there is, i think, a particular kind of epistemic laziness in the way people approach aromantic asexualityโan insistence on translating it into terms that are already legible within an allonormative framework, as though the absence of romantic and sexual attraction must necessarily be a deficit rather than a reconfiguration of experience. the question is always what is missing, never what is present.
but to be aroace is not to exist in a vacuum. it is not a hollowing-out of the self, nor a failure to arrive at some universal human endpoint. rather, it is an alternative orientation toward intimacy, attachment, and meaningโone that exposes, quite inconveniently, the extent to which our cultural narratives have overprivileged romance and sex as the central axes around which a life must turn.
we are taught, over and over again, that love (by which is almost always meant romantic love) is the highest form of connection, the ultimate telos of human existence. entire genres, entire mythologies, are built upon this premise. to deviate from it is treated not as divergence but as errorโsomething to be explained away, corrected, or, at best, politely misunderstood.
what does it mean, for instance, to take seriously the idea that friendship is not a precursor to something else, not a lesser form of love waiting to be upgraded, but a complete and sufficient mode of relationality in its own right? what does it mean to decenter the coupleโto refuse the hierarchy that places romantic partnership at the pinnacle and relegates all other bonds to the periphery?
aroace existence, simply by being, asks these questions.
it also reveals how much of what is considered โnaturalโ is, in fact, deeply constructed. amatonormativityโthe assumption that everyone both desires and should desire a monogamous romantic partnershipโis so pervasive that its absence is often read as incomprehensible. people reach, reflexively, for explanations: trauma, repression, immaturity, a phase. anything but the possibility that this, too, is a valid and coherent way of being.
there is a subtle violence in that refusal. not always overt, not always malicious, but insistent nonetheless. it manifests in the constant probing (โare you sure?โ), in the pathologizing (โmaybe you just havenโt met the right personโ), in the quiet erasure of narratives that do not center romance or sex. it is the violence of being rendered unintelligible within the dominant discourse.
and stillโaroace people build lives.
lives full of attachment, of care, of chosen commitments that do not neatly map onto the categories provided for them. queerplatonic relationships, deeply invested friendships, familial bonds reimagined and reconstitutedโthese are not substitutes for something else, not placeholders for a โrealโ relationship that has yet to arrive. they are, in themselves, real.
perhaps what unsettles people is not the absence of attraction, but the implications of that absence. if a person can live fully, meaningfully, without romance or sex as central organizing principles, then what does that say about the supposed universality of those experiences? what does it reveal about the structures we have builtโsocial, economic, emotionalโaround the assumption that everyone is moving toward the same end?
to take aroace lives seriously would require a reorientation that many are unwilling to undertake. it would mean valuing forms of intimacy that are currently marginalized, questioning the primacy of the couple, and acknowledging that there is no singular blueprint for a fulfilling life.
so instead, the easier route is taken: misunderstanding, minimization, erasure.
but the thing about erasure is that it never fully succeeds. people continue to name themselves, to articulate their experiences, to carve out spacesโhowever smallโin which they are legible to one another, if not to the wider world.
and in doing so, they do more than simply assert their own existence. they expand the possibilities of what existence can look like.
to be aroace, then, is not merely to lack something. it is to inhabit a different configuration of beingโone that, if we were willing to listen, might teach us that the architectures of love and connection are far more varied than we have been led to believe.
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Author's Note : I'm back! This is 1.4K Word's and I love it so I hope all of you do too! Let me know what else you would like to see and if you enjoyed this, please. I don't write smut very often so I'm scared LOL .
Synopsis : You taunt Tobias at Placebo. You end up on your knees, with a reminder from your boyfriend. Filthy smut I hope you love it!
His lips are soft and wet. His hand gripping my hair roughly and the other enveloping my ass as a way to keep my body pressed tightly to his.
I whine as I try to bring my lips to his and he holds me back by the firm hold he has on me. His words are rough, and his eyes are dark as he rasps out, โOn your kneesโ.
A shiver travels the expanse of my spine and goosebumps explode across my skin as I mindlessly sink to the floor.ย
This is what I wanted. To have him snap. Heโs the epitome of a man that possesses self-control, so being capable of forcing him to lose that control is a pastime of mine. I love watching him lose himself in me.
My eyes donโt stray from his own as I begin to palm at him. My fingers tracing the fabric and lingering on the spots that elicit a gasp, exhale, or grunt from him. A smile curves up my mouth as I catch the arousing sound of his stuttered breath.
โIs this what you want?โ My tone is playing innocently stupid.
Itโs not until I feel his grip tighten and watch the glint of lust in his eyes expand that I decide to pull out his cock. My mouth is practically salivating as I watch him hiss at the sensitivity and I use this moment to gently kiss the tip, my lips puckered against it before softly taking it into my mouth.
