#dauntless retaliate

[heliads]

Something More

Based on this request: "a jealous four. reader isnt oblivious and sees the way four looks and acts with her but she gets tired of him taking long to shoot his shot so she starts flirting with another dude to make him jealous"

request sourced freshly from wattpad

masterlist

Something in this room is driving you mad. You can feel the weight of it pinned directly between your shoulder blades like a knife, following you relentlessly no matter where you go. You can pace back and forth across the training room, you can traverse the whole of the Dauntless complex, but you still know it’s there, he’s there. Watching. Waiting. 

Four. 

It is not an aggressive stare, this, it does not make you afraid, far from it. Four is not a threat to you, nor, you think, he will ever be. He is simply looking, simply observing, but for some reason that act has the power to completely throw you off kilter. 

Maybe it’s because he is only ever looking at you like this. Yes, that must be it. Four is an instructor, he has the responsibility to watch everyone here to keep them from harming themselves or others, but something is different when he’s around you. Instead of passively observing, he’s well and truly looking at you, like he likes what he sees and wants to see more, too. 

You try to put it out of your mind. Four is not your concern here, or not so anything more than the fact that he’s one of your initiation instructors and you’re trying not to get dropped before you enter the faction properly. It’s not Four’s fault if you get distracted by his attention. It’s not Four’s fault if it only ever leaves you wanting something more. 

As time goes on, though, and that something more never comes, you start to chafe against the constant pressure of his attention even more than before. He treats you differently than the other initiates, but only slightly, only ever enough to make you dream of the possibility of something changing down the line. He’ll never give you more than the time of day, but from the way he won’t ever stop his constant affiliation with you, you can’t escape the idea that maybe, just maybe, he wants that something more just as much as you do. 

The end of Phase One of Dauntless initiation draws ever closer, and Four fails to act on anything he may or may not be feeling. You could be wrong, of course, he could mean nothing by his ever present attention, but you’re not willing to take the risk of letting a small something fade away and be forgotten once initiation is over. 

If Four will not do something, well, then, the burden of acting on these impulses falls to you. Tricking an initiation leader into revealing his hand won’t be the easiest task in the world, but you’re not one to back down from a challenge. Four should know that, seeing as he’s so inclined to marking your every action. He should know that you would provoke him like this, and he should have seen it coming from quite far off indeed. 

You need one more person in your scheme to get under Four’s skin. You find your target with ease— Thomas, a dark haired boy also in your initiation class,  close enough to your rank that you won’t have to worry about keeping him close but just enough below that you’ll be able to drop him without needing to fear retaliation. Thomas is fast, smart, strong, all the things that would perhaps give someone like Four cause for concern. In short, he is perfect, and so the plan is laid. 

Next morning, you ask Thomas if he wants to spar together the next morning, just to practice. He nods readily; you’re one of the best people here, it’s why you thought Four started paying attention to you in the first place, up until the point when he stayed there in your corner even when you made mistakes. The two of you head to a fighting ring near the side of the training hall, and if you specifically chose the one right in Four’s line of vision, well, no one needs to notice that but the two of you.

You jump up and down, trying to get some blood back into your muscles. Across the ring, Thomas does the same. He grins at you, evidently proud that you’ve chosen him of all the other eligible fighters. “Hope you aren’t looking for a victory, Y/N, because I’m going to kick your ass.”

He’s grinning, though, so you smile back. “You wish. When we’re done, you’ll have more broken bones than everyone in the med wing combined.”

“Promise?” Thomas asks, laughing, and lunges for you. You roll just in time, hitting the ground right before him. 

Usually, this is the part where you get right back up again, ready to take him down for good. However, your primary motive for this little endeavor isn’t necessarily to win, just to get someone’s eyes on you. So, you stay down, grappling with Thomas so he has no choice but to pin you, up until the point where you escape out from under him and do the same.

Thomas raises a brow suggestively. “You know, I may have lost that round, but I’m kind of happy anyway.”

You grin. “Does that mean you’re fine with losing again? I’m sure my ranking and I won’t have any problems with that.”

Thomas opens his mouth to retort, but he’s cut off by the sound of an irritable shout. It’s Four, arms folded so tightly across his chest that he looks a few seconds away from breaking a rib. “Focus, initiates! You’re not here to talk.”

When you glance over at him, you can’t help but smirk at how furious he looks. Everything is going according to plan, then, he’s jealous, just as expected. He may be in charge of everyone here today, but damn if you can’t play him like any other. Looks like all that talk about so few fears and so much bravery doesn’t stand in the face of plain old envy.

In a great show of reluctance, you get off of Thomas, extending your hand to help him up. He takes it, knuckles lingering over yours for a few moments longer than necessary. You can just make out Four’s silhouette over Thomas’ shoulder, how every fiber in his body seems to radiate with barely controlled anger.

You can only push a ruse so far before it becomes too obvious, though, so you drop Thomas’ hand and get back into a fighting position. This time, you try a little harder to win, exchanging punches and kicks for a good period of time before ‘accidentally’ dropping your guard and letting Thomas tackle you around the middle. He’s obviously in the mood to play around too, and takes his time spinning you in the air before placing you carefully on the ground.

“You better watch yourself,” he says, breath uneven from the exertion of the fight, “I think I’m catching up to you.”

You look up at him, eyes half-lidded. Thomas’ dark hair falls around his face, given the impression of a halo by the light right behind his head. All of a sudden, though, he’s ripped away, and the blinding light falls onto your face to reveal a newcomer. You didn’t hear Four climb up onto the platform of the fighting ring, nor did you detect him coming so close until he pushed Thomas away from you.

Four’s face is a dark slate, devoid of any emotion except a sharp, cold fury. His voice is clipped when he speaks, and when he tells you to meet him outside, now, Thomas actually jumps out of his way. Thomas flashes you an apologetic look as you go, but you can’t find it within you to return it. After all, this isn’t a punishment, not for you. 

In fact, this is exactly what you wanted. A scene, a public show, some sign that Four would be willing to transgress his perfect picture of leadership to make his feelings known to you. You may have forced his hand more than a little, sure, but all’s well that ends well.

The door slams shut behind you, abandoning both you and Four to the dark emptiness of the hall outside the training room. All the other initiates are somewhere inside that cavernous chamber, running laps or practicing their form, and the other Dauntless are at their jobs. No one would see the two of you, then. No one would see what transpired here at all save you and him and the beating tension between the two of you.

Four’s face doesn’t lose its chill even when Thomas is out of sight. “Do you want to tell me what that was?”

You shrug as casually as you can. “I was sparring with a friend. I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“Oh, really?” Four asks, “A friend? That’s what you call whatever that little display was?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you tell him. It’s far more fun to play the innocence card as long as you can, it certainly doesn’t help Four’s temper.

Four scoffs. “Of course you do. You think I didn’t see how often you were looking at me? That whole time you were with him, purposefully going easy so he could keep his hands on you. You think I wanted to see that?”

“I don’t know,” you repeat, “You haven’t given me any reason to think otherwise. All you do is stand there and watch. Maybe one of us had to do something.”

“So that’s what this was?” Four asks, brows raised, “You wanted to do something? I’ll show you something.”

You’re expecting the kiss, you have been all morning, but that doesn’t stop the breath from leaving your lungs in one rapid rush when it finally happens. His hand is on the back of your neck, keeping you there, with him, in that moment. It feels like drowning, but the thought of living after this is such an inconceivable notion that you’d rather just let the waters claim you whole.

He breaks away eventually, unfortunately, and even in the shadows of the corridor with his face only bare millimeters away from yours you can still tell that he’s proud of himself, corners of his lips twisted up in victory. “Was it worth it?” He asks slowly.

You let out a half-laugh, a needy breath taking over the rest. “It was,” you decide.

“Good,” he tells you, and kisses you again, just so you can be sure. Perhaps jealousy has its merits after all.

divergent tag list: @rogueanschel, @with-inked-solace, @gods-fools-heroes, @23victoria, @manyfandomsfanvergent, @imwaysthelastchoice, @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed, @crazyhearttragedy, @alex-1967s-blog

[yanderenightmare]

NSFW ABC's

Bakugou Katsuki x darling

TW: NSFW

part D, E & F

Dynamic

who’s in charge? what type: dom/sub, sado/maso, etc…? 

Bakugou’s domestic more than he is dominant. Almost motherly, he does the cooking and the cleaning – while also assuming the role of the man in your relationship with his round-the-clock profession – leaving for work after making breakfast for the both of you, kissing your cheek before walking out the door.

But as someone who, through pure habit, does everything without thinking twice about it – he’s absolutely stunned into a pleasant surprise when, in those moments, you decide to do something in his stead. 

And the same counts for pleasures in the bedroom.

As in, he’s quick to roll over if you want to take the lead – if and when you place your hands down flat on his chest and push him down – mounting him with that very dauntless look in your eye – spirited and brazen – when you lord over him like something between a hovering angel and a demon bearing down on prey.

He can feel something in his gut rumble and yield as you roll your hips in exactly what tempo you’ve set – his hands held loosely at the swell of your haunches, doing nothing but encourage your reign.

But even though he may like and even want it, he’s not one to ever request such a thing – so aside from those times you take the initiative all on your own, he gladly takes care of the both of you all by himself as though it’s the only obvious thing to do.

Expertise

are they any good?

Precision and expertise are as though written in Katsuki’s constitution.

However… 

If there’s a time Katsuki’s ever clumsy, it’s when he’s drunk with lust for you. When he’s got his hands on your waist and his mouth on your face – when he’s grinding himself against you and only has the mind to focus on how lucky he is to get to be the one that fucks you every night. 

But a little clumsiness doesn’t mean he’s bad at it. 

Albeit he’s a bit overbearing – being dizzy with overwhelming arousal – he’s equally concerned with your pleasure as he is his own. And though he’s not one to ask if he’s making you feel good, he’s always looking out for your little mannerisms to answer the question – and usually, your reactions tell him he’s doing a good job.

Face

what do they look like during? what expressions do they make?

He seems to always have this curl between his brows. Furrowed as though in deep focus or in a struggling strive to reach his goal – in slight irritation of how on the brink he finds himself – chasing the full feeling. Teeth grit in those moments he’s not moaning when you bite his neck in retaliation to his harsh thrusts. 

Sometimes he’ll even be so cute as to bite his tongue in his concentration – rhythmically swaying your hips back against his in his pursuit – as though he’s trying to feel every little ridge of his catch on yours and how you squeeze him tight when he’s got his cockhead nudged snug against your cervix.

And his eyes will close – teeth sinking into his lip as a soft shuddering hum of a moan leaves him – closing in on it. And when finally reaching it – he’ll bow his head and take refuge in your chest – his hips shaking against you – panting hot dewy breaths onto your skin until fully collapsing in the aftertaste.

tip-jar:Kofi

[ghostedgrim]

Nightmares in Ink. 1

Warnings: Mentions of violence, death, possible grammatical errors my dyslexic ass will fail to notice.

Story Masterlist. version: Non-binary

Eric:

Normally, it's Max who greets the initiates when they jump off the train, but this year its me. Max and the other leaders believe it should be my responsibility because it's my first year as a leader. Honestly, I can't complain much, I look forward to meeting the fresh meat and watching them squirm when I tell them to jump.

I hear the train before I see it, that familiar vibration that hits your feet as it shakes the world around it without care. Then came the shouts of excitement and screams of terror, as initiates hopped off the train. A marriage of black, blue, white. I don't waste my time watching them all tumble. Soon after turning my back to step onto the ledge I hear the telling scream of an initiate plummeting to his or her or their death. It doesn't phase me, there's always at least one initiate that dies during this part.

I turn around to address the newcomers. "Alright listen up! I'm Eric, I am one of your leaders. If you want to enter Dauntless this is the way in." I gesture to the ledge and gaping hole beneath it. "And if you don't have the guts to jump," I shrug, "then you don't belong in Dauntless Someone's gotta be first, who's it gonna be" Several seconds pass and nobody moves. Max told me this year of initiates would be interesting, and I'm already dissapointed.

Just before I answer another dumb question a voice speaks up. "I'll jump. I'll be sure to let y'all know if it's a death trap or not." As the figure struts forward my thoughts come to a halt. Baggy boho orange pants, yellow shirt, like a candle flame in a way. But that's not what makes me freeze, it's the person's face, a face I see in my fear simulations, a face that keeps me up at night. A victim to a crime that changed thus city's view on Divergents. I step down from the ledge as the Amity transfer climbs onto it, their hair flying around wildly in the wind, and there was absolutely no hesitation to jump. One second they were there, then next they were gone.

The Lowe family incident, the incident that triggered the manhunt of Divergents. I force myself to stay in the present as the other initiates began to jump. One Amity, five Erudite, eight Candor, fifteen Dauntless born, twenty-nine initiates total. Only sixty percent will graduate.

Ever so slowly the other initiates begin to jump, well most, several simply trip or slip over the ledge when trying to climb onto it. Screams of fear, excitement, and feral laughter fills the air as they fall. Eventually only I and a Dauntless born remains. He's scrawny, no scars, no peircings, hair dye, or even a bruise.

"You lost pansycake? Did you figure out you picked the wrong faction?" To my dissapointment the boy doesn't retaliate, and damn near stumbles back when I approached. "I asked a question initiate! I'm starting to think you scored Amity in that aptitude test. Why did you pick Dauntless?"

The boy squirms under my gaze, "I didn't want to leave my sister behind. I believe I can beat out the weakness in me, prove I'm not Amity."

"If you're not in that net before I make it down those stairs consider yourself factionless." Personally I'd rather shove him off the roof, let him kiss the concrete, but unfortunately as a leader I have an image to uphold.

By the time I enter the cavernous space holding the net, the boy was getting pulled out of it by Four and another Dauntless member.

I try to pay no mind to the other initiates, but I can't help my gaze flickering over to the Amity transfer. The initiates seem to stay at least 3 feet away from the Lowe child. I don't blame them, their story is quite haunting. However their blatant fear is annoying. I look forward to pummeling it out of them.

The trek to my office is quick

"I told you this year would be interesting. You excited?" Max claps a hand onto my shoulder.

"Absolutely, I look forward to constantly monitoring a insane Amity transfer, and dealing with a Dauntless born who decided he should stay here rather than go to Amity where he belongs. It's utterly thrilling Max." The sarcasm nearly makes my tounge bleed.

Max gives a brief chuckle and opens my office door, "Come on Eric, the Lowe kid can't be that bad."

"You forget I was apprenticing under one of the Erudites assigned to investigate the Lowe kid when they took them away from Amity. I went to the crime scene, I watched the mother die in the hospital."

"It's been four years since the incident, Eric," Max stands infront of the office window overlooking the city while I settle into my desk chair, "A lot can happen in two years, especially in a place like Amity."

"While alot can happen I was there when they first arrived, and I was still there a year later when Erudite brought them back after we learned Amity had been drugging them with peace serum for a year. I can still hear their screams when I try to sleep."

"I think you're over exaggerating, Eric. It surely can't be-"

"Trust me, it is that bad. If you saw the crime scene, saw what it did to them, and what they were like at Erudite," I roll my jacket off and unlock my computer. "Not even the fear simulations would help you recognize from the sheet horror."

Max rolls his eyes while I write an email to Four requesting he keep a watchful eye over the Amity transfer.

A notification on my computer wakes me up from memory lane.

My mind drifts, back to when I was only fourteen. The night had started off so peaceful. We didn't see the victim until the morning after they arrived. A poor child, dressed in the colors of autumn, strapped to a stretcher and left in a room encased in three metal walls and a fourth wall of glass. There was so much blood, I don't know if it was the child's or someone else's. Dr.Janey was a forensic crime scene investigator, so just as quickly as Dauntless wrangled the kid into Erudite, we left to view the crime scene in Amity.

I never thought I'd see the day you would worry about someone else, let alone an initiate. I'm almost tempted to ask what happened with that kid to make you so anxious. I've never seen you scared and you looked like you saw a ghost.

Also, did you see that one Dauntless transfer who jumped last? I'm so thankful I don't have to teach him.

-Four

[raytm]

SOBBED - gepard :)

send SOBBED for a scene from my muse's past in which they broke down in tears.

the tutor’s wizened face was twisted with disdain, from beneath her long, angular nose she griped about the children of the noble house and their incessant, tumultuous mutiny. her lectures were monotonous, vast expanses of history cast in the washed out, anemic light of a participant. in spite of her gnarled, spindly fingers and her deteriorating eyesight, they had been entirely convinced she had deluded herself to its grandeur. serval had stated, rather astutely, that in her senility she had mistaken herself for an illustrious soldier, rather than an old, barbaric educator. swept up in his sister’s maelstrom, gepard had eluded her hawkish, bespectacled gaze, his sister’s hand firm around his wrist, a marshal of fictitious expeditions and elusive treasure. their footfalls echoed through the estate, resounding with the thrill of the unknown, suffused not with old dust and desiccated narration. his sister had all the proclivities of a leader, the sort of person other’s amassed before, charisma, one of their teacher’s had called it, rebellion, his father had, less pleasantly. 

the two dashed along the long, sinuous corridors, condemned by the captious scowls of their predecessors, painted in superlative detail. his wrist bobbed with each stride, still clasped between her willowy fingers, his lurching a little to keep pace with her longer, adrenalized ones. his sister was wise beyond her years, peerless in her ways with mechanisms, many days had he spent in awe of her as she dismantled and remade things over and over again, each time with ineffable improvements. he trusted her to carve a path through their world of aristocratic propriety and the antiquated chronicles of their ancestor’s grand achievements. they would laugh in tandem, their elation a polarity to their father’s stringent regulations. he had not intended to, but as they bustled through the halls, past closed, imposing doors and their father’s study, ajar but only just, his shoulder collided with a pedestal of lacquered wood. the bust, proud and diligently sculptured, tilted precariously as pain burgeoned from the impact, staring at him grimly before it crashed to the floor in a raucous, fracturing annunciation of their presence. 

serval ceased in her tracks, gepard, reeling from the injury, almost ran into her. their father’s voice thundered, incensed and impaling, accusatory and withering. he doesn’t hear precisely what is spoken, there’s a strident ringing in his ears but he knows his father’s ire and can see it splotching red along his throat, his thick, dark brows drawn and corrugating. serval shields him almost instantly, throwing her arm out before him and bickering in retaliation, it wasn’t his fault, it was an accident but their father was deaf to her excuses, his wrath far more vehement than her umbrage. gepard cowered in the shadow of that grand pedestal, now shamefully vacant, crouching, pressing his hands firmly over his ears until the ringing and the quarreling was muted. his knees buckle, his hands tremble. he doesn’t want his sister to endure punishment on his behalf, doesn’t want to hear the ruthless malice of his father. he weeps, his palms pressed into his eyes until he sees incandescent flickers in the dark, until they roll down his cheeks, until his father mutters something bitterly and slams the door over his study closed, his sister now hovering over him, a comforting arm slung over his shoulder. her voice was lulling, a soft, dulcet hum he knew well, she’s reassuring him - but he cannot bring himself to look at her in that moment. there was more comfort in the dark, where his father’s encroaching shadow and the repercussions of this accident didn’t feel like a firm strike to the cheek. 

-

the battlefield did not offer clemency to those dauntless enough to walk its desolate, glacial trail. they had thought themselves prepared, in their thick, thermal clothes and their gleaming, silver armor, nothing could have devised a strategy to prevent this. the deathrattles of men rose with the lament of arctic winds, their strident screams of agony coursing through him in unadulterated anguish. the creatures that emerged from the hibernal, white mantle were atrocities, their eldritch forms trudging through thawing snow. the searing, biting sense of flesh broiling beneath armor, of skin splitting and peeling away black and withered, of death in gargantuan waves, towing them under one by one. some men, their wits fraying at the brink of their own demise, stray from the ranks, kicking up spindrifts of white as they, desperately, hopelessly, try to flee. a creature careens after them, too fast to track and lunges at one, dragging him wailing into the banks of white. more surge forward, a torrent of black swallowing soldier after soldier until their proud, reputable legion was but a few stragglers, terror stuttering in time with their pulse. Gepard’s head turns to his men, his shield glowing with heat, repelling burning fire and carving through tough caparace like hides to expose the grotesque, purple innards. those who fight alongside him are tenacious but the cold and torment erode their tenacity, their arms laden with fatigue, their eyes reserved and regarding death with imminence. “ get back, now.” his voice, despite how it wavers, holds the authority of their leader and garners their attention immediately. they gaze out into the frozen wasteland littered with corpses, humans, monsters, blood inundating the white to red. “ we’re retreating, back to cover.”  but their muscles ache in protest and their bones are weary with the weight of their duty, it takes a moment for them to acquiesce, falling back into the snow-drifts, the echo of monsters howling raucous and ferocious. out of the twenty men that had risen to meet the encroaching horde only six were remaining. 

there could never be enough time to mourn properly. amongst the dead were his comrades, his close friends, people with whom he had shared meals with, who he had trained alongside. dread sinks into him, heavy and dismal. this was what it meant to fight for their people, the death it entailed felt like a noose around his throat, he had been the one to lead them, to usher them to their untimely demise. disgrace was nothing in contrast to the despair, to the incorporeal visions of limbs wrested violently from their sockets, of sprays of blood sheening once prestigious scraps of armor. the screams were the worst, besetting him with nights of harrowing reprises of moribund wailing, awakening in a cold sweat. he sat in the shadows of serval’s shop, the sign turned over, closed, it read, even though it was hours earlier than usual. gepard felt like that child again, powerless to prevent the grievous reality of their circumstance. he drew his knees to his chest, wearing now a loose shirt and trousers, hardly decorated for battle - for war, his chin resting atop them. amongst the long, undulating stretches of darkness he was etiolated, his once proud features blanched, his eyes red and rimmed still with unshed tears. 

