#reply: ask games: director's cut

[lettalady]

Directors Commentary for Who We Were Before when Dove is hired for the Zemos or The Baron and the Dove when Helmut figures out Dove is pregnant 👀

💕💕💕💕

Well just make it impossible to choose why don't you?! Both? We'll look at both. Cause we can and I'm going to shake some words loose over the long weekend. (I thought for a good few minutes that I didn't have a divider bar for WWWB and then realized I'd just saved the file in a different location than all the other dividers for the sprawling series.)

LJH: Who We Were Before - C1. Something discovered & C2. How if becomes when

I wanted the opening chapter as a whole to show how strong the bond was between Helmut and Heike, the teamwork between them that felt solidly established and unbreakable. I think anything less than a partner that knows the best and worst and is choosing to be there anyway wouldn't have made sense for the lengths Helmut goes to in Captain America: Civil War.

Of course they'd be exacting in entrusting someone to become part of their lives. At the same time I wanted to peel away the layers and show how life in the household might once have been, structured but ... lighter, for lack of a better way to say it. (Forgive me. For a shorter workday my brain is still edging dangerously close to fried.) Hope. There's hope and life in the hallways of the Zemo household. Sure, Helmut and Heike are tired from the strenuous process of interviewing potential candidates to help with Carl, but that strain doesn't translate to sharper tempers - not with each other, not with any of the preexisting household staff, or those potential candidates left to interview that day.

As to how Dove becomes Nanny to Carl - I'm not sure if it's a single thing that can be pointed to as the reason. I wanted all three Zemos to have opinions, of sorts, in the hiring of Dove. Carl's little moment of hide-and-seek, allowing that early attachment to show without influence of anyone else in the household. Not to mention the fact that he was able to manage his way from wherever he was napping to interact with the potential candidates that would be charged with his care.

Circling back, though, to Helmut and Heike: one of my favorite things was showing their connection, that same wavelength flowing between them that took the need for additional dialogue because they were holding wordless conversations. A little look or tone emitted to convey something. We, just like Dove, are outsiders looking in - not quite catching all of what passes between the couple.

LJH: The Baron & The Dove - C13. Two weeks, one day and four hours after the great grate escape

Dove isn't even awake to witness the exact moment Helmut's brain offers the conclusion that she's pregnant. They've been chasing a fantasy that he's trying to nail down into some form of reality: a safe place, a future. They've hardly taken a single precaution to safeguard against the possibility that that future isn't possible - at least that Dove is aware of. For everything he's told her, warned her about, there's a good half dozen things or more that he's kept to himself. Old worries and new ones that he'll shoulder until she asks the right question, or it's no longer a concern... or it's forced.

It's the first night after they've found that little house at the end of the lane, and furnished it with at least the immediate needs. All the little things he's noticed that suddenly align and he suspects...

Excitement. Fear. Guilt. Listening to Dove sleep while he sits there staring at the bare walls of this house he means to make safe. For her. The future that's a lie, a hope, a dangerous daydream that's solidifying. Fear because if she is carrying his child, he's risking more than their lust-laden wants and desires. There's so much than can still go wrong, so much beyond his control. Old fears, with how close he came to losing Heike and Carl both. Thinking of them ushers in the bitter tasting guilt, sharper now for his bedding of the young woman that once was of the household. Heike and Carl are gone, yet this... feels like a fresh betrayal. Another promise broken. He misses them, yes, but that desperation to be reunited has shifted, softened, morphed into something else.

The near-certainty of that moment in the middle of the night is why Dove woke to find him sitting in bed vs sleeping, and why he rocketed out of said bed when she reached out to touch him.

In terms of when he first started wondering if maybe she was pregnant - I've always thought that he had an inkling on that ferry ride, when she fell asleep tucked against him. When she simply slept, rather than shifting and startling herself awake with dreams she refused to fully reveal.

[ellethespaceunicorn]

Director's cut ask... 👉👈

Did you ever consider a different ending for 'make that kitty purr'?

I cut down Make That Kitty Purr extensively. It was originally much darker and very sinister.

But, if anyone is interested, I would love to revisit this story and present it longer, thicker, and uncut (😈). I do have to rewrite it though. So, maybe by the end of the weekend, we can have:

[nadvs]

out of bounds (part seven) (end)

pairing zach maclaren and soccerplayer! female reader

rating mature 18+ for smut

summary zach has never been the type to rebel, but when he meets you at a soccer camp where you’re both working as counselors, which has a strict policy against dating between staff, he’s tempted to break the rules for the first time.

» part one | two | three | four | five | six

» masterlist

When you wake up in your cabin the next morning, it’s the first time since you arrived at camp that you wish you were waking up in your own bed back home.

Because after the way everything came crashing down on you yesterday, you don’t want to face what’s waiting for you.

At best, you have three weeks left of the season, of living with Ami after she broke your trust, of dealing with whatever’s going on with Zach if Malcolm’s words on the field didn’t make their way to the directors.

At worst, you and Zach get fired. And if your season really is cut short and you’re kicked out of here, you’re worried he’d only see you as the rule he broke, the girl who played a role in ruining something so important to him.

You check your phone to see the text exchange you had with Zach a few minutes after you left him outside last night. He had texted I’m sorry. You replied me, too.

You’re not sure how to even have this conversation. He was clearly upset with you last night and you can understand why he would be.

But at the same time, you’re uneasy thinking about the night you first told him that Ami knew about you two. He said he was okay with it, and now you’re not so sure, because last night, he texted that all was good, but it seemed like he was anything but good when you ran into him.

Zach had told you he’s not always upfront about when something’s bothering him. You know it’s simply a piece of who he is – it’s not personal. But you can’t rid yourself of the ache in your heart when you realize that even after you’ve shared so much together, you’re no exception. He keeps things from you, too.

You get ready for the day, deeply wishing your secret relationship had stayed secret.

You’re sitting with your campers in the dining hall when Ami approaches your table a few minutes into breakfast.

“Can we talk real quick?” she says quietly, cupping a hand around the inside of your elbow. You nod, following her outside.

“I am so, so, so sorry,” she says once you’re out of earshot from everyone. “I totally get why Zach’s mad and I get if you’re mad, too. I chewed Malcolm out for it first thing this morning for what it’s worth.”

You wish you knew firsthand how Zach is feeling instead of hearing through Ami. You figure she heard through Malcolm, but it hurts that you haven’t spoken to him yet.

“Why’d you tell him?” you say with a disappointed sigh, crossing your arms.

“It honestly slipped out,” she begins. “You know how I told you I thought things were starting to get serious?”

“Yeah.”

“The night before the game, I asked him if he sees anything in the future with us and…” Ami shakes her head, her frown deepening. “He was all like, this is just a fun thing for the summer. But I just kept trying to convince him and then I blurted out you and Zach are planning to stay together, so why couldn’t we?”

She sighs.

“I’m so mad at myself,” she says. “I started this fling with him agreeing it was casual, but I caught feelings and embarrassed myself and told your secret in the process.”

You take a moment, genuinely empathetic of her heartbreak. If Zach had told you he didn’t want to pursue things with you after the season, you’d be gutted.

“I’m sorry he did that,” you say.

“It’s okay. He wasn’t mean or anything. Just honest.”

You nod, figuring as much. You’re not surprised to hear that Zach’s best friend wasn’t unkind about it. Zach wouldn’t be the type to willingly surround himself with mean people.

“I really am sorry,” Ami says. “When I yelled at him about it, he said he knew not to say it loud enough for Ruby or any of the kids to hear.”

“But other counselors were around,” you say.

“That’s what I said,” she sighs. “And I swear, I told him not to tell anyone, but he was like, if any staff take it seriously, I’ll say I was just kidding around. But he apologized and I could tell he felt really bad. Apparently, he’d never seen Zach that upset.”

You look down at the grass, wishing the weight of regret on your shoulders was enough to erase it from ever even happening.

“Are we still friends?” she asks. “I’m so sorry. I’m not usually this dumb, I swear.”

You exhale slowly. You can tell she’s devastated. And what’s done is done.

“You’re not dumb,” you tell her. “I’m convinced there’s something in the air here that makes it hard to keep secrets.”

Ami gives you a grateful smile, chuckling softly, clearly remembering the stories you told her all about the close calls you had with Zach.

“I can get on board with that theory,” she says.

“Do you think Ruby heard? Or if any other counselors took Malcolm seriously?” you ask.

She takes a moment, then shrugs.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “All I remember is being really mad at him. Did she say anything to you or to Zach?”

“Not to me,” you say. “I don’t know about Zach. We only talked for like a minute last night. It was weird.”

“Weird?”

You nod, relieved you can at least find some sort of release with venting to her about this.

“I think he was upset with me, but didn’t want to say so. And I didn’t want to force him to talk, so I left. We said sorry to each other over text. Things just… feel off.”

“Please don’t tell me my big mouth broke up the cutest couple ever,” she says.

“Ever?” you laugh.

“Ever.”

She gives you a quick, appreciative hug before you both have to run back inside.

You meet Zach’s eyes a few times through breakfast. Even though he’s all the way across the big, loud hall, the air between you feels stiff.

Of all the difficult things you’re feeling, the sharp sense of guilt is the most overwhelming. Even though he was the one who took the first step, asking to kiss you that night by the lake, you wish you’d have resisted the temptation.

Because you know that however much anxiety you’re feeling, he’s feeling it a hundred times worse.

When Zach sets out to the pitch after breakfast, surrounded by boisterous kids, he accepts that the hope that he’d feel better after getting some food in him was misguided.

He’s always hated when his thoughts race like this. There’s no clear right answer, no obvious way to fix this. And while he’d like to listen to his impulse to ignore the discomfort, there’s no way to do that.

He knows he needs to talk to you. He’d do anything to fast forward past the serious conversation and get back to how things were.

There’s a very real chance that your relationship has been exposed. It’d be so embarrassing to have to face his aunt and uncle after breaking the one big rule, when he, of all the staff, is supposed to know better.

He’s not sure they’d really even go through firing anyone and would possibly just settle for a warning, but them finding out would be punishment enough for Zach.

He takes the fact that neither Ruby nor Tom have approached him since the game yesterday as a good sign. Plus, Malcolm assured him that whoever heard his words on the field wouldn’t take it seriously. But there’s never a guarantee.

Zach doesn’t like being mad. But he is. At his best friend. At his girlfriend. At himself. He tries to throw himself into work, pretending like the unsettled feeling hanging over him isn’t there.

By the end of the day, you still haven’t had a chance to speak to Zach. And now that you’re even closer to being found out, you’d rather not take the risk of talking in a public place.

So, you check the schedule to see that the next time one of you has an empty cabin is two days from now, when Malcolm is on an overnight shift.

Before dinner, you text Zach: want to talk on thursday night when malcolm’s gone? i think it’s best we have privacy.

He replies: yes. smart.

And then, because he can’t help himself, because he’s afraid he screwed up, he texts: miss you.

The message is a reprieve from the stress you’ve been feeling all day. You respond: miss you, too.

When Friday rolls around, Zach feels like he hasn’t spoken to you in years, instead of just days. He rushes to his cabin after lights out, tidying up like he did the first night you came over.

He’s sure in he’s in the clear because he hasn’t been spoken to by his aunt or uncle. They don’t know. While that is a relief, knowing he’s on shaky ground with you is enough to keep him on edge.

You knock quickly and quietly. Zach opens the door. He can’t help himself. He has to hold you.

You close the door and face him and he wraps his arms around you so suddenly that you let out a startled gasp.

“Hey,” he says hoarsely, nuzzled into your neck. You hug him back.

“Hi.” You breathe in his familiar scent, fresh like the morning breeze. He pulls back to see your brows pinched together, your eyes searching his face. He hates that you look surprised that he’s giving you affection.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you answer on impulse. You shake your head. “Actually, no. I mean, well, we haven’t been fired. That’s good.”

“Yeah. If they knew, they would’ve have said something by now.”

“Right,” you say. You take a deep breath. “But things feel different. With us.”

Zach hates to agree, his lips falling into a small frown. He doesn’t want to do this. He just wants to hold you and kiss you and joke around with you.

“It’s because we had another close call,” he says. “It’s okay. Things are different because we haven’t snuck out to make out in a shed in a while.”

His joke falls flat as you look down at the floor. His hands are still on your waist and when you comfortingly drag yours down to rest on his chest, it slows his thoughts down a little.

“I want you to tell me when you’re not okay,” you mumble when you gaze back up at him.

Zach’s stomach numbs with anxiety. He can feel it rising, the reflex to pretend everything’s fine when it’s not.

“I did,” he says. “I do. Remember the night on the dock?”

You nod. The way he had opened up to you about how he’d struggled with being bullied for being a quiet kid was different. That wasn’t about you.

“I mean I want you to tell me when I’m the reason you’re not okay,” you reply. “I heard from Ami that Malcolm said he’d never seen you so upset.”

“Because I was mad at him,” Zach half-chuckles. “And he’s over-exaggerating.”

It’s not entirely true. The conversation had been the most tense one they’d ever had.

Malcolm was lighthearted about it at first, saying it was a joke and that he was offended that Zach hadn’t told him about how he was breaking rules with you. But once Zach had tersley told him he could have messed everything up for him, Malcolm’s smile disappeared and he apologized profusely.

Zach couldn’t blame him. He’s hardly ever the type be serious. But so much is on the line here.

Confrontation is easier when it’s his best friend of years, but it still isn’t exactly comfortable. So confronting you, a girl he’s helplessly falling in love with, opens the door to an argument and to you deciding he’s too sensitive and not worth the hassle.

“I don’t want to push you,” you tell him, “but I remember you telling me that you get over things on your own and you don’t have to that with me. It’s okay if you’re mad that I told Ami.”

“Baby,” he whispers with a smirk. “What else could you have done? She saw these, right?”

His fingers are featherlight over your collarbone, gently rubbing over the fabric of your shirt. He wonders if the hickeys are still visible.

“I could’ve hidden them better,” you say, “or come up with a lie.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Zach breathes.

A quiet, tense moment passes between you. You’re not convinced.

“Do you promise?” you ask, eyes doleful.

His smirk fades. At this point, he’d be lying straight to your face if he said yes. Seeing you so sad is gut-wrenching. Being dishonest with you while you’re like this would just be wrong.

“It’s… complicated,” he rasps.

You bite your lip. You’re not upset that he’s mad. You’re upset that you had to pry it out of him. Your hands fall off his chest and you step back, swallowing the tears threatening to fall.

“Can we sit?” he asks softly.

You give in, settling on the edge of his bed. He sits next to you. Watching you like this is making every part of him ache, his mouth going dry.

“When you told me you don’t admit when you’re upset,” you say, “I wondered what’d happen when I did something wrong.”