I suck softly and listen to the gasp that befalls my ears. Heโs so fucking hot when heโs desperate. I feel my cunt clenching at the mere sound of his soft grunts as I slowly take him further in, โFuck baby, your mouth is incredibleโ.
I mewl in approval at the compliments slipping past his lips and I use it as encouragement, my lips tightening as I pull back and pop off of him. Before he can say anything, I spit softly onto his cock and use my palm to stroke the lubricant across his entire length.ย
His breathing pattern has risen and his eyes are hooded as he watches me stroke his cock. His gaze is penetrating and itโs making my pussy wet beyond what I thought possible. I can see the filth in his eyes and itโs only exciting me for whatโs to come.
I suck harshly on the tip of his length as I use my palm to stimulate the rest of his cock and I canโt help the pulsing of my clit as I listen to the sound of his rough grunting.
Tobiasโs grip is tight as he enters a phase of frustration and overwhelming desire. I gasp wetly as he roughly entangles his fist within the long strands of my dark hair. With my chin directed up, my eyes snap to his, low and so turned on as I whine out in a petulant tone, โI want to make you comeโ.
An amused smirk curves up his lips.
My pussy clenches. Fuck heโs so hot.
I pucker my lips and kiss his cock softly before heโs yanking me away from his erection with a correcting tut, โNuh-uh. I didnโt say I wanted to come yet, did I?โ.
I narrow my eyes at him. Heโs punishing me for the way that I relentlessly provoked him tonight and I want to internally yell; and then provoke him further. But I know that if I do, Iโll come out losing tonight, so I pout and give him what heโs looking for.
Submission.
I let my body relax into his hold, my chin tilted up so that Iโm at his mercy with the steel grip he has on me. I soften my gaze and lightly whisper out, โNo. You didnโtโ.
He notches an eyebrow and the look on his face solely conveyโs amusement and a hint ofโฆ satisfaction. His gaze settles on my lips, swollen and flushed, โOpen your mouthโ, he demandโs sternly.
Instinctively, I listen. My lips parting effortlessly, and my tongue rolling out with relative speed.
I watch the way that he utilizes his own grip to stroke his hard cock, the movement tight as it meets his tip, and loose as he meets the base. My eyes stay connected to the image in front of me and I have to stop myself from whining at the distaste of not being given permission to touch him the way that I so desperately want.
My cunt is so wet, and he can see the arousal in my gaze as he coos mockingly, โAre you wet, baby?โ.
I mewl. My eyes are blown out and my agreement is fast as I nod, desperately trying to convey how fucking badly I need him to fuck me and his only response is a mocking, โOf course you areโฆ this slutty little pussy would get wet only from sucking my cock. Wouldnโt it?โ
I whimper loudly at his degrading phrase. My clit is pulsing with an incessant desire to come and I keep my gaze on his cock as I let slip a small, โYesโฆ Can I? Please?โ.
His grin is full of satisfaction and itโs oozing from his tone as he lets his length slip into my mouth, and softly touch the back of it. I use all the knowledge that I have come to gather in my time with him and apply it in order to take the entirety of his length. I only know that I have when an unmistakable whimper escapes his slightly parted mouth.
The tip of my nose is pressed softly to the firm muscle of his abdomen as I take his cock all the way into my mouth and I swallow, once, pulling a choked gasp from him. My mind is spacy, and I only think of the man standing before me. His lips, his hands, his cock. Heโs built like a wet-dream.
In an attempt to inhale more air, I suck harshly as I pull my lips back only to feel the vice-like hold that Tobias has on the nape of my neck. Iโm only alarmed for a second before Iโm embracing it, inhaling through my nose and fluttering my eyes closed. โJust like thatโฆโ.
Time is endless as I kneel in front of him, licking and sucking on his length. Listening to the filthy sound of his grunting, and the consistent wet slide that is the tight grip I have on him as I stroke his cock.
His thighs start to shake and his grip flips from the rough hold on the nape of my neck to a soft palm steering my mouth further down the length of his dick. I gag softly, my throat closing around the head of his cock, and I nod feverently and as best as I can when he gasps out, โFuck, Iโm coming! Ohโฆ god. Such a perfect mouthโ.
My clit is pulsing and I whine with my lips still softly sucking the tip of his cock, swallowing the thick pulses of come that he shot into my mouth. My eyes never abandon his as I do so, and I have a hazy grin on my lips as I pull away from him.
His chest is moving rapidly and heโs staring at me with lowered eyes, his face flushed and with a sheen of perspiration.ย
A small smile slips onto my face and I canโt help the laugh that escapes me as I look up at him, the stern atmosphere that was there just a moment ago, now broken. โYou came so hardโ.
He grins tiredly and caresses his palm lightly on my cheek, his thumb coming into soft contact with my lip, โYeah?โ. I hum in response to his question, clenching my thighs together at the sound of his low remark.