“ how can i face them ?” his cadence holds none of its verve, muted and morose. his father would have them present before the people, as survivors, as those who fought and won, who persisted against all odds and pushed back the monstrosities. they would cast their dead with medallions of gilded tribute and they would be remembered as heroes. in his heart they were still those cadets, those who shared laughter with him, who fought alongside him until their last breaths. he takes a long inhale, shuddering. “ any of them..” and his arms encompass his legs, as if it would anchor him, as if he could heave himself from the trenches of that day and pretend he was a dignitary of the silverman guard. A lone, quiet tear falls down his cheek, a damp spot on cotton, joining others in its profound anguish. Serval is perhaps the only thing holding him together, that he can come here and disappear from the expectant gaze of their father, of the mourning laments of the family’s without sons, without husbands. Gepard surmises that without it he would surely crumble beneath the weight of this loss. she sits beside him, her gaze affixed somewhere beyond the closed door and into the waning hum of the city. she says he can stay with her for a while and he reluctantly accepts, the gloom of his own home felt so treacherous. he doesn’t want to rely on her, had sworn that he would be stronger - yet here he was, once again, beneath her protective shield cowering like that frightened child. “ thank you.. Sis.” he murmurs, a soft, trembling sob that punctuates his failure, that has him resting his head against her shoulder and refusing to meet her gaze. 

[aircraftcarrier4]

The Legacy of Air Power: A Historical Look at the USS Yorktown and USS Hornet

Aircraft Carrier

Aircraft carriers are a cornerstone of modern naval warfare, serving as floating air bases that enable projection of air power across vast distances. These formidable vessels are equipped with a full-length flight deck, capable of launching and recovering aircraft, thereby extending the reach of a nation's military force. The concept of the aircraft carrier emerged during World War I, but it was during World War II that these ships demonstrated their strategic importance. The ability to carry and deploy aircraft allowed navies to strike targets far beyond the range of their guns, revolutionizing naval tactics and warfare.

USS Yorktown’s Aircraft

The USS Yorktown Aircraft (CV-5) played a crucial role during World War II, particularly in the Pacific Theater. Commissioned in 1937, Yorktown was one of the three Yorktown-class aircraft carriers, alongside USS Enterprise (CV-6) and USS Hornet (CV-8). The Yorktown's air wing was a diverse and powerful force, consisting of fighters, dive bombers, and torpedo bombers.

Initially, Yorktown's air group included the Grumman F4F Wildcat fighters, Douglas SBD Dauntless dive bombers, and Douglas TBD Devastator torpedo bombers. These aircraft were instrumental in several key battles. The F4F Wildcat, despite being outmatched by the Japanese Mitsubishi A6M Zero in terms of maneuverability and speed, was known for its ruggedness and the effective tactics developed by its pilots. The SBD Dauntless, on the other hand, earned a stellar reputation for its accuracy and resilience, playing a pivotal role in sinking Japanese carriers at the Battle of Midway. The TBD Devastator, while becoming outdated by the war's early years, still contributed significantly until it was replaced by the more advanced Grumman TBF Avenger.

During the Battle of the Coral Sea in May 1942, Yorktown's aircraft were instrumental in damaging the Japanese carrier Shōhō, which marked the first time in history that aircraft carriers engaged each other. Later, at the Battle of Midway in June 1942, Yorktown's air group, despite being heavily outnumbered, played a decisive role in sinking four Japanese carriers, turning the tide of the war in the Pacific.

USS Hornet (CV-8)

USS Hornet (CV-8), the seventh ship to bear the name, is perhaps best known for two significant contributions during World War II: the Doolittle Raid and the Battle of Midway. Commissioned in October 1941, Hornet was one of the newest carriers in the U.S. Navy's fleet when America entered the war.

The Doolittle Raid on April 18, 1942, was a daring mission to bomb Tokyo and other Japanese cities in retaliation for the attack on Pearl Harbor. Hornet carried sixteen B-25 Mitchell medium bombers, commanded by Lieutenant Colonel James Doolittle, to within striking distance of Japan. This audacious raid, while causing minimal physical damage, provided a significant psychological boost to American morale and demonstrated Japan's vulnerability to air attacks.

Hornet's air wing at the time of Midway included the same types of aircraft as Yorktown: the F4F Wildcat, SBD Dauntless, and TBD Devastator. In the Battle of Midway, Hornet's air group launched several attacks against the Japanese fleet. Although initial torpedo attacks by the Devastators suffered heavy losses and achieved little success, they inadvertently drew Japanese fighter cover to low altitudes. This allowed Dauntless dive bombers from Enterprise and Yorktown to exploit the opportunity and score devastating hits on Japanese carriers, leading to a critical American victory.

Despite these successes, Hornet's service was relatively short-lived. On October 26, 1942, during the Battle of the Santa Cruz Islands, Hornet was severely damaged by Japanese air attacks. After multiple hits from bombs and torpedoes, and an inability to save the ship, the crew was ordered to abandon Hornet. The carrier was later scuttled by American destroyers to prevent her capture, marking the end of her brief but impactful career.

USS Hornet (CV-12)

After the loss of CV-8, another Essex-class carrier was renamed USS Hornet (CV-12) in her honor. Commissioned in November 1943, this Hornet continued the legacy of her predecessor with distinction. CV-12 served throughout the Pacific Theater, participating in numerous operations and earning multiple battle stars.

Hornet's air wing evolved over the course of the war. Initially, it included the F6F Hellcat, a formidable fighter that replaced the Wildcat, providing a superior combination of speed, firepower, and maneuverability. The Hellcat was instrumental in achieving air superiority over Japanese forces. The SBD Dauntless remained a key component of the air group until it was gradually replaced by the more advanced Curtiss SB2C Helldiver dive bomber. The TBF Avenger torpedo bomber also formed a critical part of the air wing, proving effective in both anti-ship and anti-submarine roles.

During the Battle of the Philippine Sea in June 1944, often referred to as the "Great Marianas Turkey Shoot," Hornet's air group played a crucial role in the overwhelming defeat of Japanese naval aviation. The battle showcased the dominance of American carrier-based aircraft and the effective coordination of fighter and bomber units.

Hornet also supported numerous island-hopping campaigns, including the battles of Iwo Jima and Okinawa, providing vital air support for ground operations and attacking enemy shipping and installations. Her aircraft conducted strikes against the Japanese home islands in the final months of the war, contributing to the eventual Allied victory.

Conclusion

Aircraft carriers like the USS Yorktown and USS Hornet (CV-8 and CV-12) exemplify the strategic importance of naval aviation in modern warfare. These ships, with their powerful and versatile air wings, have shaped the outcomes of critical battles and demonstrated the ability to project power across vast distances. The legacy of these carriers, particularly their roles in pivotal World War II battles, underscores the transformative impact of carrier-based air power on naval strategy and the broader course of military history.

[black-dhalias]

To Fall From the Chasm

Eric Coulter X F!Reader Warning: murder, death, graphic descriptions

“Where is she?!” Almost immediately, the crowd shifts back to part completely, his voice enough to shake anyone’s cool. Whether it was fear or admiration for the erudite turned Dauntless. No one stood between Eric and you. No one dared to even look at you wrong, let alone give input regarding your relationship. Because the truth is if you didn’t retaliate, then Eric was sure to follow behind and finish it off.

You were trembling against the stones that are painted red with your blood, your form barely seemed to move with how fast the tremors shook your entire frame. His body begins to shake at the sight of your fall, never thought that he would see something so violent. It was not a fitting end for you, for someone so unapologetically brave.

His knees hit the cement harder than he should, watching as the doctors stabilize your neck—deep down, he knows its a vain attempt to make you comfortable. Your body is already in the process of shutting down, otherwise you would be screaming from the pain. Instead, you are choking on air.

“Y/N?” Unlike before, his voice comes out in a low whisper—a soothing sound that is only ever used when he speaks to you. Its the only time anyone ever hears him speak with kindness, a soft nurturing tone. Just with you. His dauntless. The one who was only ever calm and collected; the perfect partner who never raised their voice and yet commanded respect. That was you, the calm and the good—the opposite of Eric in every regard. And now you’re bleeding out on the floor of the chasm.

Actually, as he runs his hands along your body—he realizes that you’re not bleeding much at all. The damage is all internal, stuck behind your skin. Your clothes hang heavy as your eyes open with a sudden urgency—gasping for air as the dark wears thin. He grimaces as you suck in air, gasping for life that is almost entirely gone. Trying to speak.

But you can’t.

Instead, you’re eyes have gone wide and wild—Eric remembers falling in love with those eyes. They told your whole story in one fell swoop and stunned him at every turn. You are searching and pleading with someone to understand you, to listen as you try to explain the collapsed lung. The burning in your chest.

“Shhhhhh…” He hushes as he runs his hands along your hair, feeling his hand become stick and slick with blood. “Its okay… Shhhh…” He watches you squirm and writhe on the stones, and finally finds a sense of guilt setting into the pit of stomach.

“Why aren’t you doing anything?!” He shouts, but the doctors look like deers caught in headlights—as it stands, they are just dauntless healers. Which only pushes him further over the edge, the guilt and desperation drowning him. He feels a warmth of tears pour down your cheeks onto his hand, dragging the blood and grime along with it. “Do something or I’ll-“ The words catch in his throat, caught on the thorns that have ripped his throat to threads.

“We can’t do anything. Just make them—“ Eric did not realize he was about to jump up until hands push him back to the ground. His knees will be bruised tomorrow.

“Don’t let the last thing they see be you fighting.” Four. Someone Eric would fight any day of the week, with you often separating them before it went too far.

Eric holds your hand as you slip away. “Shhh… Think about something else.” Eric almost loses it again as you try to suck in another breath, but your lungs don’t work anymore at all. There is a growing ache that blankets over the guilt. “I knew at the Choosing Ceremony that I would love you.” Even while choking on blood, you heave less and lock eyes with him. Holding onto the one good thing you can remember. You don’t even remember falling. “You were loud and boisterous, confident and sure. You weren’t scared of anything.” He tremors begin to stop, and Eric’s voice locks up. He did this.

“And you took me by the hand and we jumped off the train together. Who wouldn’t love you?” Eric can hear Zeke and Uriah, them pushing through and shouting your name. Their sister. Sometimes Eric forgets that you were important to a lot of people, and a lot of people find value in you. “Its okay… You’re going to be okay now.” When Zeke pushes through, he practically collapses on your other side. His knees folding in on themselves. As Uriah shouts with the doctors, louder than Eric—shoving them. You begin to squirm, choking once more as your body locks up on itself.

“Shhh… You’re okay- do you remember sneaking off together at night because you were so adamant on needing a training partner?” Eric half smiles, but its those sad smiles that mean more than anything else. “But we both know it was because you wanted to make sure I got through initiation.” Eric had meant for it to be a joke, but hearing all the things out loud. All the little things, they strangle the life and soul out of him. Its like he can watch all the good in him, tying itself to your soul.

“God I love you, Y/N…” He rests your cheek in his palm, swallowing down his anger and guilt for just one more second. Eric’s voice has grounded you and the pain has numbed almost completely, but he still feels you subtly lean into his touch. Or maybe that’s what he wants from you.

Eric feels streaks go down his cheeks, watching them land on you. “Shh-hhh-hh…” He cries harder as you soothe him, as you put more effort. An effort that he doesn’t deserve.

He hears other cry, the sound louder than he would have thought. He hears the doctors mumble about how you were dead the moment you fell. Fell.

There one second.

Gone the next.

“Zeke! I can’t believe-“ Your voice doesn’t trail off as you walk into the large room, dressed head to toe in black, but it does for Eric. It is like he entered a time warp and everything has slowed down completely as he takes you in. The way you move, the way people move around you like gravity. To the point that everything goes silent until it all just stops, because he sees those eyes and becomes a fool.

Never has he seen someone so perfect.

“Eric! We gotta jump!” The world goes into motion faster than a blink and Eric is pressed against the back of train car. He was done for the minute he took your outstretched hand, couldn’t see anyone else when the he follows your lead and jumps. And when he hits the rocks, it hits him that he would follow you anywhere.

Eric drops your hand, and lets your blood stain his hands until the day he dies. He doubts he could ever wash them clean again. It leaves an empty ache at his very core. It hurts and has caused his body to go numb, his soul had departed with you. Every inhale leaves his chest trembling and the world fades as he walks away.

As the crowd parts to let him through.

As Zeke screams for you. For his sister.

As Uriah shouts, as he’s pinned to the ground.

Eric walks away, listening to the rumors of how you jumped.

.

.

.

Eric is not afraid as he stares down the barrel of the gun. He hasn’t been afraid of anything since the day he felt you die, watched you lose the battle between life and death. When he forgot to say goodbye.

“She didn’t jump…” Eric feels his chest tighten. “She was pushed…” He nods and pushes his forehead to the end, he should fight.

“How did you find out?” Four had meant to turn away as his finger rests on the trigger, he doesn’t feel guilty about this for a second.

When it goes dark and quiet, Eric is faced with your haunting beauty. The way death seems to have embraced your terrifying beauty, how you embraced death. Still the same as he remembers you.

“Why did you kill me?” He runs his fingers up your arm, you are angel—always the most beautiful thing, but in death you… He doesn’t even have the words.

“You made me weak…” He feels his chest heave as it did that day, but you are so intact—he almost could forget. If it weren’t for the fact that you are staring him down. “Too weak for Jeanine. And too weak to lead.” He pauses, remembering those moments at the top of the Chasm.

How you spotted him coming towards you and smiled, but it faded when you saw the crease in his brow. How your eyes widened as he grabbed your arms, he had to be quick. Couldn’t think too long, and in the millisecond— it felt like years, as if he drowned in those eyes a million times.

Eric could still feel his palms opening and watching you drop, but you didn’t scream or cry out. You didn’t even look scared.

You look betrayed.

“And you were too good to push me first.”

[dauntless-gothamite]

Prove Them Wrong [2/?]

Fandom: Divergent Pairing: Eric Coulter x Fem! Reader Summary: Y/N is a Dauntless transfer from Erudite, and she has a drive, an ambition that sets her apart--it always has, even back in Erudite. She brings her perseverance (and need to prove others wrong) to Dauntless when she transfers, and she uses her mind to make her way through the initiation process. Along the way, she makes friends and enemies, and she finds herself comfortable around the man most people in Dauntless avoid at all costs: Eric Coulter. A/N: it seems this may be a little bit of a slow burn, based on the pacing and where I am in chapter three right now... Enjoy!

You woke up to the sound of metal clanging together, an unpleasant alarm if you’d ever heard one. “Get up, get dressed, and be in the training room in two minutes,” Four said, banging the metal together one last time before leaving the room. 

Everyone scrambled to get dressed in their new black Dauntless clothes, and as people entered the training area, they began to form a semicircle around Four and Eric. “Ok, let’s get started,” Four said, clapping his hands together. “There are two stages of training. The first is physical, you will push your bodies to the breaking point and you will master the methods of combat. The second is mental, again breaking point. You’ll face your worst fears and conquer them--unless they get you first. You’ll be trained separately from the Dauntless-born, but you’ll be ranked together. After initiations, rankings will determine what jobs you move into: leadership, guarding the fence, or keeping the factionless from killing each other.”

“The rankings will also determine who gets cut,” Eric cut in, rising from where he sat on a concrete slab. An uneasy whisper spread throughout the initiates. No one knew about this, and you had to admit, you were getting a bit nervous yourself. “At the end of each stage of training, the lowest-ranking initiates will be leaving us,” Eric continued. 

“To do what?” asked Al.

“Well, you can’t go home to your families, so you’ll be factionless.”

Another wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd of initiates, but it was quickly silenced by Eric’s glare. “Someone should have told us,” Christina said.

“Why? Would you have chosen differently? Out of fear?” Eric replied challengingly. “I mean, if that’s the case, you might as well get out now. If you’re really one of us, it won’t matter to you that you might fail, alright? You chose us. Now, we get to choose you.” Eric looked at each initiate, his blue eyes challenging each person to look away. Some people did, others didn’t. You didn’t. 

Instead, you held his intense gaze as the itch to prove others wrong that had been inside you since the day you were born rose up, ready to be set free. What Eric said was scary, but it didn’t matter--all your years of studying the faction system told you that they would try to scare the initiates, and while you hadn’t expected this, you had known it wouldn’t be easy. But you had worked your ass off for years to be top of the class in Erudite, and you’d be damned if you weren’t going to do the same here, in your new faction. 

--

“Everyone, get some water before we move into the next segment of training,” Four called out. It took everything in you not to bend over as some others were doing; you knew standing up straight, getting fresh air in your lungs, would make the cramp in your abdomen go away faster, even if it hurt more now. 

“Tris, stand up straight,” you whispered to your friend, who was red-faced after running twenty laps around the room, which was everyone’s warm-up for the day. 

“Just so you know, tomorrow we won’t just be running laps,” Four said, surveying all the tired initiates. “So get used to this.” 

You sighed, mentally thanking yourself for joining a small workout group in Erudite. It was fairly new, and it was only created because studies showed that after some physical activity, the brain was better equipped to come back to problems it struggled with earlier and continue working whereas remaining stagnant was more likely to result in burnout and fatigue. The workouts were nothing like this, but you were still appreciative of them.

“Alright, everyone find a punching bag and start hitting. Eric and I will be walking around correcting your form, but it’s on you to put our advice into practice. Go,” Four announced after barely even a minute of the “break” had gone by. 

Turning on your heel, you walked over to the nearest punching bag and lined yourself up. Feet spread evenly about as wide as your shoulders, then step the left foot forward just a bit. Knees bent slightly, fists raised high. Then, you get to punching. 

After what felt like an hour of hearing Four quietly critiquing other students between Eric’s shouts of disappointment at other initiates, the two trainers finally got to your area of the training room. Out of the corner of your eye you caught Four walking up to Tris, slightly adjusting her position and giving helpful tips. Another set of footsteps came to a stop behind you, which meant Eric would be the one helping you. Your shoulders tensed for a moment, but you quickly forced yourself into a more relaxed position and continued punching. Just pretend he isn’t there, you told yourself. After hitting the punching bag six times, called out “Stop” from behind you. He walked over to your side and took a fighting stance. “Make sure your hips are square, like this, so when you throw a punch with the hand that is further back, you can twist your hips and use core strength to put more power into it,” he said stoically, and you did your best to mimic his stance. “No, like this,” he said, grabbing your hips and twisting them, holding you firmly in place for a second before letting go. “Try it now,” he said. You started throwing punches again, and he nodded before silently walking away. When you paused to readjust your stance, you heard Eric yell “Did I say you could stop, Y/N? No, I did not; keep going!” You took a deep breath and began the next onslaught of punches as the room fell quiet save for the sound of fists hitting punching bags, a rhythmic thumping sound. 

“First jumper!” Eric called out, disrupting the steady beat and sense of calmness in the room. “In the ring.” Beside him, Four sighed and looked down at his feet, and you had a bad feeling about whatever was about to happen. “Last jumper,” he continued, looking at a girl with dark hair--you think you may have heard her friends call her Molly, but you aren’t entirely sure. “Time to fight.”

Tris and the girl stepped up to the ring. “How long do we fight for?” the girl asked.

“Until one of you can’t continue,” Eric said in response. 

“Or one of you concedes,” Four interjected, stepping forward. 

“According to the old rules,” Eric corrected. “With the new rules, no one concedes.”

“You really want to lose someone in their first fight?”

“Well, a brave man never surrenders.” 

“Lucky for you, those weren’t the rules when we fought.”

Eric clenched his jaw, irritated, before saying “You’ll be scored on this, so fight hard.” Tris and the other girl squared up and began to circle each other, but Eric was getting impatient. “Go!” he barked. 