Zach swallows hard. It sounds like you’ve been on edge since that night you went shopping together, holding onto his words.

“So, what, you’ve been on eggshells since then?” he asks, his tone low and sympathetic.

“No. I just mean that problems are bound to come up and I want us to feel comfortable telling the other when they do.”

You expel a deep sigh, crossing your arms. It’s hard to explain, the sense of instability this has been giving you. You want to be able to take him at his word when he says everything’s okay. Not have to wonder and nag him.

It concerns you if this will be the dynamic in your relationship. Maybe it’s too soon, but you can’t shake away the worry.

Zach nervously threads his hand through his hair. He doesn’t know what to say.

“I shouldn’t have told you,” he mumbles regretfully.

You meet his eyes, lips parted in surprise.

“What?” you say. “You should have told me. I don’t want you to suffer alone.”

“Suffer is a stretch,” he says with a small smile.

Again, you don’t laugh. The tension keeps thickening instead of easing, his heart hurting more instead of feeling lighter.

“Hey,” Zach says, placing a warm hand on your forearm, “listen, I just want us to be good again. We would have lost our jobs by now if they knew. They don’t. We’re fine. You’re still my girlfriend, right?”

“Of course.” You uncross your arms to hold his hand, saddened that he’s wary of the possibility of you giving up on him.

“So, let’s just move past this and enjoy what’s left of the summer.”

“And what happens next time I upset you?” you ask.

“I’ll tell you,” he says. You gaze at him, not sure if you can trust him.

“You will?” you ask.

It’s the first time he’d ever been on the receiving end of a critical look from you. His heart feels like it cracks down the middle.

This was the spark that catalyzed every break-up he’s gone through.

You’re kind of a pushover, Zach.

Why are you so scared of telling the truth?

You’re a nice guy, but you suck at communication.

It reminds him of when he was a kid, ridiculed for not using his voice, or really, not using it the way people wanted him to.

And it’s too much. Things with you were good and easy until you insisted on pulling his uncomfortable feelings out into the open.

Zach sighs your name, a subtle edge in his tone. He keeps his gaze on the floor, lips firming, grip on your hand loosening.

Despite your intentions to understand him, to have an honest conversation, you realize that you’re doing what you tried to avoid. You’re pushing him.

“Okay. Sorry,” you whisper, moving your hand away.

“This is why I don’t say anything,” he admits. “Because now you’re beating yourself up. I’ll be fine. I am fine.”

“Zach, if I hurt you, you deserve an apology,” you tell him. “And you can’t get one if I don’t know what’s going on in your head.”

He runs his fingers through his hair again, wishing he could just go back to how things were a few days ago when you were kissing and touching and laughing together.

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t know what to say.

You lick your lips before speaking again. Despite everything, you just want to make him feel better and to figure out what’s next.

“Ami didn’t mean to tell him,” you say. “But since other people heard him during the game, I think we should just get through the rest of this season without taking any risks. Does that work for you?”

The sinking feeling of rejection settles deep in him. Avoiding risk means that you want distance again. And this time will be different. He can feel it. Things between you are so obviously tense. You want space from him and not just because it could get you in trouble.

He swallows down the painful lump in his throat, pushing away the hurt.

“Yeah,” he says with a shrug. “If you can resist me.”

Zach meets your eyes with a smile that you know isn’t genuine. You’ve figured out by now that making jokes is his defense mechanism. This time, you let him do what he needs to feel better.

This conversation only broke things down further than fixing them, but even though you’re exasperated, you don’t have it in you to leave him the way you did a few nights ago.

Zach’s muscles lose all their tension when you lean forward, your lips brushing against his. It’s the best reassurance you can give him.

When he kisses back, cradling your face in his hands, your heart hurts a little less. You pull away, staring into his soft blue eyes, surprised how you can mad at someone but also so eager to make them happy.

It’s because it’s Zach. The man who looks out for you, who puts your clothes back on for you after intimacy, who stresses over the very thought of even accidentally hurting you.

After you pull away, he gives you the first genuine smile since you got here. You squeeze his hand before you stand up to leave. He pulls you back for one last kiss.

The following Saturday is the most excited you’ve seen the kids. In the early morning, counselors and campers are set to depart the campground in school buses to a museum that’s currently running a sports science exhibit.

You’ve overheard the vets talk about how field trips are the most exhausting days of the season, but you welcome it. You want the distraction.

After guiding your campers onto your assigned bus, you settle in the first seat behind the driver. Your heart does a flip, somehow both happy and sad, when you realize that the counselor you’re sharing the bus with is Zach, the man you need a distraction from.

His brows raise when he comes up the steps, a smile appearing on his face before he guides kids to fill up the seats. Even though you left things sort of tense, it’s nice that he’s clearly happy to see you.

When he settles on the seat across the aisle from where you’re sitting, he crosses his arms and leans back against the window, biceps bulging under his t-shirt.

“How was the shift?” Zach asks. “The night before a field trip is always a wild card.”

It takes you a moment to realize he looked at the schedule to see you had an overnight shift. Of course he’s checking on you even when you’re not on the best terms.

“Not great,” you admit. One of the girls in your cabin had woken you up after she had a nightmare. You spent a long time calming her down and then had trouble falling back asleep yourself. “I’m thinking I should learn how to do monster checks.”

Zach grins. His heart warms whenever you reference something he’d told you. He loves that you remember his silly little routine with his sister.

“Do I have to teach you everything?” he says with a sigh.

You laugh and fight the impulse to shift over and sit next to him. Despite the fragile state you left things in, you miss touching him.

Throughout the bus ride, you’re both in lively conversation with the campers. You notice that Oliver clings to Zach, talking with other kids but always close to his counselor. He clearly has found comfort in him and of course, Zach shows him nothing but endless patience and kindness.

You can’t forget how he told you Oliver reminds him of himself when he was a kid. It hurts to picture Zach as a kid, shy and reserved, needing to stay close to an authority figure so he doesn’t get made fun of.

He admitted to you how he spent so much of his childhood sad. Somebody so sweet should never have to be sad.

You glance over at him to catch him staring at you.

“Making it obvious?” he says, echoing what you’d texted him when you teased him for the way he looked at you by the campfire many nights ago.

You wish you could go back to when you were still careless, sneaking around, no conflict wedged between you. But you only nod with a chuckle, looking away.

Minutes before you arrive at the museum, Zach stands and gets everyone’s attention. You gaze up at him as he goes through the rules and reminds everyone that they’re representing the camp today.

It gives you a moment to really take him in, your eyes travelling over his hard jaw and tousled hair. He’s easily the kindest, most charming man you’ve ever met.

He makes a joke about how this is his campers’ chance to prove that they’re better listeners than yours. You gasp and stand, encouraging your girls to prove Zach wrong.

Once you plop back down on your seat, you grab one of the granola bars you packed for the kids just to throw it at Zach. He feigns shock when it hits his chest with a light smack.

“That’s not representing our camp well at all,” he scoffs. He looks at the wrapper and smiles before he rips it. “Mixed berry. Nice.”

“Give it back,” you say.

He takes a bite, looking at you with a smirk.

“What? I didn’t hear that,” he says.

You can’t stifle your laugh when you look away. Zach keeps his eyes on you, imagining a world where he doesn’t have to be your boyfriend in secret. But he feels lucky to be your boyfriend at all.

When you arrive at the museum, you direct your campers in a hectic rush. You’re standing by the bathrooms, trying to keep your campers together, when Malcolm passes by.

“Having fun?” he jokes to you over the noise.

You chuckle awkwardly, considering it’s the first time you’ve spoken with him since the staff game. Ami had told you things with her and Malcolm ended amicably, but she’s been keeping her distance, and since you’re usually with her, you haven’t had any chance to talk to him.

“Loads,” you play along, looking out at the sea of kids through the lobby. After a few seconds, he looks around and kneels closer.

“Hey, my bad about everything,” he says. “I didn’t mean to start any drama.”

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, sure he can read the regret on your face.

“I was kidding around,” Malcolm explains. “Nobody would believe he’d actually break the rules. You’re obviously special since he did.”

You know he said it to make you feel better, but it has the opposite effect. Without you here, Zach would’ve had another easy, stress-free season, instead of one full of sneaking around and risking his job and reputation.

“I guess so,” is all you can say with a forced laugh.

When it’s finally time to head back to the buses, you’re exhausted. You make sure all your campers are accounted for and you settle in the front seat, wishing it was more comfortable.

You sit with closed eyes, trying to rest while you can, chatter surrounding you.

Zach sits in the front, smirking to himself when he sees you. Your eyelids flutter open and you look around, adorably disoriented. You meet his gaze.

“I’m just resting my eyes,” you say with a sweet chuckle.

“Take a nap if you want,” he says. “I got this covered.”

You smile gratefully and close your eyes again. His eyes travel over your pretty face, taking you in, missing everything about you. He’s never wanted time to go by quickly this badly.

A few days later, the directors announce that there’ll be a comet passing over the campground next Saturday night, falling right in time with the season’s last fun day.

Tom asks Zach to run an errand into town to buy all the binoculars he can find. And because he’s respecting your wish to stay at a distance, Zach invites Malcolm to go with him instead of you.

It doesn’t take you and another first-year counselor, Theo, long to set up blankets on the grass behind the staff cabins on Saturday night.

You had rushed through your dinner and volunteered to do it. At the end of the day, it’d be nice to get a good reference from your bosses. Theo overheard and offered to help, making conversation as you set up.

When the campers and counselors come out, they settle across the field. Ami stands next to you as your eyes quickly find Zach, who’s handing out binoculars.

“Remember to share,” he says to a few kids close to you. He looks down at you as he passes by. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you say. It’s the first thing you’ve said to each other in a week.

“Get a room already,” Ami mumbles quietly after he leaves.

You snort a laugh. You wish.

Tom stands in front of everyone and shares facts about the comet, pointing to where it’ll be seen in the sky and telling everyone that it’ll be visible by binoculars for a few minutes, so there’s no need to fight over them.

You know the kids well enough to know they’ll still find a way to argue.

Once it’s time to search the skies, you gaze up at the stars on the off chance that you’ll see it without binoculars.

“Any luck?” Theo asks, staring up next to you, his binoculars over his eyes. You hear impressed ohh’s scatter over the crowd. “Whoa,” he says a second later.

“No,” you laugh.

He lowers his binoculars and hands them to you. You thank him and try to find the comet, but you can’t see anything but stars through the lenses.

“I can’t see it,” you tell him sadly.

“Here - can I?” Theo says, his hands hovering over your shoulders.

“Sure.” You let him guide you to adjust your angle, his palms firm on your shoulders.

“I think you need to look just a little higher,” he says. You follow his instructions and then you see it. A bright circle with a pale streak of light following it. It’s beautiful.

“Wow,” you say with a big smile.

Everyone’s gazing up at the sky except for Zach. He’s looking at you smiling while Theo has his hands on your shoulders. Another man is touching his girlfriend and she looks happy while he does it.

He shakes his head to himself as frustrating jealousy squeezes his heart. Staying away from you has been tough, but watching someone else touch you is on another level of agony.

After the comet passes, everyone packs up for the night. The kids are still chatting about how cool the comet was as they make their way to the camper cabins.

Ami leaves your cabin for her overnight shift while you shower. You gaze up at the ceiling as you wash your hair, wondering how you already have only seven sleeps left before the end of the season.

On Saturday, parents are arriving to pick up their children and staff will pack up their things and the season will be over. It’s been a long summer, but you’re happy you came – you made money, rekindled your love for soccer, and best of all, met Zach.

You still haven’t spoken with him about what dating will look like when you’re done here, considering your colleges are an hour apart. But at least you don’t have to worry about getting fired anymore. You’re sure it would have left a mark on your relationship.

You settle on your bed in your pajamas, scrolling on your phone for some downtime. Minutes later, there’s a knock on your door.

It’s Zach. And there’s a fire in his eyes that you haven’t seen before.

“Hi,” you say softly.

“It doesn’t work for me anymore,” he says gruffly.

“What?”

“Not being with you doesn’t work for me anymore.”

You stare at him with parted lips, heat rushing through your body in seconds.

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Watching another guy get close to you is too much, okay?” he says. “You’re my girlfriend.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, recollecting all that happened since the last time you spoke. He seemed fine when he greeted you earlier tonight. Who got close to you since then?

It comes to you in an instant. Theo helped guide you to spot the comet.

“That wasn’t anything,” you tell him.

“It was to me,” he says, the jealousy still ripping through him. “I don’t care who knows about us. I want him to know.”

It’s like he’s another man, not the Zach you know. His lustful stare and his dominating presence and his possessiveness are making your heart pound. Instead of the tension that’s been following you for the past two weeks, the air between you is electric, full of burning anticipation that you’ve both been trying to avoid.

You don’t care about how things were left. And you know you shouldn’t do this. But you’ve never been good at ignoring your impulses when it comes to him.

“Come in,” you say.

Zach doesn’t need to hear another word. Once the door’s shut behind him, his lips meet yours. You tremble under his hot, hard kiss.

His hands are firm against your jaw, gripping you as if you’ll slip away. Your breaths start to quicken as you kiss deeper, his hands pushing you back towards your bed.

Feeling you again, tasting you is an overwhelming relief. It’s like he’s home again. His body is buzzing, his boxers starting to feel tight already.

You let him guide you on your bed, his commanding frame leaning over as you settle on your back. His mouth trails to your throat, kissing you as you cup the back of his neck.

“I’m yours, okay, baby?” you whisper.

Your words make him moan against your skin, his hips bucking against you. He’s been dreaming about this for too long. Once he’s had you, having to keep you at a distance and act like you’re nothing but coworkers is torture.

Desire takes over you, your hand trailing to feel him over his sweatpants. Simply pressing your palm against his hard bulge makes you involuntarily writhe beneath him.

You’ve never had your mouth on him the way he had his mouth on you and now, you desperately want to please him, to show him how he’s the only one you want.

“I miss you so much,” Zach whines. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“I know. Me, too,” you reassure him. “Lie on your back for me.”

You obeys, letting you perch over him as you kiss him, but he can’t let go of control, not all the way. He pulls your shirt up, a groan of pleasure leaving his mouth when he sees that you’re braless.

You tug your shirt over your head and he roughly pulls you closer by the waist, giving him access to your bare chest, kneading and kissing.

You arch your back, moaning in pleasure as he sucks at your skin. You’re already aching for him, knees growing weak, biting your lip as he tongues you.

It takes all your willpower to pull back, but you shift lower to tug at his sweatpants. He shuffles to let you pull down his pants and boxers in one movement, his cock springing out.

He heatedly takes his shirt off, giving you the view of his naked body that you’ve missed so much.