His eyes darken within a second as he spots it and I fight to withhold the hitch in my breathing pattern as they meet my own.
Iโm so fucked.
He hums, finding my inability to sit still amusing, and he mutters in finality as he softly caresses my lips with his thumb, โYou will too, when I decide that you finally canโ. My eyes show my alarm and this only encourages him, โYou like taunting me? Like making me wait?โ.
I swallow and sit still, letting his gaze consume me as I stay looking up at him from my position on my knees. โHave you forgotten whoโs the student?โ.
peter leaned against the wall, his eyes narrowing as he watched you from across the pit. you were laughing with the others, your smile wide and effortless, but something about the glint in your eyes always seemed bittersweet. it was as if the laughter was a mask, attempting to hide your candor-born honesty despite ech slip of a gesture, an expression. not that it could be helped. the truth bled from the very way looked, the very words you breathed.ย
he loved it. how you were basically an intricate scrapbook, pieced together by every person who had ever touched your life, every place you had ever belonged to, and every passion that had ever stirred your heart. you were a patchwork of experiences, raw and honest, and he couldnโt help but be drawn to the way you failed to rid yourself of candor's transparency. with the brutal, competetive atmosphere of dauntless, you reminded peter of home.
he had always been a problem. for many people, but especially for you. you were no stranger to peter hayes, growing eerily familiar to his sharp edges and cruel humor as it had been a constant presence in your life. after all, you were born in the same faction, hung around the same groups of people, followed the same set of rules. even more, your mother had never liked him. since the two of you were young he'd seem to constantly be one second away from breaking whateverโor whoeverโit was in front of him. you used to think you hated him for his arrogance. for how cruel he could be, his tendency to belittle the people that cared for him.
"staring again," christinaโs voice sliced through your thoughts, jolting you back to the present. you blinked, reluctantly tearing your gaze away from peter, who was leaning casually against a wall. he was like an island of calm amidst the chaos that spread across the dauntless pit, his posture relaxed and his expression unreadable.
but then you chose dauntless. with one swift cut of the ordaining knife, it wasnโt just your tender, naive skin that was cutโit was every tie to the life you once knew. suddenly, peter hayes, the only person youโve ever despised, became the only constant in your life. the one unchanging thread that connected both your past and present.
"i wasnโt," you insisted, but the words felt hollow even as they left your lips. your candor was a relentless betrayer, with every twitch of your mouth or flicker in your eyes revealing the truths you tried so hard to conceal. christinaโs gaze sharpened with amusement, catching the subtle giveaway in your demeanor. you had known her for just about as long as you'd known peter, but the switch to dauntless demeanor always seemed easier for her.
"right. cโmon, candor," she quipped, her voice tinged with playful sarcasm as she nudged you gently with her elbow. "may the truth set you free," she mocked with a smirk, her tone light but knowing. โyouโve got it bad.โ
you shook your head, trying to mount a defense. "i donโt," you said, but your protest lacked the firmness youโd hoped for. peter had been the object of your intrigue since youโd met him in summer camp, the boy that used to look at you with such passion. the boy you promised your mother that youโd never even think of talking to.
christinaโs grin widened, clearly finding amusement in your discomfort. she followed your gaze back to peter, who remained fixed on you with a knowing smirk. it was as if he thrived on every flicker of attention you gave him, the curve of his lips revealing his awareness. he seemed to relish in the fact that you couldnโt tear your eyes away, savoring the way his presence bothered you.
"besides, heโs a total jerk," you said, your voice trailing off as you tried to mask your uncertainty. the effort to convince yourself sounded more like a feeble excuse than a genuine assertion. you fixed your gaze away from peter, forcing yourself to focus on his flawsโhis arrogance, the cruel edge in his humor, the narcissism he wielded with ease. yet, despite your best intentions, all you could think about was his lingering touch and your stolen glances. you failed at every attempt to distance yourself. it was as if he was fully aware of the internal battle you were waging and took a twisted pleasure in it.
you remembered an instance from a few nights ago.
youโd been crying in the communal bathrooms, the cold tiles beneath you doing nothing to ease the burning sensation behind your eyes. it had been a bad dayโtraining had pushed you to your limit, the weight of your decision to leave candor pressed down hard, and the overwhelming newness of dauntless was closing in from all sides.
the tears had come suddenly, without warning, and once they started, you couldnโt stop them. you didnโt want to cryโnot here, not in a place where showing weakness was as good as painting a target on your back. but you were alone, or so you thought, and it had been too much to keep inside.
then you heard the door creak open. you immediately wiped your face, hurriedly trying to compose yourself, when you heard his voice.
