there is, i think, a particular kind of epistemic laziness in the way people approach aromantic asexuality—an insistence on translating it into terms that are already legible within an allonormative framework, as though the absence of romantic and sexual attraction must necessarily be a deficit rather than a reconfiguration of experience. the question is always what is missing, never what is present.
but to be aroace is not to exist in a vacuum. it is not a hollowing-out of the self, nor a failure to arrive at some universal human endpoint. rather, it is an alternative orientation toward intimacy, attachment, and meaning—one that exposes, quite inconveniently, the extent to which our cultural narratives have overprivileged romance and sex as the central axes around which a life must turn.
we are taught, over and over again, that love (by which is almost always meant romantic love) is the highest form of connection, the ultimate telos of human existence. entire genres, entire mythologies, are built upon this premise. to deviate from it is treated not as divergence but as error—something to be explained away, corrected, or, at best, politely misunderstood.
what does it mean, for instance, to take seriously the idea that friendship is not a precursor to something else, not a lesser form of love waiting to be upgraded, but a complete and sufficient mode of relationality in its own right? what does it mean to decenter the couple—to refuse the hierarchy that places romantic partnership at the pinnacle and relegates all other bonds to the periphery?
aroace existence, simply by being, asks these questions.
it also reveals how much of what is considered “natural” is, in fact, deeply constructed. amatonormativity—the assumption that everyone both desires and should desire a monogamous romantic partnership—is so pervasive that its absence is often read as incomprehensible. people reach, reflexively, for explanations: trauma, repression, immaturity, a phase. anything but the possibility that this, too, is a valid and coherent way of being.
there is a subtle violence in that refusal. not always overt, not always malicious, but insistent nonetheless. it manifests in the constant probing (“are you sure?”), in the pathologizing (“maybe you just haven’t met the right person”), in the quiet erasure of narratives that do not center romance or sex. it is the violence of being rendered unintelligible within the dominant discourse.
and still—aroace people build lives.
lives full of attachment, of care, of chosen commitments that do not neatly map onto the categories provided for them. queerplatonic relationships, deeply invested friendships, familial bonds reimagined and reconstituted—these are not substitutes for something else, not placeholders for a “real” relationship that has yet to arrive. they are, in themselves, real.
perhaps what unsettles people is not the absence of attraction, but the implications of that absence. if a person can live fully, meaningfully, without romance or sex as central organizing principles, then what does that say about the supposed universality of those experiences? what does it reveal about the structures we have built—social, economic, emotional—around the assumption that everyone is moving toward the same end?
to take aroace lives seriously would require a reorientation that many are unwilling to undertake. it would mean valuing forms of intimacy that are currently marginalized, questioning the primacy of the couple, and acknowledging that there is no singular blueprint for a fulfilling life.
so instead, the easier route is taken: misunderstanding, minimization, erasure.
but the thing about erasure is that it never fully succeeds. people continue to name themselves, to articulate their experiences, to carve out spaces—however small—in which they are legible to one another, if not to the wider world.
and in doing so, they do more than simply assert their own existence. they expand the possibilities of what existence can look like.
to be aroace, then, is not merely to lack something. it is to inhabit a different configuration of being—one that, if we were willing to listen, might teach us that the architectures of love and connection are far more varied than we have been led to believe.
Author's Note : I'm back! This is 1.4K Word's and I love it so I hope all of you do too! Let me know what else you would like to see and if you enjoyed this, please. I don't write smut very often so I'm scared LOL .
Synopsis : You taunt Tobias at Placebo. You end up on your knees, with a reminder from your boyfriend. Filthy smut I hope you love it!
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I gasp softly as my mouth slips from his.
His lips are soft and wet. His hand gripping my hair roughly and the other enveloping my ass as a way to keep my body pressed tightly to his.
I whine as I try to bring my lips to his and he holds me back by the firm hold he has on me. His words are rough, and his eyes are dark as he rasps out, “On your knees”.
A shiver travels the expanse of my spine and goosebumps explode across my skin as I mindlessly sink to the floor.
This is what I wanted. To have him snap. He’s the epitome of a man that possesses self-control, so being capable of forcing him to lose that control is a pastime of mine. I love watching him lose himself in me.
My eyes don’t stray from his own as I begin to palm at him. My fingers tracing the fabric and lingering on the spots that elicit a gasp, exhale, or grunt from him. A smile curves up my mouth as I catch the arousing sound of his stuttered breath.
“Is this what you want?” My tone is playing innocently stupid.