After nearly falling off the mat, Tris lunged, but the other girl dodged, twisted, and retaliated with a swing of her own, landing a punch to Tris’ face. As Tris retreated, the other girl pressed her advantage, catching Tris’ waist, bending her over, and punching her stomach a few times before Tris managed to break free of her hold. Just as she reached the end of the mat and turned, Tris was met with another punch to the face, sending her to the floor. The other girl--Molly--glanced at Eric since Tris was down, and he nodded, signaling Molly to send one last blow Tris’ way, knocking her out. As you watched the fight, you felt bad for your friend; she was much smaller than Molly, and part of you wanted to speak up about the cruelty that the trainers were showing, but you shoved it down. There was no need to compromise your position right now. 

“Next,” Eric yelled, pointing to a girl named Selene and a former Candor named Peter who had made fun of Tris, calling her a Stiff several times. You secretly hoped Selene would kick his ass, but it was unlikely, he was tall and strong, plus he was willing to fight dirty--he’d admitted as much in the dorm area. Guess he still couldn’t keep his mouth shut, even though he’d left Candor.

Selene was tough; what she lacked in strength she made up for in endurance, but after a few rounds of dodging Peter’s punches, he finally landed one to her solar plexus, stunning her, allowing him to sweep her legs out from underneath her and kick her as she lay on the ground. You clenched your jaw as he did so, feeling anger rise up inside of you. Selene was unable to fight, that was the stopping point of the fights, but Peter was still kicking her. And Eric, the emotionless person that he was, didn’t do anything. 

“Peter,” you said, “stop it.” Peter turned towards you and smirked.

“What are you going to do if I don’t?” he taunted. You considered for a second before turning to Eric. 

Looking up at him, you steeled yourself. “I know we don’t get to determine the fighting order, or who we fight, but I would like to fight Peter. Now,” you said, sure to keep your voice level and maintain eye contact with the leader. 

He raised an eyebrow at you curiously, and thankfully, Peter had stopped kicking Selene when you started speaking to Eric. Selene scooted to the edge of the mat, but that was as far as she could move without assistance. “You two,” Eric yelled at two initiates, “help Four get this one,” he pointed at Selene, “to the infirmary.” Then he turned back to you. “What are you waiting for, initiate? Get up there.” For a moment you were stunned, you didn’t actually think you would end up fighting Peter, and you knew that both Eric and Peter were expecting you to lose quickly. You caught Four’s eye as he carried Selene out with the help of two initiates, and you looked around to see Christina, Tris, Will, Al, Edward, Molly, and a few other initiates staring at you like you were mad. Maybe you were, but it was too late to back out now. You stood in a low, sturdy fighting stance, just like Eric had shown you. Peter did the same. For a moment, the room was dead silent as your eyes locked with his, and then both of you whipped into action. 

Peter went right for the face punch, but you quickly blocked upward and threw a low roundhouse kick at his knee, making him wobble. He recovered quickly, and he quickly used his height to his advantage, moving to grab your shoulder and slam you into the ground. You were smart though, and you let him move you slightly before turning the downwards motion into momentum that allowed you to do a somersault, twisting his arm and landing on your feet. As he was turning around to face you, you sent a snap kick right to the back of his knee, making it buckle. You moved quickly to his other side, ready to send a few punches to his face and knock him out, but he sprung forward, wrapping strong hands around your neck and squeezing. For a moment you panicked, hitting his arms, but they didn’t move. Everyone was sure that was it for you, but you had another trick up your sleeve--Peter was overly confident this would weaken you and in the process of squeezing, he had left his own body defenseless. So you kicked him in the groin. Hard. He called out and released you, and as he leaned over in an instinctual reaction to pain, you kicked his forehead with your knee, shoved him to the side, knocking him over, and kicked him again, this time in the solar plexus. You stood there, stone-faced, and when Peter didn’t make a move to fight back, you turned to Eric, who nodded, and you jumped down from the mat. 

You landed next to Will, Tris, and Christina, all of whom were staring at you in a mixture of horror and admiration. You blushed in embarrassment and looked at the ground, thinking to yourself, What the hell did I just do? You were so lost in thought that you didn’t realize the next two initiates were on the mat and fighting, and you only came back to yourself when Eric yyelled, “Hey! Are you deaf, initiate? I said go grab some ice for your neck, I don’t want to hear complaints about it tomorrow!” 

You nodded to your friends and said “I’ll be back in a minute,” shocked at how hoarse your voice was. “Just going to… yeah,” you trailed off before walking quickly towards the infirmary. 

A/N: can you tell I love writing fight scenes? also I do martial arts and have played sports my whole life, so I love when I get to use my knowledge of anatomy and physiology two write action scenes :)

Tag List: @shykoolaid

[one-boring-person]

Hey, if you take requests, can I ask Eric x Reader where he’s obsessed with her? Ps. "Stiff, huh?" Is so intense ... Eric is wow

I do take requests! Thank you for leaving this, it was fun to write! I hope this is alright! And I'm glad you enjoyed the other fic 😊💛💛

I'll Cover You.

Eric Coulter x reader

Warnings: swearing, injury, blood, violence, gun use

Masterlist

A yelp inadvertently escapes me as a sharp bolt of pain goes through my right hand, my punch falling short as I flinch back in surprise. Biting my lip, I shake my hand, glancing around at the other initiates nearby, thankful that no one has noticed my brief moment of weakness. Discreetly, I unfold my fist and examine it, trying to discern exactly what caused the sudden discomfort, looking over the purple bruising dusting my knuckles, as well as the grazes adorning the same areas. I frown, unsure of what happened. Shaking it off, I simply get back into position and go to strike the punchbag again, tensing my core before I do anything.

A stern voice interrupts me, however, as a familiar figure steps up beside me.

"Take your thumb out of your fist, initiate." Eric commands, staring me down with his icy blue eyes.

"S-sorry?" I stutter, unsure of what he means as I look down at my fists.

He rolls his eyes and sighs, forming a fist with his own hand.

"Like this. It's not hard." He shows me, gesturing to my own hands.

Trying not to look at his bulging muscles, I observe his hand and copy it, only now realising what he meant.

"Never punch with your thumb in your fist, or you'll end up breaking it. Wouldn't be a great start, would it?" Are his only words before he stalks off, going to watch over some other initiate, leaving me blinking in his wake.

Keeping my hands as he showed me, I start beating the bag again, ignoring the slight stinging from the grazes as I work on the efficiency of my blows. With each punch, I make sure to hold my composure, stepping back from the bag as if my opponent were retaliating, keeping my eyes trained on it, so much so that I completely zone out the area around me. That is until I hear my name being called.

"(Y/n)! Kai! In the ring, now!" Eric orders us, voice resonating around the training area as it always does, his authority lacing his tone.

Swallowing nervously, I cautiously walk over to the raised platform, terrified at the thought of facing off with this particular initiate. People stare as I climb up, their eyes roaming over my body critically, comparing me with the hugely muscular boy across from me. Kai is massive in every sense of the word: bulging muscular arms, visibly toned torso, thighs like pillars and with a towering height that looms over the tallest of people. Surprisingly, however, his personality is much softer, the guy being relatively friendly with everyone, only really using his strength (gained from hard work in the Amity fields) for good use; he almost always apologizes for hurting someone. As I square up to him, I feel myself becoming more and more nervous by the minute, his fists easily the size of two of mine, but I ignore the rising sense of dread and wait for Eric to start us off.

"Go." The leader simply grunts, watching closely as we start circling each other.

Controlling my breathing, I move my weight onto the balls of my feet and hold my arms over my body, providing some protection from the oncoming onslaught of blows. Judging his step, I make eye contact with Kai briefly before suddenly ducking into his space and jabbing my fist out at his lower abdomen, striking his rock-hard abs with some force. Instantly, I recoil back out of reach, prepared for some form of retaliation in reaction to the blow, somewhat surprised when he shows minimal pain. Distracted by this, I quickly receive a blow to the stomach, having left it unguarded from my previous attack, the breath leaving me as his knuckles make contact. Grunting, I stumble backwards, ducking over my body to protect myself, only to accidentally make myself into an easier target as he grabs hold of my head and smashes my face into his lifted knee. Tears spring to my eyes as my nose audibly crunches, blood starting to pour from it as I begin to lose some focus, the pain raising in my face very disconcerting. 

With my head still in his hands, I feel him lift it again for yet another blow with his knee, my mind racing as I jerk out my arm and jab it into the space between his thighs. A grunt escapes him at this, instinctively releasing me as he goes to protect his intimate regions. Relieved, I slip out of his reach and readjust, taking note of his slightly hunched position. Moving swiftly, I get closer and swing my leg round in a sharp kick to his jaw, throwing his head to the side painfully, the muscular boy spitting out a mouthful of blood as he goes, one of his teeth coming loose from the sudden impact. Triumphant, I go to repeat the action, only to find my leg grabbed by him, his hand closing around my limb tightly. Smirking, he quickly uses this hold on my leg to pull my feet out from under me, easily throwing me over his shoulder and smashing me into the ground, pain blossoming in my chest as it collides. Winded, I lie there, only just managing to twist onto my back as he lifts a foot over my head, ready to kick me into unconsciousness.

"Stop." Eric's cool voice interrupts us both, breaking through the haze.

Both our heads snap round to look at him, my vision spinning as I do so, confused as I stare at our leader through blurry eyes.

"Go to the infirmary and get yourselves fixed up. Now." He commands us, turning away from us and going to stand a little way away.

As soon as his back is turned, Kai crouches down to my level and offers me a hand, grey eyes clouded with concern.

"You alright? I'm sorry, I went too far." He says, helping me upright, slipping his arm around my back and lending me his shoulder to get me walking.

"It's fine, Kai, don't worry. It's what we're supposed to do, after all. I'm sorry about hitting you...there." I apologise, wincing as my chest heaves slightly, my ribs clearly bruised.

"Don't worry about it, it's fine."

As we walk, neither of us notice Eric's eyes following us out of the room.

*

For once, I don't barely climb onto the train as I speeds by, my arms somehow managing to pull me inside with time to spare, a smile working its way onto my face in triumph. Usually, I seem to struggle with having the distance, but tonight I managed it with some ease, meaning I didn't have to embarrass myself under the watchful eyes of Eric, who stares down at me as I straighten again. As always, his face is blank, his arms folded tightly across his chest, his muscles straining under the fabric of his coat. Suppressing the smile on my face, I bite my lip and look away, ignoring the slight twitch of his brow as he looks me over, eyeing me carefully as I go to stand with Kai, who has quickly become a good friend of mine, the huge boy turning out to be very caring and enjoyable to have around. 

"Where do you think we're going?" The brunette asks me as I go to lean on the wall beside him.

Shrugging, I watch as the rest of the initiates join us, the Dauntless-born easily springing onto the moving train whilst the others, like Kai and I, struggle a little. Four is last to hop up, as always.

"I don't know." I inform my friend, looking to the bags at Eric's feet.

"Well, if you wait patiently, you might just find out." Eric suddenly bites out, his gaze fixed on the two of us.

Surprised, we both now, exchanging a glance between us.

"Oops." I mutter to him, falling silent as we watch the leader step forwards into the middle of the initiates.

"We're gonna play some Capture the Flag tonight. Four and I will each lead a team, each of which hides a flag and has to defend it. First team to get the opposing flag wins." He explains briefly, bending to unzip one of the bags at his feet, pulling out a type of gun I've never seen before, "You'll each get one of these. They're loaded with neurostim darts, which will simulate the pain of a gunshot wound without actually injuring you. They hurt like a bitch, so watch yourselves."

As he says this, Eric allows his eyes to fall on Kai and I, narrowing them as he finds my friend.

"Ok, Eric and I will now pick our teams. Eric will go first." Four chips in, gesturing for the leader to start.

"I'll take (Y/n)." He chooses, staring at me as I double take in surprise. Dumbfounded, I nod once, signifying that I heard him.

Four appears surprised momentarily, before he blinks and chooses one of the Dauntless-born.

Five minutes later and we've all been picked for a team, each of us sidling over towards our corresponding team leader as the train starts to come to a slowed pace. Kai was picked for Four's team, so I shoot him one last look before going to stand with the rest of Eric's team, taking one of the proffered guns and comfortably resting it against my hip, keeping the safety on for now. Looking up, I make eye contact with the stern leader, just catching his eye before he quickly glances away, saying something to Four as we prepare to leave the train, having been told to do so.

Without warning, Eric and Four throw themselves from the vehicle, landing somewhere in the darkness as the rest of us follow hastily, unwilling to be left on the train. Slinging the gun over my shoulder, I launch myself into the black night, my feet colliding with the ground seconds later, causing me to roll to absorb the shock, my hands scraping slightly on the uneven gravel. I'm quick to right myself, however, taking the gun off of my shoulder as I take out my torch and light it, easily locating Eric and going to stand with him. The rest of the team joins us and we leave the main area, walking for a few minutes until Eric stops.

"We'll need a tactic. Four is good at this, but I've beaten him most times so we need to make sure we don't lose to him tonight, got it?" The leader briefs us, holding out the luminescent flag to one of the Dauntless-born, "Go hide this in that old ticket booth over there. It's easy enough to defend and it's hard for them to find. The rest of you, find somewhere to hide around it. (Y/n), you're coming with me."

Surprised, I look at him but agree anyway, glad to have some alone time with the leader, watching as he elects one of the more experienced initiates to take charge of the defending team, before he signals for me to follow him. Taking the safety off my gun, I do so, keeping my footfall light and gentle, staying low to the ground to avoid being seen. Eric does the same, his movements calculated and practiced, his muscular frame somehow managing to step stealthily over the uneven ground.

"What did you want me for?" I hiss at him, keeping an eye out for any attackers.

"I need you to climb that tower and locate their flag. And you have the best aim, so I'm gonna need you to snipe out any guards if you can, so that you can then go in and get it." He whispers back, pointing to a nearby tower.

Frowning, I go to respond.

"And what about you?"

"I'll cover you, obviously." He replies matter-of-factly.

"Right."

As we approach the tower, he breaks off and goes to hide behind a nearby dumpster, reinforcing his plan to me as he does so, expecting me to scale the riveted wall of the abandoned structure by hand. Swallowing, I replace the gun over my shoulders and look over the rough surface before me, wondering how the hell I'm ever going to pull this off. Finding a handhold, I start ascending, using the marks to my advantage as I hoist myself higher and higher, ignoring the aching protests of my arms. Grazes litter my fingertips, my muscles trembling with each pull up, the gun knocking gently against my lower back. 

It takes me a few minutes, but soon I'm high enough that I can see the area around us, my eyes roaming the dark area with scrutiny, looking out for the fluorescent flag. I spot it easily, the colourful fabric glowing brightly on top of another nearby tower, just a little way away, a figure guarding it alone, though there are most likely others at the base of the structure. 

A sudden cry of pain snaps my attention down to the ground again, my eyes swiftly finding the silhouette of a body lying on the floor, Eric swiftly moving out to make sure the threat stays down, his fun levelled in preparation. Upon seeing this, I start climbing back down, spotting another three oncoming opponents just a little way away from us, their voices somewhat raised. Taking note of this, I hasten down, managing to hop down in time to face off with the newcomers, who are faced with a swift barrage of darts. Two fall, clutching at their legs in pain, the third taking a little more to neutralize before he too drops to the floor, squirming in agony.

"You find it?" Eric questions me, secretly checking me over for any injury in the darkness, aware that he can't really see much 

"Yeah, it's this way." Turning, the two of us run in the direction of the other tower, thankfully staying clear of any enemies until we reach the low wall surrounding the structure. Circling it, we soon figure out why this particular tower was chosen.

"There's only one way into the tower past this wall, and they'll all be around that area." Eric muses, stopping with his back pressed against the offending architecture, "Any ideas?"

Thinking for a minute, I eye the wall carefully.

"I think so. We didn't get shot at as we approached it, which means they must all be at the other end, or not paying any attention, so one of us could climb over the wall  and get in that way, but they'd be vulnerable when they were climbing the tower." I suggest, tapping my weapon slightly.

"I said I'd cover you. You climb and I'll shoot the bastards, then I'll join you at the top." Eric confirms, gesturing for me to go.

Nodding, I make my way around to another part of the wall, starting to scale it in the darkness as I did before, hoping no one will catch me. Gritting my teeth, I haul myself over the structure and drop into the enclosed area, glad to hear the cries of alarm coming from a different part of the circle as I run over to the base of the tower. Thanking my aptitude for climbing, I start making my way up the building, trying to ignore the possibility of falling to my death as I start to get higher and higher off the ground. It takes me a little while, but I eventually manage to pull my aching limbs up and onto the balcony of the upper floor of the tower, somehow still out of sight of the guard, who is shooting at what I'm assuming is Eric down in the circle. Quietly, I slip into the shadows and ready my gun, shooting the unsuspecting initiate into the back, their sharp cry of surprise and pain resonating loudly around the room as I take up the flag and go to the open window. Leaning out, I scream out to the people below, waving it around triumphantly as a chorus of groans escapes the gathering of defenders, Eric already climbing the steps inside the tower. 

Ecstatic, I shake the flag around more, happy that I may have proved myself as capable for once, my face split into a proud grin. Behind me, Eric suddenly bursts in, coming over to me with a smirk of his own.

"Congratulations, (Y/n)." He says, seemingly considering something.

"Thank you." I murmur, fighting off the blush as he stares at me, his eyes concealing a different emotion to what I was expecting.

Suddenly, he leans in and presses his lips to mine, swallowing my squeak of surprise as he starts to move with me. Cupping my face in his hand, his other at my waist, pulling me closer, Eric continues to kiss me, the sensation stirring up butterflies in my stomach, my body craving his touch as he presses himself flush against me. Briefly pulling apart for air, he manages to say something before he closes the gap again.

"God, I'm obsessed with you."

[bonniebird]

Eric x Reader

Requested by Anon

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“I hate that Eric guy. Such an alpha male.” Your patrol partner muttered. You’d almost finished your patrol when Eric demanded that the two of you go over an area again.

“I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.” You muttered. When they glanced at you and frowned you shrugged. “But yeah I bet his shrink calls him an alpha male.” You said nervously. They shrugged and went on ahead. You managed to lose them as you turned to see a commotion behind you. Eric was storing after someone fleeing through the woods. “You two, follow him!” Someone shouted at you. Hearing your partner paused up ahead, somewhere in the woods and do as they were asked, you followed after. By the time both of you emerged Eric had caught his prey as was dragging them to a car.

“How does he do that!” You whispered. You’d passed all your tests in Dauntless but some of the other faction members were more than impressive when it came down to it.

“I am, what psychiatrists call, alpha male.” Eric said from behind you. Both you and your partner jumped and turned around. You were sure he’d winked at you as he walked off but the two of you shared nervous glances and hoped Eric’s victory would be enough to save you both from any retaliation.

[ilguna]

Anteric - Chapter Four (f.o)

summary: secrets have more worth than you gave them credit for.

warnings; swearing. GORE, HEAVY BLOOD, FIGHTING, PAIN.

wc; 10.3k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

There’s only a few people that can get ready without complaining. And proudly, you can say that you’re one of them. With Finnick, Thyme and Allio being the other three that had practically gone untouched from yesterday’s fights. Well, actually, Finnick did go untouched, but that’s for obvious reasons.

You watch the other initiates move around the dormitory, all varying in the ways they hold themselves because of their injuries. Amos’ face is swollen, thanks to Thyme’s fists--which was split at her knuckles because of how spread out her skin had been. She didn’t find this out until after the fight, when Amos’ blood had been wiped off and she could see why her hands were stinging so badly.

Amos also has an arm wrapped around his ribs, where Thyme had kicked him. He’s been rotating ice packs since last night, so he’s got one pressed to his cheekbone right now. It looks like he might end up with a black eye by the end of the week. Too bad it won’t get any time to heal. All your injuries will just keep piling on until the physical stage of the initiation is over.

Finnick’s victim, Eytelle, does everything she can to avoid touching her jaw. Unlike Amos, it seems like she has some sort of pride about not using ice to make it feel better. Her face will occasionally twist when she opens her mouth to speak, so you’re happy to say that her smartass Candor mouth won’t be running today.

And finally, Trink is the worst out of everyone in the room. Even compared to Amos, who didn’t go down easily when he went up against Thyme, is better than her. Trink has been complaining about a headache in her temple since yesterday, and each time she brings it up, she’ll glare at you. You ignored it the first couple of times, but you went ahead and reminded her that she had a chance to give up, and she didn’t.

The only person missing from the dormitory today is Ossie, she didn’t come into the room last night before the lights were turned out. So, you’re going to take a good guess that she’s in the medical unit that they have here in Dauntless. If that’s the case, you’re nota ll that surprised, there’s no way that she should be authorized to come back into the ring if she’s seriously hurt.

