded.

She finished up her breakfast and got dressed, eager to find some more books. She had recently finished a series that she had really enjoyed but hadn’t been able to find something else. Gwyn had been asked repeatedly if there were any books that she wanted for her birthday but she hadn’t been sure what to ask for. She knew both of her best friends had some ideas as to what she might like but she wanted to find something that was similar to her most recent reads while not being the same. Oh, who was she kidding. She was going to go to this bookstore and get as many books as possible. That was one of the benefits of being with Az, he would buy any book she seemed remotely interested in, even if she insisted she didn’t need it.

He flew the two of them to the bookstore, landing right outside and startling a few passersby. They entered the store, the bell ringing as they went inside. Almost immediately, she gravitated towards the section of the library with fantasy and romance. Scanning the shelves, her fingers trailed along the titles until she found something that jumped out at her. Pulling it from its place she read the blurb on the back before putting it back.

Az made a noise but she ignored it. When she did the same thing yet again, she turned on him. “What’s with the grunting?”

“What’s with the reshelving?”

“They just didn’t interest me is all.” She shrugged but he gave her a look of disbelief. It’s your birthday get as many books as you want. Mother above, we can buy the whole library if you want!”

She shook her head, smiling. “Fine. I’ll get them.” When she returned with the book along with a few others that looked good he gave her a smug look as if to say, “See?”

“Just for that, you’re going to have to carry them.” She said, smiling satisfied before handing him the book. Then, as a bit of a test she started grabbing book after book until the pile covered his face entirely.

“Need any help?” She taunted.

“Nope, I’ve got this.”

“Good. Here’s ten more!” Gwyn said, all chipper.

He groaned, “There’s more?”

“Yep!”

He rearranged the pile so it was half in one arm and half in the other. “There! You can stack five on this side and the rest on the other.” He gritted through his teeth, satisfied to have won the battle. At least, for now.

Determined to make him break, she grabbed even more books. Some of them she wasn’t even interested in that much, including a few that she knew he would like. Despite the book piles becoming more and more precarious he soldiered on, reaching the front desk where he set them all down.

“Okay, your total comes out to,” The shop owner paused and reread the total with wide eyes. “5623.05.”

Gwyn stared at Az, eyes wide, knowing that that was probably too much. The shadowsinger simply said, put it on Rhys’ account.

“No, that’s too much.” 

He looked over at Gwyn said, “Nothing is too much for you. It’s your birthday, let me spoil you.”

“But 200 books?”

He shrugged. “Rhys is good for it. This will barely make a dent.”

Grabbing the books, he refused to let her carry any. Saying bye to the shop owner, she followed him outside.

A second later, Nesta and Emerie came into view.

Nesta whistled. “Nice job shadowsinger.”

He nodded at both of them, gave Gwyn a kiss on the cheek before winnowing away with all of the books.

“That was a lot of books.”

“I know! I can’t believe he actually bought all of them.”

“He loves you. I don’t think that there’s anything he wouldn’t do to make you happy.” Emerie said before giving her a hug. Nesta also joined in and the two of them both wished her a ‘Happy Birthday!’.

“Thanks!” She looked between the two of them. “So, where are we going?”

“Well, there’s this cafe that opened recently near here that has delicious food and afterwards we were thinking we would go on a little adventure!” 

“Oooohhh, intriguing.”

The adventure turned out to be a short hike. On the outskirts of Velaris were some foothills on the edge of the Steppes that had a few trails that led out to these beautiful viewpoints and lakes and waterfalls. They had been hiking for about an hour when they reached the top of a hill that they could see almost all of Velaris from. The city from up above was absolutely gorgeous, more so at night.

“Hey, look!” Nesta called, pointing at something in the distance. As they drew closer they could hear the roar of the river. The waterfall was beautiful, water droplets spraying them in a fine mist. The water itself was crystal blue and looked so inviting. Watching their footing they hopped from rock to rock, crossing over to the other side of the river.

Ten minutes later they reached the lake. It was the same piercing blue as the river and had a near perfect reflection of the mountains looming over it on the other side on its surface. The breeze was gentle, cooling them down after their hike. A second later, a small animal darted across their path and a bird chirped in the distance.

“It’s so peaceful up here.” Gwyn remarked.

Emerie agreed before suggesting, “Let's go sit on that rock over there while we eat some lunch.”

“You brought lunch?”

“Yeah? We’re not animals.” Nesta said, taking out some sandwiches from her pack.

Once they were done eating they looked around some more before walking back. Gwyn made her way back to the House of Wind with Nesta and Emerie where she went to hers and Az’s room to shower and change into something nice for their dinner. She eventually settled on a lovely green dress that she had gotten a year ago.

She walked up to one of the balconies where she heard some rustling about and people talking. Unsurprisingly, she couldn't see anyone.

“Surprise!” Everyone shouted, suddenly visible again. The entire Inner Court was there, along with Nesta and Emerie. Even a few priestesses who were a little more comfortable around others had come. Then, at the front stood Az looking as dashing as ever. 

People started filling their plates with food.

“Hey.”

“You look stunning.”

Blushing a bit, she thanked him.

"I know it was just supposed to be us but I thought you'd want to spend your birthday with friends. Tomorrow, thought, I have a nice dinner planned for us."

"Do you really, or is it just a cover for a second party?" She teased.

"I do."

"Thanks for organizing this, it means a lot to me."

