#like almost all elements of the show is done in a slow burn way that no dynamics or storylines feel forced/rushed ya know

[cantofworms]

I only watched the first three seasons and a little of season four maybe I should go back and rewatch it. Void Stiles was a highlight for sure I don’t know how they can top that

there’s honestly sooooo much to say about this show like I was NOT expecting it to be this good you def should rewatch season 4 is fucking solid like I was thinking the same thing bc void stiles was fuckin CINEMA but s4 and 5 so far (I’m on ep 7) have been saurrrrr good too

[livelaughlovesubs]

head empty, just the idea of worshipping his body while fucking fyodor so tenderly, he'd probably be a sobbing mess AWH MY BABY I LOVE HIM SM WTF😔🙏

(lets act like its not my first time on tumblr lol)

Yea nah, everything’s fine dw, I’ve got you >:)

Dom!reader x sub!fyodor (reader is gender neutral)

Warning: service dom, pegging (can be read as a dick), body worship, dacryphilia

It was another cloudless night, the sky a romantic painting filled with colours of the dark. The moon was bright, and the light reached your humble chambers. Like a tender blanket, that covered the space in front of you. Its slightly yellow tone illuminated your bedroom, and the rays hit the hair of the male. You noticed it very quickly, because his hair was black. The way it shone and sparkled on his skin was as if the moon was merely a decoration, an accessory of the main character. His hair had some purple elements now, it stood out since it matched his eye colour. Tonight was a dreamy night, a masterpiece of a century.

You caressed his cheeks with one hand, and stroke his hair with the other. Both his skin and locks felt silky and smooth, it was quite nice to the touch. Then you leaned down and kissed him tenderly, before pulling back with a gentle smile. Fyodor had a dazed look on his face, along with a faint blush covering his face. When you pulled back he tried to catch your lips, but you stopped him with your finger. He felt your touch moving downwards, first to his ears, then shoulders, chest and last but not least his waist. You stopped for a moment, holding his slim waist in your hands, watching him squirm minimal. A soft giggle slipped from you, followed by you reaching out for his thighs.

Fyodor sighed, letting you do whatever you wanted. With a swift movement you positioned yourself between his legs, hands still holding his thighs upwards. Then you lifted them onto your shoulder and kissed his inner thighs. His eyes shook a little, he stared at you with impatience. “A little longer.” You told him, before you started to suck and lick the spot you previously kissed. Another adorable sound escaped his throat, paired with him throwing his hand over his mouth in embarrassment.

You continued to caress him with the most tender movements, while he let out a breathless whimper. Once you reached his crotch, you skipped that part once again and adorned his belly with more smooches. He almost wanted to curse, was this your way of teasing him? Making him feel all hot and embarrassed like this? Why did you have to touch every nook and cranny of his body?

After you were done with him tummy, there were multiple dark spots. Marks, from you, that you left on his body. When fyodor stared down st them, he had to gulp and furrow his brows. Technically you did nothing but make a show, yet he was so needy now and his dick was standing up all proud. “Y/n…” the boy was about to beg you to do something, when you interrupted him, “so pretty, my love. You look beautiful tonight.” He didn’t know how to react to you suddenly complimenting him, so he stayed quiet. Now burying his face in his hands as his thighs trembled and dick twitched.

“You are so adorable fyodor, I love everything about you.” You began, as you repositioned yourself and poked his entrance with your dick. “..!? Wai-wait.. y/n.” He was so eager just moments before, but now you caught him off guard. “What is it, dear?” Your voice was filled with adoration and care, it felt like he didn’t deserve this, as if this wasn’t intended for him. On one hand it made him feel warm, hot even, on the other hand it’s burning, almost enough to hurt. Then you began pushing, hips moving forward as slow as possible. He felt you slowly penetrating him, feeling his rim getting stretched. You were filling him up so good that tears came to his eyes.

Suddenly you grabbed his hand, holding it tightly while you bottomed out. Fyodor squeezed yours whenever it got overwhelming, and soft tears rolled down his cheeks. “Good job, you did so well.” You whispered, then brought his hand to your lips and kissed his fingers, all while you started moving gently. Your hips were moving so little, it was like a wind breeze, despite all that the male felt like he was about to finish in any moment. A few more whines left him, legs trying to clench together but you were in between them. His hand trembled, you could feel that, even so you kept kissing it.

After a while you let go of his hand and pulled him in for a kiss, pressing your lips and hips against his. He yelped and moaned into your mouth, hands clasping around your neck with a shivering sensation coursing through his body. Your trusts became a little faster, almost not noticeably so, though for him it was too heavenly to manage. Just a little more and he would reach the edge, that’s what he thought, so he hugged you even tighter and kept letting out small whimpers of encouragement, “ah..ha-haah..uh, y/n..i’m close…” his little warning was barely audible, you almost didn’t hear it among his groans.

In addition to your already pretty fast trusts, you rubbed his nipples with your hands, determined to make him feel good. Fyodor’s back arched from the bed, sobbing in silence as he let you touch him all over. It was just too cute, his reactions to his voice and body, so much that you couldn’t help but kiss him again. While you did that, you cut off his air, making him gag a bit. More tears spilled, and you cooed at him, “shh, it’s alright my love, you can come.” Then you kissed his tears away, and held his hand again. The male bit his lower lip, almost enough for the skin to rip. His slim figure moving back and forth with each one of your poundings.

“Ha..haaah, aAah..!” You watched him gasp and pant, his hand clinching onto the sheets below him before he let out an especially loud moan. The next thing that followed was his sex twitching and white ropes of cum spurting out of him. His thighs shook terribly so, he also tried to close his legs again but to no avail. Head thrown back as waves of pleasure traveled through him. “aaAHHNgnN~!!” He was so loud when he came, you just had to smile at him. With careful motions, you helped him ride out his high and hold him close to you again. Fyodor hugged you back, still breathing unevenly as he mumbled, “hahh, y-y/n.. kiss me again.”

[tillthelandslide]

Same For You: The Love of Thieves - Instagram AU

Series Warnings: slow burn romance, eventual smut, age gap, complicated relationship (low-key unhealthy dynamics), eventual love...

Series Masterlist

A/n: soooo you didn't think id make a whole series without doing Instagram AUs did you? Well here's the first one. Think this gives you a good idea of how the beginning of the series is going to go :) a little sneak peak into the chapters if you will... Hope you enjoy, love Lou 🫶🏼

Taglist: @scooby-doodoo @thereisaplaceintheheart @theoriginalwhatsername (if you want to be added please just drop me a message 🫶🏼)

yninstagram:

yninstagram might be small but at least our stage is pretty... Join us for our next show next Saturday ✌️

Like by clarabass, jamieoborne and 4381

View all comments

fan1 pretty stage for a pretty band

jaythedrummer ur so cool

clarabass we're just a cool band really aren't we?

↳ yninstagram that we are bby

🔔jamieoborne, trumanblack and rass1975 followed @yninstagram

fan2 the best band 🫶🏼

TheLoveOfThieves:

TheLoveOfThieves our very own Y/n on stage last week, join us again this week in Soho ✌️ in the mean time... Listen to us on SoundCloud - Clara

Liked by jamieoborne, bedforddanes75 and 12,183 others

View all comments

amazingabbie who's this sexy beast then?

↳ yninstagram I hate you

🔔jamieoborne and trumanblack shared this post to his story

75fan came from Mattys insta, you guys are sick

↳ TheLoveOfThieves thank you 😊

jamieoborne just say yes already

↳ yninstagram go away grandpa

↳ trumanblack leave her alone @jamieoborne

↳ yninstagram thanks Matthew ☺️

↳ trumanblack p.s you look very pretty in your element up there on that stage

↳ yninstagram you flatter me healy

yninstagram:

yninstagram your bf brought me a pretty guitar in my fave colour ✌️ jk jk don't go breaking up with your bfs guys

Likes by rass1975, trumanblack and 6518 others

View all comments

trumanblack cool guitar for a cool girl

↳ yninstagram why thank you ☺️

rass1975 pretty...

↳ yninstagram it is indeed

↳ rass1975 wasn't talking about the guitar

75fan I have no idea what's going on rn but damn... Why are the 75s friends so hot

75updates are the boys working with her?

1975stan um... Are we just going to ignore Ross' comment?

yninstagram:

yninstagram Exciting stuff on the way guys 👀 thank you to everyone who has joined us on this journey so far, we love you 🫶🏼 to the newbies: welcome 🤗 📸@rass1975

Liked by trumanblack, bedforddanes75, rass1975 and 8918 others

🔔trumanblack and jamieoborne shared to their stories

View all comments

trumanblack let's gooooo

↳ yninstagram oooo where we going?

↳ trumanblack you're so annoying

↳ yninstagram you love me don't lie

rass1975 very excited to be working with you love

↳ yninstagram bass lessons soon?

↳ rass1975 sure thing darling

1975adam heard you guys are smashing it

bedforddanes75 cool kid

jamieoborne dirty hits new addition?

↳ yninstagram not quite old man 😋

75fan she's so pretty...

fan1 ahhh Ross taking pictures of her?! Mattys comments on her other posts... I can't handle whatever the fuck this is ➡️❤️⚠️

TheLoveOfThieves:

TheLoveOfThieves we've been in the studio with some cool people for almost two weeks now... We will be returning to the Soho stage this Saturday so come by and say hello - Jay

Liked by rass1975, trumanblack, jamieoborne and 21,612 others

View all comments

📍 comment: TheLoveOfThieves there's nearly 21,000 of you following us now which is mental, thank you for all the support, we love you, watch this space, exciting things are coming. Massive thanks to our boys @the1975 for everything you've done over the past two weeks, it's an absolute pleasure to be working with you 🫶🏼 - Y/n

lovethievesfan we'll be there as always

↳ yninstagram see you there guys

clarabass exciting times...

75fan I'm so excited, you guys are so good and the boys are lucky to be working with you

trumanblack we shall be there, pleasure working with you too x

↳ 75fan lol Matty just replying to y/ns comment not actually the post caption hehehe he's down so hard

75stan I actually can't deal with how pretty she is like can she stop?

[gretchensinister]

Daily Fic Highlight: Incarnation

The winner of the kudos email today is:

Incarnation is a SkekGra/UrGoh longfic about their early days in exile at the Circle of the Suns as they start to understand each other better, work out their skeksis and mystic baggage, and slowly fall in love. It's from SkekGra's point of view, and when I say he pines I mean he could be a whole Christmas tree farm. Slow burn--but it does burn. 152,469 words, E, M/M (for whatever values of "M" two different aliens who used to be one alien have).

In other posts I've made about this I usually quote "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver to convey what Incarnation is about, and now I'm going to do it again:

"You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves."

I jumped into The Dark Crystal fandom with this, and it was so much fun to write I feel like it restored all my powers.

Sample:

“UrGoh, maybe—maybe this—” Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, SkekGra thought he wanted to say. But the words didn’t come out. Because even if it wasn’t such a good idea, he still wanted UrGoh to touch him. He still wanted to touch UrGoh. “I know I haven’t done this before,” said UrGoh, “but I’ll be careful. I won’t hurt you.” “I’m never worried about you hurting me,” SkekGra said. UrGoh reached out and lifted SkekGra’s left hand from the warm water with his right hands. And, as it always had before, with UrGoh’s other touches, the bond changed. The longing didn’t go away. SkekGra was almost sure that it wouldn’t, as long as he and UrGoh were separate. If anything, that longing might be even more acute, now that they were touching skin-to-skin. But it felt like—it felt like a longing for something attainable, something within their reach, within their powers. When they weren’t touching, there was an element of strangeness to the bond that seemed to indicate the underlying truth of their connection—that no one had ever been meant to feel this way. When they touched, the pull SkekGra felt between them seemed as natural as breathing. Though the tension was undiminished, when touch was added to the bond, he found himself worried less about GraGoh and what it would be like to be GraGoh, feeling only that he was more connected with UrGoh, and believed he could be more connected with UrGoh, and that was a good thing. Very, very good. And did UrGoh also feel this, as he gently manipulated SkekGra’s hand, searching for the best angle for what he wanted to do? Would it show in his face? Did SkekGra’s own face show something of what he was feeling? It seemed wrong for UrGoh to not know what SkekGra was feeling now, it was too big, maybe something big enough that it would affect UrGoh’s decisions to touch him at all.

[firebirds-roost]

i'm really curious about fury and wisp! what are they like? does wisp like working for luther at the magma sanctum? does moloch know fury is investigating the factory? what does she think of him?

-dilsdragons

Sorry for the wait!! I was gonna answer right away, but then I got caught up with work, and then by the time I remembered I was like 'oh well it's already been so long I might as well just wait until next Wednesday'.

In any case, you definitely touched on some interesting characters!

Fury is a scrappy young inventor from downtown Cinderslag. She's a technical genius, able to throw together a remote-controlled spider golem in a matter of days, but kind of lacking in common sense and naive to how the world really works. Her two heads - Blazing (left) and Burning (right) - are almost identical in personality and tend to blindly encourage each other into all sorts of wacky ideas without a third person there to rein them in.

After being separated from her family as an egg, she was adopted by a manticore named Temper, who worked for a nearby metalworking complex called Blackstone Industries. But when the factory mysteriously closed down, Temper vanished without a trace. Since then, Fury's made it her life's goal to figure out where he went and what really happened to Blackstone Industries on that fateful day.

Her progress on this mission has been... slow. She's tried prodding at Moloch for answers, knowing that he was the one who ordered the factory's closing in the first place, but for some reason he hasn't been very cooperative. It's all 'stop asking questions' this and 'how did you get in my office' that. So rude! At this rate, she might as well just go down to the old building herself...

Wisp is the assistant keeper of the Magma Sanctum! In my lore, it's customary for the elemental sanctums to have two keepers - one dragon from the sanctum's own flight, and one Arcane dragon to handle the magical equipment and connection to the Oculus of the Eleven. Wisp is the Arcane attendant, while Luther is the local Fire attendant.

The two of them are supposed to have an equal amount of power, working together as partners, but... that's not really the case here. Luther thought he'd be working alone when he got the job, so when he showed up to see a weird little Veilspun waiting for him, he essentially told them to stay out of his way and let him handle the important work.

Luckily, Wisp is a very patient dragon, and a lot more clever than Luther gives them credit for. They're an expert at getting their way through subtle manipulation while letting him think he's the one in charge. Great idea, boss! We should send a scout to that anomaly in the Blacksand Annex! So glad you came up with that all on your own after I spent the whole morning nudging you towards it.

Honestly, at the end of the day, Wisp is the one calling most of the shots around the sanctum; they just let Luther take credit for it because it's the easiest way to keep things running smoothly. They can put up with a lot of petty abuse as long as the work gets done.