However, if she doesn’t recover soon, she’ll end up being cut. Caspian won’t exempt her from the rankings, because it’s not fair if he does. To someone else, it’d be unfair because she can’t control how fast her healing process is. If she jumps right back into it, she risks injuring herself even more, which could then make a permanent problem. But, it’s perfectly fair. She couldn’t defend herself inside of the arena, therefore she needs to step up her game.

Or she’s not cut out to be in Dauntless.

It’s a ruthless faction for a reason.

The aptitude test can tell you what faction you’re made for, but when you’re face to face with other initiates that fit the requirements better, suddenly you don’t measure up. You’d like to say that at some point, Dauntless wasn’t always like this, and they didn’t cut most of the initiates like they do now. But something changed, which then prompted for Dauntless to become a harder faction to get into. 

And it makes perfect sense, at least to you. Dauntless is supposed to be the police, security, the ones who watch the wall and what may be on the outside. Dauntless is the army that would be called on if it were needed. There’s a saying that every army is as strong as their weakest link. And in Dauntless, no one is supposed to be weak. They want to eliminate that problem, so initiation continues to get harder to only allow in the persistent initiates. The ones that can handle Dauntless.

Anyway, if Ossie isn’t careful, she’ll be the first of the four to be cut in the first stage. You’re not sure how long the first stage lasts, or how many fights you have to cycle through before you’re finally over, but she’ll need a comeback. Just like everyone else who lost their first match. Otherwise, they’re just going to find themselves factions. Which, in a way, would probably be a better option than running themselves into the ground. At least then they’d have a chance at living.

For them, being factionless may always be an option. But you think that you’d rather die trying to get into Dauntless than live with the shame of being factionless because you couldn’t make it. And since Abnegation has a reputation for welcoming former members back in, you think it would be even worse. Crawling to Reed’s doorstep and begging for forgiveness.

Knowing Reed, he’d probably turn you down.

Thyme jumps into her black jeans, shifting from foot to foot to make sure that they’re up all the way. You can vaguely see Finnick in the bathroom, leaned over a sink while he brushes his teeth. You’d be getting ready with them, but you had an early start this morning. Mostly because after you woke up the first time to roll over, yesterday’s question about your family made itself known. 

And then, as the hours drew on and your mind wandered, you sank deeper into your mattress when you realized that your words can have consequences. You are not untouchable here in Dauntless, and Caspian is in a position of power. He can retaliate if he wants, sabotage your stages to make it harder for you to pass. And he’s going to feel more inclined to, now that you’ve accused him of still being attached to Abnegation. Especially since you did it right in front of Laurel.

You may be his ex-best friend’s little sister, but he never had an attachment to you. To him, you’re expendable, he’s got other initiates that he can really pour his focus into. And being one of those people is Finnick, who showed great significance yesterday. He has fighting experience, which means that he should be in some sort of advanced class. He’s already better than the rest of you.

For now, at least. We’ll see how well he keeps up during the emotional and mental stages of initiation.

Thyme sits down on her bottom bunk, beginning to tie her shoes. Finnick comes out of the bathroom, fully dressed and running a hand through his hair. On the way out of the dormitory is Amos, his shoulders are hunched in and he’s still holding the ice pack to his cheek. The more he collapses in on himself, the smaller he seems. And since he’s not very tall to begin with, the last thing he needs is to appear less threatening.

“Ready to go to the training room?” you swing your feet, watching as Finnick continues to fix his hair, standing off to the side.

“Wish we had enough time for breakfast.” Thyme mutters, she yanks her laces tight, “I also wish we didn’t have to fight first thing in the morning.”

“It’s a good way to wake up.” Finnick says.

“You just want to fight.” 

You try to kick near his head, he dodges, grabbing a hold of your ankle, “I was actually hoping I’d get to fight you.”

You stare at him, “Why?”

He lets go of your foot, giving you a shrug, “I’m just curious how you’ll hold up against me.”

You mock a smile, “Well, let’s just hope I end up with you, then.”

If you were put in the ring with Finnick, you wouldn’t come out as the winner. Not only does he have more experience, he has a height advantage, he’s unpredictable. You’ve spent several years of your life watching him fight other teenagers, and there’s only been a couple of times where you’ve been able to predict his next move. The most you’ve figured out is that he likes his fights over with as soon as they begin. Which is as dangerous as dangerous can get.

Thyme stands up, so you slip off the top bunk, landing on your feet. Thyme leads the way out of the dorm, you and Finnick elbow each other back and forth on the way out. When you pass in front of Trink, Allio and Eytelle, they momentarily fall silent. As soon as you’re through the door, they resume speaking. 

You might end up fighting one of them today, with the exception of Trink. If you’re lucky, it won’t be Eytelle, she’s got the same height advantage that Finnick does. If you’re extremely unlucky, you’ll end up with Allio, who hardly looked fazed at Ossie’s kick yesterday. And it looked like she put all her strength into it. So either she’s weak, like you originally thought she was, or Allio is a sponge.

Then again, you could always land yourself with Amos, Thyme or Finnick. Amos is shorter than you, much like Thyme. You think that you could easily take him on. As for Thyme, she might be more of a challenge, she did seem to give the fight her all when she needed it at the end. However, just like Eytelle and Finnick, you’ve got an advantage when it comes to height. 

Honestly, you really hope that you aren’t paired with Thyme or Finnick at all. It’s an unrealistic hope, because there’s not enough people to be rotated around, so you’re going to be stuck with one of them eventually. But if it really came down to it, you’d rather take on Thyme than Finnick anyday.

“Tell us your predictions.” Finnick says. It sounds like a demand, but it’s actually a question.

You’re quiet for a moment as you all go through a stretch of darkness. The first match was predictable, Caspian would want to set you guys up against people that look like you guys to see where you measure. That’s why Finnick was placed with Eytelle, based on height. Thyme with Amos based on scrawniness. And Ossie and Allio because they had to be together in order for you and Trink to be in the ring together. However, you and Trink could have very well been placed together because of body weight and the way you carry yourselves, and Allio and Ossie were leftovers.

Needless to say, you were more or less right on the prediction. All you have to do this time is go off your gut feeling again, because that’s what happened last time.

You decide to hold your answer until you get to the next light source. Then, you three stop and stand around it, “Okay, Ossie wasn’t in the room last night, so I think that she’ll be sitting out. Since it’ll be uneven, I’m pretty sure one of us won’t be fighting.” You pause, you don’t think that it’ll be you or Finnick. It could be Thyme, but she was a winner, so they’d want to push her to see what she can do. A loser would sit out instead. Maybe Amos?

“I’m thinking that they’ll pair us with opposites today. And I don’t mean strength-wise.”

Finnick nods slowly, probably trying to decide who would be his opposite. Thyme massages her knuckles, eyebrows raising slightly. You can hear the faint echo of Trink, Allio and Eytelle in the background, and they do too. So, you all start walking again.

It’s quiet for the rest of the way. Finnick pushes open the set of the doors, holding it open for you and Thyme. Laurel and Caspian stand next to the chalkboard, standing in the way of the names. Amos stands by himself, hands shoved into his pockets. Ossie is by herself, a bandage around her head, arms crossed as she stares at the ground.

The three of you stand on the other side of the ring, opposite to where the chalkboard is, where you’d been yesterday. It gives you a clear view of Caspian, who raises his eyebrows faintly. Other than that, there’s no expression on his face. No hint that he might be angry after what you said to him yesterday.

You’ve never been afraid of Caspian, but when he burns in silence, is the time where fear begins to sprout in your stomach. The times where he doesn't have to look smug, are times where he’s set up something particularly hellish. You said that he’d pair you with your opposites, but you’ve failed to remember, again, that Caspian might be angry.

Allio and Ossie were leftovers last time, an exception to the idea you presented last time. Which means that he could very well have made a second one. It would make sense, not everyone can have an opposite. And the only person who can serve a real punishment to you, would be Finnick.

Your eyes peel away from Caspian to look at Finnick, who’s playing with his nose ring again, staring into space. He wouldn’t make you go against Finnick, it’s too predictable. You look back at Caspian to see that he’s got a small smirk on his face, the same one he wore after you won the fight against Trink yesterday. And you change your mind again, because when has Caspian ever cared about his motives being out in the open?

Trink, Allio and Eytelle make it into the room just as the clock hits eight. They decide to stay near the door today, so you go ahead and move left more. It’s just an open space between you and Amos, and since hatred hasn’t been expressed between you two, you don’t think it’ll hurt to be closer to him. Especially if it means to get away from the other three.

“Good morning.” Caspian says, “I see some of you are doing better than others.”

No one says anything back, he cracks a smile. He then waves a hand toward Laurel, signaling her to move out of the way. She side-steps, and reveals the pairing. There’s only three rows, which means you were right about someone sitting out.

“It’s uneven today, only six of you will be fighting. If your name’s not on the board, congrats, you get a break today.” Caspian says.

You read over the names.

Finnick and Thyme.

You and Allio.

Amos and Eytelle.

Ossie and Trink are sitting out today.

There’s a couple of things that come to mind immediately. The first is that the winners are paired together, and the losers are too. The second is that you’re not with Finnick, it’s Thyme who gets the misfortune of having to face him. You know that he’ll get it over with quickly, but Thyme is going to want to win the fight. She’s not going to take the loss.

A cruel thought spirals, nearly passing through your lips. Thyme will be the perfect opponent to ensure he keeps his streak. You don’t see her winning against him, which means he’ll bag two wins. And depending on whether or not you beat Allio today, you might too. In the end, you might have to end up facing Finnick. 

You look over at your friends to see that they’re less than thrilled. Thyme is still staring at the chalkboard, as if it’s some mistake. And Finnick doesn’t look as excited as he did yesterday. He crosses his arms, but still reaches up to play with the nose ring with his thumb. It’s even worse because they’ll be going first today, they say nothing to each other.

And because you can’t help it, you go ahead and look at Allio, who’s already got a small grin on his face as he talks to his friends. You and him will be the second fight today. You wait for some type of fear to appear in your body, but there’s nothing. You were wrong on your theory. Allio isn’t as bad as Finnick. You have a chance at winning.

While you’re staring at Allio, you catch a glimpse of Trink, who looks relieved. So, you lean toward Finnick and Thyme, not trying to be quiet but trying to diffuse the growing tension between them. “They’re only letting her sit out because I beat her to shit.”

Eyes land on you, you pull back and stand straight again. Finnick lets out a laugh, Thyme has a smile on her face, “It’s like putting her into time out.”

You know that you will not face Trink again, there’s no reason to be afraid of her. The only people you’re worried about, are the two Candor idiots standing next to her. One of which you will face today.

“Finnick and Thyme!” Caspian calls, motioning to the ring, “Get to it.”

“Try not to kill each other.” You tell them, neither of them say anything.

Inside of the ring, they pick their spots opposite of each other. Finnick is the first to raise his hands, in perfect position. Thyme rolls her wrists once or twice before she raises hers. With them standing across from each other like this, she seems to have a chance. But when they’re standing next to each other, you have no hope for Thyme.

They shuffle in a circle, Thyme trying to find an opening. She won’t, not unless Finnick takes the first punch. And he might, if they continue to go around like this. A look to Caspian tells you that he’s getting impatient. They make a loop again, he clears his throat. Neither of them lunge at each other. 

This won’t last for much longer. This is going against Finnick’s rule of making a fight quick. But he’s probably stalling so that he doesn’t have to hit her first. For a second, you think that he might let her win, since she’s a friend. Then you remember what he said to you fifteen minutes ago, his hope that you’ll be his opponent. Which transforms into the streak thought. He will not pass up this opportunity.

Finnick gets impatient, starting to move in on her. Thyme tries to keep backing up, trying to get away from him. In your hand, you chant for her to stop moving and let him make his move. Finnick wants it quick, he’ll aim for weak spots on her head. All she has to do is dodge the punch, and give it her all as fast as possible before moving out again.

She has to be like a wave of water.

Thyme hits the edge of the ring, Caspian briefly moves forward to shove her back in, “Fight!”

Thyme stumbles over her feet, drawing her too close to Finnick. He doesn’t wait for her to recover, swinging. You think Thyme sees, because she drops to her knees, avoiding the hit. She stops long enough to draw her arm back, fist aimed toward his shins. But then she hesitates, changing her move.

You watch her full-force uppercut Finnick’s crotch.

There’s a gasp from Finnick, face twisting as his hands grab the area. You press your lips together, covering your mouth. You shouldn’t laugh. Thyme gets back onto her feet, raising her fists again, the soft expression she had, has faded now. She brings her foot up, slamming it into his back.

Finnick’s hissing through his teeth, stumbling forward and trying to straighten himself out. He’s clearly in pain, and you can’t blame him. Thyme looked like a hard hitter yesterday, and Amos is the display case. 

Finnick turns towards Thyme, cracking his neck, “See, I was going to go easy on you.” his face takes on the same scary look that he gave Eytelle, “But if you want to play dirty…”

Thyme beckons him closer without saying a word. Finnick heads closer. She’s aware of where the ring ends now, you can see her glance down every now and then to make sure she hasn’t backed out of it. But each time she looks away from Finnick, he jerks closer, until he’s right in front of her, and she doesn’t even realize it.

Her hands are protecting her face, so he aims for her stomach. This sends her stumbling back, standing on the white line. He tries to punch her again, she slips under his arm unharmed, and appears behind him. She goes to take advantage of this, but she’s too slow. Finnick spins around, and slams his foot into her ribs. 

Just like that, Thyme hits the floor, eyes wide, hands on the spot he just kicked. She sucks in a breath, looking up at Finnick, who towers over her. She stares for a moment, and then her eyes flicker to his feet, and she tries to get moving. She’s just barely on her feet, going to slip under Finnick’s arm again, when he grabs a hold of the back of her shirt, yanking her towards him.

He’s quick to grab the neck of her shirt when he can, twisting his fist and lifting slightly to keep her from sliding out of her shirt. He draws his right hand back, tilts his head to the side, and goes to punch her face. She moves out of the way by a hair, eyes continuing to widen, following his fist. He goes to try again, and manages to graze her cheek. 

Thyme winces, trying to squirm out of his grasp. And for one final time, he brings his hand back, and punches her jaw.

She hangs in the air, Finnick slowly lowers her back to her feet, and then wraps an arm around her body. He looks up at Caspian, who gives Finnick a nod before circling his name. 

Finnick won, just like you thought he would.

Finnick half-carries, half-drags Thyme’s body out of the ring. He slowly lowers her to the floor, where she lays there for a minute or two, not waking up. But then her eyes pop open, and she blinks a couple of times, squinting.

She’s alive, which means it’s your turn to fight your life.

“(Y/n) and Allio!” Caspian calls.

Finnick gives you a pat on the back, “Good luck.”

You wish you could say you don’t need it.

You and Allio come from your respective groups. With you on the far left, and him on the right. From where you stand, Caspian is still in sight, and he has a smile on his face. There’s something that you’re not aware of.

You stretch your arms and legs, cracking your knuckles, tilting your head from side to side. Allio watches you with raised fists. You bounce from foot to foot, raising your own hands. You inhale and exhale, looking over his form.

The only movement he allows is moving in the circle, like you guys were taught to do. His face is straight, his hands are where they need to be. You sweep over his body over and over to find that there’s no openings. Which means that you need to create one without getting hit. 

You made the first move yesterday, it was in your best interest to. This time, you need to let Allio come to you. You keep shuffling, but don’t move, not even when he begins to come closer. In fact, you start circling the other way, making him change his rhythm and show you what he might have been planning.

He takes much bigger steps towards you with his right leg, now. But will hesitate and back up when you pause for a moment, going toward him. Either he wants to kick you, or he wants an easy escape if you move toward him. You let him continue to come closer, prepared for a kick.

And then he launches forward.

All it took was a single blink.

There’s an explosion of pain across your nose, a sickening snap that fills the air. You inhale sharp enough to trigger a cough attack. Your hand flies to your nose, now throbbing and sending needle-like pain through the nerves. In just a couple of seconds, your palms are coated in blood, beginning to pool.

You look back up at Allio in time to see him jumping at you again. You move out of the way, flinging your handful of blood at the floor, right where his foot lands. There’s a moment of steadiness, before he slips and hits the floor hard enough for you to feel it beneath your shoes. 

You grit your teeth, drawing your foot back, lip curling, aiming for his head. You expect him to block his face with his forearms, like you were taught to. But he grabs a hold of your ankle with a tight grip and rolls over, pulling you down.

Your entire body hits the wooden floor, hands slapping hard enough for them to make a sound. Allio lets go of your foot, and goes to start crawling on top of you. If he wants to play the foot game, though, then he’s going to get it. You wind your foot back, sending your heel into his chest, knocking him back. You scoot back after that, getting to your feet.

He broke your nose, and it’s gushing blood. Your nose is crooked. You bring the bottom of your shirt up to your lower face, wiping away the fresh wave of red. Each time you breathe out, there’s a couple of droplets that fly through the air. Allio gets back to his feet, you raise your fists, gritting your teeth harder.

You didn’t expect him to be an easy fight, but you were hoping he wouldn’t be this hard.

Allio comes at you again, swinging at your face. This time, you see, so you duck. His arm flies over your head, making a clear path for his chin. Without thinking it through, you shoot up, knuckles slamming into skin and bone. Immediately, there’s a sharp pain that goes through your hand, but you’ve temporarily immobilized Allio.

His mouth is hanging open, backing away from you as he grabs the area you just punched. In the meantime, you steal a glance at your knuckles to see that they’re turning a deep shade of purple already. You try to stretch your hand, and end up crying out in pain.

You look back up at Allio to see that he’s recovered. You don’t know if you can punch him again. Not with your potentially broken knuckles. Your non-dominant hand isn’t all that strong, either. You could always try, but you’ll end up failing.

You suck in a breath through your nose, raising your fists again.

Allio comes in again, since you refuse to move. You need to get the upper hand. So far, you’re the one taking all the injuries, so he needs to receive some too. You sniff, feeling all snot and blood, and then you breathe through your mouth. It’s hard not to pay attention to your nose.

When he’s close enough, you fake right, but go left, swinging your non-dominant hand. It doesn’t feel right, and you don’t hit as hard as you mean to. The punch to Allio’s jaw just moves him backward. You didn’t get as close to his chin as you wanted to.

Allio seems to realize your dilemma, and a sadistic smile grows on his face. There’s a sudden boost in confidence in his movements, and he doesn’t hesitate to come closer anymore. He must’ve been wary of your punches, but now that you can’t hit him, he’s practically untouchable. The only way you can kick him is if you get him down. But even then, he managed to catch you last time.

You have three choices. Two of them back you into a shameful corner, the third means you go down swinging, or you win the match. No matter what happens, you will not take whatever punishment Caspian has lined up for you, in the case you decide to call mercy. And you will not just stand here and take what Allio has to deliver.

Allio swings, you back out of the way. You have to get around him somehow. Get behind him like how Thyme got behind Finnick. She was able to duck under his arm, but you’ve done that twice already. Allio has probably learned his lesson, you need a new way.

He barely comes close enough, you drop to the floor and sweep his feet. Allio loses his balance, you raise up a little, but he’s on his back, vulnerable. You jump at him, fist raised, hand wrapping around one of his wrists, pinning his arm to the ground. You hesitate actually punching him for too long, and his other hand slams into your jaw, making a red hot pain spread through your face and teeth.

Your head knocks back, eyes on the ceiling before you’re falling against the floorboards. You can feel the coolness of the wood through the fabric of your shirt. And for a moment, you think that you could lay here all day and not move. But then you see Allio coming towards you, eyes dark and threatening, and decide that you’ll lay on the floor another day.

Even though you should get up, you don’t move, trying to catch your breath, but you keep an eye on him. If he comes any closer, you think you’ll kick him in the face. Kick him like how you punched Trink. One hit that’ll get him to stop moving for good.

You lift your foot to find that he’s already holding onto it.

You twist around, rolling over and kicking his shoulder with your left foot as hard as you can. He doesn’t let go, instead pulling you in. He lets go of your ankle, and since you’re just beneath him, he raises his fist. His elbow bends, lifting it up far too high just for it to be a knockout punch, and unwinds on you.

You jerk to the left in time for him to slam his hand into the floor. 

“Idiot.” you snuff, your voice doesn’t sound like it belongs to you.

While Allio is shaking his knuckles, hissing out curses, you lazily raise back to your feet. Your mouth has an overflow of snot and blood because you refuse to breathe through your nose. You send a wad of red spit flying out of the ring, towards Caspian’s feet before raising your hands.

This fight is not over yet.