It’s not until I feel his grip tighten and watch the glint of lust in his eyes expand that I decide to pull out his cock. My mouth is practically salivating as I watch him hiss at the sensitivity and I use this moment to gently kiss the tip, my lips puckered against it before softly taking it into my mouth.
I suck softly and listen to the gasp that befalls my ears. He’s so fucking hot when he’s desperate. I feel my cunt clenching at the mere sound of his soft grunts as I slowly take him further in, “Fuck baby, your mouth is incredible”.
I mewl in approval at the compliments slipping past his lips and I use it as encouragement, my lips tightening as I pull back and pop off of him. Before he can say anything, I spit softly onto his cock and use my palm to stroke the lubricant across his entire length.
His breathing pattern has risen and his eyes are hooded as he watches me stroke his cock. His gaze is penetrating and it’s making my pussy wet beyond what I thought possible. I can see the filth in his eyes and it’s only exciting me for what’s to come.
I suck harshly on the tip of his length as I use my palm to stimulate the rest of his cock and I can’t help the pulsing of my clit as I listen to the sound of his rough grunting.
Tobias’s grip is tight as he enters a phase of frustration and overwhelming desire. I gasp wetly as he roughly entangles his fist within the long strands of my dark hair. With my chin directed up, my eyes snap to his, low and so turned on as I whine out in a petulant tone, “I want to make you come”.
An amused smirk curves up his lips.
My pussy clenches. Fuck he’s so hot.
I pucker my lips and kiss his cock softly before he’s yanking me away from his erection with a correcting tut, “Nuh-uh. I didn’t say I wanted to come yet, did I?”.
I narrow my eyes at him. He’s punishing me for the way that I relentlessly provoked him tonight and I want to internally yell; and then provoke him further. But I know that if I do, I’ll come out losing tonight, so I pout and give him what he’s looking for.
Submission.
I let my body relax into his hold, my chin tilted up so that I’m at his mercy with the steel grip he has on me. I soften my gaze and lightly whisper out, “No. You didn’t”.
He notches an eyebrow and the look on his face solely convey’s amusement and a hint of… satisfaction. His gaze settles on my lips, swollen and flushed, “Open your mouth”, he demand’s sternly.
Instinctively, I listen. My lips parting effortlessly, and my tongue rolling out with relative speed.
I watch the way that he utilizes his own grip to stroke his hard cock, the movement tight as it meets his tip, and loose as he meets the base. My eyes stay connected to the image in front of me and I have to stop myself from whining at the distaste of not being given permission to touch him the way that I so desperately want.
My cunt is so wet, and he can see the arousal in my gaze as he coos mockingly, “Are you wet, baby?”.
I mewl. My eyes are blown out and my agreement is fast as I nod, desperately trying to convey how fucking badly I need him to fuck me and his only response is a mocking, “Of course you are… this slutty little pussy would get wet only from sucking my cock. Wouldn’t it?”
I whimper loudly at his degrading phrase. My clit is pulsing with an incessant desire to come and I keep my gaze on his cock as I let slip a small, “Yes… Can I? Please?”.
His grin is full of satisfaction and it’s oozing from his tone as he lets his length slip into my mouth, and softly touch the back of it. I use all the knowledge that I have come to gather in my time with him and apply it in order to take the entirety of his length. I only know that I have when an unmistakable whimper escapes his slightly parted mouth.
The tip of my nose is pressed softly to the firm muscle of his abdomen as I take his cock all the way into my mouth and I swallow, once, pulling a choked gasp from him. My mind is spacy, and I only think of the man standing before me. His lips, his hands, his cock. He’s built like a wet-dream.
In an attempt to inhale more air, I suck harshly as I pull my lips back only to feel the vice-like hold that Tobias has on the nape of my neck. I’m only alarmed for a second before I’m embracing it, inhaling through my nose and fluttering my eyes closed. “Just like that…”.
Time is endless as I kneel in front of him, licking and sucking on his length. Listening to the filthy sound of his grunting, and the consistent wet slide that is the tight grip I have on him as I stroke his cock.
His thighs start to shake and his grip flips from the rough hold on the nape of my neck to a soft palm steering my mouth further down the length of his dick. I gag softly, my throat closing around the head of his cock, and I nod feverently and as best as I can when he gasps out, “Fuck, I’m coming! Oh… god. Such a perfect mouth”.
My clit is pulsing and I whine with my lips still softly sucking the tip of his cock, swallowing the thick pulses of come that he shot into my mouth. My eyes never abandon his as I do so, and I have a hazy grin on my lips as I pull away from him.