The party lasted long into the night, eventually leaving them somewhat alone in the corner watching the night sky in peace. A start shot across the sky up above and Gwyn made a wish. Leaning her head to the side, she nestled into Az’s side and he wrapped one arm around her, holding her tight.

“Happy Birthday Gwyn.”

[mystical-blaise]

Just a humble brag... (HOFAS SPOILER BELOW)

that I had written Truth-Teller as Enalius' dagger that Azriel is called to in A Court of Whispers and Song years before HOFAS 💅

[letstrytoohard]

There’s A Blade Where Your Heart Is

Azriel is hunting humans after a shipwreck, and as he attempts to claim his lovely prize, she stabs him in the shoulder. This chance encounter sends him spinning out, pushing the boundaries of what he’s willing to do to get close to her.

The only thing he can’t give her is his heart.

Chapter 1 is posted on AO3! I couldn’t pass up the chance to start publishing on Friday the 13th.

Here's a small glimpse into Azriel going insane over our favorite redhead:

Every night he dreamed of teal, copper, and cream, dancing and laughing just out of his reach, and every night he woke when the knife slashed across his vision. 

His obsession became frantic, reverent, desperate. He had to see her. He caused shipwreck after shipwreck, each one more elaborate and violent than the last, hoping this might tempt her back onto open waters.

[iocaisaint]

Random things I'd change in ACOSF

Feeling particularly hateful, don't wanna see it move along

There's actually too many things to fix in canon!Nessian so it's not getting page time actually.

Figure out what Nesta's powers actually are/have 'Lady Death' actually mean something (in my mind she would be able to make things come to bring things back from edge of death, commune with the dead, kill people/parts of people like she can make a hand rot, summon the death trove etc.)

On that note instead of the imprisonment rehabilitation being about drinking /fucking have Nesta hurt someone accidentally (we know she was basically an atomic bomb levels of power AND was using alcohol to drown out powers it would make more sense)

She sequesters herself in Windhaven with Az (who's spending as much time as he can with mom post-war), the IC chooses not to be filthy hypocrites and listens to her when she doesn't want to be around Cassian

She meets Gwyn working in the library trying to figure out her powers. Gwyn storyline is mostly the same, only Gwyn has more of a desire to leave the library but hasn't reached the point in which she can. After their initial meeting Nesta starts helping Gwyn with her work.

Now Emerie! It's time to give my sister a storyline. So, one day when Nesta is out and about she finds Emerie like half-bleeding to death (in this version Nesta isn't in prison rehab so she can leave whenever she wants)

She helps her but Em is like tight lipped as hell as to what happened to her. We find out that Em basically runs an underground railroad type of situation where she takes Illyrian women and children from abusive homes to the more "progressive" camps; when Nesta found her her group had been intercepted and she chose to stay behind. Idk how old Em is but she's been doing this ever since her mother died at the hands of her Dad. I can't think of a better name so let's call them The Dropoffs™

Em and Az DO NOT get along in the beginning. His general feelings towards Illyria Vs her feelings towards the current leadership being functionally useless (she's right)

Em begrudgingly starts training with Az because he is the best and she wants to get better so that she can hold her own during The Dropoffs™ . Az also respects what Em is doing. Nesta doesn't train but offers moral support out 1. Fear 2. She doesn't want to

Nesta off-handedly mentions this to Gwyn, who asks whether she can join (same reason as in canon it would be something that Catrin would do. Nesta asks Az, he's like sure 🤷🏾. So slowly The Valkyries™ are born

Gwyn and Em butt heads initially because of the library. Emerie rightfully questions why she's risking her life when there's a sanctuary for this shit in her home that isn't offered to Illyrians

We find out that Beron & Briallyn are working with Koschei (we don't know the exact terms of the deal and won't find out until the next book)

Have Eris train her (I already know SJM gonna drag the shit out of Beron's death) he needs someone to kill his father, she needs someone who understands her powers.

This will include a side trip to GOT s3 known as the Autumn Court, we get Nesta being the courtier she was supposed to be, we get out of NC and we get Beron dead everybody wins!

We get some questions answered Mor, Jesminda etc.

Nesta & Eris kill Beron after much, much scheming and close calls. HL of Autumn Eris

While this is happening Az is whooping Gwyn and Em into shape decides to be dumb like in canon and show them off to the Illyria men. They get kidnapped for the blood rite.

Nesta is like absolutely not and goes to get them outta there.

She finds them with the bracelets, they've managed to climb Ramiel but Emerie is fucked up between having to basically carry Gwyn there and injuries they sustained along the way.

Nesta tells the Cauldron to go fuck itself in this version, has her one on one with the Mother and basically begs her to heal Emerie. The Mother does and everything including Emerie's wings are healed.

Sprinkled in for necessary character development Nesta coming to terms with her dad dying (we're sticking to the pre-acofas canon of her hating the man so she has actually complex feelings, also her feelings towards Feyre AND Elain, being turned into something she never wanted, her being really good at being courtier but also hating that she relishes in what her mother trained her in)

Also Modest Nesta in!

Lastly, Feyre is rightfully terrified cause her sister just came from murdering the oldest high lord to the blood rite, Nesta apologises for the cabin and also explains why she doesn't want to visit her dad's grave, she tells Feyre she loves her) AND SCENE

If I had to do a romance it would probably be Neris OR Nesta/Emerie cause why not

The only storyline I hate more than Nessian was Feyre's pregnancy so off-page Rhys got over himself called Tamlin and had him shift Nyx's wings so he could be delivered safely and then shifted Feyre's womb afterwards. A hard but ultimately peaceful delivery thank you!