#the challenge is so fucking good. and it's not even released yet..... BUT THESE CLIPS MAN

[lovinggreeniehours]

i don't know what anna and jorge put in that penelope song but dear fuck it is making me cry

[darthmaulification]

Hey, I want to make a request

In your Maul’s nsfw alphabet you said that he is afraid of hurting reader during sex, right? So, could you please write smth were this happens? Thank you!!

A/N: ..... anon..... the absolute Way you have me experiencing a cataclysm with this... i am imploding... 

thank you very much for requesting this, it was also a very good and welcome challenge for me to write. 😊👍 

hope you enjoy!! 💗

content: a lil bit o’ smut!, some angst??, but also lots of comfort and fluff!!, kinda sorta implied afab!reader??, maul commits a big oopsie on accident, crying during sex, blood and injury, maul gets angry at himself, but also soft!maul 🥺, lots of kissing, happy ending of course 🥰

word count: 2,334

Maul’s vigorous thrusting is complimented deliciously by the sloppy, desperate kisses he leaves all over the skin his mouth can reach. His crimson hands grip your wrists in a vice above your head, keeping them trapped against the bed. You moan into the sheets, arching up against him, hips tilting, silently begging him to go faster, harder, please, Maul...

“Harder, sweet girl?” Maul growls teasingly from above you, answering the plea you hadn’t realized you vocalized. He obeys, and you cry out his name when his hips clash into yours, drilling his cock into you, almost causing your knees to give from the force. The obscene yet beautiful sound of skin smacking together floats into your ears, mingling with Maul’s grunts and your persistent moaning.

Maul presses against you, the fiery skin of his bare chest flush against the arch of your back. The snapping of his hips make you rock in rhythmic tandem, and with each one you feel your peak nearing. Maul groans into the dip of your shoulder blades, his breath hot on the nape of your neck, where he licks across your flushed, dewy skin and leaves wet trails.

“Say my name again, my love.” He leaves a flat-tongued lick up your neck, nibbling at your ear. One of his hands drop from your wrists and travels down your side, rough fingers igniting sparks inside you. Maul kneads your waist, your belly, before clutching your hip. The brace allows him to further pound himself into you, and you see stars.

“Maul, Maul!” You scream his name, all high-pitched and airy, the pleasure toe-curling and promising of a powerful, sweet release. Maul exhales a rather handsome laugh into your ear, golden eyes glazed over with lust and something else wild. Eyes fluttering shut, you feel him suck a love bite into the nook where your neck and shoulder meet, arching your head back and against his shoulder.

Like a prayer, his name tumbles from your lips over and over again, the lamentation pleading and desperate. Your core throbs and clenches around your lover, a telltale sign of orgasm on the horizon. Everything seems to slow down... 

But then Maul bites. Hard. Your eyes snap open.

The sinking of sharp teeth into the flesh of your shoulder is so poignant, it pierces through the thick, lustful haze and roughly pulls you back to reality. You shriek, one most certainly not out of pleasure, but actual pain. It causes Maul to abruptly pull out and back, releasing your wrists in the process. At the same time you feel the emptiness of him leaving, a white-hot fire erupts from where Maul had definitely broken the skin and you writhe.

“Ow.” The whimper escapes in one word, voice thick, as tears immediately glaze over your eyes. Blinking furiously to keep them at bay, you squirm lethargically into an upright position, sitting on your knees.

“I’m...” From behind you Maul starts to say something, but his voice cuts out when you look down over your shoulder and reach a trembling hand up to the bite. When you actually see the wound, that’s when the tears start rolling down your cheeks. It’s... bad. 

The bite is a perfect oval of teeth indents and grooves, most of them deep and bleeding, the skin around them a harsh red and raised. The skin around it is an ugly mix of crimson, dark purple bruising, and pink with irritation. The entire area is swollen and pulsing with ache. Bottom lip wobbling, you trace a hesitant finger along the edge of the bite and the touch stings. You pull your hand back with a shaky gasp.

“My love, I...” Maul starts speaking again but stops and swallows. You can’t bring yourself to look at him, and you’re not exactly sure why. The tears are falling profusely now, and you shudder back heavier sobs. The room goes dreadfully silent, save for your small, quiet cries. You can feel Maul’s stare on you, more specifically on the injury he caused.