Zach’s breath hitches when you lean to hold him at his base. Your lips are torturously close to the head of his cock.

“You don’t have to,” he says, his voice thick and hushed. You smile at him. There’s the man you know and love, checking in on you, making sure you’re comfortable.

“I want to,” you say. When you shift to kiss him on his tip, he shudders. This is all he needs, to know you want every part of him, like he wants every part of you.

You swirl your hot tongue over him and he throws his head back in pleasure, eyes squeezing shut. But he wants to watch. He wants to see how you look pleasing him like this.

He meets your eyes as you lock your lips around his length. His head is swimming watching you slowly take him in, pacing yourself, getting his cock wet with your spit.

You pull back with a smack of your lips, stroking him, eyes hard on him.

“Why would I even look at another guy when I have you?” you ask. Zach’s sure he’s never felt this good in his entire life.

You take him in your mouth again, sucking as you start to gently bob up and down. You breathe slowly as you lower to reach his base, quietly gagging when you take him all the way.

Your hot mouth tight around him makes pure euphoria flood his system.

“That’s so good,” he says, strained. “Fuck, baby, that’s so good.”

He lowers his hand to gently lace his fingers through the roots of your hair, applying no pressure, simply just wanting to hold you.

You pull back, your wrist slowly twisting as you pump. The sight of you like this, your lips glossy and your eyes lustful and your fingers wrapped around him, is unlike anything he’s ever experienced.

“You deserve to feel good,” you whisper.

He’s not sure he agrees based on the way he acted the last time you talked in his cabin, but you silence his thoughts when you take him in your mouth again, cheeks hollowing.

Zach’s groans are strained and his breaths are shallow as you suck and lick. The sounds of your mouth against him are near perfection. He knows what’s really perfect is the feeling of being buried deep inside you, both of you wrapped in bliss.

He’s still feeling the flame of jealousy and so badly needs to show you how much you’re his and how much he’s yours. He finds the strength to gently pull your mouth off of him by your roots.

You meet his stare, letting him take full control as he guides you onto your back. The sight of him standing over you, tongue running over his bottom lip as he pulls down your pajama bottoms and panties makes arousal pool in your gut.

Zach leans over, chest heaving and cheeks flushed as one arm holds him up and the other dips between your legs, fingers firmly dragging up and down.

“Tell me only I get to see you like this,” he rasps.

“Only you,” you praise. His touch grants you such elation that you start to feel dizzy. “And only you get to touch me.”

His jaw clenches at your words. He traces circles on your clit, gazing down at you as your breath catches.

“You like how I touch you?” he says.

“Yes,” you moan. “You’re so good at it. You’re so good at everything.”

Zach lowers to kiss you, tongue pressing into your mouth the same moment his finger dips into you. You writhe under his touch, the pressure of his finger inside of you making you moan again.

“More?” he whispers, the pad of his middle finger nudging against your entrance.

“More.”

He slowly sinks a second finger into you, groaning at how tight and wet you are around him. He starts to slowly pump in and out, curling his fingers at the hilt, pulling back just enough to watch your expression.

His movements are slow and firm, and when he starts to rub your clit with his thumb, you clutch his shoulders in deep pleasure.

“Like that,” you whisper. “My good boy.”

The praise makes him feel like he might go insane in the best way. He can’t take the ache anymore. He pulls his fingers out, shifting to grab a condom from your drawer.

You watch him through heavy lids, taking in how perfect every inch of him is, spreading your legs so he can get inside you as soon as possible. Zach lines up against you as he lies over you, his throbbing tip gently pressing against you.

“Ready?” he whispers.

You don’t answer, hungrily gripping the backs of his hips to pull him forward. He groans, in heaven from how much you want him.

He sinks into you completely and it’s a flawless type of pain having to adjust to him so quickly. He pulls back and thrusts back into you hard, lips against yours, mouths open.

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, both of you already sweaty, and you pant together as his slams fill you over and over, jolting you, your bed shaking.

“You’re my good girl,” he whispers through sighs. “Mine only.”

Your moans tangle with his, your soft heat squeezes him, and when you wrap your legs around his hips, he wants to live in the moment forever.

Zach knows he loves you. And he knows he has to wait to say it because he’d hate for you to feel pressured to say it back. If he’s lucky, when it’s time, you’ll say it back.

He grinds against your clit with steady friction and he fills you with hard pressure, pushing you closer and closer to your orgasm.

“I’m gonna…” you breathe, clenching around him. You can’t finish your sentence, losing your voice as you come, sparks firing through your body.

Feeling you flutter around him is what sends him over the edge, kissing you as he unravels, hips stuttering with sloppy thrusts as his body releases all the tension and hunger and love he has for you.

He collapses on top of you, still hard and inside you, leaving soft kisses on the corner of your lips.

When he finds the strength to stand and clean himself up, he comes back to bed with a warm, damp towel, kissing your bent knee as he gently wipes you, letting you stay on your back and come down from your high.

Zach eventually lies down next to you, cradling your jaw, thumb rubbing over your cheekbone as you gaze at each other.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry things were weird with us. I’m sorry I’m so bad at talking about things sometimes.”

You meet his eyes, gently raking his messy hair back, remembering how it’s the first thing you noticed about him.

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “I’m sorry I pushed. I get if it’s hard for you. I just want us to be honest with each other.”

“I was mad,” he admits. “And I already hate being mad, but being mad at you just felt so wrong. I know you didn’t mean for it to come out.”

“Why do you hate being mad, baby?”

“Because I just… I feel weak.”

“Weak?”

“Like I should be able to change the way I’m thinking about it,” he says. “I should be more understanding.”

You let out a soft giggle, kissing the tip of his nose.

“You’re the most understanding person I know,” you tell him. “You can’t control how you feel.”

“I think I feel too much,” Zach confesses. His heart is pounding again. He’s never been so raw with somebody. But the deep adoration in your eyes makes the vulnerability less scary.

“You feel the perfect amount,” you tell him. “Your heart is big and that’s not a flaw.”

He leans closer, kissing you tenderly.

“Please tell me next time,” you whisper. “What’d you say when I didn’t tell you I was sick? I have to let you know when I don’t feel well? It goes both ways.”

He chuckles and kisses you again.

“I will,” he says. “All I’ve been thinking about is you and how I screwed up and how I don’t want to screw up again.”

“All I’ve been thinking about is you and how I can’t wait to be your girlfriend without having to hide it.”

A bigger smile grows on his lips, his eyes softening at your words. You’re a pure ray of sunshine in his life. For once, he’s confident a girl will stick around when she sees just how messy his head can get.

“How often are we going to be seeing each other when we’re out of here, huh?” you ask. “We have a whole hour between us.”

“The distance from your cabin to mine is already hard enough,” he says. You laugh hard and he realizes just how much he missed the sound. “Every weekend, at least.”

“Deal,” you say. At that moment, your stomach lets out a hungry growl and you sigh a chuckle. “I rushed through dinner and I don’t think I ate enough.”

He sits up, collecting your clothes off the bed. You laugh when you watch him tugging your panties over your ankles.

“What are you doing?”

“We’re sneaking into the kitchen,” he says. “You’re not gonna be hungry on my watch.”

The night air is cool as you make your way towards the dining hall. Sure enough, Zach finds a few snacks in the kitchen cabinets to satiate you, sitting on the counter next to you, chatting about what your class schedules will look like when the school year starts.

You get lost in conversation, and an hour later, you’re both almost dozing off. You decide to finally head to bed, rushing out of the hall and towards the staff cabins, hand in hand.

Your shoes crunch against the gravel path past the campground office so loudly that you almost don’t hear your name called.

You rip your hand out of Zach’s and turn to see one of your campers, Jemma, standing close by.

“Hey,” you say, almost frozen in anxiety. She definitely saw you and Zach holding hands. “Why are you out of your cabin?”

“I woke up,” she says with a shrug. “And I couldn’t fall back asleep so I wondered if I could see any more comets. Were you guys just holding hands?”

You don’t know what to say. You clear your throat and shuffle closer to her.

“I’ll walk you back, okay?” you say. “You’re not supposed to be out at night without a counselor.”

You drop Jemma off, the whole walk over filled with you avoiding her questions and asking her about anything you can think of. Zach is in your cabin get back, his eyes wide.

He said he didn’t care who knew earlier tonight, but you know he was overtaken by his emotions. You can tell by his expression that he’s tense. This is bad.

“She saw us,” he says, almost robotically.

“She saw us,” you confirm. You sit next to him on your bed. You figure you should lay it out on the open. “And she loves to talk. And it’s not appropriate to ask her to keep a secret. She’ll tell her friends.”

“I have to tell my aunt and uncle,” he says, “before they hear from one of the kids.”

You meet his eyes. The happiness you were feeling is deflated now, overtaken by dread. You have to accept that your worst fear just came true.

“We have to tell them,” you say. Tears prick at your eyes. “I’ll go with you. I’m so sorry. This screws everything up for you.”

“No,” he says. “I said you were worth the risk and I meant it. I knew going into it that this could happen. It happened. We’ll deal with it.”

“You’re really okay?” you ask.

“I’m weirdly relieved,” Zach admits, looking at you with empathy. “Are you okay? You could get fired.”

“Your job became more important to me than mine a long time ago,” you tell him. “You have more on the line. That’s why I feel so bad.”

“I’m the happiest I’ve ever been with you. I’d do it all again even if I knew it’d end like this.”

“You’re not going to see me as the girl that ruined this place for you?”

“Baby,” he says with a disbelieving exhale. “Of course not. You’re the best part of this place.”

“Really?”

“One hundred and five percent,” he says with a smile, reminding you of how he’d answered the same way when you asked if he’s sure he wants to start secretly dating.

His sweetness is what makes your tears finally fall. He kisses you softly, shushing you and rubbing your back as you dig your head into his chest. You stay like that until you feel too tired to sit up any longer.

The next day, you and Zach meet at the campground office before breakfast as planned. He’s the most nervous you’ve ever seen him as he turns the handle and enters the room, greeting Ruby as she types at her laptop on a circular table.

“Can we sit for a second?” Zach asks.

“Of course,” she says. “What brings you in?”

You settle next to him at the other end of the table, realizing your knees are bouncing in anxiety. He told you he’d take the lead. You glance at his profile, glad he’s still as calm as he seemed last night.

“We, uh…” He looks at you. “We kind of broke the no dating rule. And last night, Jemma saw us holding hands. I wanted to come to you before you heard from anyone else. I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” you say, meeting her eyes nervously. “I’m really sorry. And I completely understand if you need to let me go. But please give Zach a little grace.”

“What?” he mumbles. You hadn’t talked about doing this.

“He loves it here,” you tell your boss, the words spilling out of you. “I’m sure you know that already. I’ve never seen someone so passionate about a place. He respects and admires you and Tom so much. The way he talks about this camp and the way he enjoys the job is part of why I’ve grown to love it so much. He’ll be crushed if this ruins his reputation and if he can’t come back to work here. I know I’m in no position to ask for anything, but please spare him.”

“Hey,” Zach says to you softly. He’s so moved that if he didn’t already know he loved you, this would be the moment that sealed it. “It’s okay. I deserve to lose my job.”

“Zach,” Ruby says. You both look at her. “Sweetheart. You really think I didn’t know?”

“What?” you and Zach say in perfect unison.

“I’ve known you all your life,” she says. “I can spot when something’s up with you from a mile away.”

“Wait… what?” he says again. “How? Since when?”

“You’re not one to get mad at the kids for little things. But then we had that barbecue and you,” she says, eyes landing on you, “got hurt because some campers were rough-housing.”

You feel for the now healed burn on your forearm.

“Tom told me all about it, how uncharacteristically angry and worried you got,” Ruby tells Zach, “and then it took less than a day to confirm my suspicions. You really don’t know how obvious you are. You smile like you just won the lottery whenever she’s around.”

You feel your face go hot, butterflies swarming in your stomach. It’s the second time someone’s said Zach seems extra happy around you.

“So, you knew?” he says. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I didn’t want you to feel embarrassed,” she says with a shrug. “I figured you’d do a good enough job hiding it from everyone. And I’d never fire you. You’re a… what’s Malcolm call it? A nepo baby?”

“Hey,” he says with a relieved laugh.

“Kidding,” she says, eyes darting to you. “I treat all my staff equally. And we’ve never actually fired anyone for dating. We just strongly discourage it because of things like last night. It’s inappropriate if campers see any sort of PDA.”

“We were just holding hands for a second, I swear,” Zach says.

“I know,” she sighs. “But no more cutesy stuff, got it?”

“Got it,” he says. “So we’re not fired?”

“Just go to breakfast and let me enjoy my coffee,” she says with a small smile.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

As you and Zach head out, Ruby calls him back for a moment. You wait outside for him to make sure everything’s okay.

Zach closes the door behind him, expecting a verbal lashing.

“I like her for you,” Ruby says. He beams, unbelievably relieved.

“You’re really not disappointed?” he asks. He should have known his kind-hearted aunt would be so compassionate.

“Honey, I’m happy,” Ruby says. “Even you need to break rules sometimes. You must really like her if you decided to stop being a goody two-shoes for once.”

“I do,” he says confidently. “And I am not a goody two-shoes.”

“Debatable,” she teases.

When he steps out of the office, you share a sigh of relief, laughing.

“What’d she say?” you ask.

“Changed her mind. I am, in fact, fired.”

You scoff, nudging his shoulder.

“Hey, no touching allowed,” Zach laughs. “Save it for after lights out.”

“Shh,” you laugh, looking around in case anyone heard. “Have you learned nothing?”

He smirks at you.

“Thanks for saying that stuff about me back there,” he says.

“It’s all true,” you reply.

The last week of camp is the fastest of them all. Gossip spreads about you and Zach, but you just deny it whenever kids bring it up, both saying you’re just friends.

Packing up your cabin and saying goodbye at the end of the season is one of the hardest things you’ve done all summer.

Two Months Later

The triple whistle blow signals the end of the game. You’re absolutely spent, hands on your knees, so tired that you can’t even celebrate that you’d just beat an unbeatable team.

Last year, they beat you every single time, but now, you look up at the scoreboard to see your score at 3, and the visitors’ score at 2. Soon enough, your teammates pull you into a hug, the air buzzing with pride and excitement.

The hot shower you take in the locker room after the game is unbelievably rewarding.

You beam when you see Zach standing by the stadium front doors. His face lights up the moment he sees you.

“You were amazing,” he says, pulling you in for a hug and taking your heavy duffle bag for you as the crowds exiting the building surround you. “Did you hear the crowd when you nailed that one tackle in the second half? I was so proud that I told the guy beside me that you’re my girlfriend.”

You laugh, perching up on your toes to quickly kiss him.