"didnโt expect to find you here," peterโs voice was low, casual, but there was an edge to it that you couldnโt quite place. you assumed it was taunting.
your first instinct was defensiveness. after years of being taught to hate him, after years of believing he was nothing but cruel and self-serving, you bristled at his presence. you had no idea why he was here, and the last thing you needed was to deal with peter hayes right now.
โgo away, peter,โ you muttered, not even bothering to look up at him. your voice came out more bitter than you intended, but you couldnโt help it. it was habit. youโd spent years convincing yourself that he was the last person you could rely on. โi donโt wanna talk to you.โ
for a moment, he didnโt say anything. you expected him to leaveโmaybe with a sharp remark, something that would sting, something that would remind you exactly who he was and why you should stay far away from him. but he didnโt. instead, you felt him sit down beside you, close enough for his presence to be known but not close enough to make you uncomfortable.
he didnโt speak. he didnโt tease or push. he just sat there, quiet, waiting.
you didnโt want to give in. you didnโt want to let your guard down around him, of all people. but the longer he stayed, the harder it became to keep your defenses up. the weight of the day, the exhaustion, and the relentless pressure of everything finally caught up with you. you couldnโt hold back anymore.
before you even realized what was happening, you leaned against him. your body moved on instinct, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, the sobs breaking free as the tears fell hot and heavy.
to your surprise, peter didnโt pull away. he didnโt make a comment or a joke at your expense. instead, his arm came up, hesitating for just a second before wrapping around you. his grip was firm, and he pulled you in closeโjust enough for you to feel the warmth of his body against yours. he didnโt say anything, didnโt try to pry or ask questions. he just stayed there, silent and steady, letting you cry.
it wasnโt what you expected. peter was supposed to be cruel, detached, distant. but in that moment, none of that mattered. he was just there, holding you together when you felt like everything else was falling apart.
you didnโt know how long you stayed like that, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, your body trembling from the release of everything youโd been holding inside. but eventually, the sobs began to subside, and you found yourself breathing a little easier, the storm inside you starting to calm.
you pulled away slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes still red and swollen from crying. โwhy do you do this?โ you asked, your voice small and hoarse from the tears. you genuinely didnโt understand. โwhy do youโฆ why are you here?โ
peterโs eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something raw, something unguarded in his gaze. then, with a small, almost playful smirk, he shrugged. โdonโt know what you mean,โ he said, his voice soft but teasing. โyou know i love you.โ
the words were so simple, so casually said, that they took you by surprise. but there was no sarcasm in his tone, no bite to his words. he was sincere, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear as if the words were meant to be a secret shared only between the two of you. then, with a sudden rush of either reckless confidence or desperate longing, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss just behind your ear. the tenderness of it sent a shiver down your spine. โlet me be here,โ he whispered, his voice low and steady, though it carried a note of quiet vulnerability. he was trying to convey reassurance, but the raw emotion in his voice felt closer to a quiet, earnest plea.ย
christina said that that was when you started staring.ย
youโd seen a side of him you never thought to imagine and you craved for more. but he was peter hayes. he wasnโt supposed to feel anything. not for you, not for anyone. he tried to convince himself that as well as he savoured the feeling of your soft skin on his lips. yet, there he was, aching for something he couldnโt bring himself to ask for. something that made his heart race every time you was near, something that made him want to push you away and pull you closer all at once. your love.
he turned to you then, his hand brushing yours just barely, but it was enough to make his pulse quicken. you locked eyes, and for a second, and suddenly everything else that happened outside of the bathrooms faded away. he could feel your heartbeat in the air between you, the way your breath hitched, the way you wanted him to say something, anything. but he couldnโt. not yet. so he just sat there, his lips twitching into a smirk, masking everything he wasnโt ready to say.
christinaโs expression shifted to one of knowing amusement, her eyebrow arching in a way that made it clear she wasnโt buying your story. "yeah, and yet here you are, still thinking about him. denial is just another form of obsession, you know."
"i am not obsessed," you snapped, a little too loudly. you tried to sound more forceful than you felt. but even to your own ears, the argument wore thin. the truth was, no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, peter had managed to engrave himself into your thoughts, lingering at the edge of your consciousness like an itch you couldnโt quite scratch.
christinaโs hand landed on your shoulder, the gesture both comforting and teasing. her eyes held a mix of sympathy and amusement, as if she could see right through your carefully constructed facade. "sure, keep telling yourself that," she said, her tone light but tinged with a gentle sincerity. "but pretending isnโt the same as believing."