[kitkatopinions]

I think that people have the weird idea that other people's liking for villains or desire to see them redeemed comes exclusively from whether or not that villain committed bad actions. And it's like, yes, bad actions are considered as part of why I'll like or dislike villains or want them to be redeemed, but there's a lot more to it. Typically it looks something like this

For instance, Emerald grew up as a houseless orphan, that's a sympathetic and interesting backstory. Her motives are to try and please the abusive woman she has a misplaced attachment to, that's a sympathetic motivation. She's shown care towards Mercury. Her personality is so interesting. As a villain her possible dynamics with Team RWBY who she deceived - and specifically with Ruby who she interacted with the most - could be very interesting if she got redeemed. Her writing was consistently good for six seasons and only just started suffering from bad writing in the last season she was in. The voice acting has been consistently good. There's at least a strong fear element at play in some of her villainy, that's at least a bit of coercion. She was clearly unhappy in her villainy. She's not directly abusive past her regular every day fighting. My sis and I started writing for Emerald when we did a 'V6 rewrite' before volume seven came out and I love how we write for her. And the rwby writers rushing her redemption arc and not paying attention to her emotional state so far leads me to just want to write a good redemption for her. So her chart looks like

The fact that she killed Penny doesn't make her unredeemable to me. I don't feel obligated to hate her just because she did a very bad thing. If she didn't do bad things, she wouldn't be a villain at all. People getting angry because she's done bad things and 'gets to be redeemed,' is weird to me because like, I'm just sitting here thinking about how the problems with her supposed 'redemption arc' to me are things like the writers bypassing her attachment to Cinder and not giving enough time towards unpacking Emerald's emotional state, and not giving it a slow enough burn.

While meanwhile Cardin's list looks like this

Cardin has technically done less worse things than Emerald. But do I want him redeemed? Do I like him as a villain? No. In fact I like him less than almost every single other RWBY villain. He is so much more boring to me than Cinder or Salem, so despite not wanting Cinder or Salem to be redeemed, I would much rather see them redeemed than Cardin. He might technically have not committed as terrible of things as... Every RWBY villain, but also he's boring, badly voice acted, I'm uninterested in his dynamics, I feel like every other villain is more interesting and also the majority of them are more sympathetic, and pretty much the only way I think he should have been given more attention is as a cautionary tale about how racists shouldn't be given law enforcement badges.

"How could you like Ironwood and not Cinder?" Because even though 'wants to bomb a city' and 'wanted to destroy Vale' are very similar acts, the act itself doesn't matter as much as the writing, how the character was done, whether or not the character is sympathetic - Ironwood was on the hero side for like seven seasons, he's going to have more people who wanted him to stay a hero than 'villain from the start, badly voice acted, and increasingly badly written for' Cinder who only got a tragic backstory in volume eight that many people felt was also disjointed and badly done.

Like, yeah, Neo tormenting Ruby and killing Little makes her a lot harder to redeem in the show, but I don't like her less, especially because she's existed since V2 and I started writing for her when V6 was still coming out, and I think it's actually gross that the writers had the disabled woman get her body taken over and someone puppeteering her mouth to SPEAK and then had her commit suicide. I'm not just going to obligatorily require myself to stop liking her because people who kill mice characters I already found annoying no longer 'deserve redemption.'

Like yeah, Roman's a horrible little bitch tbh who tried to kill a fifteen year old and attacks people with a laugh, but at the same time he's such a fun, dynamic, interesting, and well written character that I love imagining him as a good guy. Why do I like him more than Cinder when Cinder has a more sympathetic backstory and has been around a lot longer? Because the writing for Cinder has sucked since volume four, she's horrible to her underlings, and her voice acting has always been awful, plus Roman's possible dynamics with the heroes are much more interesting to me than Cinder's connection only to Ruby and weirdly Jaune when even that hasn't been well explored, Roman was a less serious villain making the transition from villain to hero easier for him than it'd be for Cinder.

People actually measuring whether or not they feel like they're allowed to like villains based on whether or not they exceeded some ever-moving bar of 'evil-enough-to-be-a-villain-without-being-too-much-of-a-villain sounds exhausting and very unfun. Like watch people try to justify why people have to hate Adam but don't have to hate Hazel. Watch people try to justify why people have to hate Ironwood but don't have to hate Cinder. It's so silly lol. I can't imagine living like that. If I like a villainous character and they do something that takes it too far for my personal tastes, I number one understand that what I personally consider too far for a fictional villain isn't what other people consider too far and number two I just cut it out of my headcanons and keep enjoying the villain and writing redemption arcs into my fics anyway.

They are fictional villains, the fictional actions they do to other fictional people in their fictional stories oddly isn't my only concern lol.

[starcrossedspirit]

✧ ˚ 　chapter one · 　　 . pairings: fem!oc x ghost / fem!oc x velikan / fem!oc x nolan tags: slow burn / supernatural elements / au- zombies tag warnings: n/a archive link: wicked and unholy tumblr link: ← previous / forward → original characters: yelena volkova / karina usyk / briar hawthorne ratings: mature summary: Somewhere to the North of Zaravan a wolf stirs among it's flock, restless to make change. October 13, 2024 - Zaravan Exclusion Zone, Urzikstan - Konni HQ It begins with the feeling of dread, it always does. Eyes closed with a deep intake of air, it felt sharp against her lungs as she held it inward. There was a smell of dust and smoke laced with rotted flesh- it would have been nauseating if it hadn't been the norm for the past year. At this point it was almost grounding to feel the fresh air. Quietly and just for a moment she feels like throwing herself to the zombies that moan grotesquely just beyond the compound's safety, their sounds echoing so miserably against the concrete walls. It would be better than throwing herself to the wolves that wait her just down below, they were ready to tear her throat out all the same. But that was normality now- the dead plagued the streets and they weren't even the worst thing out there. The other hard reality is she wasn't craven like that, she would do her duty out until the end. It would have to kill her and at a young age that was beaten into her. She could either die afraid or die fighting and there was no room for being a coward. She may be losing spirit to do for someone else but she wouldn't lose spirit for herself, that was her father's doing. Releasing the harbored air just before she got too dizzy the woman scanned her surroundings. Sharp eyes stared for a moment longer, how blue and distant they were, and there was a hard realization in her heart. "What have we done, Yelena?" she muttered to herself with a hard frown, the slick Russian words ringing off of her tongue. In moments like these she would often reflect just how far they had taken things. Her brother had always had a certain charisma that made it seem like it was the right thing to do, sometimes even the only thing they could do. Staring off into the void of glowing purple eyes that lay just beyond Yelena could feel it biting at her heart. She knew it in her soul there was no longer a reason to continue this fight if it meant the end of humanity. But the sound of the door opening behind her ripped her from her thoughts. Standing to attention she turned and her eyes caught sight of a familiar but unwelcome sight, Yelena relaxing but still glowering at the man that had joined her on the balcony. He was tall, domineering in a smug way, and towering over her as he stood between her and the door. "Hiding up here, are we?" Nolan motioned with a roll of his shoulders. He stared at her hard but she stared back just as steely, her bright eyes not breaking contact with his own blue ones. At best they tolerated one another and at worst they would get into it, almost once having cost them the mission. Makarov made sure not to send them alone together after that point but not without a reminder of course, just to show them that they were not the ones in charge. She often hated looking at that scar, it meant she was tied to Nolan in the worst kind of way. "Hardly, I'm keeping an eye out for our safety." Yelena replied without removing her eyes, her eyes glisten up at him like a wolf on the prowl. "but don't you have scientists to keep an eye on? Or are you too busy patrolling me to care about your own duties?" But Nolan smirked, he likes when she bites back at him. "I came to retrieve you, mutt, Makarov wants a meeting."

Read the full chapter on Archive of our Own!

[ursa8772]

Weekly EDM Favorites 2023 - Week One

So about a year ago I started a playlist where every Friday I add seven new tracks every week, tracks that released sometime in the past week. The tracks stay for two weeks, after which I choose my favorite from that week. The other six tracks cycle, so there are fifteen tracks at all times. I thought I’d start including them on this blog, since I don’t really have anything else to do on this blog. This is place for me to talk about music I like, even if no one is listening.

Breathless - Geoplex ft. Lyra Ivy: Geoplex almost went a full calendar year without a new release, but he subverted it at the very last moment.This released in 2022, but it’s still in the correct time frame to be included here. Geoplex is back with some Drum’n’Bass, which he doesn’t make often. Geoplex still includes the orchestral elements he’s well known for. I especially like the break after the second verse. Lyra Ivy’s vocals work perfectly on this track. She kind of sounds like Laura Brehm, which is never a bad thing. Great way to close out the year. 

Can’t Say No - JJD: JJD’s few last releases have been a bit underwhelming, but here he’s back in full force. He’s done Hardcore before, but this is the first time he’s done it on NCS. All the energy associated with the genre is present here. The melody is kind of haunting, especially when accompanied by the vocal sample selected.

In Too Deep - Inpetto, DigEx: Finally, an Inpetto track that doesn't rely on the same quiet-LOUD pattern. I get that Inpetto was trying to carve out a signature sound, but it was getting really stale; all his tracks were starting to blur together. He’s ditched that here, yet it’s still recognizably an Inpetto track, showing that he doesn’t have to do the exact same thing every time. DigEx delivers again,  and his style blends well with Inpetto’s. This collaboration was a good idea. I get the sense that FHM is in for a good year.

Into Pieces - John Dahlbäck: Some tracks just have a sound that envelopes me when I listen to them,  and that’s how I would describe this track. All the little elements combine and go together really well.

Mike & Nina - Raito: Mau5trap’s We Are Friends compilation dropped this week, and among the new tracks there were a lot that I liked, but the best for me was this one. It’s Techno, which is a genre I’m generally not a huge fan of, but here the quirky sound design and fast-paced tempo make it really enjoyable to listen to. 

Sleepwalking - Andrew Rayel ft. Mike Schmid: I can really appreciate a well-executed slow-burn. If done right, one drop can be so much better than two. Rayel utilizes synths and Schmid’s vocals to build up an atmosphere, and when the drop finally hits, it feels earned, like a logical conclusion to the narrative painted.

You Only - Michael Feel & Aleco: I don’t really have much to say about this one. I just enjoy it.  There isn’t much to this track, but it’s enjoyable nonetheless. The cowbell (I think it’s a cowbell) lead in the drop just works really well.

Follow the playlist here to hear all these tracks and previous weeks as well.

[blogger360ncislarules]

Justin Hartley is making his return to network TV with another post-Super Bowl premiere.

After Super Bowl LVIII, viewers will be introduced to Colter Shaw in CBS‘ Tracker. Colter is a lone-wolf survivalist who roams the country as a reward seeker, using his expert tracking skills to help private citizens and law enforcement solve all manner of mysteries while contending with his own fractured family.

Based on the book The Never Game by Jeffery Deaver, Hartley teased to Deadline that the series will largely depart from the source material but maintain the “sensibilities” of the character.

Beyond that, the series will operate as a procedural, with Colter taking on new missing persons cases each week as he also struggles with the trauma of his past…which is now coming back to haunt him.

Below, Hartley spoke with Deadline more about pitching the series to CBS, weathering through a tough past few years to get it on the small screen, and where he sees it going from here.

DEADLINE: I heard you were involved with the pitch of the show. How did you get involved with that?

JUSTIN HARTLEY: [Ken] Olin and I worked together This Is Us. We had been talking about doing something together. We wanted to keep working together when the show was over. So the year before we shot the last season, or right before we shot the last season, of This Is Us, we ended up getting this book and loving this character and bringing it to 20th, which is my studio where my production company is. We pitched them the idea of me playing Colter Shaw and Ken directing and producing with me, and they loved the idea. So they said, ‘Okay, let’s go forward with it.’ We brought it to CBS, and they loved the idea that Ken and I kind of sold that to them on the phone…It’s like, be careful what you wish for, because then all of a sudden we’re like, ‘Okay, now we have to deliver.’ But I feel like here we are. We’re almost done with the sixth episode of the first season. I think we’ve got something really unique and great and entertaining, and I think it’s got a lot of heart, and it’s got a lot of places. It’s got a backstory, and it’s just something I’m really really proud of. I think it’s special.

DEADLINE: What attracted you to playing the role, in addition to producing?

HARTLEY: Well, I just love acting. I loved This Is Us, and I loved working all the time. I’ve loved every acting job I’ve ever had, I think. So I knew that I wanted to continue acting. The show allowed me the opportunity to not only do that, but wear another hat as executive producer and have that creative input and control. So it’s kind of the best of both worlds. I always like to learn new things. What better way to do it than to learn from the best? I mean, I’m taking class from Ken, and it’s pretty cool.

DEADLINE: Tracker certainly has some familial drama elements that are similar to This Is Us, but Colter is a very different character than Kevin. What have you enjoyed about this character so far?

HARTLEY: It’s been absolutely wonderful. I mean, I enjoyed every second, every frame I saw on This Is Us. It was wonderful. What a journey. That character went from, if you think about where we found him and where we left him — talked about a full circle. From a man-child to a full-grown adult, responsible man. It was just a really wonderful journey with this character. First of all, just selfishly, it’s just awesome to be able to play a different character. As much as I love Kevin…I just think it’s so neat as an actor to be able to take on a role that is just so utterly different. I mean, you’re stripping away so many things that you’re used to and you’re putting on so many things that you’re not used to having on. I don’t even think those two would be friends. You know what I mean? They’re so different. But lucky for me, I got to play both of them. So it’s just been wonderful. Not to say that I wouldn’t want to play a character that was very similar to Kevin ever again in the future, but certainly right after coming off of that show, it really is an actor’s dream to take on a role that’s so different.

DEADLINE: How much will the series follow the events of the book it’s based on?

HARTLEY: Well, we do our own our own stories. We really don’t tell the story of the book. We’re mainly taking the character. And then you have to adapt the character…you have to add and subtract a little bit from that character that is in the book. Like for instance, in the book, Colter does a lot of talking to himself in his brain. He does have a lot of percentages in his brain. And it’s like, okay, you have to figure out a way just logistically how that’s gonna look on camera. I mean, do you want people watching Colter think? Then do you want the inner dialogue to be a voiceover? Or do you want it to be typed out on the screen? Or do you want it to be assumed? Or do you want to see it in his eyes? How do you want to do that creatively? But he still has the same backstory, and he still has the same sensibilities. [He] goes about his business the same way, but you just have to…augment in other ways to make it suitable for television. So that’s what we’ve done.

DEADLINE: The percentage thing is interesting. How did you land on the way he’d discuss it out loud to the people around him?

HARTLEY: I think that, if you do it in a way where he’s sort of rattling off these numbers to himself, we’re asking the audience to believe that when Colter asks, ‘Just trust me on this one,’ that person is actually going to trust him. Rattling off numbers in your head…that kind of seems a little serial killer-ish. I’m not gonna trust that guy. That’s guy’s a whack job. No one’s trusting you, dude. You look weird just talking to yourself. You’re running through numbers, you’re doing percentages. What is going on here? It’s so much easier for us to just say, ‘Okay, look, here you go.’ And he’s giving this person information. He’s trying to help them. It makes it easier for me as a viewer to believe that that [person] would trust that guy who’s spending so much time explaining to him how he can help him or where the danger is, where the perilous things. So to me, that just that sold me on the way that we would deliver all that information.

DEADLINE: We learn in the premiere episode that Colter’s brother is trying to contact him, but we don’t know why. Can you talk about what we might get to see play out this season with that relationship?