When Allio raises back to his feet, his hands aren’t raised, and he comes at you with genuine rage. This is the look that Ossie must have seen yesterday. The look of pure anger from the taunting, going all in and pulling back before it’s too late. The difference now is that you’re embarrassing him. For him, this should have been an easy fight, considering his brute strength yesterday.

Allio finally raises his fists when he gets you cornered. He swings with his left hand--no, he normally punches with his right.

Large black blots block your vision. The pain is hard and warm, pounding on the side of your head. Your hands connect with the cold floorboards once again, and you struggle to blink your eyes free of the dark restraints. For a moment, you’re terrified because the darkness is staying longer than it should. But a ray of light comes through.

You can hear Allio coming up behind you.

Get up.

Even if the stars are just now allowing you to see, you need to get up.

You struggle to make your legs solidify beneath you.

When you turn to face Allio after what feels like forever, you’re met with a solid pain in the middle of your chest, knocking you backwards, stealing your air. You barely keep on your feet this time, anticipating the ground, gasping to try and fix the empty feeling in your lungs. It hurts to breathe in this much. You press an open hand to your chest, eyes finding Allio’s face through the spots, only to see that he’s mere inches away.

One hand on your shoulder, the other one drives it’s way into your stomach. Nausea sprouts, accompanying the dizziness that hasn’t gone away since he punched you. All the air you had just gained, is gone again. A moan leaves your lips from the soreness. 

Allio wraps his hand around your throat, you can feel the ground disappearing beneath your shoes. There’s a sudden spike of terror again, and all you can picture is this exact same scenario with Ossie. Allio lifting Ossie into the air as if she was as light as a feather. Allio throwing her down to the floor. The sound of her head cracking open. Her not moving after. The blood turning her blonde hair, rich red. Laurel having to carry her out.

This will not be you.

You swing your foot as far back as possible, desperate for air. Your foot crushes into Allio’s stomach, making his face turn a sudden shade of bright red, and then he drops you.

The ground is a lot further down than you realized.

You try to catch yourself and fail, a scream leaving your throat. Your head slams against the wooden floorboards anyway, but you don’t hear your head breaking open like an egg. Only the hot, pounding feeling on the back of your head. Black spots come back to dot your vision, stealing the sight of the ceiling. Or maybe your eyes are closed.

Can you get up?

The thought alone hurts.

Everything hurts.

You can hear Allio’s tennis shoes against the wooden floorboards, shifting on his feet. He must be waiting for Caspian to call it. And if the fight is over, it means you lose.

You lose.

So, get up.

Your eyes open, stars dot the ceiling. You blink and squint to see better. No, not stars, the ceiling lights. Which form little sparkle shapes as your eyes begin to focus, adjust.

Get up.

You turn, your hot, sticky skin pressing to the floor. It sends aches and pains through your body, your muscles in your legs pulse, letting you know that they’ve had enough. It’s a good thing that they’re not in charge. You are. And this is not over with.

Get up.

Your skin slowly peels away from the polished wood, leaving a faint stinging sensation behind. It’s hardly noticeable, a needle in a haystack, considering you’ve collected an impressive worth of injuries in just one fight.

Get up.

“She’s up--” Caspian starts, once you’re on your feet, hunched over and trying to build enough confidence to stand straight. It’ll hurt too badly. And you’ve run out of time, you took too long to get up. Caspian thinks it’s over.

It’s not over until you win.

You take one step, and then another, testing the waters. Every step you take, sends a jolt through your body that always ends up at the back of your head. Your skull is not broken. You can keep moving.

This is the opening you wanted, after all.

You launch yourself right at Allio’s torso since he’s distracted, wrapping your arms around him for added effort. There’s shooting pains through your nose since it’s pressed up against his body. You pull away before he hits the ground, hard. And before he can move, you’re scrambling on top of him.

Your knuckles are not broken.

You wind your arm back, eyes locked on his nose.

They just hurt.

You drive your fist into his face. And when it doesn’t start to bleed, you punch him again. And again. “I’ll never look the same.” you snarl through your teeth, “So why should you?”

You switch hands, leaning all of your body weight into it. He’s bleeding now, there’s blood running out of his nose and down the sides of his face. His blood mixes in with yours, which coats your knuckles and fingers. If he’s going to target your weak spots, it’s only fair you give him a couple of his own.

You miss the fact that he gets his right hand back, not missing the chance for retaliation. All you can feel is your head jerk to the left hard enough for your neck to crack. You slide across the floor, skin burning along the way. You unscrew your teeth from each other, gasping.

Allio has drawn himself to his feet. Through the tunnel vision, you can see that his face is swollen. Blood is dripping off his chin. You sneer a laugh, which fizzles into coughs, your lungs not being able to support your brief moment of victory. Allio doesn’t look like he did this morning, and he won’t look like himself for a while.

He doesn’t like the fact that you can laugh at him. You can barely decipher the fact that his face twists in anger. He heads towards you, foot drawing back like he’s going to kick a ball to send it across the field. You brace your body for the impact, smile fading.

A scream draws from your throat as the kick lands. You squeeze your eyes hand enough to see vivid patterns dance across the back of your eyelids. Pain so bright and black and white that you can finally understand why Candor doesn’t believe in grey areas.

“The fight is over!” The voice is drowned, underwater and floating away.

You fade into the sea of darkness.

And think: is this how dad felt when he faded too?

--

It wasn’t until after dinner, did you leave the medical ward last night. You would have attended dinner at the actual dining hall, but the woman working in the unit gave you a plate and was there to help if you needed it. Plus, you got a little taste of Finnick’s thoughts after your loss, and you decided that you’d much rather spend the evening alone.

And you did. 

Cleo, the doctor-nurse, let you go after you showed her you could get up and move without falling. Apparently, Ossie had tried to do the exact same thing the night she hit her head. She crumpled a couple of steps in, and almost made her head injury worse. And since you had been dropped on your head too…

You’re fine, though. The injuries that you got from Allio’s fight are painful, of course, but they’re not anything totally awful. Cleo thinks that your chest and stomach will bruise, thanks to Allio’s punch. Your jaw is sore, so she wants you to eat soft foods and ice it as much as possible. As for your knuckles, they’re heavily bruised, not broken. Cleo tried to set your nose as straight as possible, but you’ll need a cosmetic procedure to get it back to the way it was. 

You had a lot of time to sit and wallow in your loss in the medical ward, but the tightness in your throat wasn’t nearly as bad as it was until you left. You wandered in the dark for a while, taking deep breaths. You ended up at the railing that blocks you from wandering into the chasm. And you stayed there until you felt better.

Even though there are no real bodies of water inside of the walls—with the exception of the swamp, but that has no water in it anymore—the sound of the rushing river below you was strangely familiar. And each time the water would crash against the jagged rocks, fresh air would be coughed up into your face. It lessened the headache.

And left you alone to think without any disruptions.

By the time you made it back to the dormitory, the announcement had already been made; there would be no training today. Capsian was just leaving the room when you got there, and he passed by you quietly at first. But he was halfway down the hallway when his words echoed off the walls, “Glad to see you’re on your feet, (Y/n).”

You didn’t say anything back.

On the first day, Laurel said that there would be a few breaks from fighting. Today is one of those days. When Finnick and Thyme had explained it to you, they didn’t say what you’d be doing exactly. Only that you all had to meet Laurel at the tracks by eight fifteen and not to be late. You have a feeling that they didn’t know what you’ll be doing today, either.

The only person that seemed to be upset last night over the break, was Finnick. Everyone else has something to complain about, not going unharmed in all the fights they’ve taken place in. You’re one of them, yesterday’s pain has settled into your bones, making itself right at home. Every move you make, you’re reminded of your loss. Which wouldn’t be that bad, but again, you have Finnick at your side. And the only thing that’s on his mind lately, is the streak.

With yesterday's loss, it means that he is the sole survivor of the streak. With his perfect gun aim, and the fact that he hasn’t lost a fight yet. You’d say something to him, if it weren’t for the fact that you have two friends total at the moment, Finnick and Thyme. Normally, you can handle Finnick being mad at you, because you had other people to talk to in Abnegation. But Thyme is more on Finnick’s side than yours, Ossie and Amos aren’t technically your friends, and your relationship with the other three is pretty much established. 

For now, you have to bite your tongue and bear it. But you wonder how long Finnick will go unchecked for. Until you finally snap and shove back. You can handle the teasing, but it’s like holding a glass of water for a long period of time. It doesn’t start off heavy, it ends up that way.

You guess that it’s partially your fault, because you’re giving him ammunition. If you want it to stop, you need to win the next two fights, and then do better than him at the last two stages of initiation. In theory, it sounds easy, but you don’t know what the second and third stages have to offer. Plus, you’re damaged goods at the moment, what are the chances you can win the fights?

As long as you try. Trying is good enough.

A shoe scuffs against the floor, sending a sharp squeak through the air.

You don’t have to lay here anymore.

You could hardly roll over last night because of your stomach. And after a couple of times, you stopped and laid on your back until your muscles finally relaxed and you couldn’t feel the pain anymore. You got a couple hours of sleep in. 

It was ruined when you jolted awake around midnight, a scream rising in your throat, your bed sheets soaked in sweat, and a very hot feeling spreading over your body. It took a while for you to finally feel normal and calmed down, and by then you were awake. The memory of the nightmare that you had just been submerged in, was at the front of your mind. 

You stopped having nightmares last year, you had finally begun to feel comfortable in your own house again. You guess you went and ruined your streak when you moved here, to a faction that would make your mother feel shame, if she were still alive.

Surprisingly, that was not the main story of the dream. Instead, you dreamt that you were back inside of the aptitude test, with all the knowledge that would come after. That every choice you would make, would conflict and result in Laurel telling you that you’re Divergent and you could be murdered because of it. But you still went through with your original answers, because you didn’t want to end up in Abnegation. You thought, for a second, that being three things was better than one.

When you came out of the test, the room was full. Men and women dressed in Dauntless black, an army sent just for you, with their guns pointed at your chest.

Standing at the front was Caspian. “Divergence is against the law.” He droned, “You are not welcome here.”

And just before they all fired, he told you that you were another stain on your family’s lineage.

The word that has stuck with you for hours is another. Not the fact that you could feel every bullet they fired pierce your body. Or feeling yourself slip away in the sinful room of mirrors. It was the fact that you were not the only anomaly in the family. The only other person that has moved away—moved on from Abnegation is Mox. Which made many people turn a brief eye to your family, watching him go.

But it doesn’t fit right. That is not the puzzle piece that needs to be there. It’s only a supplement. You know this.

Two weeks before the aptitude test, there was a unit in your science class that was about the human brain. The lesson was brief, but your teacher mentioned how dreams come from the subconscious mind, before moving onto another section. She’d only mentioned it in passing, but it has stuck with you ever since.

To you, this idea seems wrong because you don’t think of Mox as a stain. That thought is not yours to begin with. And yet, even though you’ve been awake for hours, you still haven’t found a better conclusion. 

You’re starting to think that there isn’t one.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, reaching over to the side of the bunk to help pull you into a sitting position. You grit your teeth tightly, sure that they’re going to break, but you’re determined not to make a sound. You let out a low groan anyway, which dissipates into a sigh of relief as soon as you’re sitting upright.

Leaning back on one hand, you use the other to lift the end of your shirt to see your stomach properly. Right in the middle, sits deep shades of purple and red. You press your lips together, gently running your fingers over the skin like a ghost. It’s tender, beginning the stages of healing. 

You let your shirt drop, turning towards the end of the bed, hanging your feet over the side. You remember what it took to get you up here. There’s no ladder, because that would be far too easy. Tears had sprung in the corners of your eyes, you were forced to wriggle your way up on your stomach, hands clamped tight against the metal bars.

Once you got up here last night, you weren’t allowed to get back down. Not that you really wanted to, what you really wanted to do was sleep it off. Obviously that didn’t pan out too well, either.

You can see Thyme from the top of the bunk. She’s still sleeping, tangled in her blanket, shirt collar desperate to choke her. Half her body is turned one way, the other half twisted away. Her head isn’t turned toward you.

You’re pretty sure that Finnick is still asleep beneath you, but you can’t exactly tell without accidentally falling off the bed. And if you’re going to get off by yourself, you think that you’ll do it on your own time. Speaking of which, it looks like you only have forty-five minutes to get ready.

That should be enough time, right?

The only other people awake inside of the room are Eytelle, Ossie and Amos. Eytelle disappears into the bathroom, clutching her clothes to her chest. Ossie is already dressed, pulling on her hiking shoes, yanking the laces as tight as possible. And Amos is… sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.

Trink and Allio are across the room, both turned away from you. If you get off the bed, the only people that are here to witness your pain are the two people that you wouldn’t mind seeing. Apart from Finnick and Thyme, of course. You’d ask for help, but the idea of Finnick’s teasing appears in your mind, setting your destiny in stone.

You suck in a deep breath through your nose, moving your ankles around in circles. Your calves are tight, they feel like you’ve had twenty leg cramps in a row. They’re going to be uncooperative today, which is the last thing that you’re going to need. Especially if you’re supposed to be jumping in and out of trains today.

The thought of missing the jump on the roof occurs to you, and you can’t help the shiver that runs through your body.

You decide that you’ll try and lower yourself down, instead of just scooting off the edge and jumping. Since your calves clearly can’t handle it right now. You’re careful to lean on your wrists and not your hands, turning yourself around. You’re glad that you’re starting to develop more upper body strength, otherwise this would be impossible.

Your body begins to ache, arms shaking the further you go down. You feel Finnick’s mattress dip beneath your bare feet. Your other foot touches his blanket, and after that, you just step down. The cement is freezing cold, making your toes curl.

You spare a glance at Finnick before you get moving, and you start to glare once you realize that he’s awake. He has a cheeky grin on his face, raising his eyebrows, “I see you’re feeling great this morning.”

“I’m not.” you say back, “Maybe I should’ve stepped on your face like I originally planned to.”

Finnick lets out a laugh, getting up and off his bed. Ever since the two of you left Abnegation five days ago, he’s begun to stand at his full height. It makes him look like he belongs inside of Dauntless. There’s tall people in Abnegation, of course, but none of them are as tall as Finnick.

You have to look up at an angle to see his face. He stretches his arms above his head, shirt riding up, he yawns, and then groans. Unlike you, he doesn’t have any concern for the other people sleeping in the room. 

You gather your clothes, throwing them over your arm. Finnick has no shame and decides to change right where he is. A part of you wishes that you could do the same, but your body is more valuable than his, to an extent. You shake Thyme awake, watching her squint and blink and wake up.

“Seven-forty.” you say.

She hums and rolls over. You head toward the bathroom, which is just as an open room as the dorm. Except, there’s stalls and the showers have curtains. You step inside one of them, and try to wash yourself as fast as possible. It hurts to bend down, tears appear in the corner of your eyes and run down your face. By the time you’re done showering, there’s fifteen minutes left.

You get dressed and brush your teeth. Finnick and Thyme work together to help you tie your shoes, since you can’t bend down to do it yourself. You thank them both, and after that, you have to get to the train. There’s no way you’ll make it to breakfast, climb the Pit and make it to the train in time.

“How about I get us breakfast then?” Finnick’s got a grin, jumping at the opportunity. 

Thyme gives him a look, “We’re not covering your ass if you’re late.”

“No problem, I’ll see you there.”

He takes off, leaving just you and Thyme. The two of you head up the stairs of the Pit to the glass building above it, in silence. Your thighs begin to complain at the strain, in perfect harmony with your calves. When you pass through the exit doors, you’re able to see that it’s only Amos up here, arms wrapped around himself in a hug. He looks over slightly to see you two, and then he looks away. 

“Where’d you go yesterday?” Thyme asks.

She’s still rubbing sleep from her eyes, there’s dark bags forming. She hasn’t been getting much sleep, it looks like. But you think that goes for everyone here. No one has slept soundly since the Choosing Ceremony. It just got worse as soon as the fighting began, for reasons you discovered last night.

“Hmm?” you hum, looking at her.

“We went to visit you in the medical unit, and you weren’t there.”

“Oh.” you say, looking to where the train will be coming. Behind you, you can hear the doors of the building open again. Judging by the amount of voices, it’s Trink, Allio and Eytelle. “I needed a minute to myself, that’s all.”

An arm slams into yours from behind, knocking you into Thyme. It’s Trink, who gives you a smug side-eye when she walks past. You grit your teeth, hands balling into fists. 

“Here.” a voice says, you jump and look over to see it’s Finnick, handing you the toast he got from the dining hall. It’s still hot, he must have ran here to give it to you before it cooled. You go to thank him, but he’s distracted. His eyes are on the back of Trink’s head.

Two words burn like fire on the tip of your tongue, “Do it.” you encourage.

It’s all it takes. Finnick presses the six squares of toast into your hands before he starts over toward Trink.

“Why would you say that?” Thyme hisses in a whisper, eyebrows pushed in. She’s worried for them. Typical Amity behavior, especially since she’s not for the fighting to settle differences.

“Because Finnick doesn’t negotiate.”

You don’t include the fact that, if it weren’t for your current condition, you’d be helping him.

Finnick spins Trink around, her mouth falls open. Her two idiot Candor friends turn around too, only halfway. By then, Finnick punched Trink straight across her mouth, whipping her head to the side. She loses her balance, hand flying to touch her teeth to make sure they’re still in place. When she opens her mouth, her gums are bleeding, white teeth turned red.

Allio goes to ask her if she’s okay, and Eytelle puffs up as if she’s actually going to do something about it. The moment that Finnick matches her energy, her height, and how his hands curl into fists, she backs off. 

“Next time, I’ll break your fucking nose.” Finnick snaps, looking directly at Trink, “Or better yet, I’ll hold you down so she can.”

Finnick comes back over, face flushed a shade of red. He grabs his breakfast from your hands, and Thyme does the same. The doors open behind you, Laurel and Ossie come out. Laurel has her hair in a ponytail today, sleek and straight. She walks right past Trink, Eytelle and Allio. And stops a few feet away, sticking her hands into her ironed business pants. 

There’s a moment of baffled silence on Trink’s part, and then she bursts, “You’re not going to ask what happened?”

Laurel looks over, straight-faced, “What happened?” she asks lamely.

It’s good enough for her, “He punched me!”

Laurel stares for a moment, probably deciding if Trink’s behavior is worth feeding into. She doesn’t look at Finnick when she starts towards Trink. Laurel crouches down in front of her, being careful that pants don’t touch the grass beneath her. “You will have a lot more to worry about if you continue to tell on your fellow initiates. You are displaying signs of cowardice. I am not your mother, handle the situation yourself.” Laurel stands, glances at Finnick, and says; “From now on, no fighting outside of the ring. Once you’re a member, the rule lifts.”

She goes back to where she was standing before.

If Trink wants to say anything else, she can’t. You finish your piece of toast, brushing the crumbs off your hands and shirt just as the train comes in. The horn blares, letting you know that it’s coming. Laurel stands close enough for the wind to blow her clothes flat against her body.

Amos is the first to pull himself inside of the train, disappearing off to the left side. You jog with the train, remembering the high feeling the day of the Choosing Ceremony. How you had pulled yourself inside of the train like you’ve done it every day of your life. 

Now you’re struggling to push past the violent burning feeling in your calves and thighs with each step you take. You wonder, is this progress, or are you falling behind?

You grab a hold of the handle, grit your teeth and hold your breath, yanking yourself in. Immediately, there’s an achy feeling in your chest and stomach. You massage your chest, not dumb enough to go lower. Finnick pulls himself in next, almost effortlessly. He slams his head against the doorway of the train, curses leaving his mouth. You burst into laughter, you can hear Amos chuckling behind you.

Finnick rubs his forehead, face twisted. He moves inward, allowing Thyme to come in next, “Think it’ll bruise?”

“You didn’t hit yourself that hard!” you shout over the wind.

He gives you a grin.

Laurel comes in next, standing off to the side and judges every person who comes in next. Eytelle, Allio, Ossie and then Trink. Ossie comes to the left side, where you are. As for the other three, they take the right side, huddled up like they normally are. Laurel presses herself against the wall, crosses her arms, and stares out of the door.

You still don’t know what you’re doing today.

The train brings you all the way to the far fence. It brakes too harshly, making Finnick jerk. You grab a hold of his arm before he knocks into Laurel and gets himself into any more trouble. Finnick might be tall and an experienced fighter, but sometimes he’s as prepared as a baby deer. When you’d ride home together on the bus in Abnegation, he’d have to hold onto a pole, not the overhead handles. It’s because the poles are steadier.

The train comes to a complete stop underneath an awning. Laurel exits firsts, jumping down gracefully and walking a couple of steps before she stops and waits. You move out next with Finnick. This time, he makes sure to duck dramatically so that he doesn’t hit his head again. 