you didnโt respond, choosing instead to focus on your hands, which were twisting nervously in your lap. christina wasnโt wrong. the tension between you and peter was undeniable, a magnetic force that seemed to vibrate with an intensity everyone could feel when the two of you were near.ย
glancing back at peter, you found him still observing you from across the pit. his gaze cut through the chaotic swirl of faces and noise, landing squarely on you with an intensity that felt almost tangible. it wasnโt just a casual glance; it was as if he was deeply engrossed, his eyes soft and thoughtful, carrying an unmistakable trace of what you dared call admiration. the smirk was gone now, replaced by an expression that seemed to reveal more than he usually let onโa look that made your heart flutter against your will.ย
you shifted uncomfortably, unable to shake the feeling that his gaze was dissecting every fragment of your carefully guarded emotions. in that moment, the air between you felt charged, filled with something unspoken that neither of you were ready to confront. and even as you tried to look away, his eyes seemed to follow, holding a soft, thoughtful reverence that you found both disconcerting and oddly comforting.
you reminded yourself that, no matter how warm you felt under his gaze or how infatuated you were with him, peter was still peterโthe same boy who had mocked your familyโs dedication to order and laughed at othersโ missteps under the guise of โhonesty.โ his usual sarcasm and cruelty were just parts of his carefully constructed facade, a shield designed to guard against any real vulnerability.
but the way he treated you was different now in dauntless. there was always a softness in his gaze, a subtle consideration that contrasted with his usual demeanor. it made you question if beneath his cold exterior, there was a part of him that genuinely cared, revealing a side of him that was far less indifferent than he let on. it made you wonder if he wasnโt as cold as he wanted everyone to believe.
regardless, you knew you would never, in every sense of the word, let yourself fall for peter hayes. he was supposed to be a horrible person.
โฆ but on one particularly exhausting night, after another grueling day of training, you tossed and turned in bed, unable to find any solace in sleep. the unfamiliarity of dauntless gnawed at you, and the weight of leaving candor behind seemed to grow heavier with each passing hour. not that youโd ever blatantly admit it, but the new environment was overwhelming. despite your best efforts to adapt, the relentless pressure was starting to crack your composure.
in the dead of night, you awoke with a start, your heart pounding and a deep sense of unease settling over you. you stumbled out of bed, the darkness amplifying your anxiety as you wandered through the dimly lit corridors of dauntless. just as the silence seemed to stretch endlessly, a soft knock broke the stillness, echoing against the cold concrete walls. there, at the end of the hall, stood peter. he stood as tall as ever, but his touch was unexpectedly gentle. his hand brushed lightly against the small of your back, pulling you a bit closer, and the warmth of his skin contrasted sharply with the chill of the night air.ย
though your eyes were still heavy with sleep, you could see the rare softness in his gaze, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor. โhey, sweetheart,โ he said, his voice low and raspy, but surprisingly soothing. โyou okay?โ
โjust canโt sleep,โ you mumbled, rubbing your tired eyes. you couldโve been meaner, you couldโve tried harder to push him away but you convinced yourself you were too tired to.ย
even you knew you were lying.ย
without a word, he guided you back to the rooms, his hand resting steady and reassuring on your waist. the warmth of his calloused skin against your arm was comforting, sending a shiver through you. your heart ached to lean more of your weight against him, to feel the full press of his body against yours. each touch felt intensely intimate, grounding you in a way that made your heart race. his calm presence was a soothing contrast to the cold, impersonal walls of dauntless.
as he guided you back to the room, his touch so comforting and warm, memories from your younger years resurfaced.
you recalled how, even then, there was a strange tenderness in the way he interacted with you, though he never showed the same kindness towards others. peter was always rough with the other kids, his teasing and taunting often crossing the line into childish cruelty.ย
your mother had noticed, warning you to stay away from him, claiming he was a bad influence. she saw the way he bullied others and feared that his harshness would rub off on you. so, you had learned to hate him, to see only his rough edges and disregard his rare moments of gentleness. now, feeling his warmth and seeing the softness in his eyes, those old judgments felt shaky and uncertain. It mustโve been a trickโa game he was playing. but in that moment you couldnโt bring yourself to care, revelling in the way his skin brushed against yours.
as he helped you settle back under the covers, his touch was deliberate and achingly tender, causing a warm flush to spread through you. you wondered how you managed to muster enough hate to stay far enough away from him. the brush of his fingers against your skin, as he tucked the blankets around you, felt both intimate and possessive, sending a shiver of through your body. each contact, from his fingertips grazing your arm to his palm pressing gently on your shoulder, was charged with a longing intensity.