HARTLEY: Well, I can tell you that there are a lot of questions that Colter has about his childhood, about his family. And there are a lot of assumptions that he’s made that, throughout the season, we realize might not necessarily be true. The questions that he has might change based on new information that he either stumbles upon or figures out. Things that just don’t add up anymore. This is a really this is gonna be a really interesting place to be. If you’re wondering if your own mother is lying to you about certain things. I’m sure my mother has never lied to me about anything [laughs]. But it’s bad. His brother’s responsible for the dad’s death. That’s terrible, right? It doesn’t get much worse than that. You have the brother reaching out and it’s like, ‘Well, why now?’ So we answer all those questions for you. There is a payoff to all that. It’s a slow burn, but it makes a lot of sense. And it’s definitely very, very rewarding.

DEADLINE: Do you have a roadmap for where the series could go after Season 1?

HARTLEY: I think it would be fun to see him uncover something that is a little more than he bargained for. I would like to see Colter in a situation where, as an audience member, you’re fearing for him because he might be in over his head. If you can imagine what that might be. With that, I think it’d be fun to see/ And then, he’s got to get some answers and some peace with his past and peace with his family. We have a lot to unpack. If people enjoy watching it, we definitely have stories to tell for years.

DEADLINE: The series is premiering after the Super Bowl, which is a pretty coveted spot. How did you feel finding that out?

HARTLEY: I’m just really, really proud, because it’s been years in the making. We went through a pandemic with the show. We went through a writers strike with the show and an actors strike with this show. We’ve gone through a lot with the show. It’s lived through all of that and thrived through all of that. Now we are not only premiering, but right after the Super Bowl. It’s all so worth it. It’s a really wonderful feeling. It’s my second Super Bowl. So, you know, I get it.

[child-of-the-cataclysm]

Chapter Seventeen: Shifting the Paradigm

If I wanted to keep Flick out of harm’s way, I would need to make a show of power against the Hand. The idea of it was disgusting, in the way that only a true betrayal can be, but… I needed to do something major enough that Nileas wouldn’t simply continue on with the attack. 

My options were limited - I could potentially inform the Crown about the oncoming attack and its methodology, but I didn’t actually want them to win either. The only reason I was standing in the way at all was because of Flick. So… I needed a third party. As much as I hated it, at this short notice, my only option was myself. 

Of course, intercepting an attack like this was dangerous - both to me and those initiating the attack. Every few minutes, I got a glimpse of Riota’s hair, burning its way up the face of the Cliffs. It was slow progress, but even without the glinting of armour, she acted as a beacon, showing how close they were to the top. I needed to get moving quickly if I wanted to actually prevent this. 

I breathed in deeply, drawing in more and more air until my chest felt full to bursting. I wasn’t totally certain if this would work - I felt that it would, instinctively, but I hadn’t had the opportunity to test it. Fortunately, I saw the dragonskin crawl over my shoulders and spread to my chest, and immediately knew that it would, in fact, work. 

Facing directly towards Riota and the rest of those scaling the cliff, I let out that same shivering, trilling screech that the dragon had directed at me. It tore through the air like flechettes, and I could almost see the rippling air close on Riota. 

I watched transfixed as the paralyzing panic which had struck Flick and I gripped Riota and the Hand’s soldiers, watched their limbs lock up and their grips on the wall of the Cliffs slip. I couldn’t help but keep staring, despite my deep desire to look away. This was my doing, no matter what happened. 

The soldiers fell, unable even to scream as they did with the paralysis gripping their bodies. As they did, Riota and I locked eyes. Even from this distance, I felt her recognition and betrayal like a blade through my gut. 

Falling with them was, as I had feared, Ysella Ponitri. I had no idea how the Hand had even made up with her, much less recruited her given what rumours I had heard of their clashes, but evidently they were working together. 

I stared downwards after the falling soldiers, unable to wrench my eyes away from what I had done. Near the last moment, Riota and Ysella’s bound spirits made their presence known, wrapping their respective elements around the two sorcerers and slowing their falls, cushioning them enough that they would not perish. It was a small but potent relief. 

For my part, I needed to make my point a bit more strongly. The dragon’s lungs in my chest seemed to swell in response to my need, and I made a note to test what other aspects of the dragon I could feasibly make use of… some other time. 

Breathing in as deeply as I could, I gathered myself. In a roaring voice, I proclaimed to the heavens, so loud with the dragon’s lungs that the Hand’s army and positively half of the capital would certainly have heard it: “I AM KHEMORA OF THE FAMILY SENTRICA! BY MY BLOOD, THIS LAND AND ALL IT CONTAINS IS MINE!”

(~)

Guards gathered atop the wall. They stood at a distance, wary of the purple fire flickering at my fingertips, but their weapons were at the ready. Given how willing the silver world had been to stick around when I slipped into it the last few times, I was hardly scared of them. Nevertheless, their presence reminded me of the severity of what I was doing. 

Several of the soldiers of the Hand had certainly just perished. With most paths forward, these soldiers of the Crown would fall as well. Neither set would have been the first to die by my hand by any means, but they would be the first of many to fall for my own purposes, due to a goal I had set for myself. 

Worse, there was a potent terror visible on the faces of these soldiers. I was used to some level of fear in those who regarded me, but now… I was something more than a Child as they knew it. The blue-black skin which rested on my breast and through my arms marked me as something new and different, with the purple fire dancing on my fingertips making that newness something distinctly dangerous. 

They did not only watch me. My act had alerted the guards to the presence of the Hand, to some extent. Several had witnessed the forward party fall from the face of the Cliffs, and many more had seen a small group of figures on horseback emerge from the trees to collect the dead and the survivors alike. 

I turned away from the soldiers of the Crown, keeping my ear to them as I looked down at the Hand. They were far more difficult to make out than the party on the Cliffs had been, so far down the massive walls of the capital. Were they members of the Hand as I knew it? Or were these simply soldiers, recruited to the cause by Nileas’ bold ambition and powerful charisma? 

It mattered little, in honesty. They would collect the fallen and return behind the treeline. A new plan would be hatched. Nileas and the others would debate whether it was actually me, at least until Riota convinced them that it was. And then they would debate what to do about that. I hoped, deep inside me, that some of the Hand - or perhaps even all of them - would refuse to fight against me. 

They probably wouldn’t, as I estimated it. They had all known Nileas longer than they had me, and while they would certainly be saddened to have to fight me, I believed that they would ultimately choose his ambitions over my desires, especially without the ability to talk to me in order to see what I was thinking. 

…and of course, I had opened things up by knocking Riota off a cliff. So that certainly wouldn’t help my case. 

In the meantime, the question became if it was worth making an enemy of the Crown again immediately, or if I should wait, leveraging their war to give me an advantage against my friends. I might be able to play off my declaration of ownership within the framework of succession. It was somewhat feasible that the nobility of the Crown - particularly the king - could be convinced that I meant that I would protect what was mine until the time came that I could claim it through official means. 

It would be an odd argument to anyone but the king. Legally, as a recognized member of Crown nobility, I was in the line of succession, but I was newly minted - and extremely young, at that. Plus, the reinstatement of the Sentrica name didn’t bring back the power and influence of my family; even if my mother was still alive and I brought her to the capital, I would be a single-member family, with minimal ties to existing powers within the Crown and essentially no influence of my own to leverage. 

While I was arguably an heir to the king directly through the Cataclysm he wrought, I wouldn’t want to claim that lineage. Even if I did, it would be looked at with raised eyebrows, at best. Few would believe that the king had been with my mother, and he certainly wouldn’t admit that he had created the disaster which shattered our world. Besides, for all that I had been given a position of potential power within the Crown, few would be willing to so easily overlook my status as a Child. 

That thought stuck in my mind as I pondered my next move, eating away at the sides of my brain. Eventually, as if propelled by the years of torture and murder, of propagandistic demonization, the thought changed. I couldn’t work with these people. They may have given me my freedom, they may have given Flick his, but I had dozens of quasi-siblings, other Children who had been found throughout the Shattered Kingdoms and culled, cut off before they could even see the age I was at that moment. Even those who were against the agentry, those who had accepted Flick and I quickly at the ceremony, even they were complicit, refusing to actually stand against the organization which had so tortured and desecrated my kind beyond levying words against them. 

As the thought built and continued, I admit I fell into a bit of a frenzy. Each noble of the capital was well-educated, most were clever, nearly all had private forces they could have levied against the agentry. Each of them could have done something, but they made their complaints only in voting, unwilling to stand against the torture and murder of children, of my siblings. They stood for nothing, they believed in nothing, they helped no-one. 

When I looked back over the capital, I no longer saw its beauty, its intricately-designed streets, the carefully cultivated farmland and expertly-built statues. Instead, I saw an ocean of hypocrites, endorsing the murder of my brothers and sisters through a failure to act against it. Worse even then them, at the centre of that ocean were the people enacting that murder and the man who had destroyed the world. 

In the rage that washed over me, I suddenly regretted acting to stop the Hand. Perhaps I should have simply allowed Riota and her cohort to slip over the wall via the Cliffs and drop whatever breach attack Nileas had prepared. It was almost certainly some combination of Nileas’ brilliant magic and Riota’s sorcery, meant to blow a hole in the wall at some vital point like one of the guard towers which dotted the wall, any attack of that scale would have taken out enough civilian architecture as well that, even now, with the hindsight I possess, I find it kind of incredible that Nileas managed to get the Hand on board with it in the first place. 

With the benefit of that same hindsight, it was also the first sign that Nileas, like the very king he fought to replace, was perhaps not someone who should be allowed to rule. 

The rage faded quickly enough. Nobility, those who I could truly blame for their role in the oppression of my kind, were a tiny portion of the population of the capital, and practically none of them lived close enough to the wall that any action taken by the Hand at the wall even had a chance to affect them. Even in the depths of a hatred spurred by a lifetime of mistreatment and the revelations of the past few days, the civilians of the Crown did not deserve the violence which would be inflicted on them if Nileas’ plan had come to fruition. 

Worse, of course, the wallbreaker wouldn’t be the end of the attack. If it was all they had, the Crown’s soldiers - and their mages, particularly - would be able to defend that single point massively effectively. A single point of attack makes for a poor offence, essentially funnelling yourself into a choke point which gives the defenders a massive advantage - something which would be true even if the Hand wasn’t a smaller force fighting against the larger, more established Crown. 

Nileas knew this just as well as I did. Whatever their plan was, it would have included secondary attacks, likely a split force inside the wall with secondary wallbreakers or even flat-out terror attacks against the civilian population, depending on how far Nileas was willing to go and the resources they had at their disposal. In any case, the civilian toll would have been massive. 

My study of war told me that a civilian death toll was a necessary and expected part of a war, even if it was tragic. My heart, on the other hand, told me that it was reprehensible, with only a portion of that being because of Flick’s presence in that population. 

So, then. In a war where both sides are led by one willing to cause massive civilian deaths (not casualties, as they would say. These are people being killed, not numbers in a report somewhere) to reach their goal, what does one do? 

(~)

On the morning of my fifteenth birthday, there was a soft rain. It probably wasn’t significant, but at that point the war had been on long enough that I checked the skies for a floating sorcerer preparing to call down lightning on instinct. There wasn’t one, thankfully. Flick slid up beside me, hands stuffed in his pockets to hide them from the cold which had begun to wrap its wintery fingers around the world. 

“Some birthday, huh?” He asked it with a sardonic lilt. It wasn’t a real question, just the commiseration of twins sharing a bad experience. He slipped a pack of burners out from his jacket pocket, offering me one and slipping one into his own mouth. We had taken them from a supply wagon heading to the capital in a raid last week, and after a lifetime of watching the capital guards smoke the things, Flick had fallen to the habit quickly. With the stress of leading one portion of a war, I hadn’t lasted much longer. 

Riota reached over from across the table, lighting up her finger for the both of us to light off of, and I smiled gratefully to her. Her eyes, flickering with the same fire, were tired. “They coming, by the looks of it?” 

I shook my head. “No sign.” Riota slumped, leaning back against the post which held up our tiny lean-to. 

“If they’ve hurt her…” She began, trailing off as she realized there wasn’t much we could do, as much as we might like to. 

Taking a deep drag from the burner, I flicked it to the earth and ground it underfoot. “It’s Nileas. Doesn’t matter how much he’s lost the script, he wouldn’t hurt her.” 

Her hand went to the stump of her left arm. It was something between a refutation and a reflex, by her face. Sighing, I shook my head. “He… wouldn’t. Not to a prisoner.” 

It might have been a bit foolish, but even now, after months of protracted war, after countless betrayals and clashes, I still found myself believing in Nileas. His sway was simply that strong. Every time we met, I nearly slipped back into being a member of the old Hand, nearly followed after him when he left. 

No matter how he hurt us, no matter what he did, I fully believed, deep down, that Nileas could change, could go back to what he was. It was for that reason, really, that I took up the name of Silver Hand when he abandoned it. He called his nation the Kadien Empire, now, memorialising a brother he had lost during the Silver War. He became Emperor Morati, and his most elite troops became the Bloody Hand. 

Calling my little group the Silver Hand had admittedly been partially because the name felt like home to me, but when Riota and Metka finally defected from Nileas’ Bloody Hand, unwilling to continue to carry out his atrocities, it had become far more true. We were each of us worse for wear, by now, but with us three present, we had as much claim to the name as the Empire did. 

The sound of a rider approaching came, and Flick and I came to our feet in unison. Riota was slower, but far more eager, and burst past us into the drizzling rain. It splashed against her skin with tiny sizzles, letting off miniscule bursts of steam that hung around her in a faint haze. 

A rider was a good sign, of a kind. If the Crown had managed to throw itself into the mess, it likely would have been some sort of automatic cart. For the life of me I couldn’t work out where the things had come from, but after the Battle of Ketwin, most anyone travelling alone or in small groups allied with the Crown had begun to use these horrid iron carts, belching smoke and noise up into the air around them in exchange for a speed and resilience that a horse couldn’t match. 

So, a rider meant either it was our own man or a message from the Empire. As the horse came around the bend, the three of us let out a collective sigh of relief. Atop the horse was Metka, clad in simple chain armour, plates at her chest and in strips dangling from her waist. The revised emblem of the Silver Hand - now blazing with purple fire - was emblazoned on her chest. 

Only as she came closer did we see her thinness, her dirty hair, and the dried blood crusting her wrists.

The horse came to a stop, and Metka came down - the motion was well-practised and simple, in theory, but in her weakened state, she slipped off badly, and might have collapsed entirely if Riota hadn’t rushed forward to catch her. I winced and turned away, cursing softly. Flick pulled another burner to his lips, brow furrowed. Letting loose a puff of smoke, he leaned in close to me. “Wasn’t she only captured last week?”

(~)

The wagon-ride back to the Silver Hand’s current base was quiet. Riota and Metka exchanged whispered words, and every so often Riota would turn and tell Flick and I something that Metka had told her. Metka’s whispers were tiny, scratchy, hoarse little splinters, as if her lungs and vocal chords alike had somehow become atrophied. 

Finally, an hour into the ride, Riota managed to uncover what had actually happened to Metka. Nileas had found a Child somewhere and managed to bind them to some horrid spirit, and in doing so had found a way to inflict the silver world forcefully onto those he had captured. For us, Metka had been gone a week. Who knows how long she had experienced. 