“And what’d he say?” you ask.

“He just looked at me like this,” he says, pulling an annoyed expression. You laugh again. “Baby, you killed it. Best defense I’ve ever seen.”

“Now you’re pushing it,” you chuckle.

“I’m serious,” he says. “You’re amazing. Who’d you train with? Obviously a pro.”

“Alright,” you roll your eyes, smiling.

“I mean it. And five.”

You lace your fingers in his, grinning. The more you opened up to each other, learning about how hard it can be for Zach to express his difficult emotions, ‘and five’ became your way to assure each other you mean what you’re saying, a silly reference to how he loves to say ‘one hundred and five percent.’

‘And five’ is your way of saying you promise. That you’re sure. That there’s no reason to doubt anything.

“Wow, and five?” you say. “So, you’re not just trying to flatter me before dinner.”

Zach grins, pulling you in for a hug. You’re set to go to his house to meet his family after you get ready in your dorm.

“You’re sure you’re not too tired?” he asks.

“I don’t care how tired I am,” you say. “I can’t wait to meet them. And seeing Tom and Ruby again will be nice.”

The MacLarens’ house is warm and welcoming, just as you expected. You feel like you already know his parents and sister within minutes and when Zach’s aunt and uncle arrive, it’s comforting to see them, knowing they already like you.

Throughout dinner, Tom and Ruby tease Zach for how obviously lovestruck he was at work all summer. Even his sister joins in, calling him cheesy.

“I hope you know we’re all just joking, sweetie,” Zach’s mother says to you quietly, clearly a bit worried you’ll think they’re being too harsh on your boyfriend.

“I do,” you say kindly. In the time you’ve been together, you’ve joked with Zach that teasing seems to be his love language. It’s sweet seeing him at home, joking with his family, looking up at you every so often to make sure you’re having a good time.

After you say your goodbyes, Zach drives you to your dorm. He pulls up to your building, the back of your hand warm from where he’s been resting his palm.

Every time you’re in his car, you think about the first time you were in it back in the summer, going into town, getting to know him. You’ve been in it so many times since then, driving around and playing your favorite songs.

“Well, thank you again,” you say, relieved to have heard he knows his family loved you, just as he suspected. “I had fun.”

“You fit right in,” Zach says. He hopes it’s not too much, but the longer he’s been with you, the less scared he is of being too much.

You smile at him, proving him right. He doesn’t have to hold back.

“I was thinking something,” he says, “when I was looking at you at dinner.”

“What?”

“That I always knew that things between us didn’t go so fast because of the whole forbidden thing,” he tells you. “They’d go that fast anyway. For me, at least.”

You smile, relieved to hear it. You spent so much of the camp season wondering if the rule you were both living under was the reason things escalated the way they did.

You’ve talked about the summer, reminiscing on your memories, laughing over your favorite moments, finding it hilarious how stressed you both were about the bosses finding out about you when they already knew, but you never dove into how fast your relationship went.

“You have no idea how nice it is to hear that,” you say. “I agree. I would’ve been just as crazy about you if we met outside of work.”

“Me, too,” he says, his dimples caving into his cheeks as he gazes at you. He takes a deep breath, bringing your hand up to his mouth, kissing your palm. “I love you. And you don’t have to say it back, but I just want you to know.”

“I love you, too,” you say, feeling weightless. “Obviously.”

“Yeah?” Zach doesn’t know when his heart started pounding this hard, but it’s thudding in his ears.

“Yeah,” you say. “And five.”

He leans close and kisses you over and over, just like he did the first night on the dock.

But this time, instead of saying that you should stop and that this isn’t allowed and that you could get in trouble every time your lips part, you’re whispering that you love each other.

(the end)

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[martinluvrr]

NUMBER ONE | KATE MARTIN ( III )

⋅˚₊‧ kate martin x actress!reader

⋅˚₊‧ summary: here we are again, just like the beginning.

⋅˚₊‧ part two || final part || nav

"Cut, thank you everybody" the director yelled out. You let out a sigh of relief, finally this dreadful week was over and you had some free time. After the chaotic start of the week that was caused by literally a media circus, you knew that this was going to be a tough 7 days.

Sometimes, you wished you didn't go to that audition. Of course you were grateful, this was a life people would kill for, but with the good side came the brutal one. After the picture and the allegations came out, your publicist went nuts, she wen even more nuts when you said to her "I don't want to respond". Apparently not responding, is responding, and while she tried many times to convince you, you didn't budge.

Deuxmoi. Fucking deuxmoi.

While you contemplated if you should send hate messages to the site with your finsta ( your publicist somehow found out and made you promise not to ), Kate was the calm during the storm.

The night of the game, she had texted you in regards of the plans, and you sadly rain checked. While you though she would stop texting after that, she didn't, and neither did you. Her name was still saved as 6 years ago, back then , you didn't have the strength to delete it, just in case.

While the comments, the sly remarks, the articles, the posts made the time draining, Kate was your fuel. She was literally recharging you, it seemed like you guys were back like you were once, but still you didn't want to get your hopes up.

"Bye darlin'" a british accent pulled you out of your thoughts, Emma, your co star smiled sweetly at you from your dressing room doorway. You smiled at her and said your goodbyes as well. While the media was raging, the cast and crew made the week peaceful for you, what was a week ago, a funny, teasing, loud cast turned into a supportive, calm, quiet one. And of course, you knew why. You have been shooting with this people for the past 2 years, and whether you liked it or not, they knew you. and when Matt saw your face on Tuesday, news and threats spread around if anyone asked anything regarding the incident. Y/n absolutely adored them.

As you walked out of the set studio, only two things were on your mind, your bed and chinese food. When opening the door, you looked up and went to a halt. There she stood, blonde, 5'11, in an all black fit an aces hoodie on, and her car behind her. In all her glory.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, your mouth hanging open. She stood straight ,a wide grin forming on her.

"you owe me a date"

"you can't be serious" you let out a laugh.

"dead ass. get in" she gestured to her car, while opening the passenger door. You still remained in your previous positions, your body frozen,like it couldn't believe she was actually here.

"Kate"

"Y/n" she replied back " what's the problem?"

"Are you sure you want this...again?" you asked, suddenly looking at the ground, your insecurity was showing. You still didn't know if you and Kate were happening again, and you knew that if you lost her again, you couldn't survive that.

"Never been more sure in my life" She replied sweetly "Now get in"

"But i look like Adam Sandler" you said, an embarrasing smile on your face .

"I don't care, now please stop making excuses and get in the car" Kate said. You sighed as you made your way to her car, before placing a kiss on her cheek and getting in.

The way to your blind destination, that you begged Kate to tell you, but immune to your charm , she didn't give a single hint. Kates hand was placed on your thigh. After teasing you about your 'adam sandler' outfit, we finally arrived in a parking lot, of what looked likd, a closed casino/hotel.

As you made your way to the elevator, suddenly the air became tense. When you looked up at her, she was already looking back at you, you could feel your face heating up, a small smile appeared on her face, and a second later you mirrored her. Just as y/n and Kates faces were close, the elevator door opened and a bell was heard.

Just as you were about to question her about the empty hallway, you halted when you saw her open the rooftop door, stairs coming down, she took your hand and helped you climb. When you were both on the roof, you took a moment to admire the view, all of the las vegas was before you, it looked majestic.

"The view...so beautiful" you whispered, still in a daze of shock.

"yeah the most" She whispered back, when you glanced back at her, you realized she was talking about you. When you took a look behind her, you saw a chinese logo. chinese food.

"I'm in love" You moaned, taking a bite of the dumpling. You heard Kate let out a laugh, both of you were dangling your feet out in the corner of the rooftop. You felt like a teenager again. Her and you were back to talking about the past, it felt liked you guys were recapping, when the breakup came up, both became hesitant.

"Where did we go wrong?" You heard her question.

"We didn't go wrong, we just went our separate ways"

"I watched suits, when i heard"

"Really?"

"Yeah, watched the whole season, you were great, just like i knew you were"

Kate was always supportive of your dreams, not that everybody else wasn't, but Kate was the only one you admitted your dream to.

"You were also"

"What?" shock, surprised.

"I watched you" you shamelessly admitted

"You did? no way"

"Yes way, i'm your biggest fan" You said, taking a bite out of the noodles. Kate laughed when you accidentally spilled some, suddenly nothing was tense, it was back to normal.

When you both finished your food, you hinted that you should return home because of the 7am shoot you had in the morning, Kate insisted you guys stay for another 30 minutes. And it was definitely worth it, after 15 minutes, a firework erupted. and then another, and another after that, and then 10 after that, they didn't stop for another 10 minutes.

Just as you convinced yourself to not expect anything, and this was still new, she had set this up. When you looked up at Kate and looked down at her lips, one thing was on your mind, and you weren't holding back as you pulled Kate towards you and connected your lips to hers.

✩

As you opened your eyes, sunlight immediately made you close them back, as a groan escaped you and you stirred to get away, two hands locked on your waist held you back. Kate. When you straightened your back, you felt a kiss behind your neck. "Good morning" you heard her raspy voice say.

you didn't make it to your 7am shoot.

✩

thank you for reading pt 3 <3333333 tune in for pt 4 soon!!!!

[caorann8]

Grief in Dawntrail

Alrighty, here are my thoughts as a funeral director having finished Dawntrail. Obviously spoilers under the cut.

When someone says a game feels like work, that’s normally a bad thing. In this case it’s not. Two of Dawntrail’s themes are community/their different cultures and grief and while they’re explored more separately in the two halves of the story they are intrinsically linked. Funerals at their core are about remembering the person who’s died and coming together to support each other and remember the person. Even with the decline of “traditional” funerals, people who are just having a cremation and nothing else from the funeral home often say they’ll have something at home with their friends and family.

This is why Sphene pissed me off from the start. With the Yok Huy we see a beautiful funeral tradition. The body may return to the mountains but their legacy will always remain for their community to read and remember over and over again, even for future generations. Meanwhile Sphene echo’s the same message, “You will never die so long as you’re remembered” but then removes the memories as a misguided attempt to protect her people. They aren’t remembered, they’re actively forgotten by their entire community until those people die too.

Death and grief are complicated things. Something we learn in school is there are no stages as most people think. It’s a roller coaster that goes forward and back, has good days and bad days, and will sometimes crop up years later. What lessens it is allowing yourself to process it, and support from friends/family/community helps immensely. By denying them these memories, Sphene denies them growth and stronger bonds. A friend of mine said the people of Alexandria wouldn’t survive the Final Days and I agree. We even see this in the WoL! How many times are we able to quote Haurchefant or other characters who have died but made an impact on our journey? Even Emet-Selch asks us to remember them. The ancient’s love, their follies, the good and bad. While grief hurts in so many different ways, we often come out on the other side better, whether that be with new tools, new outlooks, or even just relief that the person isn’t suffering.

And this doesn’t just apply to people we care for. Look at the death of Zoraal Ja. Wuk Lamat hated him and he’d abandoned Gulool Ja. Regret or joy that it’s over are valid feelings . Both grieved in their own ways and had support to work through it. The fact that they were actively told to take a break to process everything, both after his death and after the attack on Tullioyal, was a beautiful touch. Grief is exhausting after all.

Finally, I want to talk about my experience going through Living Memory. That’s the part that truly felt like my work. Just sitting and listening to people say their final goodbyes to their loved ones. Some crying, some laughing at good memories, some angry, but all taking that moment. I didn’t cry really (except Cahcuia, that one got me), I got choked up and there was a heaviness for a lot of it, but there’s a joy in knowing nothing’s left unsaid. Even deleting the areas didn’t affect me much. They each got their last hurrah, like a eulogy at a service or stories shared over a meal. Plus the knowledge that reincarnation exists in FFXIV means they’ll be able to enjoy life again.

At the end of the day grief, in all its forms from the end of relationships, to what could’ve been, to death of a loved one, shouldn’t be swept under a rug. When people find out I’m a funeral director I often get asked if it’s “depressing with all the crying” and I always reply that I hear laughter coming from visitation rooms more often than tears.

[finleycannotdraw]

Goldenheart question. Who do you think proposes? Ballister or Ambrosius?

Bonus on how they would do it? ✌️🌈

OKAY SO. I thought about this for like five minutes. decided something. and then I changed my mind like five times. and then I was like “hmm. fic time”

I know you just asked for my thoughts but I hope you enjoy this!!

Ballister had a plan.

He loved Ambrosius. Of course he did. He’d loved him when they were classmates at the Institute, loved him when they snuck onto the roof at night to talk, loved him when they became knights, and loved him when the wall came down. He’d loved him for as long as he could remember, so of course he loved him when he looked up from his crossword puzzle and saw Ambrosius dancing in the kitchen, wearing a pair of Ballister’s pajama pants, holding a pancake batter-covered spatula and looking more carefree than he’d looked in months.

He’d marry Ambrosius in a heartbeat. He’d get on a train right then and elope with him if he asked, but he thought his partner deserved something bigger, something romantic, something grand and joyful after all of the stress and responsibility he’d been shouldering since the Director’s demise.

Hence, The Plan.

Nimona had been… mostly helpful. Ballister approached her one afternoon, after Ambrosius had left for work, and sat down across from her. Since the three of them had moved into an apartment together, Nimona had gotten much more comfortable relaxing, which warmed Ballister’s heart.

“What’s up, boss?”

“I want to ask Ambrosius—” he began, and Nimona sat up straight, immediately invested.

“To marry you?” she exclaimed. “Yes. Do it. Why haven’t you done it already.”

Ballister blinked. “I thought you’d be more hesitant about this,” he said slowly. “You used to hate him.”

Nimona waved her hand dismissively. “Ehhh. The past is the past, and all that jazz. Speaking of jazz—”

“No.”

“Ugh, whatever. You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“I didn’t need to.”

“You’re horrible. Anyway, I hated him when all I knew about him was that he cut off your arm. That was before I’d lived with you guys for a year. And it would be pretty hypocritical of me not to be open to changing my opinions about somebody. He makes you happy. You should totally marry him.”

Ballister smiled. “Thank you, Nimona.”

She scoffed affectionately. “Sure, boss.”

And a plan—namely, The Plan, which was the whole point—formed.

Nimona and Ballister flew all over the city looking for parks and possible activities, such as restaurants or shows. Most people had gotten fairly used to the pair of them flying around, Nimona sprouting wings and carrying Ballister above the streets, so they didn’t worry about staying out of sight.

If Ambrosius noticed or thought it was suspicious that Nimona and Ballister constantly went out together and didn’t talk to him about any of it, he didn’t comment. The three of them still had their movie nights and game nights, and Nimona and Ambrosius still had their terrifyingly intense card games (War, Go Fish, Crazy Eights, and several games Ballister had never heard of) that Ballister was forbidden from joining, so altogether not much had changed.