โyou need to rest,โ he murmured, his voice low and soothing, nearly a whisper. his gaze lingered on you with a softness that was rare for him. before he turned to leave, he gently swept a few stray strands of hair from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. โitโs okay to be overwhelmed, sweetheart. we all are.โ
you looked up at him, the tenderness of his touch and the care in his eyes sending a rush of warmth through you that made you slightly breathless. his eyes, usually so sharp, were softened by a rare, gentle affection that made your heart flutter. โthanks, peter. you didnโt have to.โ
โyeah? well, i did,โ he said, a crooked smile playing at his lips, his eyes twinkling with a touch of mischief. he held your hand in his and refused to let go, like he wasnโt ready to leave. you didn't want him to leave. โdeal with it.โ his voice was smooth, his tone almost too casual, as if the closeness was natural. as if he wasnโt acting completely out of character. his hand remained lingering by your jaw a moment longer than necessary, his touch longing like a secret between you.
you remembered early in high school, when peter had asked you out to the dance and confessed his feelings, saying he loved you. without hesitation, youโd turned him down, following your motherโs wishes. even then, he didnโt seem upset. instead, he simply promised that youโd end up loving him one day.
at the time, you didn't believe him, dismissing his words as just another piece of the game he constantly played. now, as you felt the warmth of his touch and the gentle care heโd shown, you couldnโt ignore the echoes of that past moment. you were falling for him. despite everything, you were falling for him.ย
and after all that time, he was right.
โwhatโs wrong?โ he asked, his voice tired, and raspy, but caring. it summoned butterflies to your stomach. he said it like you were the only girl in the world. suddenly, you felt like you were in middle school again, getting flustered over a boy. your mother would be so disappointed.
โI donโt wanna talk โbout it,โ you said, though your eyes betrayed you as they stayed locked with him. out of a force of habit you continued, โdonโt wanna talk to you.โ you didnโt mean it, of course.
he let out a tired, amused laugh before bringing your hand up to press a gentle kiss in the palm of your hand. you melted. โi love you anyway.โ
threw 3.5k words on a tumblr post and called it a fanfic </3
I was thinking abt @miscartzโs Revolution2x Au and then remembered a book I had when I was a kid.
Tried using only the sketch brushes for an effect.
also the girl with the Neapolitan hair is my Knowledge embodiment OC Erudite. Iโll post about her in a bit (Sheโs from my RevolutionRevolution/original work universe)
I wonder how Prudentis feels about his job honestly. Going from being a deity worshipped by those at the School of Athens to just being a random history teacher at some high school, in New Jersey or wherever it is (idk why but I just get a New Jersey aura from this whole concept) must be very different. I feel bad for him, his chronic illness must make everything worseโฆ.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch โข No registration required โข HD streaming
I just unlocked Gold and Gears on my alt account and got to meet this lovely fella again. I think we all know that Stephen is a kid genius and is pretending to be a grown up. Pretty shy too. I also just noticed that Pearl who is a stoneheart was mentioned and is actively collecting data in G & G. I was so focused on Ratio being stimulated in Gold and Gears that I missed a stoneheart being mentioned.
Anyways, I hope we get to see the Kid Stephen. He'll be so adorable in his overalls, goggles and a rubber ducky.
There is a certain kind of silence in Erudite that no other faction has.
It is not the silence of peace. Not the hush of comfort or the absence of noise. It is the quiet hum of judgment. The sterile stillness of people who listen before they speak, observe before they act. Every movement, every breath is calculated. Controlled.
(Y/N) wakes to this silence, as always.
Her room is exactโjust like everything else in her life. Walls painted a cold, functional shade of pale gray. A steel-framed bed, the sheets tucked tight at ninety-degree corners. A single bookshelf. Two tablets stacked neatly on her desk, charged overnight. Everything in its place. Nothing out of order.
She sits up slowly, blinking away the remnants of an uneasy dream. One she canโt quite remember, only that it left her jaw clenched and her chest heavy. The kind of dream she would never admit to anyone. Not here. Not even to herself, if she could help it.
Her bare feet touch the cold floor. A shiver climbs up her spine.
The Erudite compound is always too cold. They say it keeps the mind sharp. Logical. Undistracted. (Y/N) isnโt sure if thatโs true, but sheโs long since stopped questioning it out loud.
She dresses in silence: soft blue blouse, dark slacks, a sleek, dark gray sweater that hugs her arms like armor. Not a single wrinkle. She checks the mirrorโnot for vanity, but for precision. Her hair is braided and pinned in a style approved by her mother. Her expression is unreadable, her eyes steady.
Thatโs what people see when they look at her: steady. Composed. Just like Jeanine.
But they donโt see the thoughts constantly turning just behind her eyes.
They donโt see the weight.
The halls of the compound are already alive by the time she steps out of her room.
Not loudโnever loudโbut full of motion. Glass doors slide open on whispered tracks. Screens flicker on as people pass. A group of analysts cluster around a table in one of the common rooms, debating something about resource allocations for the Factionless districts. Their voices are low, clipped, precise.
(Y/N) doesnโt stop. She walks past them, silent as a shadow. No one greets her.
Not because they donโt know her.
Because they do.
She is Jeanine Matthewsโ daughter.
And that means she is watched.
Not spoken to. Not trusted. Watched.