Flick and I were both horrified at the thought of it. My seemingly infinite ability to touch the silver world had atrophied rapidly after I began to tap into any portion of the dragon’s abilities more significantly - starting with that roar atop the wall, but I still remembered what the silver world was like. As much as it was freeing, empowering even, the idea of being trapped in it, unable to leave, in a state of torturous captivity, with food and drink still coming at the pace of my captors… It didn’t bear thinking of - and Metka had lived it.  

Splinters. I had known for months now that Nileas’ cruelty had become deep, horrifying even, but. How had Lek and Gerevor stood for this? 

[childofthecataclysm]

Chapter Seventeen: Shifting the Paradigm

If I wanted to keep Flick out of harm’s way, I would need to make a show of power against the Hand. The idea of it was disgusting, in the way that only a true betrayal can be, but… I needed to do something major enough that Nileas wouldn’t simply continue on with the attack. 

My options were limited - I could potentially inform the Crown about the oncoming attack and its methodology, but I didn’t actually want them to win either. The only reason I was standing in the way at all was because of Flick. So… I needed a third party. As much as I hated it, at this short notice, my only option was myself. 

Of course, intercepting an attack like this was dangerous - both to me and those initiating the attack. Every few minutes, I got a glimpse of Riota’s hair, burning its way up the face of the Cliffs. It was slow progress, but even without the glinting of armour, she acted as a beacon, showing how close they were to the top. I needed to get moving quickly if I wanted to actually prevent this. 

I breathed in deeply, drawing in more and more air until my chest felt full to bursting. I wasn’t totally certain if this would work - I felt that it would, instinctively, but I hadn’t had the opportunity to test it. Fortunately, I saw the dragonskin crawl over my shoulders and spread to my chest, and immediately knew that it would, in fact, work. 

Facing directly towards Riota and the rest of those scaling the cliff, I let out that same shivering, trilling screech that the dragon had directed at me. It tore through the air like flechettes, and I could almost see the rippling air close on Riota. 

I watched transfixed as the paralyzing panic which had struck Flick and I gripped Riota and the Hand’s soldiers, watched their limbs lock up and their grips on the wall of the Cliffs slip. I couldn’t help but keep staring, despite my deep desire to look away. This was my doing, no matter what happened. 

The soldiers fell, unable even to scream as they did with the paralysis gripping their bodies. As they did, Riota and I locked eyes. Even from this distance, I felt her recognition and betrayal like a blade through my gut. 

Falling with them was, as I had feared, Ysella Ponitri. I had no idea how the Hand had even made up with her, much less recruited her given what rumours I had heard of their clashes, but evidently they were working together. 

I stared downwards after the falling soldiers, unable to wrench my eyes away from what I had done. Near the last moment, Riota and Ysella’s bound spirits made their presence known, wrapping their respective elements around the two sorcerers and slowing their falls, cushioning them enough that they would not perish. It was a small but potent relief. 

For my part, I needed to make my point a bit more strongly. The dragon’s lungs in my chest seemed to swell in response to my need, and I made a note to test what other aspects of the dragon I could feasibly make use of… some other time. 

Breathing in as deeply as I could, I gathered myself. In a roaring voice, I proclaimed to the heavens, so loud with the dragon’s lungs that the Hand’s army and positively half of the capital would certainly have heard it: “I AM KHEMORA OF THE FAMILY SENTRICA! BY MY BLOOD, THIS LAND AND ALL IT CONTAINS IS MINE!”

(~)

Guards gathered atop the wall. They stood at a distance, wary of the purple fire flickering at my fingertips, but their weapons were at the ready. Given how willing the silver world had been to stick around when I slipped into it the last few times, I was hardly scared of them. Nevertheless, their presence reminded me of the severity of what I was doing. 

Several of the soldiers of the Hand had certainly just perished. With most paths forward, these soldiers of the Crown would fall as well. Neither set would have been the first to die by my hand by any means, but they would be the first of many to fall for my own purposes, due to a goal I had set for myself. 

Worse, there was a potent terror visible on the faces of these soldiers. I was used to some level of fear in those who regarded me, but now… I was something more than a Child as they knew it. The blue-black skin which rested on my breast and through my arms marked me as something new and different, with the purple fire dancing on my fingertips making that newness something distinctly dangerous. 

They did not only watch me. My act had alerted the guards to the presence of the Hand, to some extent. Several had witnessed the forward party fall from the face of the Cliffs, and many more had seen a small group of figures on horseback emerge from the trees to collect the dead and the survivors alike. 

I turned away from the soldiers of the Crown, keeping my ear to them as I looked down at the Hand. They were far more difficult to make out than the party on the Cliffs had been, so far down the massive walls of the capital. Were they members of the Hand as I knew it? Or were these simply soldiers, recruited to the cause by Nileas’ bold ambition and powerful charisma? 

It mattered little, in honesty. They would collect the fallen and return behind the treeline. A new plan would be hatched. Nileas and the others would debate whether it was actually me, at least until Riota convinced them that it was. And then they would debate what to do about that. I hoped, deep inside me, that some of the Hand - or perhaps even all of them - would refuse to fight against me. 

They probably wouldn’t, as I estimated it. They had all known Nileas longer than they had me, and while they would certainly be saddened to have to fight me, I believed that they would ultimately choose his ambitions over my desires, especially without the ability to talk to me in order to see what I was thinking. 

…and of course, I had opened things up by knocking Riota off a cliff. So that certainly wouldn’t help my case. 

In the meantime, the question became if it was worth making an enemy of the Crown again immediately, or if I should wait, leveraging their war to give me an advantage against my friends. I might be able to play off my declaration of ownership within the framework of succession. It was somewhat feasible that the nobility of the Crown - particularly the king - could be convinced that I meant that I would protect what was mine until the time came that I could claim it through official means. 

It would be an odd argument to anyone but the king. Legally, as a recognized member of Crown nobility, I was in the line of succession, but I was newly minted - and extremely young, at that. Plus, the reinstatement of the Sentrica name didn’t bring back the power and influence of my family; even if my mother was still alive and I brought her to the capital, I would be a single-member family, with minimal ties to existing powers within the Crown and essentially no influence of my own to leverage. 

While I was arguably an heir to the king directly through the Cataclysm he wrought, I wouldn’t want to claim that lineage. Even if I did, it would be looked at with raised eyebrows, at best. Few would believe that the king had been with my mother, and he certainly wouldn’t admit that he had created the disaster which shattered our world. Besides, for all that I had been given a position of potential power within the Crown, few would be willing to so easily overlook my status as a Child. 

That thought stuck in my mind as I pondered my next move, eating away at the sides of my brain. Eventually, as if propelled by the years of torture and murder, of propagandistic demonization, the thought changed. I couldn’t work with these people. They may have given me my freedom, they may have given Flick his, but I had dozens of quasi-siblings, other Children who had been found throughout the Shattered Kingdoms and culled, cut off before they could even see the age I was at that moment. Even those who were against the agentry, those who had accepted Flick and I quickly at the ceremony, even they were complicit, refusing to actually stand against the organization which had so tortured and desecrated my kind beyond levying words against them. 

As the thought built and continued, I admit I fell into a bit of a frenzy. Each noble of the capital was well-educated, most were clever, nearly all had private forces they could have levied against the agentry. Each of them could have done something, but they made their complaints only in voting, unwilling to stand against the torture and murder of children, of my siblings. They stood for nothing, they believed in nothing, they helped no-one. 

When I looked back over the capital, I no longer saw its beauty, its intricately-designed streets, the carefully cultivated farmland and expertly-built statues. Instead, I saw an ocean of hypocrites, endorsing the murder of my brothers and sisters through a failure to act against it. Worse even then them, at the centre of that ocean were the people enacting that murder and the man who had destroyed the world. 

In the rage that washed over me, I suddenly regretted acting to stop the Hand. Perhaps I should have simply allowed Riota and her cohort to slip over the wall via the Cliffs and drop whatever breach attack Nileas had prepared. It was almost certainly some combination of Nileas’ brilliant magic and Riota’s sorcery, meant to blow a hole in the wall at some vital point like one of the guard towers which dotted the wall, any attack of that scale would have taken out enough civilian architecture as well that, even now, with the hindsight I possess, I find it kind of incredible that Nileas managed to get the Hand on board with it in the first place. 

With the benefit of that same hindsight, it was also the first sign that Nileas, like the very king he fought to replace, was perhaps not someone who should be allowed to rule. 

The rage faded quickly enough. Nobility, those who I could truly blame for their role in the oppression of my kind, were a tiny portion of the population of the capital, and practically none of them lived close enough to the wall that any action taken by the Hand at the wall even had a chance to affect them. Even in the depths of a hatred spurred by a lifetime of mistreatment and the revelations of the past few days, the civilians of the Crown did not deserve the violence which would be inflicted on them if Nileas’ plan had come to fruition. 

Worse, of course, the wallbreaker wouldn’t be the end of the attack. If it was all they had, the Crown’s soldiers - and their mages, particularly - would be able to defend that single point massively effectively. A single point of attack makes for a poor offence, essentially funnelling yourself into a choke point which gives the defenders a massive advantage - something which would be true even if the Hand wasn’t a smaller force fighting against the larger, more established Crown. 

Nileas knew this just as well as I did. Whatever their plan was, it would have included secondary attacks, likely a split force inside the wall with secondary wallbreakers or even flat-out terror attacks against the civilian population, depending on how far Nileas was willing to go and the resources they had at their disposal. In any case, the civilian toll would have been massive. 

My study of war told me that a civilian death toll was a necessary and expected part of a war, even if it was tragic. My heart, on the other hand, told me that it was reprehensible, with only a portion of that being because of Flick’s presence in that population. 

So, then. In a war where both sides are led by one willing to cause massive civilian deaths (not casualties, as they would say. These are people being killed, not numbers in a report somewhere) to reach their goal, what does one do? 

(~)

On the morning of my fifteenth birthday, there was a soft rain. It probably wasn’t significant, but at that point the war had been on long enough that I checked the skies for a floating sorcerer preparing to call down lightning on instinct. There wasn’t one, thankfully. Flick slid up beside me, hands stuffed in his pockets to hide them from the cold which had begun to wrap its wintery fingers around the world. 

“Some birthday, huh?” He asked it with a sardonic lilt. It wasn’t a real question, just the commiseration of twins sharing a bad experience. He slipped a pack of burners out from his jacket pocket, offering me one and slipping one into his own mouth. We had taken them from a supply wagon heading to the capital in a raid last week, and after a lifetime of watching the capital guards smoke the things, Flick had fallen to the habit quickly. With the stress of leading one portion of a war, I hadn’t lasted much longer. 

Riota reached over from across the table, lighting up her finger for the both of us to light off of, and I smiled gratefully to her. Her eyes, flickering with the same fire, were tired. “They coming, by the looks of it?” 

I shook my head. “No sign.” Riota slumped, leaning back against the post which held up our tiny lean-to. 

“If they’ve hurt her…” She began, trailing off as she realized there wasn’t much we could do, as much as we might like to. 

Taking a deep drag from the burner, I flicked it to the earth and ground it underfoot. “It’s Nileas. Doesn’t matter how much he’s lost the script, he wouldn’t hurt her.” 

Her hand went to the stump of her left arm. It was something between a refutation and a reflex, by her face. Sighing, I shook my head. “He… wouldn’t. Not to a prisoner.” 

It might have been a bit foolish, but even now, after months of protracted war, after countless betrayals and clashes, I still found myself believing in Nileas. His sway was simply that strong. Every time we met, I nearly slipped back into being a member of the old Hand, nearly followed after him when he left. 

No matter how he hurt us, no matter what he did, I fully believed, deep down, that Nileas could change, could go back to what he was. It was for that reason, really, that I took up the name of Silver Hand when he abandoned it. He called his nation the Kadien Empire, now, memorialising a brother he had lost during the Silver War. He became Emperor Morati, and his most elite troops became the Bloody Hand. 

Calling my little group the Silver Hand had admittedly been partially because the name felt like home to me, but when Riota and Metka finally defected from Nileas’ Bloody Hand, unwilling to continue to carry out his atrocities, it had become far more true. We were each of us worse for wear, by now, but with us three present, we had as much claim to the name as the Empire did. 

The sound of a rider approaching came, and Flick and I came to our feet in unison. Riota was slower, but far more eager, and burst past us into the drizzling rain. It splashed against her skin with tiny sizzles, letting off miniscule bursts of steam that hung around her in a faint haze. 

A rider was a good sign, of a kind. If the Crown had managed to throw itself into the mess, it likely would have been some sort of automatic cart. For the life of me I couldn’t work out where the things had come from, but after the Battle of Ketwin, most anyone travelling alone or in small groups allied with the Crown had begun to use these horrid iron carts, belching smoke and noise up into the air around them in exchange for a speed and resilience that a horse couldn’t match. 

So, a rider meant either it was our own man or a message from the Empire. As the horse came around the bend, the three of us let out a collective sigh of relief. Atop the horse was Metka, clad in simple chain armour, plates at her chest and in strips dangling from her waist. The revised emblem of the Silver Hand - now blazing with purple fire - was emblazoned on her chest. 

Only as she came closer did we see her thinness, her dirty hair, and the dried blood crusting her wrists.

The horse came to a stop, and Metka came down - the motion was well-practised and simple, in theory, but in her weakened state, she slipped off badly, and might have collapsed entirely if Riota hadn’t rushed forward to catch her. I winced and turned away, cursing softly. Flick pulled another burner to his lips, brow furrowed. Letting loose a puff of smoke, he leaned in close to me. “Wasn’t she only captured last week?”

(~)

The wagon-ride back to the Silver Hand’s current base was quiet. Riota and Metka exchanged whispered words, and every so often Riota would turn and tell Flick and I something that Metka had told her. Metka’s whispers were tiny, scratchy, hoarse little splinters, as if her lungs and vocal chords alike had somehow become atrophied. 

Finally, an hour into the ride, Riota managed to uncover what had actually happened to Metka. Nileas had found a Child somewhere and managed to bind them to some horrid spirit, and in doing so had found a way to inflict the silver world forcefully onto those he had captured. For us, Metka had been gone a week. Who knows how long she had experienced. 

Flick and I were both horrified at the thought of it. My seemingly infinite ability to touch the silver world had atrophied rapidly after I began to tap into any portion of the dragon’s abilities more significantly - starting with that roar atop the wall, but I still remembered what the silver world was like. As much as it was freeing, empowering even, the idea of being trapped in it, unable to leave, in a state of torturous captivity, with food and drink still coming on the pace of my captors… It didn’t bear thinking of - and Metka had lived it.  

Splinters. I had known for months now that Nileas’ cruelty had become deep, horrifying even, but. How had Lek and Gerevor stood for this? 

[darlingpumpkin]

Strange Magic Chapter 1: A Working Theory

Here's Chapter 1! I hope you like it. Feel free to leave a comment. I'd love to hear from you! Words: ~2k Warnings: None. Just a nice, slow burn.

Intro: Reader is Wong’s assistant librarian with a long-standing crush on the doctor. Stephen is currently Sorcerer Supreme.

There’s nothing that made you feel more human than spending time with someone who was far from ordinary. You enjoyed watching him in his element— not that you didn’t have your own hobbies. You could say he was one of them, based off of how much you enjoyed being around him.