There’s a chain-link fence with barbed wire, a green field on the other side of it, with hills that stretch as far as your eyes can see. Dotted around are a mix of healthy green trees, and trees that are far too dead to be revived.

On the other side of the fence is the Dauntless guards, wearing black and carrying guns, patrolling what may be out there. Only recently, in the past couple of years, have the Dauntless begun to patrol the outside of the fence. As far as anyone knows, there isn’t a threat. Only more Amity farms that couldn’t fit inside of the fence. Before, the Dauntless had been controlling what went on inside of the factionless communities. But Abnegation argued that they don’t need Dauntless with guns. They need food, water, places to live. They need to be rehomed and given a new opportunity.

“Follow me!” Laurel shouts, once everyone is off the train. The eight of you wander behind her, “Today, you’re doing volunteer work, carrying heavy shit that the Amity and Abnegation can’t.” she leads you to a gate, with a wide, cracked road that leads back to the city, “And I’ll give you some insight on the jobs you’ll be eligible for if you don’t rank high in initiation.”

She nods at one of the guards on the other side, “If you don’t rank in the top five at the end of initiation, you’ll end up here. Once you’re a fence guard, there’s not much room for advancement. If you get the job, you probably won’t find a way to squirm out of it. Most who work here, say that it’s not as bad as it seems. Isn’t that right?”

She has a smile on her face when she looks at one of the guards. They give her an amused expression, and then eyes over you guys. 

“Don’t mind them, they’re just shy. The most you’ll get out of the job is the potential to go beyond the Amity farms, but that’s the extent of it.” she stops, turning to face you guys.

“What else?” Trink asks, she’s standing behind you.

“Well, you’ve seen the shops, tattoo and piercing parlors. If you’ve visited the medical ward, you can be a doctor, or a lunch lady. We have security cameras all over the Dauntless compound, so you could make that your day job.” she pauses for a moment, “Oh, and police officers. But that’s about it.

“If you rank in the top five, you get your pick of the litter. Or maybe, the litter will pick you, in some cases.” Laurel doesn’t elaborate for a moment, and then she smiles, “Did you know that they’re looking for a temporary, fourth position for leadership? If the person fits the requirements for leadership, they’ll replace one of the leaders we have now.”

“Is that what you’re going for?” Thyme asks.

Her face twists, raising her eyebrows, “It’s not a job for the fainthearted. And I’ve already got my job. Who do you think designs all the clothes you’re wearing?”

You remember the mannequin on her arm. You originally thought it was her fear, as you’ve come to realize that most of the Dauntless will get their fear somewhere on their body. But maybe it’s a passion thing, instead.

A horn blares, making Laurel raise her head, “The next train is here. Let’s get this over with, so we can get back to the headquarters.”

--

ANTERIC IS A SPIN-OFF DIVERGENT AU //MASTERLIST//

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[athrialuxegna]

Stronger than she thinks Part 5

Triggers warning: mental and physical abuse, violence, swearing

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Fanfiction  | Archiveofourown | Wattpad

Hi guys, I updated the last chapters so they seem nicer to read, tell me what you think about it in the comments. I also edited the links to the previous and next chapters as they were a total mess, sorry about that! I hope that you like this story so far, I try my best to readproof it, but some mistakes remain, my bad if it’s bothering you.

Thanks for those who lived a note on the previous chapters, it means at lot! -Lys

What was I doing? That question rang in my head as I made my way to the Child Care Service. I was not a fan of kids, they bothered me more than anything else. Their cries, tears, and temper tantrums were stress-inducing for me. They made me uneasy and self-conscious with their bluntness. As we all say, "truth always comes from a child's mouth" and that's what put me on edge. I didn't know what to expect of my babysitting day. Why did I accept such a thing? Eric, of course. I wanted to know if it was his idea or if it was just a sick joke on Max's part. One can never be so sure about others' intentions and hidden agendas. The leaders had the power to make everything possible within the walls of the headquarters. Why would they want me near orphans? That's what I intended to discover.

I played with my fingers, eyes fixated on the door decorated with drawings, tiny handprints, and a whole bunch of names. How many children find themselves alone every year? No idea, but it seemed that numerous of them had gone through that door to find a new home. It was not really surprising when we knew that their parents took risks on a daily basis.

Patrols in the factionless territory could turn bad pretty fast. The homeless didn't have anything to lose, they were determined to seek their revenge on the system that shut them down without any possibility to be part of it. I understood where they came from. They had to fight to live whereas all the other factions would sustain themselves without thinking twice about them. Except for the selfless Abnegation faction that helped them the best they could by providing them supplies, clothes, and from time to time, food. However, their violence had dire consequences in the Dauntless faction.

As the soldiers of the city, we were to protect and maintain peace in the streets. We were the first to suffer from the conflicts between Factionless and the system. These children were proof of that. I sighed deeply, my fingers caressing the weird painted animals.

" I'm glad you came here, they're really excited to meet you. "

Startled by Eric's deep voice, I turned around to find him, arms crossed, shoulder pressed against the wall a few feet away from me. A small smile stretched my lips, although I could tell that it didn't match my eyes. I wasn't thrilled at the idea of taking care of children. I have never done it before because I was always afraid to make something wrong and being an only child didn't help either. I swallowed thickly, trying my best to keep my cool in front of the young leader.

"Hey, I didn't know I was coming until now," I admitted in a whisper. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Don't be so tense, they're not that bad. I promise everything will be alright, they gave their word to behave." He reassured, eyes locked in mine.

"I'm not afraid of the children," I snorted softly. "I'm more nervous about me being around them..." I shifted my weight on my other foot before adding: "How do you do? I mean, with the initiates and… kids? " I asked, curious about his answer.

Eric snickered, I didn't expect him to be so confident and relaxed, it was as if he had done it his whole life. Which wasn't far from the truth, he had taken care of the initiates since he became a leader five years ago, if not more. I didn't keep track of time as often as I should considering my job but days were pretty much the same since I've been hired to be Harrison's assistant. I felt my cheeks burn and I looked at my feet, defeated that he mocked me for being a pansycake. Which I was, but still, it hurt.

"If I can do it, you certainly can, Chris. Come on, they won't eat you."

Before I could respond, Eric opened the door and made a sign for me to enter. I heard shuffling and whispers, all noises died down as soon as I was inside. The children lined up obediently, aware of Eric's presence behind my back. I felt intimidated under the scrutiny of their innocent eyes. They were of all different ages and sizes, some were almost teenagers.

"Hi," I waved, almost shy. "I'm Christine but you can call me Chris, it's nice to meet you all."

"Hi Chris." They exclaimed in unison.

One of the oldest stepped forward, his shaggy blond hair falling in his chocolate eyes. His joyful smile was contagious, I couldn't help but return it. However, his expression changed suddenly as he seemed to think about his next words. The younger ones kept gawking at me as if I was an alien coming from another dimension. I felt the tension rising in the room as the blond hair boy opened his mouth. Was he the leader of the group or something? Is this some sort of secret children cult?

It looked like it, and this boy gave me a lot of Eric's vibes. He held his head high, his torso pumped, shoulders behind. A future leader for sure... or another Brent. That thought made me frown. How could I compare him with this asshole without even knowing his name? It wasn't fair for the teen. I pushed away any unwanted images. Having a mental breakdown in front of the kids wouldn't do me any good. No doubt that Eric would report it to Max and I was good for an endless "vacation". The other kids looked at him with mixed expressions, some seemed about to explode from excitement or take a run at any moment to come back to their games, and some were tapping their foot impatiently as if waiting for a signal to be able to speak.

"Before we introduce ourselves and let you join us, you have to pass the test." The boy sounded much older than he looked at that moment.

My jaw clenched as I pictured Brent in his place. It was so easy to see the similarities between them. Were they related? If that's the case, I'll make sure to keep my distance. My eyes widened and I stole a glance at Eric who was smirking. He only shrugged his shoulders when he met my eyes. Damn him, he should have warned me beforehand.

"Depends on what this… test is."

What would they want me to do or say? The blond boy made a sign and all children moved in sync to gather around him, whispering between them to come to an agreement. What was that? After several seconds of heated debates, they finally took their original place. Mini soldiers, perfect future initiates, are already programmed to fulfill the faction's goals. Was it Eric's doing? All these questions drove me insane, I wanted to turn around and talk to the leader alone.

I needed some clarification on what's going on and the rules of this Child Care Service. While I was thinking of it, I didn't see any worker or nurse on my way here. Did nobody care about these kids? Was it a wicked way to push me to take the job? I was so lost that I didn't register that the teenager had taken another step forward, standing right in front of me. He was almost eye level to me, he had to be at least fifteen if not more.

"So, Chris. If you want to become one of us, you have to answer one question." The boy paused to look me dead in the eyes. "What do you think of Eric?"

I blinked a few times, unable to comprehend his question. He curled an eyebrow in defiance, a smirk playing on his lips. His expression matched Brent's perfectly, so much that I shuddered. Heat rose in my cheeks, coloring my skin a deep red, I felt hot and cold, shivers running down my spine. I gathered all my courage to not react when I caught a glimpse of satisfaction in his irises. I won't let this brat get to me that easily. In truth, I was a complete wreck Brent and the boy morphed into the same person in my mind, that same wolfish grin on their lips. I slapped myself mentally to snap out of it. I needed to answer that stupid question or else they'll consider me weak and that wasn't an option.

"Cat got your tongue?" Teased the teenager, arms now crossed over his chest, surely imitating Eric's posture, but lacking his charisma.

" No, I… I didn't expect that kind of question, that's all." I felt Eric's eyes boring into my skull from behind. "We don't work a lot together so I don't think I know him as well as you do, but I trust him, he's a good person, even though he's almost always in a bad mood. I also like his jokes." I added more quieter so that the leader couldn't hear me properly. "Don't tell him that I said that but, sometimes, he's not funny but I laugh anyway to not make him feel bad."

I think I gained some extra points with my remark because the kids burst into laughter, clutching their sides as if recalling the infamous jokes of Eric. I tried my best to smile when the blond boy extended his hand to shake mine. His hold was strong and confident, showing me clearly that I just entered his territory.

"Congratulations, Chris, you're welcomed in the CCS." He bent over to whisper softly in my ear. "Eric didn't lie, you truly are beautiful."

Stunned by his boldness, I stared at him, fear evident in my eyes. Wrong move. Something flickered in his eyes, a malicious glint that made me want to run for my life. What he said took time to reach my mind. Eric told him that I was beautiful? I blushed uncontrollably, his smile grew wider, believing that he was the one to have this effect on me. I opened my mouth to retaliate but he beat me to it.

"I'm Aidan by the way. I'm sure we'll get along very well." He called over his shoulder as he turned on his heels and joined the older ones.

Petrified, I jumped out of my skin when Eric's hand found my shoulder. He put it back right away as if I just burned him. His worried eyes plunged into mine and I knew that I was screwed again. Eric was able to pick up that something was wrong. Something that we couldn't discuss in front of the kids.

"Don't let Aidan get to your head, he just likes to mess with everyone. He's a good boy when you get to know him."

"Yeah, I'm sure." I replied dryly, unconvinced.

One by one, the children came to introduce themselves. There were so many names to remember and faces to attach them to, I started to feel a pounding headache making its way into my brain. At least, it helped me get my mind off Aidan and Brent. I already had a fan club following me like lost puppies around the room. Everytime I turned around they would hide behind furniture, playing innocent. This routine kept going for some time before I got tired of walking aimlessly. The only one following me without even hiding it was a little girl who hasn't said a word since my entrance. I crouched down to her level, a reassuring smile on my lips as she cowered a little from me.

"You didn't tell me your name before," I said gently.

She just looked at me, clutching a stuffed bunny in her tiny arms. Her emerald eyes were mesmerizing, I could almost drown into these pools of rich greenery, they were gradually lighter from the center to turn into a deep olive green on the outer ring.. She looked so small and frail compared to the others, I wondered what her story was. Seconds passed and she didn't try to make a sound. I finally gave up, it will take time for her to warm up to me that's all. I brushed her hair out of her eyes, revealing her porcelain skin.

"You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, it doesn't matter."

To my surprise, she jumped into my arms and clung to me even when others wanted my attention. I sat in a chair, humming softly an old song from before the war. I didn't remember the lyrics nor the title clearly, but I could recall the melody anytime. The mute little girl was snoring in my neck as I rocked her back and forth. She dozed off minutes prior, lulled by my voice. I didn't realize that many children were sitting around us, listening and daydreaming.

Eric was sitting in a chair nearby, his hands behind his neck, eyes closed. He seemed different among the kids, less nervous and on edge, he didn't even have to raise his voice to make his point clear. The children surely respected him. The peacefulness lasted another twenty minutes before a knocking on the door stirred awake the few ones who had fallen asleep. I came back to reality, my hand entangled in the girl's brown hair. When did I begin to stroke her head? She looked comfortable on me, her hands held my shirt as if to prevent me from abandoning her. My heart ached painfully for her, she wanted affection and attention, as any of these kids.

"Chris." I looked up to see Eric towering above me, a knowing smile on his face. I rolled my eyes and he chuckled. "It's time for us to go, the next team is here to take over."

I admitted that I enjoyed my day here, as long as we forgot about Aidan. The girl in my arms shook her head, realizing that we were about to leave. Her fingers curled around my shirt, preventing me from putting her back down. I felt bad so bad that I hugged her back and whispered in her ear.

"I'll come back, I promise."

She refused to let me go as I tried to pry her off. I kept murmuring sweet nothings to ease her pain to no avail, she was stubborn as a honk. Eric approached and tried to take her with him but she fought back, crying silently. I didn't know what to do so I let the leader take matters in his hands.

"Violette, look at me." The brunette looked at him with teary eyes, he gently wiped her tears away. "You know that we can't stay all the time here, we have to eat, work and sleep, too." Violette nodded slightly. "We'll come back before you know it, now Martha will take care of you. I heard that she has a gift for you, one that you wanted for a long time."

Violette's face brightens at the prospect of a new toy. She kissed my cheek then wriggled in my grasp. I put her down and she ran straight to Martha who was ushering the elders towards the bathroom. A contented smile crept upon my lips, kids were so fast to change their minds. I envied their ability to forget about their problems as long as they had anything to play with.

"Fear of abandonment, a hard one to fight against at such a young age." Commented Eric beside me. "They're stronger than most of the initiates that I've trained so far."

"That's not right, they're still kids, Eric."

"I know. I don't like it either, but it's their way of processing what they've been through. They grow up faster than the other kids, they have to look after themselves because they know no one will do that for them. I try to be there whenever I can, it's obviously not enough, you know how a leader's agenda is full."

"I can help." I blurted out before I could think of it.

"That's not why I brought you here." He replied without explaining further as we made our way out of the room.

"Thanks, that was… interesting and surprisingly calming."

"I knew you'd like it. So, you'll come back?"

"Sure, I don't have anything better to do anyway."

"Right."

A casual silence followed our little conversation. My thoughts were drifting away when he spoke again.

"What did Aidan say to you?"

"Nothing to worry about, he was just being a teenager." I dismissed with a flick of my hand.

"Don't lie to me, Chris. I saw the fear in your eyes." His tone grew cold. "What did he say?'

"That's not what he said," I whispered. "He kind of reminds me of Brent. I don't know why but I don't feel safe around him. Damn, I'm ten years older, I shouldn't feel like this." I ran a hand through my hair in an attempt to keep my composure.

Eric remained silent as I stopped dead in my tracks before we came close to a more crowded walkway. He turned his head with an eyebrow raised in question. I sighed, debating whether I should talk to him or simply keep my struggles to myself. He must have sensed my hesitation, he tilted his head to the side, eyes narrowing to read into my soul.

"Stop doing this."

"Doing what?" He retorted, genuinely clueless.

"Your "I'm reading your mind look", it's quite annoying." Eric rolled his eyes.

"Then stop thinking that I'll report to Max whatever you say or do, and talk to me instead of overthinking. "

That was my turn to fall into silence, his face softened ever so slightly and I felt guilty. He helped me before I even was aware of it, I should be grateful and trust him, but I couldn't because I didn't trust myself anymore. At least, not for now.

"Chris, I've already told you that seeking help doesn't make you weak nor unworthy. "

My heart skipped a beat, was this his way of saying to let him help me? His cerulean eyes screamed sincerity. Why was he caring so much about my well-being?

"Thank you, Eric. I'll keep that in mind." He nodded curtly. "See you tomorrow, then."

"Meet me here at four, we'll go together."

"Sounds good. " We shared one last look, then we parted ways.

[ghostedgrim]

Nightmares in Ink. 1

Warnings: Mentions of violence, death, possible grammatical errors my dyslexic ass will fail to notice.

Story Masterlist. Version: Fem

Eric:

Normally, it's Max who greets the initiates when they jump off the train, but this year its me. Max and the other leaders believe it should be my responsibility because it's my first year as a leader. Honestly, I can't complain much, I look forward to meeting the fresh meat and watching them squirm when I tell them to jump.

I hear the train before I see it, that familiar vibration that hits your feet as it shakes the world around it without care. Then came the shouts of excitement and screams of terror, as initiates hopped off the train. A marriage of black, blue, white. I don't waste my time watching them all tumble. Soon after turning my back to step onto the ledge I hear the telling scream of an initiate plummeting to his or her or their death. It doesn't phase me, there's always at least one initiate that dies during this part.

I turn around to address the newcomers. "Alright listen up! I'm Eric, I am one of your leaders. If you want to enter Dauntless this is the way in." I gesture to the ledge and gaping hole beneath it. "And if you don't have the guts to jump," I shrug, "then you don't belong in Dauntless Someone's gotta be first, who's it gonna be" Several seconds pass and nobody moves. Max told me this year of initiates would be interesting, and I'm already dissapointed.

Just before I answer another dumb question a voice speaks up. "I'll jump. I'll be sure to let y'all know if it's a death trap or not." As the figure struts forward my thoughts come to a halt. Baggy boho orange pants, yellow shirt, like a candle flame in a way. But that's not what makes me freeze, it's the person's face, a face I see in my fear simulations, a face that keeps me up at night. A victim to a crime that changed thus city's view on Divergents. I step down from the ledge as the Amity transfer climbs onto it, her hair flying around wildly in the wind, and there was absolutely no hesitation to jump. One second she was there, then next she was gone.

The Lowe family incident, the incident that triggered the manhunt of Divergents. I force myself to stay in the present as the other initiates began to jump. One Amity, five Erudite, eight Candor, fifteen Dauntless born, twenty-nine initiates total. Only sixty percent will graduate.

Ever so slowly the other initiates begin to jump, well most, several simply trip or slip over the ledge when trying to climb onto it. Screams of fear, excitement, and feral laughter fills the air as they fall. Eventually only I and a Dauntless born remains. He's scrawny, no scars, no peircings, hair dye, or even a bruise.

"You lost pansycake? Did you figure out you picked the wrong faction?" To my dissapointment the boy doesn't retaliate, and damn near stumbles back when I approached. "I asked a question initiate! I'm starting to think you scored Amity in that aptitude test. Why did you pick Dauntless?"

The boy squirms under my gaze, "I didn't want to leave my sister behind. I believe I can beat out the weakness in me, prove I'm not Amity."

"If you're not in that net before I make it down those stairs consider yourself factionless." Personally I'd rather shove him off the roof, let him kiss the concrete, but unfortunately as a leader I have an image to uphold.

By the time I enter the cavernous space holding the net, the boy was getting pulled out of it by Four and another Dauntless member.

I try to pay no mind to the other initiates, but I can't help my gaze flickering over to the Amity transfer. The initiates seem to stay at least 3 feet away from the Lowe child. I don't blame them, her story is quite haunting. However their blatant fear is annoying. I look forward to pummeling it out of them.

The trek to my office is quick

"I told you this year would be interesting. You excited?" Max claps a hand onto my shoulder.

"Absolutely, I look forward to constantly monitoring a insane Amity transfer, and dealing with a Dauntless born who decided he should stay here rather than go to Amity where he belongs. It's utterly thrilling Max." The sarcasm nearly makes my tounge bleed.

Max gives a brief chuckle and opens my office door, "Come on Eric, the Lowe kid can't be that bad."

"You forget I was apprenticing under one of the Erudites assigned to investigate the Lowe kid when they took her away from Amity. I went to the crime scene, I watched the mother die in the hospital."

"It's been four years since the incident, Eric," Max stands infront of the office window overlooking the city while I settle into my desk chair, "A lot can happen in two years, especially in a place like Amity."

"While alot can happen I was there when she first arrived, and I was still there a year later when Erudite brought her back after we learned Amity had been drugging her with peace serum for a year. I can still hear her screams when I try to sleep."