Sheโs learned to move quietly. To answer questions before theyโre asked. To never show hesitationโeven when it burns in her throat like acid. The wrong tone, the wrong look, the wrong question could be the beginning of the end. Not because sheโd be exiled. No. That would be too kind.
Because her mother would notice.
The dining area is bright with artificial sunlight.
Erudite engineers designed it to mimic natural circadian rhythms, though (Y/N) doubts theyโve ever bothered to test its actual effectiveness. She steps through the glass doorway and immediately sees her mother, seated alone at the long central table.
Jeanine Matthews is already reading, a tablet in one hand, tea in the other. Her posture is perfect. Not a strand of hair out of place. Her white coat is crisp, the Erudite insignia gleaming on the lapel. She looks like a statue carved from iceโflawless, cold, and utterly unyielding.
(Y/N) approaches quietly and takes the seat across from her. Her breakfast is already thereโprotein-enhanced toast, a single boiled egg, half a grapefruit. Calorically optimized. Precisely portioned. No room for preference.
Jeanine doesnโt look up from her tablet.
โYour aptitude test is today,โ she says, her voice as calm and impersonal as a data report.
โI know,โ (Y/N) replies, keeping her tone equally flat.
Jeanine finally lifts her gaze, eyes scanning (Y/N)โs face with surgical precision. โYouโve always scored well on assessments. I expect this will be no different.โ
There is no warmth in her voice. No pride. Only expectation.
(Y/N) picks up her fork. โOf course.โ
A pause. A sip of tea.
Then Jeanine sets the tablet down, folding her hands over it. โRemember what Iโve taught you. Logic is not just the foundation of Eruditeโit is the foundation of civilization. Emotion obscures truth. And truth, above all else, is what sustains order.โ
โI understand,โ (Y/N) murmurs, slicing a neat section of grapefruit.
โGood.โ Jeanineโs eyes narrow slightly. โBecause deviation from oneโs designated faction, particularly when one is well-suited, reflects not just personal failureโbut ideological dissonance.โ
(Y/N) doesn't flinch, but she feels it. That subtle pressure. The weight beneath the words.
โI have no intention of failing,โ she says.
Jeanine leans back. โNo one intends to. But someโฆ are born divided.โ
And there it is. The warning. The test before the test.
(Y/N) lowers her gaze to her plate. Her hands are steady. Her voice is smooth. โI am not divided.โ
Jeanine says nothing. Just studies her for a beat too long, then returns to her tablet like the conversation never happened.
But (Y/N) can still feel the silence between them. Heavy. Chilling.
Like a knife pressed to glass.
The glass walls of the Erudite compound reflect a world made of angles and edges. There is no softness hereโno unnecessary texture or color. Everything exists because it is useful. Everything functions because it must.
(Y/N) walks the corridors with practiced efficiency, her bag slung over one shoulder. The materials insideโnotes she doesnโt need, schedules she already memorizedโare symbolic more than practical. Carrying them gives people a reason not to question her. And in Erudite, appearances are often more important than truth.
Not that anyone would dare question Jeanine Matthewsโ daughter. Not out loud.
The halls are populated with scholars, analysts, and researchers already hard at work. Some peer into microscopes, others into screens filled with cascading data. Conversations float through the air like low-level staticโdense with terminology, stripped of anything resembling emotion.
Her footsteps make no sound on the polished floor.
As she passes, a few heads turnโbut they donโt acknowledge her. They assess. Her existence registers as a variable to be noted, not a person to be spoken to.
She doesnโt mind. Not really. This is how itโs always been.
A group of newer Erudite ย slightly older than her gathers outside one of the lower labs, tablets in hand. She recognizes most of them. Nolan is among themโtall, sharp-cheeked, always too quick to smirk at someone elseโs expense. He leans against the glass wall, glancing up just in time to see her approach.
โWell, if it isnโt Erudite royalty,โ he says, voice pitched low but clear. Just loud enough to make sure others hear.
(Y/N) doesnโt slow down.
โOff to your aptitude test?โ Nolan continues. โOr did your mother already rig it for you?โ
She pausesโnot because the words sting, but because theyโre so predictable. She turns her head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze.
โI suppose we will be finding out soon, wonโt we?โ
A few of the others exchange looks.
(Y/N) turns away, already moving.
She doesnโt get satisfaction from the exchange. That would imply she cares what he thinks. She doesnโt. She just understands the value of silenceโand when to break it.
Outside, the courtyard is bathed in morning light. Artificial, of courseโthe compound is surrounded by mirrored barriers and holographic sky panels to mimic natural weather cycles. Still, the sunlight feels real enough on her skin. Almost warm.
She pauses near the central gardenโan ornamental space filled with symmetrical rows of trimmed hedges and genetically optimized plants. Everything about it is designed for efficiency. Even the flowers bloom on schedule.