Strange is the perfect way to describe him. His choice of facial hair, his quips, his ability to guess any classic rock song and its date of release, his endless sarcasm, they were all Strange. You heard he was a doctor before he was Sorcerer Supreme, that he’d had a terrible accident and that the main reason he was here at Kamar-Taj was to fix his hands and get back to his pristine surgical career.

The Ancient One expressed a special interest in him, and while you kept your head down and stuck to your duties outside of training, you couldn’t help but watch him from afar too. He was special, even though he couldn’t conjure up a simple portal during his first week of training. This meant that he was stubborn and wanted to control everything. It was bad for training, but in your book, that was a very, very good thing. Acknowledging this made you blush every time you came across him. Of course, he was busy, eager to get back to his old life. All he wanted to do was train, read, train, and read. Your main duty was to assist Wong with whatever he needed. Small errands, alphabetizing books and you took watch over the library when he snuck off to nap. You spent a good amount of time reading, and over time, he learned to trust you and asked for your assistance specifically. It was flattering, and you didn’t mind it. It was easy work, and it beat having to scrub toilets or sweep the training grounds.

Also, being at the library gave you easy access to watch Stephen Strange. You liked the way his brows furrowed when he was in deep thought. You especially liked watching him reach up for books because it gave you full access to view his firm arms. He was taught and lanky, but most importantly, he was intelligent.

You brought him tea one time when you noticed him dozing off. He had looked up at you with a smile of gratitude and gave you a quick touch on the arm as thanks. You smiled back, but this was the extent of your interactions. He didn’t know your name, but that was okay. You were happy just to be around him. You didn’t let your feelings for him show. It was a silly little crush, and a bad break-up was the reason you ended up here in the first place. You weren’t going to let feelings interfere with your training. Being here was safe, and it gave you a sense of purpose.

In the present day, Strange spends most of his time at the New York Sanctum, which oddly enough was convenient for the Avengers. Something was always going wrong in that city, and Strange begrudgingly helped them. Maybe he felt responsible, but you couldn’t help but think that he liked to show off a little bit. He’s cocky. He has every right to be.

Wong spends a lot of time in the New York Sanctum now as well. He’s been keeping a close eye on Strange to try and prevent any trouble resulting from his usual antics. This left you in charge of Kamar-Taj’s library. To your delight, today was a slow day. Almost everyone was out on some sort of mission or retreat, and only a handful of people came in to borrow books. You used this time to go in the back and put back the stack of books Wong had accumulated for his own reading.

You made a thorough list in case he wasn’t done with some of them, but you didn’t like having them just strewn over his desk.

“Hi.”

You squeak in surprise. Strange had portaled behind you quietly, and you were chuffed. You can feel the blood thumping in your ears.

“Hello, doctor.” You say. “Can I help you?”

He laughs at your red cheeks. “I”m sorry I surprised you. I snuck around here a lot for easy access, and I guess old habits die hard.”

“That’s…okay. I wasn’t expecting anyone today,” you respond calmly this time.

“Do you mind if I hide out here for a bit? Wong has been getting on my nerves, nagging me about the state of New York’s library.” He sighs.

Without waiting for an answer, he pulls up Wong’s chair and plops himself on it.

So much for a quiet day, you think. You hadn’t seen him in months, and honestly, it’s been a relief. You’ve had such strong feelings for him for so long that having them unrequited made you loathe him, just a little bit. Now you were determined to not let him take up any space in your brain.

You pretend he’s not there, despite that proving to be a difficult task with his incessant sighing. For some reason, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching you. You glance over your shoulder, and sure enough, Strange was observing you intently.

Just put the books back. Get things organized, and you can go back to your quarters in no time.

“Hey, uh…” he trails off. “You.”

After all this time, he still hasn’t asked you your name. However brilliant he is at the mystic arts, it seems like his people skills are severely lacking.

“Yes, doctor?”

“Why don’t you come with me to the New York Sanctum?”

You expected him to ask you to bring him a cup of tea or fetch a book for him. This request definitely was from out of nowhere.

“I don’t understand. My assignments are here. Why did you want me to relocate?”

Strange stands up and walks over to the front of Wong’s creaky desk. He drags his palms across the front of his robe like he’s wiping sweat off of them. He looks nervous, and you couldn’t exactly understand why.

THE Sorcerer Supreme, nervous about asking you for a favor?

“I have this working theory. You’re one of the only people Wong has taken a liking to, and he seems to be in a much more pleasant mood when you’re around.” He walks over to you and awkwardly places a hand on your shoulder.

You flinch at his touch, surprised at his boldness, but he doesn’t retract his hand.

He’s an arm’s length away from you, the closest you’ve ever been to him since he was a mere trainee. His touch feels electric, and your shoulder burns like his fingers were made of hot iron. Your pulse rises so quickly, you hear the blood thumping in your ears like you were standing next to a drum chorus.

“I have a strong inkling that he might have feelings for you. Literally, the only time I see the whites of his eyes is when he’s talking to you.”

“Wh-what?” You stutter.

“You know,” he gestures vaguely to his face. “Because he has small eyes.”

Okay, that was borderline offensive, but you let it slide. Wait— does that mean Strange has been paying more attention to you than you initially thought? Maybe. Perhaps not. Most likely, he just thought about you in reference to Wong.

And speaking of Wong, the thought of him possibly having feelings for you has never even crossed your mind. Sure, Wong was a little grumpier than the average person, but he was guarding centuries’ worth of mystic knowledge. His job was no easy feat.

He did seem nicer to you, though, but you credited that to your exemplary work. He always grumbled in appreciation at the end of the day when he sees that the shelves have been dusted and all the books were put back where they were meant to go.

But he does bring you coffee even though he doesn’t drink it himself. Lends you an extra robe during cooler nights. Laughs at your jokes even though they’re not that funny…

Shaking your head, you swat away Strange’s hand. “You’re talking nonsense.”

“I’m sure I’m not, but like I said, it’s a working theory,” he responds, touching his chin.

“Regardless of whether or not you believe me, I’d like for you to come with me.” “Is that why you came here? To coerce me to move so Wong would ease up on you?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not premeditated. The idea just struck me when I saw how magnificent you are at your job. A glowing librarian. Really top-notch.”

His attempt at trying to compliment you makes you laugh, but you catch yourself and clear your throat. You needed to be serious. No more finding Strange charming.

You remind yourself that he’s just trying to benefit himself. Typical self-serving, painfully handsome Stephen Strange.

He steps back, and a smile teases at the corners of his mouth. “What do you say?”

You smile back at him. “No.”

He grimaces. “Come on. I can’t seduce you with New York’s charm?”

You make a face of disgust. That’s not the kind of seducing you want from him.

“Rats and garbage lining the streets? Grumpy civilians? I don’t think so, doctor.”

Normally, you wouldn’t be speaking to him this way. He was your Supreme. His position warranted him respect, but you weren’t some pawn to be picked up and put down wherever he liked.

“Look, I can be nice and civil about this and meet you halfway, or I could play the boss card, and we can both be on our way, but I don’t want you to completely dislike me.” Strange says, pacing impatiently. “God knows I don’t need another person sneering at me when I walk into a room.”

“Tell me this, doctor,” you pick up a book from a nearby cart and wipe the dust off of it with your palm, “…how long were you in training here before you took over New York?”

“Why is this relevant?” He asks, annoyed.

“How many times have you been in this library? How many books have I handed over to you?” You put the book down on Wong’s desk.

“You’re losing me here.”

“How many times have we been in this enclosed space together?”

“Would you please just get on with it?” You can hear the irritation build in his voice, his cerulean blue eyes piercing through you.

“Tell me my name.” You whisper.

Strange looks taken aback. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but closes it again, realizing he had nothing. You cross your arms and pretend to wait for an answer.

Check and mate. You had finally spoken your mind, and you glow in his uncomfortable silence. Stephen Strange was rarely at a loss for words. You’ve managed the impossible, and while this should feel like a win, you realize how small you really are in his world.

All this time, you’ve been watching him from the sidelines with great admiration, he’s never thought of you once. Why would he? You’re not incredibly remarkable like him. You’re no outstanding beauty.

Now he wants you around him, but it was for all the wrong reasons.

It’s so unfair, you think. Without knowing it, he’s making you act like a petulant child, and you loathed him even more for it.

You conjure up a portal to your quarters. You didn’t want to be here anymore. You’ll come back to finish up the day once Strange takes the hint and leaves. You make haste and close it as soon as you step in.

A few seconds later, a portal appears by your bed, and Strange steps out of it.

You groan internally. What a stubborn dick.

No problem. You can just make another exit out of here. Somewhere far away.

As you raise your arm to form another portal, he grabs your wrist.

“Wait,” he breathes, “I’ve come to bargain.”

[dauntless-gothamite]

Prove Them Wrong [1/?]

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: hey, everyone! so some elements of this are based on myself and how I interact with people, mainly because I tend to bond with people who are not well-liked (i.e. I got along well with teachers everyone hated, consistently). I plan to keep most descriptions of the reader vague so you can insert yourself, though! this first chapter is a little bit slow, but I am already well into writing chapter 2, and I am really excited about where this fic is going! Enjoy!!

“Dauntless!” Marcus Eaton called out--Abnegation was hosting the Choosing Ceremony this year--and as your blood hit the burning coals, a series of cheers and claps erupted from the fearless faction. You took your place next to the other Dauntless transfers and snuck a glance at your family. Your parents looked sad--disappointed, almost--but it was nothing compared to the way some parents reacted to their children choosing another faction. Your father caught your eye as he pulled a handkerchief from his crisp blue suit and handed it to your mother, who was just barely containing her tears. Quickly, you looked away. A moment later, a girl with dirty blonde hair sat down beside you. Her loose grey clothing indicated she was in Abnegation, or at least she had been. She was Dauntless now, and so were you. 

A series of names you only half heard filled the room, and before you knew it, the ceremony was over. Then, as if they’d been waiting for the chance to get up from their seats, all the Dauntless rushed out of the building, racing for the train tracks. You and the other initiates stared at them as they began to climb, shocked. Sure, you knew you’d be taking the train, but you’d never thought about how you’d actually get there. Shoving the thought out of your mind, you began to climb, the Abnegation girl from before and a girl from Candor scaling the poles on either side of you. Once you made it to the top, you saw everyone standing in a line, facing away from the train. That’s when it hit you: they were going to run and jump onto the train. This was unlike anything you’d ever done, but it was exciting, and you knew that with the right speed and angle, you’d be fine. When the rails started to vibrate and the train came into view, you took off. 

You weren’t the fastest, but you weren’t the slowest either, and that was worth something. At the very least, you would make the train. Then, out of the corner of your eye, you saw an opening, and without hesitation, you jumped. It was so different from life in Erudite. There, nothing was done without consideration. You had to look at a problem from all angles and weigh the possibilities, consider the outcomes of every scenario, even for the simplest of tasks. Here, you could just do. It was liberating, and you knew you’d made the right choice. Although, it would be damn near impossible to drop all of the habits you’d picked up in Erudite. Some aspects of the scholarly faction were simply a part of you; it would be impossible to erase that. But, for the sake of your survival, you’d have to do your best. 

“Hey,” said a voice from behind you. You turned around and saw a boy with brown hair and dark eyes, which stood out against his pale skin. “I’m Albert,” he said. “But everyone calls me Al.” He stuck his hand out and you shook it.

“I’m Y/N,” you said, glad to have already made one friend. You smiled before turning away to look out at the city; the train provided a great view when it wasn’t in the center of the city surrounded by buildings. While you were looking at the skyline, you saw movement and heard screams of both terror and excitement to your left. You turned to see what was causing the commotion, and you saw people jumping from the train onto a gravelly roof. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Al said as he joined you at the edge of the train. 

“This is crazy,” you agreed. But whereas Al looked terrified, you were grinning, adrenaline from boarding the train still pumping through your veins, making you aware of each and every nerve in your body. Then, with the roof coming up, you took a few steps back, ran forward and jumped. 

Your body hit the gravelly roof hard, ripping a hole in your blazer. Thankfully, it seemed like that was the only thing that broke; your body felt perfectly fine, if a little sore from the impact. You looked around to see Al a few feet away from you, and you smiled, glad he’d made it. The two of you got up and headed to the other end of the roof, where the initiates who had already jumped off the train stood facing a tall man with cropped hair and neck tattoos. “Alright, listen up,” the man said when the last car of the train passed the edge of the roof. If someone wasn’t off of it yet, there was only one stop for them now: factionless. “I’m Eric, one of your leaders here at Dauntless. I will also be overseeing your training, which began the second your blood hit the coals. So, rather than waste any more time, let's get on with it. You want to get into Dauntless, this is the way in. Who is going to jump first?”

At this point, everyone was peering over the ledge Eric stood on, more focused on what was behind him. A dark hole in the concrete far below where we stood. You looked around you, nodding at Will, who you knew from Erudite, happy to see a familiar face amongst all this chaos. As you moved towards him, the girl from Abnegation who had sat next to you earlier stepped forward. “Me,” she said, volunteering to jump first. Everyone looked around with wide eyes while Eric scoffed. 

“The Stiff? Alright.”

Unbothered, the girl stepped onto the ledge, and a few seconds later, she disappeared into the shadowy depths of whatever lay below.

Watching the girl in grey jump first had sent a shock of surprise through you, but it was followed by something new, the desire to try this new and dangerous thing before you, and as the third jumper stepped off the ledge, you found yourself stepping forward, volunteering to go next. As you stepped onto the ledge, Eric raised a pierced brow at you, waited a few seconds for the previous jumper to get off of the net, and jerked his head towards the net, motioning for you to jump. And then, in a silent response, you jumped, a smile unexpectedly gracing your lips as you made contact with the net below, landing with a bounce. You turned to the man standing next to the net who helped you out of the net, and he introduced himself as Four before directing you to stand in line with the other initiates who had already jumped. Minutes crawled by as you waited for the rest of the initiates to jump, and after what felt like forever, Eric landed in the net and directed his cold stare at the initiates lined up as he slid off the net without Four’s assistance--though it didn’t seem like Four was inclined to help him, either. Interesting. 

--

The transfer dorm was small, crowded, and damp--somehow it was exactly what you expected and entirely different at the same time. As everyone claimed a bed, Four and Eric stood near the door, ready to make an announcement. You smiled at the Candor girl with short, black hair who was setting up the bed next to yours, about to introduce yourself when one of the trainers by the door--most likely Eric--cleared his throat, silencing the room. “Welcome to Dauntless, Eric said. “As Four just explained, this is where you will be staying for the next few weeks while you complete your training. You will receive more information about the training process tomorrow morning at the first session, but for now all you need to know about it is that the training room is three floors up, down the hallway, and to the left. Meet in the Pit, which is upstairs, in fifteen minutes for some announcements from Max and dinner.” Then, he left.

“That guy is all business, huh?” the girl you were about to introduce yourself to said lightly. 

“Yeah,” you smiled back. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Christina,” she replied with an outstretched hand. As you shook her hand she looked you over and said, “So, Erudite. What made you want to transfer?”

“Well, it is best for one to go to a place for which they are well-suited…” you trailed off. “What about you, Candor?”

“Candor is a place of words and action, with slightly more words. I wanted more action,” she shrugged. A thud on the bed on your other side distracted you before you could respond, and you turned around to see familiar light green eyes.