"I think you're over exaggerating, Eric. It surely can't be-"

"Trust me, it is that bad. If you saw the crime scene, saw what it did to her, and what she was like at Erudite," I roll my jacket off and unlock my computer. "Not even the fear simulations would help you recognize from the sheet horror."

Max rolls his eyes while I write an email to Four requesting he keep a watchful eye over the Amity transfer.

My mind drifts, back to when I was only fourteen. The night had started off so peaceful. We didn't see the victim until the morning aftet she arrived. A poor child, dressed in the colors of autumn, strapped to a stretcher and left in a room encased in three metal walls and a fourth wall of glass. There was so much blood, I don't know if it was the child's or someone else's. Dr.Janey was a forensic crime scene investigator, so just as quickly as Dauntless wrangled the kid into Erudite, we left to view the crime scene in Amity.

A notification on my computer wakes me up from memory lane.

I never thought I'd see the day you would worry about someone else, let alone an initiate. I'm almost tempted to ask what happened with that kid to make you so anxious. I've never seen you scared and you looked like you saw a ghost.

Also, did you see that one Dauntless transfer who jumped last? I'm so thankful I don't have to teach him.

-Four

[lesbiansforboromir]

what is/are your favorite things(s) about Denethor's character? 👀

URGH what a question!!! ffsfshh This Ask is a good read to start off with but damn my favourite parts of Denethor? Is just like. The depth of him that comes across despite his relatively brief appearance. 

I mean I personally for a basic start have a very dear fondness for sardonic wit. It’s always a staple of my humour and Denethor’s weary kind of bitten determined resignation to the situation he has been given is something I find DEEP joy in, it’s a favourite trope. This man is 90! Denethor’s been at war since he was 30! Denethor had a father who completely dismissed him in favour of a charismatic stranger. Boromir might have won back Osgiliath in recent memory but Denethor has been winning and re-winning that outpost back and forth for decades before him. Denethor lost the single dearest love of his life to this war. Denethor is having to send his sons to war without him for the past 20 years and YET?

Denethor’s DEFINING characteristic is his unwavering determination to protect his people. Despite everything the war has cost him, it’s not until he has lost the very last thing he’s living for that his resolution breaks. Somewhere in the book he’s called ‘Dauntless’ and it really does define him so well. The thing about Denethor is he really has no hope left, he hasn’t believed they will win this war for many years. But that touches on another theme that is a BIG favourite of mine which is ‘make them bleed for every inch, rage against the dying of the light’. It’s also seen in Boromir’s ‘Gondor wanes, but Gondor stands and even at the end of it’s strength, it is still very strong’ and then later in Denethor’s ‘In what is left, let all who fight the Enemy in their fashion be at one, and keep hope while they may, and after hope still the hardihood to die free.‘

There is just something so viscerally ahh.... POWERFUL about it, it gives me this push of energy, this surge of will and desire to do. I am very very invested in narratives about action and beauty despite hopeless circumstances. 

And then it’s just like??? Not to be very basic but. This man is a stone cold badass lmao. People keep talking about him using the Palantir like it’s a really bad thing and he’s overestimated himself like. Lol. He’s been doing this for as long as he’s been the Steward. Like Denethor is a human man who has been dead-eyeing sauron on the DAILY for fifty!! years!! And Saruman too! Saruman tried to spy on him, tried to manipulate him and Denethor wasn’t even phased. Contending with Sauron might have aged him well beyond his years but Denethor still managed to wring vital information out of that stone and divide falsehood from fact for all that time. The fact that it took SO long for him to even waver is really more of a personal victory against Sauron and anyone has claimed since? Isildur?? The sheer power of Denethor’s bloody minded focus is enough to mind duel an evil angel. One has to stan just a little bit, come on.

And then and then!! I actually adore his book relationship with Faramir and Boromir. Like complex ADULT family dynamics that are difficult and painful but still with an underlying love? I live for that shit. I live for Faramir telling Denethor he’d rather die than compromise his morals and Denethor crying out in the desperate fear that instils in him but also instantly snapping that door shut and pushing forward into practicality because Faramir is CLOSED to him and Gandalf is RIGHT there and he simply cannot be vulnerable here. I live for Denethor saying ‘I wish Boromir had been at Henneth Annun rather than you because you no longer trust me’ and Faramir hearing ‘I wish you had died instead of Boromir’ and so retaliating with ‘it’s your fault Boromir is dead’ and Denethor painfully taking that blow with a snapped acceptance and Faramir being left at a loss. LIKE. ITS SOME REAL SHIT!

These men are tired! These men are in PAIN! These men are BAD at emotional intimacy! These men have the weight of the world literally on their shoulders and they may be making good tactical decisions for a war but they’re making the worst decisions for their personal relationships and it’s just!!! FFFF IT’S GOOD WRITING IT’S MEATY!!!

HE’S A GOOD CHARACTER, THIS IS NOT EVEN HALF OF IT 

[thepriceofbeingaroseisloneliness]

The Freedom of Expression #2  6th March (Notes/Translation)

“The radio program with the concept of “ask for freedom of expression in the world” is back in YouTube! We will reveal the hot topics and the news related to the concept of Freedom of Expression.

 Appearance:

Kaoru (DIR EN GREY direngrey.co.jp/)

Joe Yokomizo (Writer / DJ)

Tasai Reporter (Tokyo Sports)

God ?

 You can watch this program here The Freedom of Expression #1  translation/notes here

Notes before reading: This is the second episode of The Freedom of expression in its new format as a YouTube weekly program. You can find the translation/notes for the first one in my Tumblr clicking in the tag. Today’s main topic is Carlos Ghosn’s case so I highly recommend you to read a bit about it even if I’m going to provide some context in case you know nothing at all about it. Then, the discussion will lead to the Japanese Justice System.

Be aware that at some parts, their talk is really random and there are edited cuts that sometimes lead to a sudden change of topic. Please don’t forget to subscribe to their channel and watch their actual video to support the program. 

Feel free to correct me if you spot any mistake or any confusing as they are talking so casually and relaxed that it’s hard to get some parts. Thanks to those who help me with some lines of this translation :) 

 ---

 (Intro The Freedom of Expression)

 Kaoru: Hello, it’s Kaoru from Dir en grey... it’s the second time…

Joe: Yes

Kaoru: Joe-san....

Joe: Yes

Kaoru: Tasai-san......

Tasai: Yes

*Kaoru laughs*

Joe: Why are you laughing?

Kaoru: Nonono…. nothing in particular… the introduction…. I just introduce you two but…the third person…no, the 4th one… I was thinking while saying your names if I should or not introduce him too.

Joe: I see I see.... Kaoru: I’m going to leave it like this…

Joe: That’s it.

God: No, don’t leave it like that!

Joe: As expected, if you ignore him, he will come out! (laughs)

Kaoru: But the first time he was fairly left alone too!

Joe: For sure!

God: No, I was silent!

Everyone: I see, I see *nods*

God:  Yes, I was waiting until the end to see if I would come or not for sure….it turned out just as I wanted*….(God uses “思うつぼ”, which can also be translated as “play into someone’s hands)

Everyone laughs.

Joe: As you wanted (laughs) God’s nature/character is bad (laughs) God said “as I wanted” right?

God: Because it is said that God’s nature/character is bad right? As expected, …

Joe: Surprisingly, God is not very forgiving/tolerant…

---

“A radio program in which Kaoru (Dir en grey) was the main host aired from 2015 to 2016 at InterFM.” (Top left on screen)

 Kaoru: Based on a radio program with the concept of freedom of expression now we are doing it in YouTube...last time, we did it for the first time… how do you think that it was? For the people who watched it…

Joe: I wonder how it was…

Tasai: True…. I’m curious about the response…

Joe: Yes, we are curious about the response, right? I want them to spread it through SNS…

Kaoru: I agree

Joe: I certainly hope that you all spread it!

Kaoru: Well, first topic of today....Tasai-san...

Tasai: Well, it’s from Tokyo Sports newspaper....

Joe: I feel like when it is news from Tokyo Sports is somehow about a Kappa or a UFO....

Tasai: That’s true but today’s is not about a Kappa...

Joe: Is it something different?

Tasai: It’s about Ghosn....

Joe: Is it about Ghosh being a Kappa?

“The defendant Ghosn escapes to Lebanon” (on top of the screen)

*Carlos Ghosn is a former Nissan boss arrested in November 2018 when he arrived to Japan. Ghosn has served as the CEO of Michelin North America, chairman and CEO of Renault, chairman of AvtoVAZ, chairman and CEO of Nissan, and chairman of Mitsubishi Motors. Ghosn was also chairman and CEO of the Renault–Nissan–Mitsubishi Alliance. He was initially accused of under-reporting his salary from 2010 and 2015. Nissan ceased him as president two days later of his arrest. Six days later of his arrest, he was also ceased by Mitsubishi Motors. Ghosn claims to be a victim of “victim of a complot” against him orchestrated by Nissan.

The thing is, during the 13 months from his arrest to escaping to Lebanon, Ghosn was going in and out from jail until the point that in April 2019, he had spent 108 days in jail. Japanese justice system allows to arrest someone and be in jail for 10-20 days each time charges are presented before having the option of  bailing. In Ghosn’s case, each time he was released, new charges were presented that allowed to arrest him again. He paid several bails until the end of April where he was confined to strict house arrest during four months with no contact with his wife. On December 2019, it was reported that Ghosn had escaped from Japan to Lebanon. *

Tasai: No, no, no (laughs) it’s not that, it’s not that....it was a big news last year’s summer... the defendant Ghosn escaped to Lebanon....what do you think about it?

Joe:  Me? I think that Japanese Justice System is harsh. I think as he is alone, it’s possible. Of course the choices you make can be illegal...but probably....well, he make the money go out too as well (laughs)

“Do the deterioration of the relations between Iran and USA disadvantages Ghosn?” (top screen)

*Now they start discussion about the relationship of Iran and The United States. Joe exclaims “wow how serious this is (the topic)”. Tasai recalls the killing of Qasem Soleimani, a major general from the Iranian forces in a bombing. He was considered to be the second most powerful person in the country. He adds that Iran’s act of retaliation could have lead to the Third World War. “Third World War outbreak?” appears on top of the screen. Tasai says the relationship between countries is tense. It seems that Soleimani was related to some armed Lebanon groups such as Hellbollah, which built a giant statue of the deceased general in a town closet o the Israel border. “Lebanon has the potential to become a battlefield” says Tasai and the line appears in the screen too. Going back to Ghosn talk, as he is now in Lebanon, Tasai comments he can’t go out of the country or he could be arrested (Japan doesn’t have an extradition agreement with Lebanon.*

Tasai: In this unexpected situation, Ghosn would be in a critical situation too. This talk was about that.

Joe: Tokyo sports went straight to it!

Tasai: It looks like a film plot right?

Kaoru: That’s true.

Tasai: Then the hiding in the instrument thing…

Joe: For sure!

Kaoru: A band that came right?

Joe: There was a party right?

*Carlos Ghosh allegedly escaped from Japan in a musical instrument case. A Gregorian music band played at his home where he was confined. It seems that when the performance ended, he hid himself in one of the larger instruments case, being take to the airport inside it and being boarded to a private jet which take him to Lebanon”

Kaoru: Going inside an instrument’s case and hiding….it’s really fascinating right?

They all laugh.

Tasai: It was inside a big instrument’s case. If you had such a case with nothing inside…. please be careful.

Joe: Nobody flees abroad….

Kaoru: It’s amusing right?... it really looks like a film.

Tasai: Moreover, a film adaption is going to be out…

Joe: Kaoru, are you especially worried after watching the news about Ghosn?

Kaoru: Well, as it is simple…to do this plan at this scale…it’s too amazing. How much could it cost?

Joe: You surely are spending a substantial amount of money….somewhat it is said that his fortune seems to have decreased but even with this, you could say it’s dauntless.

Tasai: On bail…..he paid 15 billion yens* as bail…that is being confiscated too but Ghosn doesn’t care a bit about it.

*Around 128 million EUR/140 million USD

Joe: He doesn’t right?

Kaoru: When he came out, he disguised himself right? That part is also interesting…

Tasai: It seems he did as a janitor….

(cut)

Joe: Japanese Justice system is said to be a “Hostage justice” (practice of keeping a suspect in police custody in an attempt to force a confession)

He keeps on commenting how in Japan, prosecutors have the exclusive right to indict. They also have the right to drop charges. Japanese prosecutors’ power is being highly discussed nowadays as court follows the prosecutor’s decisions. Joe says that in Japan’s conviction rate is 99.9%. Joe keeps on explaining the prosecutor’s role and how the “hostage justice” is a result of the power of them. Also mentions that lawyers restricted role in order to help the defendant. Japanese trials tend to regard confession as a strong evidence. Defendants are pressured to confess and are offered lesser sentences if they confess. So, escaping comes as a choice if the options are the ones previously given.

Kaoru: It would be better to stay quietly in Japan, right? (about Ghosn)

Joe: That is. Because the place he fled to, it’s going to become a front in battle…. maybe it would have been safer to stay in Japan.

Tasai: Which option would you choose? Being in place where a war is going to breakout but you are free, or a place where you are safe but they are going to take you to court.

Kaoru: It’s most likely to be a movie….

Joe: It’s going to be a movie right...

Joe talks about who would play the role of Ghosn in case that it becomes a movie or even a drama.

(cut)

Joe: Japan takes excessive measures in comparison with the rest of the world. If something happens in Japan, measures against it are taken. It becomes “too much”.

He talks about how when he discusses it with foreign people the impressions and thoughts about topics are different. He talks about France. He says that for example, there is an accident and someone dies. If this happens in Japan, they will take measures as doing a report put a traffic light and that’s not necessarily bad. If that happens overseas, that someone dies in an accident, the first thing that happens is that people is going to be more careful at that place and pay more attention, in Japan, the action relies in the measures taken. Kaoru says that if you put the blame on things or people, we lost our sense of being careful. Joe says something like if it is always blamed on that, the same things will keep happening again and again.

(Cut)

God: Well…. I wonder if being Ghosn’s ally would be bad…

Tasai: Would it be good?

Kaoru: That’s comes to you.

Tasai: It’s an opinion.

God: If I am Ghosn’s ally, he would give me money, like the so-called tips…

Everyone laughs.

Tasai: That’s an amazing way of view it…

Joe: After all, God works for money right?

God: No, but If  I were rich, it would be like “everyone, don’t  scape” kind of…

God: For example, Tasai san, if they say, “can’t you write a good article for me?” and they offer you some money for it…

Tasai: I’m shaking (grinning)

God: Something like “Ghosn is right!” that kind of article…depends of the mood….even, “the news from the media are a joke”, if they tell you “How about giving you a billion yen for writing that”,  I think that maybe it’s better that you quit your job....

Joe: For sure…

Tasai: 1 billion yen…. that’s so cool…

*1 billion yen is approx. 8,5 million euros or 9 million USD:

God: That’s what you think …. but God doesn’t think that way, because for God is better a small amount of money…

Joe: How much would  you ask for helping him to escape, God?

God: Maybe 10.000 yen…. *

*Around 80 euros/90 dollars

Tasai: Cheap!

Joe: That’s so cheap! (Laughs)

God: Because I have to know what can be done right?

Tasai:  Isn’t God omniscience and omnipotence?

God: I can’t do anything.

Joe: A god that can’t do anything is really amazing right?

God: Just for praying…

Joe: Ah, I see…. Just pray…

Kaoru: Isn’t he just a regular old man? (Laughs)

Joe: I thought about saying something deep…. but…. just a regular old man (laughs)

God: God knows one deep thing about this talk…. About Ghosn…in an interview....suddenly in an interview, the minister of Justice said during it “Ghosh must prove his innocence” *.

*This goes against the Presumption of Innocence principle (Innocent until proven guilty), a human right.

Joe: That’s wrong…

God: Once he said so, the international media criticized the statemen and say “Japan is awful” …

Joe: Moreover, because that person was originally a lawyer…I don’t know if people watching this know about this, but the defendant doesn’t have to prove anything…it’s the prosecutor who has to prove that you are guilty…so there is no need  to prove that they are innocent..

(cut)

Joe: Because the Minister of Justice said that Ghosn must prove that he is innocent, I think that this caused a scornful laughter around the world…

God: About what the Minister of Justice said?

Joe: Someone of that level, such as Minister of Justice saying that…. I think that for Global ideal idea of Justice, this country doesn’t pass for it. It’s a strange talk but…the press around the world was laughing (at those words)

Joe makes a question for God, but he seems to be gone.

Joe: Eh? God has disappeared.

God: I was listening attentively (laughs) I think that I listened to it but, having to escape from Japan is not a good thing…

Joe: Is that so?

Tasai: I see

God: Having to escape is really a bad thing….it seems that the consumption tax is going up…

They comment about having seen this new in the internet (?). Kaoru makes a comment about it.

God: God is packed with money….No, I really am running short of money…

Joe: Are you really a poor God?

They all burst into laugh.

God: Don’t say that!

Kaoru: At this point…. this second episode…

Tasai:….has finished.

Kaoru: Until the next time….

Everyone: Thanks for watching….

God: Thank you!

[pinnithin-writes]

Good Jokes

Chapter 22

“So…” Tommy intoned quietly. “Got any weekend plans?”

Bubby looked at Tommy like he was an insane person, which was fair, because at this point he was really starting to feel like one.

Shortly after Gordon was launched backward in time, Benrey disappeared from the plane, leaving the scientists alone in the cavern with only the sound of lapping water to keep them company. A few minutes later, Coomer had decided suddenly that he needed to go back, too. It was a premonition he had, with reasoning he couldn’t quite explain, but he was insistent.

So they fired up the portal gun and sent him on his way.

When Bubby didn’t answer him, Tommy resumed his waterlogged pace around the cavern. He hated this, hated the waiting, hated doing nothing. There were so many ways this plan could go wrong, and as the minutes crept past, Tommy grew more worried. Even if Benrey didn’t kill Gordon and Dr. Coomer, they could still get trapped back there, lost in the past, doomed to live through whatever offshoot timeline they created. Tommy tried not to think about what changing reality would do to them. He felt that his nose would start bleeding if he dwelled on it too much.

He completed another circuit of the cavern, making brief eye contact with Bubby as he passed. The older gentleman had counted and recounted the ammo in his magazine at least fifteen times now, stoic and silent in his anxiety. Tommy paced. Made lame attempts at conversation. Paced some more. When he’d finally given up on cutting the quiet, Bubby spoke up.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen, you know.”

Tommy paused mid-stride, only about a yard away from the scientist. He frowned, not entirely sure what he was talking about, and waited for him to elaborate.

“When we betrayed him,” Bubby clarified. He kept his eyes on the semi-automatic in his hands as he spoke. “I didn’t mean for the soldiers to do that to him. Really.”

Water sloshed around Tommy’s legs as he shifted his weight uncomfortably. “Okay,” he said.

Bubby clipped and unclipped the magazine from its holster as he went on. “I didn’t think I would be wrong about him. I’ve never been wrong before.”

“About who,” Tommy asked, “Gordon?”

Bubby nodded, secured his weapon, and sighed. “I was just trying to get him away from us,” he said. He still was avoiding Tommy’s eyes, focusing instead on the pensive lap of dark fluid around his feet. “I didn’t think we could trust him. I… we… betrayed him before he could betray us.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Tommy answered, and Bubby retaliated sharply, “I know that now.”

Silence breathed cold and awkward between them. Tommy watched Bubby’s face as it scrolled through a few emotions, his mouth a taut, thin line. The creases around his eyes were pinched and narrow. He looked exhausted. Tommy guessed he was just as wrung out as the rest of them, even with the enhancements.

“I…” Bubby tried again. “I just wish it hadn’t happened. If I were to go back…” he traced the stock of the portal gun on his hip idly. “That’s what I would change.”

Tommy stuffed his hands uncomfortably in the pockets of his lab coat, damp and sticky in the humid air. “What’s - why are you telling me this?” he asked.

Bubby shrugged. “I guess I’m trying to apologize,” he answered.

“Apologize to Gordon,” Tommy said. “Not to me.”

The scientist’s eyes cut abruptly to Tommy’s, finally meeting his gaze. “You’re the one who had to clean it up afterward,” he insisted.

That didn’t quite sit right with him. This whole conversation didn’t, in fact. Tommy folded his arms delicately in front of his chest, tilting his head to the side to study the other man. He looked genuinely sorry, if a little miffed, but sorry didn’t undo what he did. Sorry didn’t make things right.

“Gordon isn’t a mess you made,” Tommy said at length. “He was - he’s - he’s a person you permanently affected with your actions.”

Bubby’s jaw worked in mild agitation. “Will you just accept the damn apology?” he asked. “We don’t even know if we’ll see him again.”