One thing that did change, though, was how often he paused, watched Ambrosius do something completely ordinary, and thought ‘I want to marry this man.’ It happened more and more with each passing day, until Ballister very nearly proposed to him when he walked into the apartment and found Ambrosius standing with his feet on two separate chairs, about three feet apart, holding a collection of colorful paper streamers above his head while Nimona, in the form of a small monkey, perched on the top of his head and put them in place on the wall.

Ballister stared at them for a long moment before he said, very confusedly: “There wasn’t a more efficient way to do this?”

Ambrosius and Nimona turned at the same time, both looking quite delighted despite their precarious position atop the chairs.

“We’re just mixing it up!” they both replied. Ballister looked around. The living room was covered in party decorations and newspaper, and Ballister thought he’d never seen more glitter in his life. He pictured Ambrosius buying a basket full of glitter for whatever party Nimona was planning on throwing, and wouldn’t have been surprised if his heart actually melted.

“What’s the occasion?” he asked.

“I asked Nimona when her birthday was,” Ambrosius explained. “She said she didn’t have one.”

“And if I do, I don’t remember when it is,” Nimona added. Ambrosius threw his hands out to the sides in an emphasizing gesture.

“Which means she’s never had a birthday party,” he continued. “So we decided that today’s her birthday and we’re having a party.”

“Which is just going to be like a normal night except with decorations,” Nimona said. “The glitter was Goldilocks’ idea.”

Ballister raised his eyebrows, and Ambrosius shrugged unabashedly, then turned back to finish putting up the streamers.

Marry me, Ballister thought.

Within the next week, he had everything figured out. He’d looked at the weather for the next few days, planned where they’d go and when, and had even bought a ring, which he’d hidden in his extra pair of running shoes and shoved under the bed. If Ambrosius noticed that Ballister seemed extra nervous or more likely to become agitated if he spent too long in the bedroom by himself, he didn’t comment.

So yes. Ballister had a plan, and it was much more concrete than ‘something something something, we win’. He didn’t have a script, but he had just about everything else. Nothing could possibly get in his way now.

Or so he thought.

One night—there was nothing particularly special about it; they’d had dinner with Nimona, danced and laughed while cleaning the kitchen, and kissed while getting ready for bed—Ballister and Ambrosius were snuggled up together under their blankets. Ballister’s prosthetic arm was hanging from its charger on the wall, so he couldn’t hold Ambrosius as close as he would’ve liked, but the blond knight was lying with his head on Ballister’s shoulder, which gave him room to wrap his left arm around his partner’s back.

Ambrosius moved to tangle his legs with Ballister’s and gave his middle a squeeze, causing Ballister to smile up at the dark ceiling. If he paid attention, he could hear quiet music through the walls from Nimona’s room, and the moon was shining brightly through the window. Ballister carded his fingers through Ambrosius’ hair and breathed deeply.

Ambrosius, after several minutes, pushed himself up onto his elbow so that he could see Ballister’s face. Ballister’s arm slid naturally to rest around his waist, and he wished he had his prosthetic so that he could tap Ambrosius on the nose. Whenever he did so, Ambrosius’ face would scrunch up in the most adorable way possible, and Ballister had no choice but to kiss him.

“Hey,” Ambrosius whispered, as though Ballister hadn’t already been giving him his full attention.

“Hi,” he said in the same quiet tone, and matched Ambrosius’ answering smile. They bumped their noses together and giggled, and Ambrosius flopped to the side, landing on his own pillow. Ballister freed his arm and laced their fingers together, and Ambrosius brought their joined hands to his lips, then rested them on his chest and stroked Ballister’s hand with his thumb.

“Bal?” he said, tilting his head to the side to look into Ballister’s eyes, which he was quite honestly struggling to keep open.

“Hm?”

“Will you marry me?” Ambrosius asked softly, simply, his gaze full of love, exactly the way Ballister had been fighting the urge to ask him for weeks.

“Oh, come on!” he exclaimed, and got out of bed to grab the ring box from his shoe, forgetting that Ambrosius had no idea what he was doing until he sat up, looking worried.

“Bal?” he said again, this time much more guarded. “I’m sorry, what—”

“I was going to propose to you!” Ballister interrupted, opened the box, and shoved it towards his gobsmacked partner, who stared at it in utter shock before looking back to Ballister’s eyes. “I had a plan! And it wasn’t ‘something something something, we win’!”

Ambrosius’ eyes were shiny. “Was it more like, ‘something something something, marry me?’”

Ballister laughed surprisedly and leaned over to plant a kiss on Ambrosius’ lips. “Yes,” he said. “Well, no. I didn’t have a speech.”

“Hence the something-something-something,” Ambrosius teased. “You know, you never answered my—”

“Yes, good Gloreth, yes, I’ll marry you,” Ballister interrupted again. “Though I think you could’ve inferred that from learning that I was going to ask you the same question.”

Ambrosius laughed tearfully, and Ballister kissed him again.

“I’m not taking your last name, though,” he added moments later. “As funny as it is.”

“Nimona would kill you,” Ambrosius agreed. “So would I, probably. I don’t want to keep my last name either. It made for some good jokes, but other than that—”

“Well, Boldheart is nice, but it wasn’t my birth name. You know the Queen gave it to me at the ceremony because somebody—probably the Director—said that Blackheart sounded too dark for a knight?”

“Right,” Ambrosius mused. “What should we do, then?”

“We could combine our last names,” Ballister suggested. “We could be Ambrosius and Ballister—”

“Goldenheart,” Ambrosius finished, and wrapped his arms around Ballister, shaking with laughter, tears, and joy. “I love it.”

“I love you,” Ballister told him, and there was very little talking for the rest of the night.

When morning came, they headed into the kitchen in their pajamas and found Nimona already up, sitting at the table with her headphones on. She appeared to be drawing—likely another action scene with herself as a large animal with Ballister and/or Ambrosius as her murderous accomplice—and didn’t look up as they entered.

“Morning, Nim,” Ambrosius said as he made his way to the coffee machine.

“Goldilocks.” She acknowledged him with a nod, then raised her eyebrows. “Sleep well?”

Ballister held his crossword puzzle up and hid his face behind it while Ambrosius nearly dropped the coffee pot. They both knew that Nimona was over a thousand years old and there was probably very little she hadn’t seen, and even less she wasn’t aware of, but she was so good at acting like a teenager that it was quite easy to forget. She watched their awkward reactions and snickered, but her eyes widened as her attention zeroed in on something on or beside Ambrosius’ hand.

“So, who snapped first?” she asked pleasantly, a wide grin forming on her face.

“Me,” Ambrosius admitted without turning around. “Wait. Who snapped first? You knew he was planning—”

“You knew he was—” Ballister began too, and they both stopped and stared at each other.

Nimona just burst out laughing.

[randomxreaders]

The transfer

Fem Reader x criminal minds

(bau team)

a/n: okay guys this is my comeback and yall aren’t ready cause i got a criminal minds series for you so although there was a 2 year wait it will definitely be worth it pookie pies(not proofread)

PART 1- The news

4:35 am

Y/n just stepped foot out of the elevator onto the familiar sixth floor assuming that there was a god awful case and that’s why she had been woken up with the urgent phone call. As she stepped into the bullpen she noticed the emptiness of all the desks, the only person there was Hotch. He stepped out of his office and called down “Y/l/n thank you for coming so early you’re needed in my office.” oh. This wasn’t for a case Y/n’s stomach dropped when she stepped into Hotchs office and saw Linda Barnes the new director of the fbi. “What’s going on?” Y/n asked.

2 hours later

Two hours ago you were called into Hotchs office. Garcia was the first to arrive going straight to her batcave too tired to realize anyone else was there. Then Rossi and Morgan came in they were conversing most likely about the game last night, they glanced up to Hotch’s office making eye contact with you until Barnes shut the blinds for more privacy. “Hey, what's that all about?” Morgan asked Rossi confused, “Don’t know.” Rossi replied, sending a questioning look towards the now closed blinds.

A few minutes later Reid walked into the bullpen sitting down starting to work on his paperwork until Prentiss and J.J walked in, “Hey, have you guys heard from Y/N we were supposed to carpool this morning but she never showed.” Prentiss said, “She's been in Hotch's office has been for a while now.” Morgan said. The team looked around confused but then started to work on their paperwork from the last case.

Back in Hotch’s Office

“I’m sorry your transfering me!?” Y/N asked shocked. “Yes agent Y/L/N you will be moving to California and will be starting your own BAU team. You will be the unit chief and other pre-selected agents will also be working with you.” Y/N looked at Hotch hoping he’d step in and say something, but he just stared at Barnes. “Ma’am all do respect I don-” Y/N was cut off by Barnes “Miss Y/L/N I did not make this decision. The head directors of the FBI did you have to go, here is the paperwork all the information you need will be in there.” “So I have to leave.” Y/N said teary eyed but also filled with rage. “Yes, sorry.” Barnes handed you the paperwork as she walked out of the room. “I’m sorry Y/L/N but there's nothing I can do.” Hotch said “ Yeah I know” “You can fill that out in here if you'd like.” He said looking at you with sympathy.

The team saw Barnes walk out of the office and knew that this couldn't be good, Hotch came out next the door opening just enough for the team to see the tears slowly fall down your face. “Looks like we're losing another on.” Morgan whispered. Spencer couldn't tear his eyes away from Hotch’s door. Hotch walked to Rossi’s office “Shit” he said after he closed the door “This is worse than when J.J had to leave.” Hotch sighed. “What happened Aaron?” “Y/n’s getting transferred to California to start her own team.””Well that's an amazing opportunity, but it's hard to see her go.”

Y/N read over the contract it said that an apartment would be provided, a place for the team to work and rental cars. Y/N signed the transfer papers and headed to Barnes office.

The team looked up and saw Y/N walk out of Hotch’s office at the same time Hotch walked out of Rossi’s. Hotch walked over to Y/N “Do you want me to tell the team.” Y/N silently nodded then headed off to Barnes office.

[nenilein]

Hello! Apologies for sending an ask out of the blue but considering your familiarity with localisation differences in persona 4/golden, I was wondering if anything comes to your mind regarding this aspect and how the game depicts queerness and queer themes? Thank you!

Heya! Don't worry, I was thinking people would probably ask stuff like this. After all, I already replied to somebody's tags asking this same thing previously, but I know not many people saw that, so let me use the chance to go into more detail:

Unfortunately, Persona 4's treatment of queer themes is not a result of the translation. The only things that were down to translation choices were small things, such as which pronouns are used in which situation (because Japanese does not at all have the same concept of third person pronouns as English, and the way first person classifiers that mean "I" work is very complex and a lot more vibes-based than actually tied to gender.)

But for the most part, everything is pretty much the same. Kanji's reaction to Chie mumbling about something being "off" about how he interacted with Naoto that first time, the tent scene, Yosuke's extreme insecurity in his own sexuality in addition to everyone else's... I think maybe the only thing that's a biiit better in Japanese is that Teddie is kiiinda genderfluid in Japanese, with the artbook outright stating that he doesn't necessarily consider himself "male" when he's in his bear form, unless it's necessary for a joke.

A lot of this can be traced to the really odd relationship the game's director, Katsura Hashino, has to queer themes. In interviews about Catherine Fullbody (a game which infamously has a rather weirdly handled gay romance route which, however, is notably also the only romance route in the game that cannot possibly result in a bad ending), he talks about how he's always admired queer people for being "strong" and wanted to write queer stories, but couldn't really do it until Fullbody because Atlus higher ups were afraid of backlash from the fans.

Traces of this are actually seen in Persona 4 Vanilla's data, where remnants of a surprisingly well done romance route for YOSUKE, of all people, are still present. That route made it far enough into development to have voiced lines in both, English and Japanese. However, it was dummied out in the final game and its script content was removed. Yosuke STILL has the "girlfriend flag" in the code that all the female romance options also have, but in the finished game it only checks whether you can hug him during his social link or not. Everything else was dummied out. You can still find the voice files on the cutting room floor if you want:

And yes, the "I like you" line is unambiguously romantic in Japanese. His wording is very hard to misinterpret.

However, in the finished game and the rest of the franchise Yosuke's bisexuality was reduced to an in-joke of the developers. It's most poignant in Persona Q (the first one), where if you get the "marriage" scene with Yosuke in the second dungeon, his reactions differ WILDLY depending on which Protagonist you are playing as, far more than other male characters. With Makoto Yuki he acts nonchallant and deadpan about it. With Yu Narukami he acts like a blushy Tsundere and panics constantly. So, yeah.

Okay, so, if the director had interest in writing queer stories since before Persona 4, why is Persona 4 the way it is then?

Well, because - and there's no way around it - he sucks at it.

Katsura Hashino has to be one of the clumsiest "gay activists" I've ever seen in my whole darn life. He finds queer people "cool", but seemingly never had any queer writers or sensitivity readers on his teams and it's caused enormous blunders in how these themes have been handled. For example, when after Persona 3 it was pointed out to him that the writing of the female characters in interaction with the male characters was bad, he immediately hired more female writers and gave them free reign for how to handle the female characters from then on out. But apparently the same thing never happened with his mishandling of queer themes. He wants Catherine's Erica and Rin to be empowering figures for trans women and gay men, but makes a lot of blunders in how he has other characters interact with them to the point it buries his good intentions. Erica's boyfriend having gay panic upon realizing she's trans is treated as "funny and cute", even by Erica herself. Rin technically being a monogender alien really undermines his story of becoming more secure in his sexuality. It goes on and on like that.

The intention with Naoto's story was to point out the extreme sexism in Japanese society and how it forces female nerds to find alternate modes of self-expression, but the clumsy choice of including surgery themes in Naoto's dungeon completely buried that for especially western queer audiences. Most people don't even remember Naoto's dungeon was outright modeled after a Kamen Rider villain hideout. They completely shot themselves in the foot with this one. Additionally, the way Naoto is handled AFTER the dungeon makes her (I'm using that pronoun because she calls herself a "woman" in Japanese in the game) seem more like someone who's on the verge of discovering they are X-gender (the japanese word for "nonbinary") than a repressed girl. Like, right down to how she has Rise help her experiment with clothes in the canonical drama CDs only to realize she really is uncomfortable with skirts and go for an androgynous but less restrictive look going forward. The way she dresses in the Golden epilogue and P4D is pretty X-gender core if you ask me. If they had leaned into that they could have genuinely have had something AMAZING, while also presenting the themes of sexism they wanted to explore, but the lack of queer sensitivity readers kind of ruined it.