“Will!” you said, wrapping your fellow Erudite transfer in a brief hug. You’d vaguely registered his name at the choosing ceremony followed by the word “Dauntless”, but it hadn’t really dawned on you until now that there were fellow Erudite transfers here. “Have you seen Edward?” you asked.

“Yeah, he’s right over there,” Will replied, pointing to the corner of the room. You waved at Edward, and he smiled back as he continued setting up his bed. 

“Amazing,” you said softly, more to yourself than to Will. “By the way, this is Christina, she’s from Candor,” you said, remembering your new friend. Will shot her a smile, and Christina reached out to shake his hand.

“Nice to meet you,” she said enthusiastically. 

“Likewise,” Will replied. Seeing all of your fellow transfers getting to know each other was exciting, and even though you wanted to stay in this room with all of them and get to know everyone else, you knew it was a better idea to start making your way to the Pit; there was rarely a time when showing up early was a bad thing, and leaving early would make sure you got there in time even if you got lost along the way. As you started to head out down the hallway, the former Abnegation joined you, seeming to have the same idea. “Hi,” you said, introducing yourself. “I’m Y/N.”

“I’m Tris,” she replied quietly. “You were in Erudite, right?” she asked.

“I was. And you were in Abnegation?”

“Yeah.” There was something sad about the way she said it, but you decided to let it go; you didn’t really know her yet. As you were thinking of what to say next, Tris interrupted your thoughts saying, “My brother just transferred there. To Erudite, I mean.”

“Don’t worry, he’ll love it,” you said, smiling fondly as memories of the Erudite libraries surfaced in your mind. “You get to spend so much time learning and teaching others, and they actually respect personal space--at least a little bit. I’ll even let you in on a secret: the suits are much more comfortable than they look, I promise.” She laughed a little bit at the last statement, and you relaxed, starting to enjoy her company. 

--

As it turned out, you and Tris had no trouble finding the Pit, and it wasn’t surprising that you were the first ones there. Both of you sat down, and you did your best to ignore the occasional looks from Four and Eric as they stood on a balcony overlooking the Pit with Max, the head of Dauntless leadership and the faction’s representative when the five factions held council, and talked amongst themselves. Soon, thankfully, a few more of the transfers sat down with you and Tris, and they were soon followed by a steady trickle of transfers, the room getting louder with each person who entered. Max walked to the edge of the balcony and called for everyone’s attention, and the room got quiet, a nervous excitement filling your body. 

“Welcome, initiates,” the leader’s low voice filled the room. “We are glad to have you here at Dauntless. Here, you will be trained to be protectors of our city. You will be tested physically, emotionally, and mentally, and it will be hard, but you will come out stronger and braver, which is what you need to be to survive in this faction. Your training starts tomorrow; you will be working with Four and Eric, the initiates who aren’t transfers will be working with Lauren. For now, dig in, you’re going to need your strength for tomorrow.” Cheers erupted across the room, and people got up to grab food before racing back to their new friends. This was the beginning of something new for everyone, and excitement raced through your veins. You were ready to start your new life.

[absolutebl]

Top 10 BL Narratives 

BLs With The Best Stories  

Until We Meet Again (Thailand) - will probably always top this list. It’s a perfectly executed story, fantastic well seeded plot twists, and the only BL I would love to see adapted by other countries or read professionally translated. Adapted from a y-novel. 

Seven Days (Japan) - this is a pitch perfect elegant little YA romance that stays completely true to its yaoi roots but neatly avoids all the flaws of the genre. The story is deceptively simple but allows for angst and miscommunication to develop with VERY good reason, and is almost worth studying because of that. As a romance story it is elegant. Adapted from a yaoi manga.

Color Rush (Korea) - you all know how much I love this show, I lost my mind over the allegory and the perfection of the story to the point of forgiving it certain other sins in stiffness and low heat. The world-building is too simple for it to play well to a SF/F genre only audience but it’s absolutely groundbreaking for BL. Adapted from a manhwa. (Color Rush 2 continues the story and while I don’t like it as a BL, and the plot is somewhat typical, it’s still better than most.) 

Old Fashion Cupcake (Japan) - this is a deceptively simple office romance that actually has a lot to say about life, love, maturity, and pancakes. It’s charming but also deeply moving and loving in its exploration of what it means to give up, and how connection can bring with it second chances. It’s also beautifully filmed and acted. Adapted from a manga.

1000 Stars (Thailand) - all BL is romantic, but not all BL is a modern romance in the literary sense of the term, but 1k* is just that, an absolutely glorious slow burn romance that nods at BL but isn’t behooven to it. It’s just a really well executed linear story. Adapted from a novel. 

Cherry Magic (Japan) - a great fluffy concept that is given gravity by some stellar performances. It’s a self worth narrative arc but played with believable charm. Adapted from a manga. 

He's Coming to Me (Thailand) - such a clever take on both paranormal romance and the cohabitation trope, what I love about this is how closely the story and the supernatural conceits are married to each other. Basically boy and ghost move in together, fall in love while they investigate murder. Adapted from a novel. 

HIStory 3: Trapped (Taiwan) - Taiwan often struggles with story because their BLs aren’t long enough to really get stuck in (and they don’t adapt). Trapped is different. It has a baby murder investigation that promotes conflict between the leads, so the romantic tension is between plot and character, it’s so smart. The main couple has an amorphous ending, tho. Original screenplay (I think).

Nobleman Ryu’s Wedding (Korea) - this has a 12th Night meet Cinderfella feel to it, plus some great story tricks like a plot that requires a historical setting (I love it when narrative elements are codependent). Original screenplay (I think). 

Triage (Thailand) - a “correct the past” Groundhog Day story, that has narrative baggage I normally do not like but is so clever about time loops, I have to forgive it my hang-ups. About a doctor who must save a boy to fix reality, but not in the usual way. 

(List is in ranked order of my personal preference.)

Honorable Mention 

I have to mention Light On Me. The way it handled love triangles alone is narrative genius but over all it’s also had a particularly good script. The story, however, is pretty standard it was just very very well done. Same with Semantic Error. 

I waffled about including Utsukushii Kare on this list too. But it’s too complicated in the end for me to pull jsut it’s narrative out as its primary plaudit. So in the end I have to just say, read this and decide for yourself. 

Neither of these are strictly BL, but... 

3 Will Be Free (Thailand) - such clever storytelling that builds tension with both plot and the balance of suspense and flashbacks and the developing love between both sets of characters (both the 3 being chased and the 2 doing the chasing). Original screenplay (I think).

Great Men Academy (Thailand) - body-swap means this isn’t technically BL but like 3 Will Be Free I have to talk about it because it just such a great story. For body-swap it’s particularly clever. Original screenplay (I think).

A quick word on the nature of story & narrative. 

Story Encompasses 

Story is not the same thing as plot, lots of people make this mistake. Plot is one element of story. Here’s a simple way of looking at narrative:

Who is in it - the characters, their interactions & development how does that drive the story

What happens - plot, how the characters move through space & time, what actions they take, who they encounter 

When does it occur - and in film this tends to mean time frame (over the course of a week, a year?) but also how the narrative handles foreshadow & backstory 

Where is it located - setting in time & space, includes associated culture and culture conflict, is setting intimately tied to the narrative, if location were removed, could the story still occur?

Why we care - core concept, theme & messaging 

How it unfolds - motivation, tension, conflict, & consistency (AKA pace)

All BL, at its heart, is about two characters falling in love and/or fighting to maintain that love. One of the reasons to study cinematic narrative is to understand how tropes (situations) and archetypes (characterizations) can be used to formulate story under a romantic framework. 

For me, good storytelling allows me to cleanly comprehend all 6 elements above, as well as the general point of view (lens & scope). I also like it when elements are married to (or dependent on) each other (for example, a plot point that could only occur in a historical setting). I like it when visuals (directing style, wardrobe, etc) as well as tropes and archetypes are used to serve the story (Korea does this) and not be the story (Thai BL pulps do this). 

Some of my favorite BLs of all time are not on the above list. E.g To My Star and We Best Love because while I adore them for many reasons story structure is definitely not one of them. This is where visual pop culture can win over literary conceits - in cinema a weak story can be elevated by killer acting, directing, chemistry, visual elements, production etc... (Of course a strong author voice can carry a written work too. Terry Pratchett, for example, is weak on story but hella strong on voice.) 

The purpose of BL is entertainment, I happen to be entertained by strong story, so I will often rate BLs higher because of it. 

Asian Film Industries & Story Content Mechanics 

Original screenplays are more common in BL over all, but my list actually leans towards adaptations. That’s because i think Thailand, the biggest BL producer, tends to do better with adaptations, so far as story is concerned. 

Thailand has more y-novels than mangas, which is what they tend to adapt from. 

Japan has more yaoi mangas than gay novels, so that’s what they turn into BL (AKA live action yaoi). Yaoi, historically, it pretty weak on story structure. 

Korea does not have a robust original written content machine (read: v. small publishing industry that’s not queer friendly). Korea doesn’t want to spend money to acquire/option adaptation rights from Japan (for good reasons, mostly cultural, political, economic, and historical). Their stuff is equally divided between original screenplays or adapted manwhas. Their adaptations are weaker on story structure because of conflicting lengths - manwhas are long (and often unfinished at time of adaptation) but Korean BLs are short. 

Taiwan has Korea’s problem of a small publishing industry, but without Korea’s money to spend on production, so they also can’t really afford to buy rights to adapt. What they have is killer talent, chemistry, and plucky enthusiasm, so boy do I wish they could get better stories. 

Not Talked About 

Vietnamese and Pinoy BL are both very young industries still finding their legs, much of their stuff is pretty experimental narratively (read... it waffles). Which is the main reason I don’t follow those two as closely as I do other BL producing countries. I think that it’s just a matter of them coming to terms with the 6 narrative elements in a way that translates more tight and clear on the screen. It’s gonna take some time. 

(List is compiled end of Sept 2022. New BLs may change matters.) 

2023 Update... Some thoughts on Pacing 

Now in the above post I wasn't thinking specifically about pace. So I’m gonna add soem stuff from a recent ask I got. 

Thai stuff is always gonna be slower paced than Korean stuff. Also something like 4, or 6 act structure will often FEEL slow to western viewers.

I think the pace of a show is partly a judgement call on behalf of the viewer but also heavily cultural, so let me try to explain.

Structure, Pace, Plot

Structure, or the writing of a narrative script, can be divided into plot vs pace as follows:

Plot: movement of characters through time (scene by scene) and space (setting) and the people they meet along the way (dialogue).

Pace: how the plot is executed in terms of which scenes follow which, presence or absence of flashbacks, cuts, voice over work, but also literal words on the page - staging instructions, dialogue sentence structures, monologuing and so forth.

Plot = what is written in the script

Pace = how it's written in that script

This is going to get further complicated once an entire film crew gets ahold of that script.

Plot is characters moving through time, space, and interactions in the show AKA WHAT the characters are doing.

Pace is how that script and story now in the hands of the performers is relayed to the viewers using camera angles, dialogue delivery, staging AKA HOW those characters are filmed.

Plot is the responsibility of the actors and script writers

Pace is the responsibility of the directorial and editing teams.

Thus a part of the world that has good talent but poor production values, like Thailand, Philippines, or Vietnam, will always be weaker on pacing. But they can churn out something raw and brilliant IF they have a good script.

On the other hand, a place that has great everything but just really likes to mess with story structure and style, like Japan, might ALSO have weak pacing because that isn't their focus or interest.

In the first case they lack the editing talent, money, and technology. In the second they lack the will, and just like the play with structure A LOT. 

But this means each country that produces BL ends up needing to be judged on its own merits and choices (or lack of choice) IMHO.  

So, I stand by my list above. I think of it as representing all round story execution to the capacity of the country of origin. They are still the best story, although by western standards that story structure may feel a little off - depending on how you feel about that country's style of BL.

I might add a few to the above list (from late 2022-2023)

Semantic Error - of course. This show is perfect, after all. 

The Eighth Sense - Korea went gritty and tense, outside their comfort zone, and executed it sublimely well

Love Tractor - Korea frmly and entirely in their comfort zone but the pace never lets up

Jun & Jun - a master class in pure sappy fluffy romance but still knuckle biting tension, I was upset at the end of every episode that i couldn't watch the next one INSTANTLY, in TV that = pitch perfect pacing

Tokyo in April is... - this is paced beautifully for Japan, very tense but with Japan's signature artsy atmosphere, it's not it's fault I didn't like the story

Laws of Attraction - this is a plot-based pacing story, like UWMA, and these tend to be the ones Thailand paces best using plot to amp up tension, unfortunately that best can still feel a little weak on actual story strcture and basic plotting, e.g. they can go off the rails easily like Manner of Death or KinnPorsche, but at least this kind of Thai show keep us intrigued for the next episode.

I'm gonna mention Bed Friend here at the end, as a lesson in pacing. 

If this show had stuck to its guns and stayed 8 episodes, rather than stretching to fill 10 at the last minute, it would have been a near perfect high heat show out of Thailand. But it didn't have the confidence, and it likely wanted the money from those two added episodes. It's a real shame.

I gotta say I think this is the fans’ fault.

People always want more of a good thing, or more of the same thing, it's why we get shitty 2nd seasons. Sometimes what we need for truly better cinema is LESS of the good thing - better editing, tighter scripts - because that way the pace will be superior. Especially in genres that aren’t action forward (those fuckers can just explode shit, have people running around and punching. I don’t know, some viewers like that.) 

Of course Thailand (i’m looking at you mame) thinks adding in lost of sex does the same thing... action is action, after all. It’s not. Action is plot, not pace. 

But that’s a whole other rant. 

(source)

[mypoisonedvine]

The Summer Before College | Marcus Moreno x reader

summary: just because you got some good scholarships doesn't mean you couldn’t use some extra cash.  luckily, babysitting for a family friend has been a steady side gig for you.  rule number one of babysitting: don't let your wandering eye rest for too long on the hot single dad.  

word count: 4.7k

warnings: smut (dub con elements? but she’s into it lol don’t worry), age gap (he’s 40-something, reader’s 18/19), loss of virginity, pussy spanking (like, once), lots of petnames and ‘good girl’s, not a dark fic but kinda pushing it, not explicitly dad's best friend trope but it has that energy and I've decided that he is in fact friends with the reader's dad

a/n: this has basically nothing to do with the movie.  he’s just a hot dad.  don’t overthink it.

You knew the walk to the Moreno's by now: down two blocks from your house, take a right at San Vicente, a left on Birch, a few houses down and you're there.  With your full backpack weighing on your shoulders it felt longer than usual, but you made it anyways and knocked on the front door. 

"It's open!" a voice called from inside, and you turned the knob and swung the door open.

You almost regretted wearing your tiniest jean shorts, from the way Mr. Moreno did a double take when you walked in.  But hey, it was the middle of summer and he would never look at you like that— you were just his daughter's babysitter, ever since you were sixteen; he was probably just surprised to see that you were wearing something other than your school uniform.  Maybe some part of you wished he would look at you like that… 

Missy called your name, tearing you from your thoughts, jumping up when she saw you and beaming as she rushed to give you a hug.  "Hey!" you greeted in return.  