A small child, no more than five, stumbles past her, chasing a rolling toy. A womanโlikely a researcherโswoops in seconds later to retrieve him, offering a hushed apology before guiding the boy away. The moment is brief. Gentle.
(Y/N) lingers longer than she should, watching them.
Jeanine would call it a waste of time. Unnecessary sentiment. But something about itโsomething about the soft curve of the boyโs smile, the way the womanโs hand rested on his backโsticks in her mind.
She tucks it away. A mental snapshot. Something to revisit later.
Then she hears it.
A distant thunder. Not weather. Not in Erudite.
The Dauntless train.
She moves toward the edge of the courtyard, where the glass arches give a sweeping view of the city below. Her breath catchesโnot visibly, of courseโbut enough that she feels it in her ribs.
The train barrels across its elevated tracks, metal screaming, smoke trailing like a banner behind it. It doesnโt slow. It never does. And from its sidesโleaping like sparks from a fireโare the Dauntless.
They jump.
From a moving train. From impossible heights. They roll, land, laugh like gravity is a suggestion.
She watches in stillness, the scene unfolding like something out of a simulationโtoo chaotic to be real, too vivid to ignore. They move with such wild, unfiltered energy. She can practically hear it echoing through the compoundโs reinforced walls.
And thenโ
She sees him.
Not the first to jump. Not the last. He doesnโt throw himself from the train like the othersโhe descends from it, brutal and clean, landing hard and rising harder. His coat flares behind him like the wing of a dark bird. His eyes are sharp, cutting across the courtyard, and for a fraction of a secondโ
He looks up.
Right at her.
Their eyes meet.
The breath she didnโt know she was holding stills. Itโs not attraction. Not yet. Itโs something stranger. Something older. Like the moment her simulation results flicker on screenโlike seeing a new variable in an equation that once made sense.
Unaccounted for. Unbalanced.
He looks away.
She doesnโt.
The walk to the testing chamber is long.
Not in distanceโErudite buildings are designed with ruthless efficiencyโbut in weight. Each step is measured. She isnโt being watched, not obviously, but the eyes of the faction are always present. Data logs. Surveillance nodes. Performance analytics. Even here.
Especially here.
(Y/N) keeps her posture flawless. Her expression neutral. She has practiced this version of herself for as long as sheโs been able to walkโthe daughter of Jeanine Matthews must never betray uncertainty.
But inside, her thoughts crackle. Not with fear. With momentum.
The train is still echoing in her mindโthe blur of movement, the way the Dauntless flew through the air as if daring the world to break them. And him. The one who didnโt leap so much as descend. Eric. His face has been stamped into her memory before she even made the conscious decision to store it.
She remembers him now. Not from files, exactly, but from fragments. A name that floated through old documents and departmental murmurs. The Erudite prodigy who defected to Dauntless and rose too quickly through the ranks. Ruthless. Efficient. Intellectually gifted but temperamentally flawed.
She never paid much attention to the gossip.
But now she wonders.
What made him leave?
What made her stay?
She arrives at the testing room on scheduleโprecisely one minute early. Not enough to seem eager. Just enough to be noted.
The door slides open with a soft hiss. The room inside is sterile and dimly lit. White walls, metal exam chair, a terminal glowing pale blue. A woman waits, dressed in regulation Erudite uniformโhair tightly coiled, face drawn and professional.
โ(Y/N) Matthews,โ the woman says, more a confirmation than a greeting.
(Y/N) nods. โYes.โ
โIโm Tessa. Iโll be administering your simulation.โ Her voice is pleasant in a way thatโs clearly rehearsed. โSit down. Weโll begin shortly.โ
(Y/N) crosses the room and lowers herself into the chair. The synthetic material is cold against her skin. She places her hands on the armrests, fingers relaxed. She does not fidget. She does not ask questions. She knows better than to break protocol in front of Erudite personnelโespecially with her motherโs name attached to hers.
Tessa adjusts the interface at the terminal, then turns to her with a small, clinical smile.
โJust a serum injection. It will induce a controlled hallucination. Your responses will be monitored.โ
(Y/N) nods again. Sheโs read the files. Studied the process. It should feel familiar.
But it doesnโt.
Tessa rolls over a tray. The needle is long, gleaming silver. The vial at its base glows faintly violetโbiochemical compounds suspended in memory-enhancing nanofluid.
(Y/N) watches without blinking.
โThis may sting,โ Tessa says, more out of formality than concern.
(Y/N) doesnโt flinch as the needle pierces her skin.
The moment the liquid enters her bloodstream, the world tilts.
Not violently.
Justโฆ away.
The last thing she sees before her vision dissolves is the soft blue glow of the terminal.
And the faint reflection of her own eyesโstill open, still focusedโas the simulation takes hold.