“We will,” Tommy said, with finality, and he resumed his pacing.

They lapsed into an uneasy silence after that. Bubby began circling the cavern, meticulously turning over and identifying the bones left behind by their hijacked colleagues. The thought of handling his coworkers’ remains made Tommy ill, and he kept his distance. He didn’t want to think about how Dr. Eagan from the fuel lab tried to claw his face off post-mortem. Still, it afforded them a little more dignity than lying motionless in an alien lake. What a tragic injustice.

“I always thought these looked kind of like pyramids,” Bubby commented as he hefted someone’s femur in his hand.

Tommy responded distractedly, keeping his eyes averted. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

He tossed the bone back in the water with an unceremonious splash. “Forget it. Do we have a plan?”

Tommy snorted in reply. “I really – I don’t think this is the – the kind of thing you can plan for.”

Bubby’s tone was irritable as he bent to scoop someone’s wallet out of the murk. “We need to come up with something,” he said, flicking through to remove the ID card. “I’m not getting trapped here, no matter what happens with Benrey. I’m going home.”

Leveling Bubby with a heavy gaze, Tommy said nothing for a moment. He didn’t wish to entertain this line of thought whatsoever. The likelihood of Gordon and Coomer failing and leaving them alone on Xen was worryingly high, but a stubborn part of him clung to hope regardless.

“We are going home,” he said with conviction. “All of us.”

The truth of his words echoed weightily in the humid chamber. There was no other outcome beyond this one. He felt it deep in the fibers of his heart.

Bubby opened his mouth, probably to utter a heated retort, at the same time a burst of green light materialized between them, snapping and crackling outward with a blinding flash. Tommy blinked spots out of his vision as the form of Dr. Coomer solidified, swaying on his feet for a second before pitching toward the surface of the water.

Tommy was slower to reach him than Bubby was, who caught and steadied the scientist with a hand on his shoulder. Coomer’s gaze was faraway and his lip trembled in shock.

“Dr. Coomer?” Bubby asked as the light dissolved.

They watched his face with interest as he gradually blinked into focus. His eyes shifted left, then right, vague recognition flickering behind them. His jaw worked silently until he found his voice.

“I’m… I’m back,” he guessed.

Bubby patted his shoulder in assurance. “You’re back,” he confirmed.

Coomer stared hollowly at his own hands, watching his tendons stand out as he slowly curled them into fists. The two of them gave him time to orient himself, but Tommy caught Bubby glancing around the cavern, alert for danger.

Once the old man was able to stand on his own, Tommy allowed himself to blurt, “What happened?”

Coomer gazed at him foggily, eyes tracking unseen memories. “I don’t know,” he said haltingly. “I don’t… really remember. We were back at the locker room, and-“ he broke off, blinking as he darted his gaze around the cavern. “Where are we?”

“You’re – we’re on Xen. In a – an alien lair,” Tommy summarized quickly. “Who did you see in the locker room? Mr. Freeman?”

“Was Benrey there?” Bubby added.

Dr. Coomer was shaking his head. “I don’t – I don’t know. Forgive me, gentlemen, my memories seem to be… a little out of order.”

Tommy stuffed his hands in his pockets so he could ball them into fists unseen. Shaking answers out of the guy would not only be irrational but also incredibly impolite. His heart rate was beginning to climb, and he inhaled heavily to calm himself. Gordon was alive, he knew that much, somehow; it was an instinct buried in his nerves. But he could still be lost out there in time, and Benrey could still be lurking between the ponderous ticks of the clock.

“What was the last thing you remember happening?” Bubby asked.

Coomer was silent for several seconds, then replied tentatively, “I think I was using the bathroom.”

Before either of them could articulate a response to that, a heavy splash sounded from the other end of the cavern, followed by a familiar voice ringing out, “Guys? Where are you?”

Tommy turned, heart in his throat, toward the sound, barely catching sight of Gordon Freeman emerging from behind a pillar as the air around them electrified. Benrey followed close behind, furling limb by limb into existence between them. He was back to his original proportions, still thirty feet tall and looming, and his expression held something Tommy hadn’t seen on his face before. His rage was fractured as he swung his eyes, lamplike, toward the men below him.

He was afraid.

“Guys! I did it!” Gordon called, his voice reverberating around the chamber with triumph. Tommy heard splashing as he ran to rejoin them. “The passport’s shredded!”

“You did it, Gordon!” Bubby hollered back.

Coomer smiled, somewhat more oriented with the others’ return. “Gordon, I don’t know what you did, but I believe you’ve completely rewritten the course of history,” he remarked, eyeing the entity.

“What?” Gordon panted as he rolled to a stop in front of them.

Tommy watched his eyes pass briefly over the scientists, checking for damage, before landing on Tommy. He looked weary and a little shaken, but the grin on his face was hungry. Seeing him that way put a fire in Tommy’s stomach. Blood and grime smeared his skin and his glasses were smudged and cloudy, but behind the lenses his dark eyes burned. They were going to make it.

Behind him, Benrey was beginning to rise into the air, electricity arcing across the cavern and between his fingers. Tommy tasted ozone as he watched the entity span overhead like a thundercloud, unstable and growling. His eyes were wild, his expression desperate, and Tommy knew that desperate people made dangerous choices.

Gordon was dauntless as he stared up at him. “Benrey,” he called, raising his arm to point with the barrel of his gun. “Time to die, son.”

The entity bared his teeth like a cornered wolverine. “No, wait,” he rumbled.

Arcs of lightning flashed and sparked between the pockmarked pillars, humming as they knit together overhead. Benrey’s form was precariously erratic, and Tommy was sure he saw electricity passing through his joints like thread holding together a seam. The entity was dying. Violently so. The idea was so foreign to Tommy it kept him rooted to the spot far longer than was safe. He didn’t even notice the others retreating from the creature until a hand on his collar yanked him back.

“Come on!” Gordon shouted, his voice ringing in Tommy’s ear. “Everything we got, guys!”

They opened fire. It was all there was left to do. Lightning sparked and lanced like javelins as Benrey tried his best to turn them all to ash. Tommy wondered distractedly how standing in a lake of red water didn’t conduct the electricity and fry them all on the spot. He emptied his mag, reloaded, and emptied it again, his arms shaking to keep the barrel raised in his exhaustion.

“Gordon, it’s not working!” Coomer shrilled, clicking his finger on the trigger uselessly as his ammo ran out.

It may not have been working, but it certainly was doing something to the entity. He roared and thrashed overhead, looking less and less like a living creature as his form slowly ripped and frayed.

Gordon tossed a frantic look in the boxer’s direction. “It’s not enough! What do we do?” he asked, just as Bubby ignited.

Hot orange light flickered and danced through the cave as Bubby cackled with unbridled glee. The water around his ankles boiled, but the prototype himself was unhurt as fire licked over his skin. The human fireball charged at Benrey, and the creature roared as he was singed by the flames.

Gordon passed an openmouthed look from Bubby to Tommy. “Could he always do that?”

Tommy could only offer a wide-eyed shrug in response.

Bubby’s stunt cost Tommy his attention, and he was a bit too slow to dodge a lance of lightning that caught him in the shoulder, white hot and burning. He sucked in a breath through his teeth, dropping his rifle in shock as he staggered back. Biting his tongue through the pain, Tommy took cover behind a nearby stalagmite, a hand clutched to the burn wound in his shoulder. The same shoulder with the shrapnel in it. Fucking hell.

As gunfire and electricity popped around him, Tommy fought down nausea and frustration while he crouched in the water. Useless, he felt so fucking useless, cowering while his friends took the brunt of Benrey’s attacks, unable to even shoot now that he’d dropped his weapon. What did Tommy have to offer when he was without his power? How did Gordon Freeman, soft and mortal, make being heroic seem so effortless? Lightning arced past his hiding place and the hair on his arms stood on end.

THOMAS, a voice echoed in his skull, and Tommy’s eyes went wide.

“Sunkist?”

THOMAS, I AM COMING TO YOUR AID.

Frantically, he looked around, searching for any sign of the psychic animal in the gloom. “I - how did you find me?”

Before the perfect dog could answer him, a great, bellowing roar ripped Tommy’s attention back to the fight. Shoulder still burning with pain, he glanced around the pillar and was met with the impossible sight of Dr. Coomer at three times his original size. A radioactive green glow haloed around him and the stitching of his lab coat popped under the strain of newfound muscle mass. Holy shit. Take cover for thirty seconds and Tommy misses everything.

A couple yards away, Gordon took an awed step back. “Whoa, whoa.”

Coomer’s voice shook the cavern. “Witness my true power!”

Rocks and debris fell from the ceiling, bulleting through Benrey’s nebulous form and splashing into the water below. Tommy scrambled out of his hiding spot to dodge a hunk of cavern rock about to cleave his head open, rejoining Gordon at his side and throwing him a perplexed glance.

“Could he always do that?” he asked, and Gordon laughed.

“Train and fight, Gordon!” the boxer rumbled like a thunderhead. He sprang into the air toward Benrey and began whaling on him.

Supercharged by Coomer’s transformation, Gordon let out a yell and sprinted toward the entity, spraying insults and bullets. Tommy found himself following closely behind, even while injured, weaponless, and with barely a shred of a plan. Hiding was no longer an option; he only knew he needed to be here, feet firmly planted with a wall of armor in front of him.

He was safest here. At Gordon’s back. Shockwaves and gunfire and Benrey and all. The realization nearly made him lightheaded.

“Take him out!” Gordon shouted.

The entity in question was beginning to display the damage he was taking from their combined attacks, Screaming and burning and bruising and slowly collapsing in on himself. It was like watching a car crash in slow motion - A car crash that was accelerated by the starburst of light that heralded Sunkist’s arrival.

A brief flick of Gordon’s eyes betrayed his double-take as he caught the retriever flashing through the ether. “What?” he asked. “Sunkist is here?”

“Yes!” Tommy cried as he felt his heart swell. “Sunkist is here - Sunkist is gonna help us!”

He beamed as his best friend splashed down before them, twelve feet of loyal canine glory. A stray zing of lightning hurtled towards them and Sunkist leapt to catch it in his jaws like a frisbee. The beast’s eyes flashed with excitement while sparks leapt between his teeth. This was a game to him, a fantastic game, and he stood taut and attentive with his gaze locked on Tommy as he awaited an invitation to play.

“Go Sunkist,” Tommy commanded, pointing toward the ultimate chew toy. “Attack!”

Gordon and Tommy stood side by side, watching in awe as the perfect dog leapt into the fray. Benrey writhed and shrieked as he was assailed by the combined efforts of Coomer, Bubby, and Sunkist, who looked like angry wasps up against his colossal form. Electricity sparked and snapped, flashing their retinas with an acid green. He was unraveling rapidly, now, limbs unspooling like a busted VHS tape.

“This isn’t fair!” his bellow shook the cavern.

Gordon’s hand found Tommy’s, giving it a short squeeze. His fingers were shaking. Tommy pulled his eyes away from the spectacle to study the other man’s face. Gordon was staring at the entity with a hard determination, brows set and steady, jaw hard and tense. He looked like he was staring down a sheer cliff and needed to jump, all nerves and fear and fire, and even like this, he was stunning.

“I’m gonna end this,” he said, and Tommy only caught his words in the movement of his lips, he uttered it so quietly.

Tommy squeezed his hand and let him go. “Okay.”

The low gravity on Xen and the enhancements in his suit gave Gordon enough clearance to leap impossibly high, a bright orange spark up against a hungry cloud of teeth and hate. For a moment he hung, suspended in the air, eye to eye with a nightmare, before plummeting straight into it.

Tommy’s eyes followed him as he went, praying and hoping like he was a falling star.

“This is it Benrey!” Gordon’s voice rang out. “You’re going to hell! Dying for the first time!”

They collided in a sickly flash of green light that erupted through the cavern, screaming and shocking and burning.

And then Tommy was sprinting through the current of red, catching Gordon as he fell, the weight of his suit against his chest like a meteor impact as they both went splashing into the water. They emerged coughing and spluttering, Tommy’s heart surging with relief to hear Gordon conscious and breathing, and he kept his arms around him as the raging storm that was Benrey roiled blackly overhead. The only thing left of him that was recognizable were the two spotlight eyes boring down on them, scared and shining.

Tommy almost felt sorry for him. Just a fleeting shred of humanity, brief and empathetic as he made eye contact with the entity. Gone as soon as it arrived. A tortured scream ripped from whatever used to be Benrey’s throat, outrage quaking the room and shivering their nerves.

It was over. It was over.

Bubby and Coomer retreated from the entity as he slipped violently from existence, Sunkist following close at their heels. Tommy rose and hauled Gordon to his feet, keeping close with an arm around his shoulders to steady him. The team regrouped together in the warm red sea, eyes raised to witness the storm breaking above them.

Here stood soft, fragile creatures from earth, flawed and bleeding and mortal, unmaking an alien god. Tommy buried his face in Gordon’s hair as the shockwaves washed over them.

As beast and blitzkrieg roared around them, Dr. Coomer’s voice rose triumphantly above the din. “DON’T FUCK WITH THE SCIENCE TEAM!”

Everything fell away.

Chapter 21 <-----> Chapter 23

[thedistricthq]

If the sinful streets of The District could talk, they would whisper about VIESSA SHADE’s arrival. Rumor has it, they are a little bit POSSESSIVE & CARELESS. Maybe we should find out for ourselves, they could be AMBITIOUS & DAUNTLESS. All we really know is they will be working at MYST as a PSYCHIC. Someone said they saw them listening to I WILL NOT BOW BY BREAKING BENJAMIN on repeat, it’s like their theme song or something. Don’t trust the gossip though, come find out for yourself. You can see them coming from a mile away in the BORDELLO by the tell tale signs, BENDING EVERY RULE JUST ENOUGH TO GET AWAY WITH IT, MAY THE BRIDGES BURNED LIGHT THE WAY, A GOLDEN CAGE IS STILL A CAGE, BARE FEET IN THE MORNINGS, THE TOUCH OF VELVET, HICKEY COVERED NECKS, CANDLES BURNING IN THE DARK, & MEMORIES THAT NEVER LEAVE YOUR MIND. [ TATI GABRIELLE, SORCERESS, DEMI FEMALE, UNKNOWN, SHE/HER&THEY/THEM ]

(trigger warnings) strong themes of abuse, forced servitude, rxpe, and violence/murder.

Before she became Viessa Shade, she was a baron’s daughter. Born only a few years after her elder sister, they were raised side-by-side. They ran as equals and friends, sharing ideas and thoughts and songs together. She knew she’d never be anything higher and that was fine with her- something inside her always told her whispers of a greater fate outside of their castle.

Viessa never dreamed of becoming anything beyond a baroness, though she always admired those in other stations and walks of life. She remembers meeting many in her younger years, the light they brought to the forest on their arrival. She remembers the warmth of a dragon’s breath and the laughter of adults when she skitters away from fear of the giant beasts. She remembers magic and spells and how the villagers came to life when the pellers came to visit. Fate once again whispered in her ear that soon she’ll be away from this place and she would see the world.

But before that could happen, this girl would suffer.

Stolen away in the night, Viessa was stripped of her clothes and dignity on her twelfth name day. A small child, unable to defend herself or hold any weaponry, she was made from an innocent soul to a broken and tormented thing. Only thirteen summers old and she was forever changed that night. The captors knew who she was by light of day and too fearful of retaliation to allow her freedom. Instead they sold her, putting a silver hoop through her nose that marked her as a servant.

The once noble daughter was told to have been killed, although no body was ever found. Her mother, father, and sister searched the forest tirelessly for any sign of her, only to be driven back to their homes on encounters with the wild creatures of the nights. None had seen the youngest daughter, none of the other races or species cared to help their search. Finally, after five summers, the searches stopped. But Viessa wasn’t free yet.

Now seventeen summers old, the once child held only distant memories of her home. Magic coursed through her veins, barely out of reach from the sorceress. For you see, the captors had learned one night that she was no ordinary daughter but a witch’s spawn. They forced a potion to her daily to dampen her magic, making her unable to use it. Barely awake, a shell of the girl she once was. Traded hands a few times at this point, she was nineteen when the first gentle hand touched her.

She wanted to scream but found herself unable to, stuck within her body she could hardly control. His fingers were softer than any she experienced before, tears poured down her cheeks. Wiped away with those silken fingers, he shushed her many times. He was but a simple man of simple means, though she never asked how he acquired her. She dared never speak, fear of a raised hand at any sound was constant. He never did. He never touched her but to wipe away tears and wash away dirt, to clean wounds.

Distant memories stirred within her but faded at the first light of each day, dreams just there on the horizon but never close enough to find. She wondered each night if that would be the night he took her but he never did. She did small tasks for him and he never asked for anything. When his hair started to grey and his skin wither in the sun she knew- he was dying. It wouldn’t be for years that Viessa understood he only wanted a warmth in his home he’d lost years before. She had reminded him of his late wife and as he aged, becoming less and less of himself, he wanted one last memory before slipping away.

But yet she wouldn’t find freedom at his passing either. Now twenty three summers old, Viessa was stronger than she’d been before with a clearer mind, a sharper view. He hadn’t used any potion to weaken her, he hadn’t been afraid of her or what she was. He knew, he understood, and he had hoped for her freedom after but she’d been taken just as quickly as she’d been bought, passed to the next hand that wanted her.

The first night he took her as a slave. Her hair was cut and burned, the ring in her nose ripped and replaced many times over weeks. But she knew not to eat or drink anything given to her. A plan formed in her mind: escape at the cost of anything, even if that meant her life. She’d rather die than suffer anymore of this life. They made a grave error, though. He did not know what he owned, who he took every night. His mistake lay in taking her to court. She was dressed in rags and her hair nearly gone, but she still looked like a fighter. The court was in an uproar, the long missing daughter returned! Viessa’s sister, now a woman herself, angered at the sight of her sister in such a state. She set him afire and watched his body burn in the middle of court. She dared anyone to step near them and face a burning death.

Home, but in a place she did not know. Missing so many years Viessa did not call this place her home anymore. She was without a home, without a family. Many times they tried but the girl was too empty, fearful, broken. Days turned to weeks and weeks into months, Viessa couldn’t call it home. She could barely call them family, though a bond tugged at her heart she couldn’t deny. Anger, fear, resentment all coursed through her. How could they give up the search so quickly, how could they give up on her? She set them aflame as anger poured into the magic and fear controlled it. Decades of untapped and uncontrolled magic threatened to bring the forest down. Thankfully it was saved and she was put into sleep.

She awoke a year later, now twenty four and less angry. In her dreams she’d spoken to a voice that soothed her, comforted her, and promised to heal her. But she would have to be patient, for they weren’t yet to meet. So Viessa waited, she practiced her wild magic and formed her skills that were kept from her. She learned that she was a wonderful sorceress, a horrid two handed-sword wielder, and an excellent psychic. Singing became her solace and with it she learned to control magic.

One year after her awakening, she met the source of the voice in her dreams. Another witch, with eyes and hair as black as night. He promised her gifts and control if she were to leave with him to another land and so she left. These lands had never felt like home and so she went.

In her new place many times she was reprimanded for harming others, though she tried to defend herself. They’d touched her, you see, and she hated being touched. She feared the brush of another’s hand so much that she lashed out and harmed them. In order to quell her anger, her new teacher would often put her in trances and sleeps that lasted days to months to years, Viessa never knew the timeline anymore. She soon forgot her own age, her family, and her purpose. Others started to grow old and die around her and it became clear she wasn’t just a witch but a sorceress, a being of immeasurable power. She stopped aging long ago but she’s unsure as of when.

Eventually, her tutor and those around her either passed or moved on in life. Once again, she was alone. In this moment, she created her new self- her name and her story. Viessa Shade, the immortal flame. Sorceress. Travelling the world from place to place, growing and changing with the times. She watched as civilizations rose and fell, kings came to power and the people seized it from the crown. She aided in building worlds and destroying lands, whatever gave her the desire and the world.

WC 001. A coven of witches that Viessa seems to have gotten to follow her. They practice darker magics, often those frowned upon by other practitioners and have banded together in solidarity and necessity. Viessa keeps them safe and in return, they do her bidding from time to time.

WC 002. What’s life without a little spice. Another immortal that seems to have caught Viessa’s attention- either good or bad is yet to be determined. These two keep crossing paths as if the fates themselves are playing a hand in this and it’s either ends in bloodshed or cities burning when the two get together. She can’t tell if she hates this person or if they’re something more to her.

WC 003. Many years, many enemies. Viessa did something to slight them ages ago and they have yet to let it go. Tracking the sorceress down from land to land, they’re intent on making her pay for whatever crimes she’s committed over the years.

VIESSA IS CLOSED & WRITTEN BY D.