“Thanks again for doing this,” Mr. Moreno nodded in your general direction, apparently already dressed for whatever it was he had to do, slipping on his jacket from where it hung on a hook by the door.  "She's already had dinner, so just homework and bedtime," he explained to you as you nodded dutifully.

"Bedtime?  Dad, I'm not a little kid anymore," Missy rolled her eyes.

"Okay, you're a big kid and you need to be asleep by 10.  It's a school night."

She huffed but didn't protest, and you joined her on the couch because she wanted to show you some drawings she’d done earlier that day.  "Bye, Dad!" Missy waved when he left, and he turned back quickly to blow a kiss in her direction.

Once you helped her finish her homework (frankly, you didn't have to do that much— she's a smart kid), the two of you enjoyed some video games before you finally got her to start getting ready for bed.

It was cute how confident Missy was that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep, only for her to be snoring within five minutes of her head hitting the pillow.  You were envious of how easily she could sleep; you could kill an hour just tossing and turning and readjusting your blanket.  But that wasn’t going to be your problem tonight: you weren’t going to sleep yet, until the man of the house returned, meaning all you had to do was wait.

Even in summer, having already graduated, you had plenty of work to do while you waited for Mr. Moreno.  Knowing what classes you had in the fall, you bought your textbooks a bit early and planned on reading them all before the semester began.  You’d already gotten through Philosophy Through the Ages and now you continued from where you left off in the middle of Introductory Physics.  

What surprised you was that you had time to finish that one, too.  You had anticipated that Mr. Moreno would be back before you made it to the module on fluid dynamics, but you reached the index at a quarter past midnight and he was still gone.  You shrugged and picked up the next one— A Book of Luminous Things: An International Anthology of Poetry— hoping he was alright and that he’d be back soon.

You had to make yourself some coffee when 1 a.m. rolled around; tired, anxious, and distracted, you realized this was probably not the best state to be attempting to study in, but you didn’t feel like you had a choice.  You didn’t want to fall asleep here, you’d promised to watch Missy and you couldn’t exactly do that while asleep… plus, he would probably be back any minute now.  Sure, you’d been saying that to yourself for nearly an hour and a half now, but it was more true than ever.

It was another hour and a half, though, until his car pulled into the driveway and he pushed through the front door, prompting you to set aside your textbook.

“Good evening,” you greeted, standing up.  He looked a little disheveled— but it worked for him, with that curly hair all messed up in just the right way.  Maybe it was just that it was late or that it was the rare time you saw him without Missy around, but there was a darkness about him now, not sinister so much as just purely intimidating.  It was like you hadn’t really taken him seriously before, and now you were appreciating that you should have.

“She’s asleep?” he assumed, glancing over to the hallway which his daughter’s bedroom was positioned at the end of before slipping his jacket off and hanging it by the door.

“It’s half past two, so… I really hope so,” you chuckled.

“Shit, is it that late already?” he groaned, glancing at his watch.

“Did you not notice?”

“I.. got carried away.”

You didn’t want to know what he’d been out so late for.  It was none of your business, and you figured you were better off without any secrets to keep— you’d never been so good at keeping secrets, even your own.

“Been studying this whole time?” he noticed as he glanced at the textbooks on the couch, grinning a little.  It sort of felt like he was mocking you, and it made your cheeks warm as you nodded.  “What a good girl.”

That made a cold tingle crawl up your spine.  Sure, other students had called you that before, and plenty of your teachers, but when he said it, like that… it felt entirely new.  “I try,” you managed to respond eventually.

“You’ll do well in college, I bet.”

“You think so?” you beamed.

“Yeah,” he nodded confidently.  There was something comforting about the way he smiled at you; yet, there was something predatory about the way his eyes glanced down your body and back up slowly.

As you turned and bent over to pick up your textbooks off the couch, you could tell that he had stepped closer; you could just barely hear the soft noise of his footsteps on his carpet, just barely feel the warmth of him behind you, just barely pick up on the slow, thoughtful breath he took in and out through his nose.

Standing back up slowly, you felt him do it again, right against your neck.

“M-Mr. Moreno,” you stammered, shivering when his hands gripped you on either arm.  Not a tight grip, per se, but one that made his strength obvious.

“You don’t have to call me that,” he breathed.  “Not when we’re alone.”

Not that you really had any plan on how to respond to that, but if you had, it would've been forgotten as his lips brushed over your neck, leaving teasing kisses in a trail over your pulse.

"Wait—" you blurted out instinctively when his hands moved to your waist, cut off by your own shaky sigh and suppressed moan.  “What if she wakes up?” you questioned anxiously, glancing down the hallway and hoping you wouldn’t find Missy there, watching her dad feeling you up— and you letting him, not just that but enjoying it.  Of course, the hallway was deserted, but you couldn’t feel certain it would stay that way.

“She won’t,” he assured.  “Not if you can be a good girl and stay quiet.”

You made a little whimpering noise as you wondered if you could.  You didn’t know how, really; you were good at being quiet when you were alone, but being alone had never felt like this.  Forbidden, sexy, terrifyingly wonderful… nothing had ever felt like this.

“Do you want me to stop?” he purred, sounding like he already knew the answer.

“No,” you answered a little too quickly, “please… please don’t stop.”

“Yeah, I thought so,” he grinned.  “Tell me what you do want.”

“I want…” you sighed and started over again, willing yourself to speak your thoughts aloud even though they made a pit of guilt sink in your stomach.  "I want you to make me feel good."

You knew it was a sort of childish way of putting it, even before he laughed at your statement, but you weren't sure what else to say.  "Yeah?  I can do that," he decided.  "But I can make you feel good in so many ways…" he trailed off as his right hand slipped lower and lower, finally landing between your legs as you gasped.  Two fingers slid over the crotch of your shorts, and somehow he managed to bump against something that made electricity shoot up your spine and your hips buck into his touch of their own accord.  You felt his smile widen as his teeth grazed against the sensitive skin of your neck.  "You'll have to be more specific," he finally finished.  "How do you want me to make you feel good?"

"Inside me," you whined, "I want you inside me."

There was a sudden shift as it seemed like the control he had over you suddenly did not extend to himself; he growled a bit and pulled you into him, and you could feel the hard shape of his cock, through his trousers and your shorts.  You could feel it pressed just above your ass and it made you squirm against his embrace.  "Feel what you do to me?" he grunted, and you nodded quickly.  "Good."

He spun you around quickly, pulling you close to him and burning right through you with those brown eyes darker than ever, but just as you thought he might kiss you, he spoke instead.

“My bedroom’s upstairs,” he informed you quietly.

You just nodded, following him as he pulled you along through the house, up the stairs and past the door to the master bedroom of the house.

Now that you hadn’t seen it coming, of course, was when he chose to grab you and kiss you suddenly.  It was rough and passionate and nothing like you could've imagined; you were certain you'd never been kissed like this, like he needed to kiss you more than he needed anything.  

Your arms slipped around his neck as he pushed you back against the wall, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist as he kicked the door shut behind the two of you.  Little moans were muffled by the kiss— and it took you a minute to realize they were yours.  You didn’t even sound like yourself; probably because you’d never felt like this before, and therefore had never had any reason to sound like this.

You could feel his cock between your legs, though unfortunately not in the way you wanted.  Still, it drove you wild to have him so close like this, to try to imagine how the thick shape you were feeling would ever fit inside you.

His hands were so strong and thick that you worried they’d stretch out your tank top just by reaching under it— well, that is you would have worried about that if you could think about anything else but his hands reaching under your tank top.  He didn’t even waste his time touching you over your bra, instead making quick work of the clasps with one hand before coming back to grope one breast in his palm, then the other.  Just that was enough to make you run your fingers into his hair, but a little pinch to your raised nipple made your fists tighten and pull— you didn’t mean to, and you were just about to feel bad about it until he growled a little.  It seemed like a growl of approval, considering he pinched your nipples harder to make you do it again.  

“Feels good?” he asked with annoying (yet arousing) confidence.

“S-so good,” you slurred, stumbling over your words as you tried to think as clearly as possible through the thick haze of pleasure clouding your mind. 

As he guided you to set your legs down and unhook your arms from around his neck, you felt a bit like a doll being posed; when he pulled your top over your head and your bra from your arms, you felt like a doll being undressed.  You sort of didn’t mind it; you were happy to let him take the lead, confident he knew at least 100% more about this than you did. 

He knelt down before you as he roughly pulled at your tight jean shorts, his knuckles nearly bruising your hips as he stripped you.  Your underwear were not the pair you would’ve worn if you had known somebody was going to see them, just a plain dark blue color that made you feel so drab as he came face-to-face with them.  He didn’t seem to mind much, grinning up at you as he slipped his fingers under them and pulled them down, too.  Your face was so hot and yet your legs were breaking out into goosebumps simultaneously, and a shiver rolled up your body when he growled at the sight of your body laid bare for him.  Before you could even process it, he stood up and grabbed you, tossing you back onto the bed and spreading your legs.

“Fuck, what a pretty little pussy,” he praised with a smile that made you feel a little light-headed, swirling a few fingers over your swollen button until pulling them back to spank you there— it wasn’t even that hard, but you yelped and jolted and he laughed darkly.  “So sensitive,” he purred, his words walking a fine line between a compliment and a taunt, “so wet.”

Another finger slipping down to your entrance proved him right, your arousal plentiful as his touch glided through your folds.  

Suddenly overcome with a moment of bravery, you sat up and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, making him smile down at you.  “Let me help you,” he offered as he worked the buttons instead, freeing you to try to open his belt.  “Look at you, acting so desperate…”

At this point, you weren’t even offended by that; you wanted him so bad that you didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed by it anymore.  

He slipped the shirt off of his shoulders just as you finished opening the belt.  He pushed your hands away, and now you could see the muscles in his arms flexing as he held you down by your wrists.  “You’re getting ahead of yourself, señorita,” he purred.

Why did feeling powerless to him turn you on so much?  There was no real fear to it— you knew and trusted him, you would never have developed your misguided crush on him if you didn’t— and yet there was a strong edge of uncertainty as he kissed your neck and moved down your chest, between your breasts before he stopped to kiss those, too.

“Oh god,” you breathed, and he smiled against your skin before sitting up and staring down at you.  It wasn���t apparent if it was distant streetlights or the moonlight shining in through the window, but either way it cast a cold blue light into the room that reflected as a glimmer in his eyes. 

“Not gonna make you wait any longer,” he promised in a low voice, reaching down to push his unbuttoned belt and trousers to his thighs— those thick, muscular thighs that made your lip catch between your teeth.

Your breath caught, too, but in your lungs this time as his cock was exposed: thick, swollen, veiny… it looked picturesque, if thoroughly intimidating.  You couldn’t figure out if you wanted to move towards it or sheepishly crawl away.

"Why do you look scared?" he asked, his voice so much deeper than you remembered it from before, even if there was genuine concern somewhere in his tone.

"Is it gonna hurt?" you asked instead of answering.

"Baby…" he sighed huskily, "are you a virgin?"

You bit your lip and looked away, irritated that you hadn't managed to hide your fear enough to keep your secret.  

He sighed, your silence apparently answer enough.  

"Do you not want to, anymore?" you asked anxiously, afraid you had completely killed the mood.  Part of the reason it'd taken you this long to lose it was specifically because people seemed intimidated by the idea of being your first.

"No, no, I— no," he asserted sternly.  "I just need to… change my approach, slightly.”

He leaned down a bit, hovering over you as he trailed his hand up your leg, rubbing the inside of your thigh before finally drawing circles over your aching clit with his thumb, causing you to shiver and moan quietly.

“And, to answer your question, it won’t hurt.  Not if I get you good and ready for me,” he explained, pushing just one finger into you— and even that small of a stimulation made your eyes flutter shut, with his fingers being so much thicker and stronger than yours.

The second made your fists clench around the satin-y sheets beneath you.  You didn’t dare open your eyes, knowing you’d find him staring down at you and you weren’t ready for that, weren’t ready to see his reaction to your body in such a vulnerable state.  You could hear his reaction, though, with the rough groans and satisfied sighs he let out as he pumped his fingers into you.

When three fingers filled you, your eyes shot open.  “Fuck!” you yelped.

He smiled but slowed down, apparently taking some pity on you— but not enough to stop him from pressing down harder on your clit.

Just when you figured he’d warmed you up enough and he’d fuck you like he promised, he slid lower and the bed and bent down, adding his tongue into the mix with his fingers.  It was… overwhelming, and hot, not just psychologically but literally: it was physically hot, as in temperature.  How was his mouth so warm against you, and his fingers so warm inside you?

When he latched his lips around your clit and sucked on it, you saw stars.  Energy gathered in your gut and burned so bright that you thought you might explode.  Really, it was more like an implosion as the coil inside you snapped and your thighs accidentally clamped down on his hand.  It didn’t faze him though, it didn’t even slow him down as he moaned a little against you and curled his fingers even harder.  You didn’t remember reaching down to grab his head, you just felt his hair between your fingers as you pulled it roughly, gasping his name.

When he did stop, sitting up and wiping his face with the back of his hand, you just looked back up at him as you caught your breath.  He laughed, and you realized you were gawking unintentionally.

“I’m guessing you’ve never come like that before?” he ventured.  You didn’t know if ‘like that’ meant from oral or just so suddenly and intensely, but it was true either way so you nodded.

When he reached down to grip his cock with the same hand still wet with your slick, you held your breath without realizing it.  “Please put it in me,” you whimpered.

“I will,” he assured as he guided the head of it through your slick folds, stopping to tease your clit as you jolted from the contact on the sensitive nerves.  Something surreal and indescribable tingled under your skin— you could hardly believe that this was happening, let alone with him, with Mr. Moreno.  Or, Marcus.  You were on a first-name basis by now, surely.

He pushed forward in one smooth, slow stroke until he was all the way inside you, his body filling yours to the brim as you quivered from the sensation of being stretched so wide.  

“Am I hurting you?” he asked roughly.

“...almost,” you answered hesitantly, unsure how to describe the sensations you were feeling; not exactly pain, but not not pain.  The favorite pain you’d ever felt in your life, easily.

He chuckled as he gripped your hips a little tighter.  "I'm gonna move now," he announced.  You nodded your approval, sighing shakily as he pulled his hips back and you felt the intoxicating friction of his cock against your walls.  

"Ffffuck," you whimpered, gasping when he slammed his hips forward again.  Your eyes rolled back in your head when he pushed as deep into you as he could with each thrust, still measured but not exactly gentle as he set a pace faster than you’d prepared for.  But it was good, god it was so fucking good you weren’t sure what to do with yourself.  "Marcus," you sighed, barely recognizing your own voice when it was heavy with need and arousal like this.

He grinned when he heard his name cross your lips, grinding his hips against yours for emphasis until you were forced to arch your back.  "You like it rough, don't ya, honey?"

You nodded, confident that you liked it however he was doing it.

"Fuck, I knew it.  Knew as soon as I saw you."

Before you could wonder what he meant by that, he was already moving fast enough to make your head spin.  You had never had anything so deep inside you before, and when he pushed your legs up and back against your chest, you had no choice but to scream with pleasure.

Just before you reached the peak of it though, his hand clamped down over your mouth to muffle the sound.  "Gotta be quiet," he reminded you through his teeth before relaxing his hand a bit so you could still be heard somewhat

"I can't," you whined, "Marcus, please, I can't stay quiet—"

"You have to."