Same for Kanji. The way they write him makes it seem like he's bisexual or pansexual, rather than straight, but they kinda shove that part of him aside after his dungeon is done, leaving his actual orientation up in the air and wasting a really good chance for representation. NOW, given what happened to Yosuke's social link, it's quite possible the original intent WAS to explore this more and it got cut, but as it stands, we'll never know. The huge problem of the internalized toxic stereotypes his Shadow presented never being reflected on and put into their right context in the rest of the game, when his social link could've given a great opportunity for that is also a huge shame.

All of this happened because of Atlus being unwilling to let their writers go all out with queer themes in fears of alienating a cishet audience AND because Hashino never sat his writing team down with any actual queer writers to sort this shit out and learn how to get across what the team was ACTUALLY trying to say. Now, given, Persona 4 was far from the only Japanese media property with that exact issue at the time, but it hurts especially much in its case because of the game's themes of exploring the truth to its logical conclusion, as well as psychology. These are issues that a remake REALLY would do well to address and correct. I feel like they actually will HAVE to do that, because sensitivity readers have become the NORM in handling these themes now in Japanese media, rather than the exception. You can thank trail blazing mainstream works like Zombie Land Saga for that.

All in all, Persona 4's handling of queer themes is an exercise in frustration that I hope is corrected soon.

[projectbluearcadia]

[P1] Your Blood, Your Heart

[ Part 1 ] [ Part 2 ] [ Part 3 ] [ Part 4 ]

So I played the vampire event on Lonely Devil. And y'know I thought, "Hmm… Vampy Luci. SPICY."

[ Story Premise - In which all of the brothers are pureblood vampires, and although Lucifer has been protecting you, he loses himself to carnal desire, demonus and the thirst for blood. ]

Note: The other three parts are marked NSFW.

Wordcount - 1047

It's been difficult for you, living among the seven Pureblood brothers, but it could be worse. Among other things, it doesn't seem like Lucifer is interested in your blood, and he's been protecting you on the condition that you do what he tells you. You were initially reluctant, but as it turns out, most of the time he just wants you to do little chores. Alright, fine. Do your share, and you're safe. Pretty fair trade. 

Maybe that's what made you think Lucifer wasn't interested in your blood, that he was too "proper" for it. He certainly acted like he didn't want it, instead preferring the iron-enriched wine supplied to the family by Diavolo. 

How utterly naive of you.

---

"MC, what are you doing awake at this hour?" is Lucifer's first question as he sees you cross through the living room, the moonlight cutting beautifully through the window to illuminate the vampire's unreal features. There's a wine glass in his hand, a half-empty bottle of Lucifer's favorite Miel de Sang casting a deep red glow onto the coffee table. 

"Couldn't sleep," you answer sheepishly. "Sorry. I went to the kitchen to heat up some spiced milk." You gesture to the warm cup in your hand, and Lucifer sighs. 

"Well… you may as well come join me. I could use some company right now." The request sends you stumbling. Lucifer? Company?

"Are… are you okay?" you ask as you come to sit next to him. Lucifer looks straight in front of him before he rubs the bridge of his nose. 

"No, I'm not. As if my brothers weren't enough of a handful, those damn werewolves in Purgatory Hall won't stop howling every morning. And then there is also the matter that my favorite drama was canceled yesterday on account of the director's illicit affair with a vampire hunter…" Lucifer lets out a long groan.

"It's just one day," you try, giving him a tentative pat on the back. "Out of thousands. I guess it's more like trillions for you, but…" 

"I appreciate it, MC. And… thank you for always doing what I ask. It helps a lot." Well you weren't expecting that.

"Oh, uh… thank you?" Lucifer chuckles.

"Isn't the response normally 'you're welcome'?" You drink your milk awkwardly. 

"You're being nicer than usual, so I'm off my game." 

"Well, while I'm being nicer, your perfume is lovely today. It's not as overpowering." 

"I thought you said it should be overpowering," you reply unsurely as Lucifer pours himself another glass, and the muted stench of iron comes to greet your nose. Alas, it’s a smell you’ve grudgingly gotten used to.

"To deter my brothers, yes. But you're alone with me right now, so there is no need." 

"And you like the smell of my perfume?" 

"I gave it to you; do you really think I'd give you a perfume I didn't like myself?" 

"Fair point." You finish your milk a little quicker than you'd like, but you'd rather not indulge in the awkwardness any longer than you have to. 

"Hey." You shiver as you stand with your back turned to Lucifer. You're not allowed to leave yet; you disobeyed him. That's what this feels like. "Before you leave…" His voice growing gentler makes you turn, bemused, to see him fiddling with his glass, his eyes just barely averted from yours. "Can I… Have a hug?" 

What? 

"Is… that a command?" you ask hesitantly. 

"No. It was just… it was just a whim. That's all." You hesitate, only because you know that's a lie. This isn't one of his petty little "Bark for me" whims he's indulged in just to make fun of you. He really wants a hug. 

So, what can you do but lean in and give him a nice little hug? And, maybe you like it when he squeezes you back and returns you to the seat next to him. Surprisingly enough, the arms of the cold-hearted taskmaster are quite comfy.  

"Thank you," he mumbles against your shoulder, and you can't resist the urge to fluff his hair. For a moment, you worry that he'll rebuke you, but he doesn't seem to mind. "I think I'm touch starved," he chuckles. "I like… the feeling of your hands too much." 

"Well, you have had a lot to drink," you point out, taking that as a sign to stop touching him, but his head is still leaning against your shoulder. 

"Mm. I haven't had enough to drink tonight."

"Enough? Lucifer, I'm pretty sure you're wasted. You just asked me to hug you." 

"No… no…" Am I going to have to lug him to bed? you wonder with an impending sense of trepidation. "My throat is so dry that it feels as if it’s going to stick together and close when I speak." Lucifer lets out a slow exhale. 

"Is that wine really that dry?" It’s a joke, but you're getting the distinct feeling you should have already taken off running, but is that safe? Safer than just staying here and hoping for the best? 

"It's sweet, just like a ripe fruit, but… the taste isn't quite as resplendent as if I had bitten through the skin and eaten my fill." Yeah, you should run, but his lips are against your neck like a sharpened blade. His every word thrums through your veins, sending your fingers twitching and fidgeting. Fight? Flight? How about freeze?

"Lucifer?" you whisper. "I'm not a fruit, so please don't bite me." His lips part, and every last one of your muscles stiffen. He could kill you. 

"I can't take it anymore, MC," he whispers back, tracing his lips up your neck to graze a spot just behind your ear. "I want to taste your blood, indulging in you just a little bit each night… I want to take my time giving you so much pleasure that the only thing you can do is beg for more of it…"

He lightly bites the shell of your ear, and you twitch as he puts his hands on top of yours, interlacing your fingers. His voice, low and husky, echoes through your being as he loses himself. "You belong to me. I want you to tell me, from your own lips, that you are mine. You can do that for me, can't you?"

[e-vasong]

For the director's cut ask game, any behind the scenes lore to share on Knockout? I'm so curious about the alternate backstories hinted at in that story. Anything you can share about the boys' encounters with the fae, or how they know Crystal in this 'verse or basically whatever you'd like to share!

For the end of year/start of 2025 game! Feel free to shoot me an ask if you have one. :D

Apologies for the delayed reply! <3 I have had an extremely busy few days, but I'm finally back....but still exhausted. :D (I see your other question too; I'll for sure get to that one tomorrow once I've gotten some sleep!)

There is. SO MUCH deep lore for Knockout. I really want to dive into it more at some point with another installment, because I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about it.

I'm still undecided as to whether it was Simon, but Edwin caught the eye of a fairy who whisked him away to the faewild and trapped him there for some time. Rather than being traded back and forth, Edwin escaped relatively early in his imprisonment....and spent quite a bit of time wandering, getting kidnapped by other faeries, almost eaten by monsters, etc.

Is Edwin still from the early 1900s? FANTASTIC question. I don't know. I think time flows funnily in the faewild, and aging is messed up too. That combined with the unreality of it means that Edwin doesn't know anymore, either. He does have memories that would suggest him being from that time period, but that could just be as easily be an illusion. He tries not to think about it too hard.

Charles' backstory is more or less the same (though bumped up a few years to be in line with the modern day), except in this world, when he got shoved into a freezing lake...he pulled out a Very Important Magic Sword. This is totally fine. <- Lying.

I keep trying to think about how to describe Charles' abilities, because in my HEAD it's very cool, but when I try and write it out, I'm like.... damn, this sounds weird.

Basically, for Charles, I'm repurposing the idea of "aspects" from Hades - I love the idea that certain mythological archetypes carry on before, during, and after their "moments in history," and if you embody enough of their qualities the Universe goes "Meh, close enough, here you go again" and you can effectively end up as an "aspect/representation" of certain mythological figures.

Charles has a few Western and Hindu aspects; in the really early days, when he was going through the classic Biracial Kid Identity Crisis, he would lose access to them randomly or summon different ones from what he intended, but he's mostly got it under control now. Mostly.

Crystal is still psychic. She also has, like, a great grandma who was a fairy, though she's only been to the faewild like once, and she fucking HATED it. Too many bugs, too hard to tell which way is up and which is down.

She still had her demon possession arc when she was 16 - except the boys weren't there to help. David burned basically every bridge she had before she was able to get rid of him -- including her ability to do things like use her real identity without getting arrested. Possessed!Crystal, like, straight up murdered people.

She's a sort of general psychic/magic freelancer, in many ways a fellow of Johanna Constantine, except she has a magic gun and she is NOT afraid to use it.

I haven't precisely decided how she and the boys met. My current favorite idea is that a fairy in disguise hired her to go after Edwin under false pretenses, and after uncovering the deception, she teamed up with them to bring the attempted kidnapper down.

[worstvideogamesong-poll]

Worst Video Game Song Tournament - Round 1 Match 11

Bomb Rush Blush (Remix) - Splatoon 2

VERSUS

Mansion Basement - Resident Evil Director's Cut

FIGHT!

I would recommend listening to as much as you can of each song before voting, but how you choose is up to you! Remember to be civil in the tags and replies!

Propaganda under cut:

Bomb Rush Blush (Remix):

"whaaaaaatthefuck what the fuck"

Mansion Basement:

"this song fucking sucks. i love it."

Feel free to add more propaganda in the tags and replies, or send it to me in the ask box and I'll try to share it as soon as I can!

[strayheartless]

The wobble:

Flo copes? Flo copes…. *sigh* this can’t be how I get back into the writing game. It just can’t be.

CW for: apparent panic attacks that are actually mild serotonin syndrome.

+++++++++++

Angel face: sosmthandh wrong. Don no whdkt I’m doing orsn wfy.

Mr perfect: Angeal?

The Hero: my love, are you well?

Angeal face: Idntknw.

Mr perfect: do you need assistance?

Angel face: ??

Sephiroth placed his phone in his pocket and got out of his seat, cutting Heidegger off mid stride.

“I apologise gentlemen, there is an emergency that requires my attention. Lazard would you inform second Class Fair that his training mission has been cancelled?”

Lazard blinked a few times in confusion but nodded, looking down at his phone to see if he had gotten the same alert the general had.

“Yes alright,” he replied looking concerned. “Is everything alright?”

Sephiroth strode to the door, reaching for the handle. “I’ll tell you when I know director,” and with that he was out of the door and bypassing the elevator in favour of flinging himself over the emergency stairs banister. He catches himself at the forty-ninth floor and darts across the hall as quickly as possible.

Their offices have always been next to eachother, Sephiroth’s at the end of the hall, Genesis at the head. Angeals office sat snuggly between the two in a rather witty (on Lazards part) recreation of how their friendship often worked; Angeal being the buffer between he and Genesis’ more destructive behaviours. He had expected to walk in and find Genesis already there, but the dull click of heeled boots on marble flooring told him that Genesis must have been out.

Turning he caught sight of the red head looking harassed and slightly winded.

“Did you run here?” The general asked

Genesis huffed a stray hand out of his face, “I was in sector three.” He complained. “Since you were to busy to deal with the weapons factory infestation, I had to deal with it!”

Sephiroth stared at him. “You’ve been in my office again?”

To Genesis’ credit he didn’t so much as flinch at the accusation. “Get better locks. Now can we please check on Angeal?”

Sephiroth nodded curtly as they both headed for the door, nothing was likely to stop Genesis from searching through his files when he was bored. Given that it was one less thing of Sephiroth’s own mounting ‘to do list’, he wasn’t about to push the matter. Besides he doesn’t think it really matters given what he’s just opened the office door to.

Angeal is sat at his desk, hands hovering over the keyboard. He’s shaking badly and seems to be staring through, rather than at, his computer monitor. Sephiroth notes the palor to his skin and the fact that, as they round his desk, nothing totally life shattering seems to be displayed there.

“‘Geal?” Genesis calls, kneeling next to the man’s chair. “Love are you well?”

“I- I don’t-“ he can’t seem to finish a sentence so Sephiroth places a hand on his shoulder as the distress seems to speed his breathing up. He did not really know what else he could do. As Genesis reached to turn the monitor off and take Angeals hands he almost feels as if his presence is more of a hinderance than a help.

“Darling, I’m going to coach you through some breathing exercisesc can you look at me?” Genesis cooed, tilting his head to see Angeals face clearer. “Sephiroth dear, will you grab some water for us?” Sephiroth stumbled to do as he was told, feeling completely unprepared to deal with whatever this was.

While Gen coached Angeal, he grabbed the glass pitcher from atop the coffee table and filled a glass with water. Maybe Genesis thought he was better off out of the way during this, maybe he was right. However as he came back and handed the water to Angeal, the usually solid Commander slumped into his chest while Genesis rubbed his hands soothingly against his knees.

Sephiroth’s natural reaction was to place a hand on Angeal’s shoulder but he didn’t feel the urge to push him away like he usually would. Angeal seemed somewhat delicate and in reality Sephiroth felt a small amount of pride that he had leaned on him specifically. Genesis let his lips twitch up at the sight but didn’t point it out.

“What happened here Hm?” He said, not unkindly. His voice was still that soft coo that let Angeal know nobody was mad at him. Sephiroth imagined it was the voice mothers used when soothing their children… though how he knew that he was unsure of. He absently moved his hand to Angeal’s head and began to stroke his hair as he listened to it.

“I-“ Angeal sucked in a breath and leaned heavier on Sephiroth. “I was- I was working and all these emails started piling in an-“ Genesis placed a hand on his face and absently stroked his thumb across Angeal’s cheek.

“It overwhelmed you?” He prompted.

“N-no. I mean- I don’t know. I- how did you know to come here?” Angeal suddenly sat up away from Sephiroth who let his hand fall away. He looked between the two of them confused.

“You sent us a message?” Sephiroth said making his own confused face and looking across at Genesis who’s face was concerned.

“Did I?”