His chest is moving rapidly and he’s staring at me with lowered eyes, his face flushed and with a sheen of perspiration.
A small smile slips onto my face and I can’t help the laugh that escapes me as I look up at him, the stern atmosphere that was there just a moment ago, now broken. “You came so hard”.
He grins tiredly and caresses his palm lightly on my cheek, his thumb coming into soft contact with my lip, “Yeah?”. I hum in response to his question, clenching my thighs together at the sound of his low remark.
His eyes darken within a second as he spots it and I fight to withhold the hitch in my breathing pattern as they meet my own.
I’m so fucked.
He hums, finding my inability to sit still amusing, and he mutters in finality as he softly caresses my lips with his thumb, “You will too, when I decide that you finally can”. My eyes show my alarm and this only encourages him, “You like taunting me? Like making me wait?”.
I swallow and sit still, letting his gaze consume me as I stay looking up at him from my position on my knees. “Have you forgotten who’s the student?”.
peter leaned against the wall, his eyes narrowing as he watched you from across the pit. you were laughing with the others, your smile wide and effortless, but something about the glint in your eyes always seemed bittersweet. it was as if the laughter was a mask, attempting to hide your candor-born honesty despite ech slip of a gesture, an expression. not that it could be helped. the truth bled from the very way looked, the very words you breathed.
he loved it. how you were basically an intricate scrapbook, pieced together by every person who had ever touched your life, every place you had ever belonged to, and every passion that had ever stirred your heart. you were a patchwork of experiences, raw and honest, and he couldn’t help but be drawn to the way you failed to rid yourself of candor's transparency. with the brutal, competetive atmosphere of dauntless, you reminded peter of home.
he had always been a problem. for many people, but especially for you. you were no stranger to peter hayes, growing eerily familiar to his sharp edges and cruel humor as it had been a constant presence in your life. after all, you were born in the same faction, hung around the same groups of people, followed the same set of rules. even more, your mother had never liked him. since the two of you were young he'd seem to constantly be one second away from breaking whatever—or whoever—it was in front of him. you used to think you hated him for his arrogance. for how cruel he could be, his tendency to belittle the people that cared for him.
"staring again," christina’s voice sliced through your thoughts, jolting you back to the present. you blinked, reluctantly tearing your gaze away from peter, who was leaning casually against a wall. he was like an island of calm amidst the chaos that spread across the dauntless pit, his posture relaxed and his expression unreadable.
but then you chose dauntless. with one swift cut of the ordaining knife, it wasn’t just your tender, naive skin that was cut—it was every tie to the life you once knew. suddenly, peter hayes, the only person you’ve ever despised, became the only constant in your life. the one unchanging thread that connected both your past and present.
"i wasn’t," you insisted, but the words felt hollow even as they left your lips. your candor was a relentless betrayer, with every twitch of your mouth or flicker in your eyes revealing the truths you tried so hard to conceal. christina’s gaze sharpened with amusement, catching the subtle giveaway in your demeanor. you had known her for just about as long as you'd known peter, but the switch to dauntless demeanor always seemed easier for her.
"right. c’mon, candor," she quipped, her voice tinged with playful sarcasm as she nudged you gently with her elbow. "may the truth set you free," she mocked with a smirk, her tone light but knowing. “you’ve got it bad.”
you shook your head, trying to mount a defense. "i don’t," you said, but your protest lacked the firmness you’d hoped for. peter had been the object of your intrigue since you’d met him in summer camp, the boy that used to look at you with such passion. the boy you promised your mother that you’d never even think of talking to.
christina’s grin widened, clearly finding amusement in your discomfort. she followed your gaze back to peter, who remained fixed on you with a knowing smirk. it was as if he thrived on every flicker of attention you gave him, the curve of his lips revealing his awareness. he seemed to relish in the fact that you couldn’t tear your eyes away, savoring the way his presence bothered you.
"besides, he’s a total jerk," you said, your voice trailing off as you tried to mask your uncertainty. the effort to convince yourself sounded more like a feeble excuse than a genuine assertion. you fixed your gaze away from peter, forcing yourself to focus on his flaws—his arrogance, the cruel edge in his humor, the narcissism he wielded with ease. yet, despite your best intentions, all you could think about was his lingering touch and your stolen glances. you failed at every attempt to distance yourself. it was as if he was fully aware of the internal battle you were waging and took a twisted pleasure in it.
you remembered an instance from a few nights ago.
you’d been crying in the communal bathrooms, the cold tiles beneath you doing nothing to ease the burning sensation behind your eyes. it had been a bad day—training had pushed you to your limit, the weight of your decision to leave candor pressed down hard, and the overwhelming newness of dauntless was closing in from all sides.
the tears had come suddenly, without warning, and once they started, you couldn’t stop them. you didn’t want to cry—not here, not in a place where showing weakness was as good as painting a target on your back. but you were alone, or so you thought, and it had been too much to keep inside.
then you heard the door creak open. you immediately wiped your face, hurriedly trying to compose yourself, when you heard his voice.