"Feels too good," you whimpered your excuse.  "F-fuck, slow down, I won't be able to stop it—"

He cut you off with a kiss, slow yet dominating, and your moans were muffled by his lips.  You still sounded so loud in your own head, but at least your cries weren't echoing against the walls of his room anymore.

What was echoing were the sounds of skin slapping on skin as he pounded into you, roughly finding every delicate spot within you and making the backs of your thighs sore as his hips slammed into them.  It forced your hands to grip at his muscular shoulders and your nails to dig into the skin there.  You hoped there would be little half-moon shaped marks there tomorrow, maybe one would even scar so he'd have your mark on his body forever; after all, he'd carved a permanent space in your body by taking your virginity.  Even if you couldn't dream of being as special to him as he was to you, you liked the idea of giving him something that he couldn't give back.

That energy was building again, different from before but no less powerful and persistent.  "I'm gonna— fuck, I'm gonna come, I'm so close," you whispered.

“Yeah?  Go ahead," he encouraged.  "I wanna see you fall apart just for me, wanna feel you come around my cock."

You hadn't realized he'd be able to feel it, and the idea of that was so filthily beautiful that it pushed you over the edge, your whole body tensing up in sudden waves of pleasure so intense that it made your eyes water.

Through the static filling your ears, you heard his low, husky voice encouraging you: "Good girl, just like that, don't fucking stop."

You'd always been powerless to his voice, but this was another level.  It was as if your body understood and met his demands, continuing to ride the peak of your sensation so long as he growled in your ear just right.  

It was much too tender, the way he brushed the stray hair away from your face, the way he kissed your slack mouth again, the way he held you tighter and mumbled more praises to you.  It was more romantic than it had any right to be, and you had to bite back the words of affection threatening to spill out of your mouth.

I love you, you wanted to tell him, I've loved you for years, but it was beyond inappropriate.  You didn't want to play the role of the innocent virgin who thinks sex means being in love and lets herself catch feelings for the older man who is just taking what he wants and, at best, doing her a favor so she doesn't have to go off to college and get her cherry popped there.  Maybe that was accurate, but that wasn't who you wanted to be.  

You wanted to be sexy, and mature, and in control.  You wanted to play a new rule, one that still felt foreign and yet closer than ever.  So you wrapped your legs around his hips and held him deeper in you, smiling with a little growl of your own.

"I want you to come inside me," you informed him with a purr, loving the little moment of shock that passed over his face before he groaned, fucking you a little faster and more erratically.

"Fuck, really?" he rasped.

You bit your lip as you looked up at him through half-lidded eyes and nodded.

"You're on the pill?"

Another nod, this one finished off with a shiver as you wondered how much more of this your body could take.

He grinned and picked up the pace again, his moans getting a little louder with each movement.  "Fuck, I'm gonna come— gonna fill up your tight little pussy, is that what you want?"

You nodded feverishly, already close to the edge again as you imagined what it would be like to have his come in you for the rest of the night.  Was he going to make you walk home with it leaking out from between your legs?  Why did that idea make your inner muscles involuntarily tighten around him?

With a string of curses and a grip on your thigh tight enough to bruise, he reached his own peak and you felt his cock flex and pulse inside you, a new warmth filling your gut from the inside out.  

It's hard to say how long the two of you stayed like that, since you were busy basking in the afterglow (and, less enjoyably, worrying about the consequences that tomorrow morning would bring).

When he pulled out and collapsed beside you, you wondered if you should get up and get dressed.

"Stay here tonight," he instructed you, as if somehow a response to your internal thought.  "Your folks won't freak out if you're out all night, right?"

"I'll just tell them I slept over at your place," you shrugged.  With a confused look from him, you clarified: "on the couch."

"Right," he nodded as he wrapped you in his arms and pulled you closer, letting you rest your head in the crook of his neck.  In this way and in so many others, it was how you expected (and hoped) losing your virginity would go: someone you trust and who cares about you, with enough attention on you that you didn't feel much pain, plus cuddling afterwards.  But, in even more ways, it was unlike what you'd ever thought possible: it felt incredible and you came so hard that your ears were still kind of ringing, you didn't use a condom or even think to mention it, and finally— and most absurdly— it was with Marcus fucking Moreno.

Frankly, considering his performance earlier, "fucking" very well could be his middle name.

"You should sit for me again next week," he suggested quietly.

"Do you have somewhere to go?"

"No," he grinned, "but I'll be sure to come back real late, after she's gone to bed, so I can show you all the other ways I can make you feel good."

"H-how many ways are there?!"

He just laughed, pulling you closer and placing a gentle kiss to the top of your head.  “Oh, sweetheart… so smart, but so innocent.  We can fix that.”

You weren’t sure entirely which of those two things he intended on fixing.

[wasted-headspace-98]

Cataegis: Part III

Summary: An apprentice to the famed Mace Windu, your master has made sure you are strong with the Force. But, sometimes the Force has other plans. And you happen to be caught in the middle of them. Rating: 18+ Warnings: Nonexplicit sexual content, slow-burn, noncon elements (non explicit), underage elements (non explicit), inappropriate use of the force, etc Pairing: Sith!Obi-Wan x Reader Masterlist

Cataegis (n.) Latin word meaning tempestuous storm

Part I Part II

Power.

That’s what he felt.

There was no denying the waves of it that rolled off of you. It…confused him if he was being honest. He tried to make sense of it all, but there were so many factors to consider that it sent him reeling.

He sighed and rubbed his temple, sitting back on his heels. He hadn’t felt that much power from anyone aside from Anakin. The thought made him frown. During his time training Skywalker, he could sense the turbulent emotions within him. It was like a raging storm that held no end in sight. His Padawan allowed his emotions to guide him. Looking back, he realized that he should have seen the signs and snuffed them out sooner. But, he digresses.

There was no use in dwelling on things stuck in the past.

But you were right there. In front of him, and in the present.

He couldn’t figure out what the point was in the Force binding the two of you together. It was a puzzle that he didn’t have all the pieces to. And it frustrated him to no end.

She’s not a sentinel, that’s for sure, he thought to himself. So why does she conduct herself as one?

From what he knew about the training of temple Sentinels, you had gone through no such thing. In fact, it was incredibly rare for one of them to take a Padawan learner. The Sentinel duty seemed to be ingrained in a youngling from the day they discovered the Force. But there was something different about you.

“Master,”

He opened his eyes, turning to look at his former Padawan. “Anakin,” he greeted. He inclined his head, his golden eyes seeming to pierce the soul of the Lord approaching him. “What is it?”

“I sense a disturbance.” Anakin said with a frown. His long hair framed his face and blew in the gentle breeze. “And it’s powerful.”

Cataegis hummed in response, nodding quietly. “She is,” he muttered quietly.

Anakin arched his eyebrow, part of it marred by the scar that adorned the side of his face. “She?”

Cataegis let out a chuckle. “Yes, she.” He was loathe to the fact that he didn’t have a name to put to your infuriatingly beautiful face. “She’s becoming a rather annoying thorn in my side.”

Anakin snorted and crossed his arms. “What do you plan on doing about it.”

The blond Sith pursed his lips as he thought. Truth be told, he didn’t know. There were too many unknown factors for him to run headlong into this without a plan. He knew Anakin was usually the one to do so, but spending so much time with his former apprentice seemed to be rubbing off on him. “I…don’t know.” he admitted.

“Let me hunt her-“

“No!” Cataegis snarled at Anakin and threw him backwards, his hold tight on the other man’s throat with the Force.

Anakin grunted as his back hit the wall and he clawed at his throat momentarily before realizing his Master had full control of his body.

“You will not,” he hissed.

“Seems like you’ve found a new pet,” Anakin choked, trying to struggle against the hold Cataegis had on him.

He growled, the sound reverberating through his chest and his eyes narrowing in a primal rage. “Touch her, and you’ll have one less hand to worry about,” he snarled. “She’s not a bantha for you to hunt for sport. She’s someone more powerful than either you or me. And Force help you if I find out you’ve disobeyed me.” He let Anakin go with another growl, and the former Jedi fell to his hands and knees as he tried to suck in large breaths.

“You’ve gotten rather attached,” Anakin said as he pulled himself to his feet.

Cataegis scowled at his former apprentice. “Have care how you speak, Vader. You never know when you’re going to push me too far.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, but the threat gave him pause. Cataegis only used his Sith title when he was extremely upset with him, which wasn’t often. There must have been something awfully special about this woman for him to be so on edge. “Very well,” he said, inclining his head and acknowledging Cataegis. “But is this going to be a problem?

The former Jedi let out a huff of annoyance. “I don’t know.” he said. “There seems to be a lot about this woman that I don’t know. And I don’t like it.”

“All the more reason we need to find out who she is.”

A low rumble came from Cataegis’ chest, a hum of agreement. “True. But I don’t want you doing anything to scare her off. She’s already on edge enough as it is.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow. “Since when have you been concerned about whether someone is scared?” he asked.

Cataegis gave him another warning look. “Since the Padawan I’ve connected with is barely more than sixteen,” he snapped. “Her mind is still malleable, and there’s still a chance I can undo everything that the Jedi have taught her. But if you go scaring her off like that, there’s no telling how she’ll react. We have a difficult enough time as it is. The last thing I need is for you to tear down any work I manage to accomplish with this youngling.”

“Do you really think you’ll be able to turn her?”

He paused for a moment, thinking it over. He could sense the turmoil and fear within you. There was confusion, doubt, and surprisingly, anger. At what, he couldn’t be sure. But it surprised him nonetheless. He could sense the disturbance in your mind. If he really tried, he didn’t think it would take much for him to sway you. “I believe so,” he said, rubbing his beard as he continued to think. “I’m going to Coruscant.”

“What?!”

“Are you questioning my decision?”

“Of course I am!” Anakin defended. “You’ve absolutely lost your mind! Yoda will know as soon as you step foot on that planet. There’s know way you’ll be able to get past all of them without getting arrested. Or killed.”

Cataegis sighed and shook his head. “Such little faith, Anakin.”

~*~*~*~

After what happened with Windu, you’d been avoiding your master like the plague. He understood that you would need your space, and he left you to your own devices. For the most part, anyway.

At least he did until Yoda came looking for you.

He found you in one of the many training rooms within the temple. You’d been going at a program of Darth Maul for several hours, at least. The hologram was giving you quite the workout, you had to admit. And you could land blows and slice it to pieces without actually hurting any of your fellow padawans in a sparring session. You knew the emotions raging within you would cause a disturbance, but at that point, you didn’t care.

You didn’t understand what was happening, much less why it was happening to you of all people.

Cataegis’ golden Sith eyes stared at you every time you closed your eyes. You could feel his presence looming over you. It was as if he were right beside you the entire time.

And it unsettled you.

“Hmm…sense your anger, I do.”

You jumped at the sound of the voice that interrupted your training session. You turned on your heel and thrust out your hand. A wave of powerful force energy flew from your palm and rushed towards Yoda. Your eyes widened when you realized who it was. “Master Yoda!” you exclaimed. He saw your reaction coming before you even acted. He quickly jumped out of the way, somersaulting in the air and landing behind you in the training area.

“Mean to scare you, I did not. Sorry, I am, Padawan.” He tilted his head to the side and watched you visibly deflate. The lightsabers in your hand retreated back to their durasteel handles and you quietly hung them on your belt.

“It’s alright, Master.” you replied. “I didn’t mean to attack you.”

He let out the quiet chuckle you knew so well and shook his head. “Conflicted, you are. Resolve your issues, you must.”

You felt like throwing your hands in the air. “How do I do that, Master?” you asked. “I don’t understand what’s happening to me.”

Master Yoda hummed quietly and observed as you took up a meditation position before him. “Explain what is happening, you will.” You arched an eyebrow. You’d figured that Windu had told the Council everything that was happening with you. It would make sense for him to do so. After all, from what he said, it was highly unusual for something like this to happen. Sensing your hesitation, Yoda shook his head. “Tell the Council the details, Master Windu did not. However, like to help you, I would.”

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. You couldn’t help the flinch that took over your shoulders when you saw his eyes staring back at you.

There’s no need to be scared, little one. His deep voice soothed. I’ll soon be with you.

You let out a gasp and opened your eyes. Yoda almost recoiled when he saw the red and gold brimming your normally bright irises.

A chuckle that wasn’t your own echoed through your head and his voice spoke once again, this time a fading whisper. Have no fear, my young apprentice. I won’t hurt you. Yet.

“Hear his voice again, you have?”

You swallowed the fear that lumped in your throat and nodded. “Yes,” you admitted.

He hummed in thought and readjusted his hold on the cane before settling himself in front of you. “Get to the bottom of this, we will. First, discover what this bond is, we must.”

The lights of the training room began to fade away as you closed your eyes and began a light meditation. You’d done something similar with Mace in the past, and you assumed Yoda would want to see exactly what it was that you saw. You were willing to show him, but that didn’t mean you had to like the invasion it would bring into your mind.

But you pushed those feelings aside and opened your mind to him. Everything came rushing forward and you let it.

Everything you were feeling pushed itself towards Yoda. And you didn’t try to stop it. All of your emotions bubbled over the surface and came spewing out like a volcano.

The waves crashed against the edges of your mental shielding, and you didn’t want to hold them back anymore.

What’s happening little one? I can feel your pain from here!

There was a note of concern that you hadn’t heard before. You almost snorted at the thought. You and you let it with a sigh of resignation.

There was no use denying it.

The Dark Side had a hold on you.

And it didn’t appear to be letting go any time soon. didn’t want to hear his voice anymore.

When you opened your eyes again, you were no longer sitting in the training room with Yoda. Instead, you found yourself on a landing platform. The night was cold and dark, and the wind ripped around and billowed your Jedi robes around you. Standing across from you…was him.

Black encompasses him like the shadows of the night, trying to swallow him whole. But the closer you looked, you realized that he was controlling the shadows. The rain pounded on the both of you, soaking you to the bone. Lightning struck the platform to your right, lighting up the area around you. His eyes flashed with the lightning, gold and beautiful.

“You!” you snarled, baring your teeth and glaring at the man.

He held up his hands in what he probably thought to be a placating gesture, but you took it as a threat. You threw your hand forward, and a powerful blast of energy flew from your fingers. Cataegis grunted and crossed his arms to block your blow.

“Get out of my head,” you snarled.

Letting out a scream, you let yourself feel the force around you. The energy flowed through you, became your blood. Everything around you became a part of you. And when you attacked him again, you attacked him with everything.

Yoda watched you with awe. His eyes were wide as a bubble of pure force energy surrounded you. He could see the waves rolling off of you, creating the field. Blue, red, and purple flowed through it like veins in a body. The sphere itself had a golden glow that pulsated with your heartbeat.

His eyes widened and he jumped from his seat as he saw you open yours.

“Get out of my head!”

An intense gold seeped into the color of your irises, intensifying the color. Energy exploded out of your body, throwing Yoda away from you and across the room.

Taglist: @rogueheretic555 @lordofthenerds97 @say-something-nice-missy @doctor-warthrop @auroras-stirring-gaze @venus-armote @say-something-nice-missy @cosmicsierra