Genesis pulled his phone from his coat pocket and showed Angeal the text massage.

“I don’t remember sending it.” He blinked at the screen.

“That’s okay, it’s likely you were dissociating and have lost some time. We’ll figure it out.” Genesis looked at Sephiroth again and the worry was plain on his face.

“Angeal,” he said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible. “Are you functioning at optimum levels?”

Genesis rolled his eyes. “Nicely handled,” he deadpanned. He placed a hand on Angeal’s forehead and tsked when no fever became apparent.

“Well it could simply have been a panic attack.” He muttered. “But you’ve never had one before.”

Angeal blinked blearily. I looked as though he needed a lie down.

“You think I should go to Hollander?” He shudders a little making Sephiroth reach out and grip the back of his neck reassuringly. Angeal reached around to hold onto his wrist greatfully.

“I think it’s up to you dove.” Gen nudged his cheek with his knuckle.

“I think I just want to go to bed,” Angeal replied meekly.

Sephiroth gripped his neck again.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” He said.

[itstheoneshot]

He’s a Model, Darling

request

Summary: There is nothing better than on-set chemistry, and working with someone as attractive and charming as this makes it so, so easy.

Word Count: 3.2k

Pairing: Wang Yibo x Reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Exhibitionism, Unprotected Sex.

Being a model has its pros and cons. You adhere to a strict diet and exercise regime, with that comes intense emotions, fluctuating energy levels and a twisted sense of self. On the other hand, you travel the world, and meet all kinds of amazing people. You have friends in every country that you have been to, and you never go without anything material-wise, always owning the latest clothes, tech, accessories. Brand deals are never ending, and for that you are so grateful.

Today marks another two day shoot, this time in Beijing, with a model whom you know of, but have yet to meet.

Wang Yibo, idol, actor, dancer, model. You are thrilled at the opportunity, sure that you can learn something from him, even though you too are at the top of the game, there is always an excitement in meeting other highly successful models.

Seeing him in person blew you away, twice as handsome as any photo could capture. You were overwhelmed at first, racking your brain to try and remember anything you learnt through Mandarin classes at school, worried that you will be unable to communicate with your co-model, when he interrupts your train of thought.

“Hi,” He smiles at you, speaking English, “It’s nice to meet you.”

A wave of relief washes over you, though you don’t know if he is fluent, his accent and intonation is good.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” You reply, “I look forward to working with you.”

You watch Yibo’s expression, examining his features, and you can see him translating in his head, processing the words that you said.

“Oh me too,” He nods, “Your work is so good.”

Are you really blushing? How embarrassing, and he definitely notices. Though there is no further time for conversation as you hear your manager call your name, requesting for you to go to your dressing room to prepare.

“I’ll see you on set!” You say with a little bow of your head, waving softly before you turn in the direction of your manager, as Yibo does the same with his.

Soon you are ready, handing your water bottle to your manager before walking out on set. The lights are bright, and the backdrop is a floral, forest kind of scene. Coming into Spring, you are modelling the new season’s collection, and you could not be more thrilled. The dress you are wearing is stunning, low cut but classy neck, the length sits just above your knee. Yibo is in a casual suit, open blazer with a button up shirt and slacks. You wear high heels and he in sneakers, and everything just fits.

“Looking good,” You comment as the director puts you in position, “This might be the best season yet.”

Yibo eyes you up and down so openly, and although in this business that is something you are used to, you feel that same blush crawl up your cheeks. You thank the heavens that you have enough makeup on to hide it, and you glance away for a second to try to calm down.

“You do too,” He replies, moving closer to you on instruction, “These are your colours.”

It’s cute, the way that he tries to communicate with you, and your chemistry is unreal. The day flies by, with you two laughing and making jokes, testing both of your language skills, and having so much fun. You don’t remember the last time you enjoyed a shoot so much, and you are happy that it will continue on to tomorrow.

“Do you want to get coffee?” Yibo asks, looking at you with a soft expectancy, no pressure.

“I’d love to,” You nod, “I’ll just let my manager know that I don’t need her to drive me home.”

Yibo smiles at you as you turn around, heading back to your dressing room to change, and to tell your manager about your plans. She is happy for you to go, but does warn you not to stay out late, reminding you of the early start tomorrow. You hadn’t planned on that anyway, all you are doing is getting a drink, but you thank her again before leaving to find your new friend.

“I can drive us,” Yibo tells you, holding his arm out for you to take, “I drove here alone.”

Touching him now off set, brings a whole new feeling, it is electric, and you realise the chemistry was not just put on for show. You try to pay no mind to the goosebumps raised on your skin, and focus on following his lead, out to the parking lot where his expensive sports car is parked. 

He opens the door for you, and continues to hold onto you as you get down into the car. He finally relinquishes his grip, though lingers momentarily with his hand up by your cheek before he pulls back to close the door. Not a moment later he is in the driver’s seat, pressing the ignition to fire up the engine, and reversing out of his parking spot to leave the set. You wouldn’t consider yourself that into cars, but there’s just something about an insanely hot man, driving a fast and powerful vehicle, that is just so attractive.

Yibo catches you staring, and you watch his lips curl up in a smirk before he glances over at you while he is pulled up at a red light.

“What’s on your mind, beautiful?” He asks, “Don’t think I don’t see you.”

He is so cheeky. Butterflies flutter in your stomach and heat rushes to your cheeks as he stares at you, and you are lost for words. He looks away, back to the road ahead as he takes off at the lights, and you find the courage to speak again once you are no longer lost in his eyes.

“Oh nothing,” You reply with a defiant edge, “Why, is something on yours?”

Yibo rolls his eyes with a playful laugh, shaking his head, “Oh, nothing,” He mimics you, diverting the topic, “The cafe is just over here.”

He turns down a side street and pulls up on the side of the road, quickly getting out of the car to open your door for you again. You aren’t used to chivalry, but you take it gracefully, any excuse to hold his hand again, a little overwhelmed when he doesn’t let go, interlocking your fingers while you walk a few stores down to the cafe. 

He lets go of you once you are seated, moving to take his own seat opposite of you. He calls a waiter over and orders an iced americano for you both, before focusing his attention on you and you only. He has you giggling and blushing non-stop, a natural flirtatious energy that you try your hardest to match. A confirmation of the connection you shared, it is so easy to spend time with him, and you are disappointed when you look down at your watch and realise that it is late and you need to go back to your hotel.

“I’ll drop you off,” Yibo offers, “And I’ll see you on set again in the morning.”

This time you reach for his hand first, and hold it with him on the gearshift while he drives. Your hotel isn’t far, and you are saddened again when you need to say goodbye. He lets go of your hand, to gently grab your thigh. You let out a surprised whimper, in shock but not complaining, but the moment passes quickly, and he moves out of the car to come around and help you from your seat. He pulls you in to hug you goodbye, and if you had any less restraint, you would be asking him upstairs, but instead you breathe him in for the time that he holds you, memorising the way that his hands feel on your waist, burning his dark, woody perfume scent into your senses.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” You mumble breathlessly, letting your gaze wander when he steps back, “Thank you, for today, and tonight.”

Yibo nods in agreement, “I can’t wait, I’ll see you then.”

He sits in his car and watches you walk into the hotel lobby, turning to wave once more before you make your way to the elevator, riding it up to the 30th floor where your room is. Your phone buzzes in your pocket when you exit, but you wait until you are in your room before you answer it.

The first message is from your manager, wanting confirmation that you made it back to your accommodation safely. You reply with your confirmation before opening the conversation that you are actually interested in.

Yibo

I enjoyed your company today, and I realised I didn’t say thank you yet, so thank you.

You

As did I, and I’ll be thinking of the way your hands felt on me for a long while.

You couldn’t help yourself, mind still racing from the sparks that flew between you. The anxiety of being so forward over text is short-lived as another message pops up on screen.

Yibo

Maybe I’ll keep them there longer next time, so it’s harder to forget.

Go get some sleep, sweetheart.

I’ll see you tomorrow x

You bite your tongue to stop yourself from screaming. The implication is enough to make heat surge between your thighs. You reply with a simple goodnight, Yibo gē, before stripping off to shower and do your skincare routine. It is hard to wind down to sleep, but you get comfortable between the sheets and find yourself drifting off imagining the way that he kisses, and silently praying that you would find out for real.

In the morning you walk onto the set with an iced coffee in hand and your manager by your side, greeting the staff politely on your way through to your dressing room. You see Yibo ahead but he is already halfway through the door, so disappointingly you do not get to greet him, instead having to wait until you are dressed and made up, and out in front of the cameras.

“Did you sleep okay?” Yibo asks, “I like your style today.”

Today’s concept is a bit darker, leathers and straps and chains. If you thought Yibo looked good yesterday, that feeling is only tenfold today. You openly stare him up and down, admiring the outfit and makeup that they have him in.

“I did, did you?” You reply, “This look suits you a lot.”

Yibo nods, but is interrupted by the director before he can answer. You begin another day of modelling, this time a lot of the poses are closer than yesterday, more touching, more eye contact, and it drives you crazy. You are sure that the chemistry will show on camera, but that will only be portrayed as skill and talent, which works in both yours and Yibo’s favour. This concept requires a lot more seriousness, less laughter and fun, but you make the most of it, enjoying the change of pace and the challenge of holding yourself together. Yibo is hilarious off camera, and he makes it known that he is playfully trying to mess with you, but you love it.

You get through the shoot faster than expected, and are sent off to your dressing room while the managers and directors break for their lunch, and then to look through the photography to see whether anything else needs to be done. You are grateful for the free time, after changing back into your own clothes, a skirt and crop top combination, relaxing on one of the chairs with your legs up on the table, scrolling through your phone mindlessly.

Yibo

You know you could come see me for our break, right?

YouIs that your way of asking me to your dressing room?

YiboI’ll see you soon.

You roll your eyes, but find yourself standing up to leave the room. You quickly glance down the hall to see nobody around, and take quick strides to the room you saw Yibo enter earlier. You knock a few times before the door opens, and Yibo opens the door, grabbing your wrist to pull you in. His grip is strong, and you already feel yourself faltering. You aren’t sure what he wanted you to see him for, but when he moves his hands to your waist, you begin to get an idea.

“Is this better?” He asks, “Don’t want you to forget this.”

You are sure that you look like a deer in headlights, eyes wide as you try to process what is happening. Yibo stares at you with a brooding gaze, lids heavy as he stares at your lips. You lick them subconsciously, and that is when he leans in to kiss you. You are addicted from the second that your lips connect, gasping at the feeling, Yibo takes the opportunity to taste you, tongue fighting with yours, as one hand moves from your waist up to your hair, fingers carding through it to settle at the base of your scalp. He pulls you further into the room, over to one of the dressing tables where he guides you to sit up on it, spreading your legs to fit in between them. Kisses getting heavier, you whine as he nibbles on your bottom lip, grasping to the collar of his shirt to keep him close to you, crossing your ankles behind him.

“I won’t forget,” You breathe, “How could I? Just look at you.”

Yibo smirks into the kiss, hands now on your thighs to spread them further apart, loving the way that you give in to him, knowing that you want him just as bad as he wants you. Your hands slip under his shirt, desperate to feel the body that he is hiding under there. He is so fit, and you trace his muscles with your fingertips, wanting to learn every single one of them, burn them into your memory forever, knowing that this is more than likely a one time thing.

“You want this, don’t you?” He asks as his hands travel further upwards, under your skirt and increasingly closer to where you are most desperate for, “I need you.”

“Please,” You beg, moaning into his mouth as his fingers trail over your core, “I need you, too.”

It is thrilling, getting frisky in a dressing room, knowing that you could be walked in on at any moment. Do these doors even lock? Too late now… You grab at Yibo’s waist, hands working at the button and fly on his jeans, needing him desperately, and as quickly as possible. Yibo reaches further, fingers hooking into the elastic waistband of your panties, and you obediently lift your hips to allow him to pull them down. Simultaneously you free him from his jeans, tugging them down his legs enough to palm at his hardened cock, sheathed away in his underwear.

“Don’t make me wait,” He growls, furiously pulling his own underwear down and directing you to wrap your hand around his shaft, “Oh, fuck yes…”

You stroke him gently, only wanting to tease him a bit, enjoying it maybe too much how riled up he is getting. You hope that the more you tease, the harder he will go on you, but right now you would be happy with anything that he is willing to give to you. 

Yibo doesn’t make you wait long, his hand moving to wrap around yours as you shuffle closer to the edge of the dressing table. Yibo teases you back, sliding the tip of his cock up your slit, letting your arousal slick him up, but nothing more. He waits until you are whimpering, legs tightening around him before he enters you, slow and cautious, allowing you to take him in all the way. Your breath hitches, gulping as you adjust to the initial stretch, he fills you so well. He lets out a low groan, in comparison with your breathy whine, and he kisses you to keep you quiet as he pulls out to enter you again, this time faster, more forceful, the angle hitting you in all the right places.

He speeds up, unable to hold back anymore. It is so hard to be quiet, with the way that he fucks into you with no reprieve at all. You worry that he is going to tear your hair out, his grip ever-tightening as he tries to keep you still. Each passing second, you know that the chances of you being caught increase, but his cock makes you feel so good, you wouldn’t be opposed to the whole world seeing. You swear that you hear footsteps, but this only spurs Yibo on, picking up the pace to a point that you can barely cope with, overstimulated is an understatement, you are close, Yibo’s hand on your clit to make sure of that, and you know he must be too.

“Gonna cum,” He warns you, “You want that, don’t you?” It’s hard to talk, with your orgasm threatening to take over, you try your hardest to compose yourself, to find the strength to reply.

“I need it,” You whine, “Please, Yibo, please…”

With permission, and the continuous stimulation, you release, thighs shaking as he continues to fuck you through it. You hold him tight, kissing him over and over to try and keep yourself even a little bit quiet, and only moments later does he follow suit, his high washing over him with breathless groans of your name. You are fucked out by the time he slows down, and he is hesitant to pull out of you, but you both know that if you take any longer, you will be caught for sure, and now that your high is subsiding, you are not too keen on that idea.

“I needed that,” He murmurs, kissing you as he pulls out, “I don’t think I could’ve gone on if I had not been able to have you.”

He is so smooth, it makes you blush. You stand to dress yourself, as Yibo steps back to make room for you to do so. Once dressed, you know that you need to leave, not wanting to raise too much suspicion, knowing that if your manager can’t find you there will be hell to pay.

“I did too,” You reply as you fix your hair in the mirror, glancing at Yibo over your shoulder, “At least I’ll be able to focus now if we have to take more photos.”

Yibo reaches forward to tuck your hair behind your ear, trailing his fingers down your neck before he moves back to give you the space to get past him. You are a little unsteady on your feet, but not noticeably, which you are glad about.