"didn’t expect to find you here," peter’s voice was low, casual, but there was an edge to it that you couldn’t quite place. you assumed it was taunting.
your first instinct was defensiveness. after years of being taught to hate him, after years of believing he was nothing but cruel and self-serving, you bristled at his presence. you had no idea why he was here, and the last thing you needed was to deal with peter hayes right now.
“go away, peter,” you muttered, not even bothering to look up at him. your voice came out more bitter than you intended, but you couldn’t help it. it was habit. you’d spent years convincing yourself that he was the last person you could rely on. “i don’t wanna talk to you.”
for a moment, he didn’t say anything. you expected him to leave—maybe with a sharp remark, something that would sting, something that would remind you exactly who he was and why you should stay far away from him. but he didn’t. instead, you felt him sit down beside you, close enough for his presence to be known but not close enough to make you uncomfortable.
he didn’t speak. he didn’t tease or push. he just sat there, quiet, waiting.
you didn’t want to give in. you didn’t want to let your guard down around him, of all people. but the longer he stayed, the harder it became to keep your defenses up. the weight of the day, the exhaustion, and the relentless pressure of everything finally caught up with you. you couldn’t hold back anymore.
before you even realized what was happening, you leaned against him. your body moved on instinct, and you pressed your face into his shoulder, the sobs breaking free as the tears fell hot and heavy.
to your surprise, peter didn’t pull away. he didn’t make a comment or a joke at your expense. instead, his arm came up, hesitating for just a second before wrapping around you. his grip was firm, and he pulled you in close—just enough for you to feel the warmth of his body against yours. he didn’t say anything, didn’t try to pry or ask questions. he just stayed there, silent and steady, letting you cry.
it wasn’t what you expected. peter was supposed to be cruel, detached, distant. but in that moment, none of that mattered. he was just there, holding you together when you felt like everything else was falling apart.
you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt, your body trembling from the release of everything you’d been holding inside. but eventually, the sobs began to subside, and you found yourself breathing a little easier, the storm inside you starting to calm.
you pulled away slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes still red and swollen from crying. “why do you do this?” you asked, your voice small and hoarse from the tears. you genuinely didn’t understand. “why do you… why are you here?”
peter’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, you saw something raw, something unguarded in his gaze. then, with a small, almost playful smirk, he shrugged. “don’t know what you mean,” he said, his voice soft but teasing. “you know i love you.”
the words were so simple, so casually said, that they took you by surprise. but there was no sarcasm in his tone, no bite to his words. he was sincere, leaning in close, his breath warm against your ear as if the words were meant to be a secret shared only between the two of you. then, with a sudden rush of either reckless confidence or desperate longing, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss just behind your ear. the tenderness of it sent a shiver down your spine. “let me be here,” he whispered, his voice low and steady, though it carried a note of quiet vulnerability. he was trying to convey reassurance, but the raw emotion in his voice felt closer to a quiet, earnest plea.
christina said that that was when you started staring.
you’d seen a side of him you never thought to imagine and you craved for more. but he was peter hayes. he wasn’t supposed to feel anything. not for you, not for anyone. he tried to convince himself that as well as he savoured the feeling of your soft skin on his lips. yet, there he was, aching for something he couldn’t bring himself to ask for. something that made his heart race every time you was near, something that made him want to push you away and pull you closer all at once. your love.
he turned to you then, his hand brushing yours just barely, but it was enough to make his pulse quicken. you locked eyes, and for a second, and suddenly everything else that happened outside of the bathrooms faded away. he could feel your heartbeat in the air between you, the way your breath hitched, the way you wanted him to say something, anything. but he couldn’t. not yet. so he just sat there, his lips twitching into a smirk, masking everything he wasn’t ready to say.
christina’s expression shifted to one of knowing amusement, her eyebrow arching in a way that made it clear she wasn’t buying your story. "yeah, and yet here you are, still thinking about him. denial is just another form of obsession, you know."