“Maybe we should go out for drinks after work?” He suggests, “You aren’t flying home today, are you?”

He has a devilish grin when you turn to face him, one that makes you want to jump him again. Instead, you smirk back, raising an eyebrow indicating that you know what he is looking for, and wondering what he will be like once he’s got alcohol in his system. You are intrigued, and more than interested, and you know that you would regret it if you turned him down.

“I’m here for a few more days,” You tell him, “Yes, let’s do that, I’m sure you know all the best places to go.”

[zhenskiy-durak]

𝒮𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝓇𝒾𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒.

Well well, look what we have here in my sights on here. You're quite the brave one to approach me as you have, let the boss know what's on your mind with you disturbing me like this... and maybe I'll let you live if you get lucky and if I deem it fit..~

Blog Tags:

• Director's Announcements -> Asks answered in-character • Director's Orders -> In-character posts and replies from Chaos Director • Goop mind-> Aesthetic reblogs relating Chaos Director • moth think-> OOC posts from the muse • ❤︎ -> Misc reblogs,such as ask, games and promoting more blogs

*OOC talking will be done with [[ ]]

《 Rules/Info under the cut. 》

Rules and Guidelines:

❤︎ Blog is run by @leamhan ❤︎This blog is very headcanon heavy as right now as Chaos Director just came out

❤︎writer is an adult, but please don’t send anything NSFW like. Suggestive jokes may be allowed, however please keep them to a minimum as I’d prefer this blog to be SFW mainly. ❤︎Basic DNI applies here. Absolutely no proshippers please keep that trash away. Also, just don’t be rude in general, we're all just having fun. ❤︎if you'd like, feel free to tag this account in posts or message me if you wanna start something! However I may take a bit as I am a busy person most days.

Headcanons:

❤︎ Chaos Director is a lesbian and goes by she/they pronouns. ❤︎ Chaos Director is Russian and has a heavy Russian accent like Chaos agent does in Save the world. ❤︎ Chaos Director and Chaos Agent are not siblings in my hc, She is the boss of him who both took the same experiment to be as they are, she came out stronger and as his boss. ❤︎ Chaos Director loves to play with her "food" and well tease while she does. ❤︎ Chaos Director is single but open to ships and more, though it may just to further her plans. [[First Divider credit @k1ssyoursister]]

[eruscreaminginthedistance]

Seen lots of talk about this going around lately so thought I'd put the sparknotes of this interview here for posterity.

Baldur's Gate-specific questions:

Swen reconfirms they don't plan to make any DLC or sequels to BG3; they made a start but didn't feel like their hearts were in it. They now have two other games they want to make instead.

When asked if they had plans for a Divinity: Original Sin 3, Swen replied: "Yeah, I can't tell you. No, it will have its proper moment. Hopefully nobody's going to leak it for us, but it's different than what you think it is, but it is still familiar enough for you to recognize that it's something that we are making."

Astarion was originally planned to be a Tiefling.

Ketheric Thorm was intended to be a companion.

Locations that got cut included Hell, Vlaakith's Palace, and Candlekeep (Dx).

BG3 characters now belong to Wizards of the Coast, not Larian.

There were apparently 24 different variations of Shadowheart getting the artifact to you (not sure if this refers to development or the release version of the game).

When asked about how Act 1 was very polished and well-received, but Act 3 had issues, he responded "Yeah. I know. Yeah, one day I'll figure that one out.".

They're currently working with Microsoft and Sony to start rolling out curated mods for console versions of the game.

Epilogue content is still being worked on. They plan to give each ending a full cinematic, and are currently working on the evil endings.

Cross-platform play is still in the works, but it's difficult to implement.

Swen's opinions on the current state of the games industry and general development under the cut:

Lots of righteous rage from Swen about the mass firings in the games industry and how they don't contribute to making good games.

"But because the ones that are making those decisions don't play the games, don't understand the ethos, they don't care about it. They don't understand that fundamental truth that that's in there. It's just, oh, well, it's a technical artist, we can get another technical artist, whatever. Also, who fires their technical artists?!"

He believes that AAA games with massive budgets can be sustainable for the industry because the audience is there, and because these types of games can fuel progression and innovation.

Believes the lists of upsides to early access is way longer than the list of downsides; "it is the model of the future. I mean, it's not only for your mechanics and your balancing, but even your story gets better. You see how players resonate, what they're after."

Swen's stance on AI is that it is a tool to speed up certain processes, but that it couldn't replace the creative elements of development. His current approach to speeding up artistic development is to hire more concept artists and writers, rather than using generative AIs. He does believe that it has a place in the future of game development, though: "I don't buy the full NPC being generated, but most likely everything will feel the same. So I buy more that there's going to be something that's crafted, and then you'll have AI that plugs into it to augment it. And it should be done in such a way that it's invisible, so you don't know that it's shifting around."

Remote work doesn't seem to be feasible for a game of BG3's scale. In their period of working from home, Swen noted that it was a much easier time for senior devs than for the juniors, who needed mentoring, and they had communication issues during this time as well.

[just-barrow]

Interview below the cut:

‘I learned on the job’: Ben Mendelsohn’s new look

By Michael Idato

FEBRUARY 16, 2024

Captured by the lens of cinematographer Jaime Reynoso, Ben Mendelsohn’s Christian Dior cuts a slender, stylish figure in Apple TV’s The New Look. Mendelsohn delivers a luminous performance, played with nuance and subcutaneous emotion. What is not immediately apparent is that it all started in the most unpretentious of places: footy games and pizza nights.

Behind the new series sits an important friendship between Mendelsohn and writer/director Todd A. Kessler, formed in 2015 when Kessler cast Mendelsohn as family black sheep Danny Rayburn in his critically acclaimed Netflix thriller Bloodlines. Since then, the 54-year-old Melbourne-born actor says, an enduring friendship has formed.

“Todd is the easiest person, the most unstressed, unpretentious sort of person to be around,” Mendelsohn says. “I’ve taken him to meet everyone. I’ve taken him to the footy with all my mates. He’s one of those kind of guys. It was definitely the Roosters, but I can’t remember who they were playing,” adding with a grin: “I wish it was a Storm game because obviously, we’re better.”

The New Look sprang into being one night when Kessler “was at my joint, and he was knocking up a pizza from scratch,” Mendelsohn says. Kessler, who is a passionate reader of biographies, had started talking about the renowned French fashion designer Christian Dior, and about Dior’s “personal self, like an authentic self, if you like, and this other self, which he hates. He hates himself for not being able to be his authentic self while he conducts his business.”

“I just turned to him and said, well, when can we do this? Because I didn’t need any more than that,” Mendelsohn adds. “That’s such a universal kind of starting place. And I just went, well, when can we do it? Because after Bloodline, I’d do anything to try and work with him again on something where we’ve got a shot.”

In its final form, The New Look has more than a shot. It comes with a brilliant cast: Mendelsohn as Dior, French star Juliette Binoche as designer Coco Chanel, John Malkovich as Lucien Lelong, the French couturier in whose workroom Dior’s career began, and Game of Thrones star Maisie Williams as Dior’s sister Catherine, a French resistance fighter.

Written by Kessler with Jason and David Rabe, Amanda Coe, Carter Harris, Dani Vetere and Ning Zhou, the series explores the rise of Dior, his creation of “the New Look”, which revolutionised French fashion, his rivalry with Chanel and his close connection to his sister Catherine. Featured among the supporting cast: Cristobal Balenciaga, Hubert de Givenchy, Pierre Cardin and others. In terms of modern fashion history, it is an A-list lineup.

That “the New Look” was transformational for the Christian Dior brand speaks for itself. Founded in 1947, it took just seven years for Dior to account for half of Paris’s fashion export industry. It is owned today by the luxury conglomerate LVMH Moët Hennessy Louis Vuitton, headed by Bernard Arnault.

For Ben Mendelsohn, a boy who was raised on the outskirts of Melbourne, however, that’s a lot of haute couture history to take in. What does the starting point for researching a role like this look like? I ask Mendelsohn. “It looks bare,” he replies, smiling.

As an actor, he explains, he began with the man more than the world he inhabited. “When you’re coming at it, from my point of view, it looks like you want to build a frame, just a frame, and you don’t want to concern yourself where everything’s going to go and get all wound up in that because that’s not where the action is,” he says. “The action is this little field where you can try and surf.”

Mendelsohn took in “a sense of curiosity, unsureness, and I wanted to make sure I could hear the other person. That’s what I wanted to do. To try to get the mechanics of the accent, a sense of what the fabric world is like, what this is like, the family life, that kind of stuff. And that’s it. That’s it.”

Why? “Because I got taught by [Anthony] Hopkins something very, very important, and it changed the way I worked,” he says, declining to go into the details of what was contained in Hopkins’ acting tutorial. [The pair worked together on Spotswood in 1991, when Mendelsohn was just 22.] “I learned along the way,” he adds. “I learned on the job, talking to people.”

Perhaps the most striking revelation in the scripts themselves is not so much that life in World War II-era Paris was complicated – it was, as the history books attest to – but that not everyone’s loyalties lay where you might assume. Louis Vuitton, for example, had ties to the French [pro-Nazi] Vichy regime. Hugo Boss designed Nazi uniforms. Chanel was, for all intents and purposes, a Nazi spy. Cristobal Balenciaga was close to Spain’s Hitler-ally, General Franco. The list goes on.

Mendelsohn refrains from weighing in with an opinion except to say, essentially, that the historical record is there for examination. “I think as Aussies, we have a really strong sense of certainty about certain things; we have a high barrier for what’s good and what’s not,” he says.

What is in the series, he adds, is “the journey of that and the journey of how do you be in the world when you have this self that you don’t necessarily feel an overwhelming greatness about? How do you interact with it with values, integrity that meets reality and [situations where] you must adjust or fall off the side″⁣.

“In the modern world, that’s got a really beautiful message because [Dior] is a very sensitive person, he’s a person with a lot of insecurities, a lot of doubt. He doesn’t feel good about himself in many, many ways,” Mendelsohn says. “And yet he steps forward.”

Kessler, speaking in a separate conversation, attributes what many might feel is a free pass for a brand like Chanel, to the slow exposure of the extent of Coco Chanel’s interactions with the Nazis. Much of the detail was kept in government archives which were not released until years after the war, “and by then, many of the people spoken about had passed away, and it didn’t make much news at the time”, Kessler says.

A few days before our interview, speaking at a press event, Mendelsohn articulated the struggle to position the work of artists in the wider spectrum of both their personal politics and, in Chanel’s case, events taking place around her.

“I think that you can admire the work, you can be moved by the creation, and you can have a sense of that person behind it or not,” Mendelsohn said. “It doesn’t stop the power of the creation and as to how one feels about the person, well, that’s dependent on any number of things.

“We’re not trying to paint sort of a moral story here, we’re just really trying to look at the circumstances and people that are trying to find their way through it and how they do it, coming from where they come from,” Mendelsohn added.

To some extent, Dior himself comes out of The New Look historically unscathed. At the same time, Caroline Bongrand, the fashion historian and former editor-in-chief of the fashion magazine L’Officiel, has described Dior as a man who suffered a lifetime of heartbreaks, including the painful secret of his sexuality.

That secret, coupled with his professional commitment to the creation of objects of beauty, created a kind of binary, the idea of a man divided by his pain and his joy. As an actor, I ask Mendelsohn, does he understand that conflict, as an authentic self himself with a library of performed false selves; as a man of a thousand faces, does he understand a man with two?

“I would think that Christian had a lot more than two,” Mendelsohn replies, with a wry smile. “I think I’m more interested in trying to just bring to life a sense of this particular narrative about him. In terms of the stuff about sexuality, I just felt like culturally we’d already won that space.

“Going back into that would be diverting what we were hoping to do,” Mendelsohn says. “I don’t think the same in such a binary sense, but I don’t know as much as [Caroline Bongrand] does, and that’s a very deliberate choice. I want to know enough that I can get a resonant sense, a vibe if you like, and then I want to dream into whatever it is to do the scene in the moment.”

The series’ costume designer Karen Muller Serreau was another critical relationship, not just because she dressed Mendelsohn in duplicates of Dior’s clothes, but because she also created the duplicate Dior collections that feature in the series. To be clear, the series used no vintage pieces; Muller Serreau was granted access to Dior’s heritage archives, where the original collections are stored, in order to create the duplicates.

“She’s incredible, and it’s an incredible achievement,” Mendelsohn says. Muller Serreau’s knowledge, he says, was critical in filling the gaps in his own. “I try as much as I can to swim in my lane and [depend on] those who are expert to tell me what it’s going to be. I approach it much more like a kelpie, than I do as a guy that stands at the top with a sense of solid knowing.

“And when I go and do it on the floor, I’m not giving you a certainty, I’m just giving a proposition,” Mendelsohn adds. “It’s just a proposition every time. And I’m standing well beneath an audience, trying to offer it up, imagining you as much more able to read and understand things than I am, but giving it my best and trying to do so with sort of a love letter vibe.”

In one sense, Mendelsohn doesn’t give himself enough credit. His performance in The New Look is remarkable, the confirmation of an actor whose career has taken him from Danny Clarke in The Big Steal (1990) and Dazey in Metal Skin (1994), to Pope in Animal Kingdom (2010) and Henry IV in David Michod’s The King (2019), with a thrilling stopover in Rogue One, as Orson Krennic, in an unforgettable face-to-mask meeting with Darth Vader.

“They are all there, [but] it’s very easy to confuse the piece that an audience takes to be the thing that it was [because] what you carry with you is the whole history of working those long, long days in those long, long things.” Mendelsohn adds that much of the time he was “not necessarily feeling very confident about anything, or while demonstrating this sort of pose of like, yeah, I can do it all.”

When he looks in the mirror, even in costume, he still sees himself, not the character he is playing. “When I was younger, it bothered me a lot more; the real thing I lament about [the face] is its pathways are very, very set. I used to wish that I could somehow train the face to do completely different things, But what happened is that I’ve become less concerned with trying to control it or trying to manoeuvre it for effect.”

But, he adds, there are echoes of all them – Danny, Dazey, Pope, Orson Krennic and Henry IV – still with him. “They’re all there. And the ones that are the most important end up being the ones that people love, and Babyteeth, for instance, will remain incredibly important, whether or not it’s taken up,” he says.

“When people love them, they stay in you,” he says. “Danny, Trevor [from 1987’s The Year My Voice Broke], there’s a lot of them ... just moments, moments and moments. And I’ve got 40 years of them, mate. I wasn’t looking to become an actor. I really wasn’t. I wouldn’t have dreamed of it. I wouldn’t have dreamed of it.”

The New Look is on Apple TV.