"i am not obsessed," you snapped, a little too loudly. you tried to sound more forceful than you felt. but even to your own ears, the argument wore thin. the truth was, no matter how hard you tried to ignore him, peter had managed to engrave himself into your thoughts, lingering at the edge of your consciousness like an itch you couldn’t quite scratch.
christina’s hand landed on your shoulder, the gesture both comforting and teasing. her eyes held a mix of sympathy and amusement, as if she could see right through your carefully constructed facade. "sure, keep telling yourself that," she said, her tone light but tinged with a gentle sincerity. "but pretending isn’t the same as believing."
you didn’t respond, choosing instead to focus on your hands, which were twisting nervously in your lap. christina wasn’t wrong. the tension between you and peter was undeniable, a magnetic force that seemed to vibrate with an intensity everyone could feel when the two of you were near.
glancing back at peter, you found him still observing you from across the pit. his gaze cut through the chaotic swirl of faces and noise, landing squarely on you with an intensity that felt almost tangible. it wasn’t just a casual glance; it was as if he was deeply engrossed, his eyes soft and thoughtful, carrying an unmistakable trace of what you dared call admiration. the smirk was gone now, replaced by an expression that seemed to reveal more than he usually let on—a look that made your heart flutter against your will.
you shifted uncomfortably, unable to shake the feeling that his gaze was dissecting every fragment of your carefully guarded emotions. in that moment, the air between you felt charged, filled with something unspoken that neither of you were ready to confront. and even as you tried to look away, his eyes seemed to follow, holding a soft, thoughtful reverence that you found both disconcerting and oddly comforting.
you reminded yourself that, no matter how warm you felt under his gaze or how infatuated you were with him, peter was still peter—the same boy who had mocked your family’s dedication to order and laughed at others’ missteps under the guise of “honesty.” his usual sarcasm and cruelty were just parts of his carefully constructed facade, a shield designed to guard against any real vulnerability.
but the way he treated you was different now in dauntless. there was always a softness in his gaze, a subtle consideration that contrasted with his usual demeanor. it made you question if beneath his cold exterior, there was a part of him that genuinely cared, revealing a side of him that was far less indifferent than he let on. it made you wonder if he wasn’t as cold as he wanted everyone to believe.
regardless, you knew you would never, in every sense of the word, let yourself fall for peter hayes. he was supposed to be a horrible person.
… but on one particularly exhausting night, after another grueling day of training, you tossed and turned in bed, unable to find any solace in sleep. the unfamiliarity of dauntless gnawed at you, and the weight of leaving candor behind seemed to grow heavier with each passing hour. not that you’d ever blatantly admit it, but the new environment was overwhelming. despite your best efforts to adapt, the relentless pressure was starting to crack your composure.
in the dead of night, you awoke with a start, your heart pounding and a deep sense of unease settling over you. you stumbled out of bed, the darkness amplifying your anxiety as you wandered through the dimly lit corridors of dauntless. just as the silence seemed to stretch endlessly, a soft knock broke the stillness, echoing against the cold concrete walls. there, at the end of the hall, stood peter. he stood as tall as ever, but his touch was unexpectedly gentle. his hand brushed lightly against the small of your back, pulling you a bit closer, and the warmth of his skin contrasted sharply with the chill of the night air.
though your eyes were still heavy with sleep, you could see the rare softness in his gaze, a stark contrast to his usual demeanor. “hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice low and raspy, but surprisingly soothing. “you okay?”
“just can’t sleep,” you mumbled, rubbing your tired eyes. you could’ve been meaner, you could’ve tried harder to push him away but you convinced yourself you were too tired to.
even you knew you were lying.
without a word, he guided you back to the rooms, his hand resting steady and reassuring on your waist. the warmth of his calloused skin against your arm was comforting, sending a shiver through you. your heart ached to lean more of your weight against him, to feel the full press of his body against yours. each touch felt intensely intimate, grounding you in a way that made your heart race. his calm presence was a soothing contrast to the cold, impersonal walls of dauntless.
as he guided you back to the room, his touch so comforting and warm, memories from your younger years resurfaced.
you recalled how, even then, there was a strange tenderness in the way he interacted with you, though he never showed the same kindness towards others. peter was always rough with the other kids, his teasing and taunting often crossing the line into childish cruelty.
your mother had noticed, warning you to stay away from him, claiming he was a bad influence. she saw the way he bullied others and feared that his harshness would rub off on you. so, you had learned to hate him, to see only his rough edges and disregard his rare moments of gentleness. now, feeling his warmth and seeing the softness in his eyes, those old judgments felt shaky and uncertain. It must’ve been a trick—a game he was playing. but in that moment you couldn’t bring yourself to care, revelling in the way his skin brushed against yours.
as he helped you settle back under the covers, his touch was deliberate and achingly tender, causing a warm flush to spread through you. you wondered how you managed to muster enough hate to stay far enough away from him. the brush of his fingers against your skin, as he tucked the blankets around you, felt both intimate and possessive, sending a shiver of through your body. each contact, from his fingertips grazing your arm to his palm pressing gently on your shoulder, was charged with a longing intensity.
“you need to rest,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, nearly a whisper. his gaze lingered on you with a softness that was rare for him. before he turned to leave, he gently swept a few stray strands of hair from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “it’s okay to be overwhelmed, sweetheart. we all are.”
you looked up at him, the tenderness of his touch and the care in his eyes sending a rush of warmth through you that made you slightly breathless. his eyes, usually so sharp, were softened by a rare, gentle affection that made your heart flutter. “thanks, peter. you didn’t have to.”
“yeah? well, i did,” he said, a crooked smile playing at his lips, his eyes twinkling with a touch of mischief. he held your hand in his and refused to let go, like he wasn’t ready to leave. you didn't want him to leave. “deal with it.” his voice was smooth, his tone almost too casual, as if the closeness was natural. as if he wasn’t acting completely out of character. his hand remained lingering by your jaw a moment longer than necessary, his touch longing like a secret between you.
you remembered early in high school, when peter had asked you out to the dance and confessed his feelings, saying he loved you. without hesitation, you’d turned him down, following your mother’s wishes. even then, he didn’t seem upset. instead, he simply promised that you’d end up loving him one day.
at the time, you didn't believe him, dismissing his words as just another piece of the game he constantly played. now, as you felt the warmth of his touch and the gentle care he’d shown, you couldn’t ignore the echoes of that past moment. you were falling for him. despite everything, you were falling for him.
and after all that time, he was right.
“what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice tired, and raspy, but caring. it summoned butterflies to your stomach. he said it like you were the only girl in the world. suddenly, you felt like you were in middle school again, getting flustered over a boy. your mother would be so disappointed.
“I don’t wanna talk ‘bout it,” you said, though your eyes betrayed you as they stayed locked with him. out of a force of habit you continued, “don’t wanna talk to you.” you didn’t mean it, of course.
he let out a tired, amused laugh before bringing your hand up to press a gentle kiss in the palm of your hand. you melted. “i love you anyway.”
threw 3.5k words on a tumblr post and called it a fanfic </3
I was thinking abt @miscartz’s Revolution2x Au and then remembered a book I had when I was a kid.
Tried using only the sketch brushes for an effect.
also the girl with the Neapolitan hair is my Knowledge embodiment OC Erudite. I’ll post about her in a bit (She’s from my RevolutionRevolution/original work universe)
I wonder how Prudentis feels about his job honestly. Going from being a deity worshipped by those at the School of Athens to just being a random history teacher at some high school, in New Jersey or wherever it is (idk why but I just get a New Jersey aura from this whole concept) must be very different. I feel bad for him, his chronic illness must make everything worse….
To the Divergent Fandom! We've lost alot of people, or we're all just crazy quiet. It seems this beloved Fandom has died. BUT IM STILL HERE ALIVE AND KICKING MOTHERFUCKERS!!!
To those in this Fandom, reply and reblog so I can know y'all fuckers are still alive!
If ya wanna leave only a like, then please just reply with "here." I'm also willing to take any request you wanna send that are related to Divergent (smut, romantic, rejection, friendships, enemies, OCs, platonic, ships, hurt, comfort, crack ship, crack headcannons, random stuff, crack fic ideas) give them to me! IMMA ATTEMPT CPR, I MAY HAVE FAILED MY CPR TEST IM HIGH SCHOOL BUT IMMA STILL ATTEMPT CPR TO REVIVE THIS FANDOM!!!! 🦅
Feel free to add your favorite faction in the comments
I just unlocked Gold and Gears on my alt account and got to meet this lovely fella again. I think we all know that Stephen is a kid genius and is pretending to be a grown up. Pretty shy too. I also just noticed that Pearl who is a stoneheart was mentioned and is actively collecting data in G & G. I was so focused on Ratio being stimulated in Gold and Gears that I missed a stoneheart being mentioned.
Anyways, I hope we get to see the Kid Stephen. He'll be so adorable in his overalls, goggles and a rubber ducky.