“I hurt you. I hurt you.” He repeats to himself, the tone of his voice inscrutable. He suddenly clambers up and off of the bed, the mattress shaking gently, and you listen as his footsteps disappear out of the room. The room is left thick with pain and sorrow, and also a stewing shame that was left hovering after Maul spoke. You look back at the bite after another round of tears pours from your eyes. Oh, Maul...

Footfalls sound again, and Maul reenters the room as your examining the darkening wound, particularly the trails of blood that have by now reached your waist. His heart clenches with a terrible ache, and guilt and anger bubble to the surface, stiffening him. He hurt you, he did. Maul almost doesn’t want to approach, almost thinks he shouldn’t, but you need the bacta.

You don’t look at Maul’s face when he sits next to you, though not as close he usually would, because you’re unsure if you want to see the expression that must be on it. Instead, you focus on his hands, at the wet rag, bacta, and bandages he’s holding. You also notice how his hands are quivering.

“Can I clean it?” Maul asks in an uncharacteristically quiet tone, though he’s very obviously seething with barely capped rage. That somewhat familiar self-loathing Maul gets from time to time radiates off of him, as does guilt. You sniffle, and bob your head yes. The pain is less sharp now, but the wound still needs to be dressed.

Maul says nothing as he wipes away the almost dried blood trails, or as he very tenderly dabs at the puffy wound, or when he pauses at his teeth marks that are purpling now, or even when he smears the bacta over them. The whole time, he works mechanically and in deafening silence. By the time Maul has placed a bandage over the bite, the cooling of the bacta has numbed your shoulder to a soft, dull ache and the hurt is all but gone.

“Maul...” You start softly after you feel his hands leave you, gaze climbing up his arms to his face. The shame-ridden expression on his face makes your heart sink, how his downcast golden eyes are aflame with guilt and swirling with fury. He doesn’t look at you as you turn fully to face him, and recoils when you place a hand on his cheek. His body, ever warm, is stiff beneath your touch.

“It’s okay.” You murmur and Maul’s gaze snaps up to meet yours, the anger flaring. His square jaw tenses and he shakes off your hand.

“No, it’s not. I hurt you.” And while you see and hear that familiar wrath and that unfamiliar guilt in his expression and voice, it never occurred to you before that Maul was also afraid. It makes you misty-eyed. You shake your head, shuffling closer to him.

“No, no, no— Maul, it was an accident.” You plead, placing your hands on either side of his face, rubbing circles with your thumbs. Usually, that simple touch calms him down, but this time Maul grabs your wrists and pulls his face from your grasp.

“I hurt you.” He says again, voice a hiss as he stares at you with conflicted, pained eyes, “I fucking made you cry.”

Maul suddenly leaps up from the bed, pacing across the room to roughly grab his pants off the floor. He pulls them on swiftly, and your brows furrow when he crosses the room to grab his belt and lightsaber.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he ties his belt across his waist, clipping his saber to it. He doesn’t look at you, and turns to the door.

“I’m leaving.”

“No, you are not.” You clamber up off the bed and onto your feet, stumbling slightly as you hastily make your way over to Maul. You’re able to get in front of him, planting your hands firmly on his chest and halting him. He glares down at you, angrily, sadly, and you ground yourself at look up at him.

“Move.” He growls, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. Your lips turn down in a stubborn pout. Maul’s bristling under your touch, and you know you’re walking on precarious ground. But you’ve dealt with Maul’s temper enough to not have it faze you, and you’re sure you can handle his guilt the same.

“No.” You retort and you pull yourself flush against him, arms snaking around his torso in a tight hug, your eyes closing. Pressing your cheek against his chest, you sigh at the familiar warmth you love, digging your face into his beautiful crimson and black skin. Maul doesn’t wrap his arms around you in turn. You give his sternum a gentle kiss.

“Get off.” Maul’s growled order comes out as brashly and as firmly as always, but his commandeering attitude hasn’t worked on you for years. A sudden, but small, spark of playfulness curls your lips upwards into a tiny smile. You rub your hands up and down the length of Maul’s back, feeling every tight, defined muscle and occasionally the rough edge of his scar when your hand gets low enough and your pinky fingers brush it.

“Never.” Your murmur vibrates his chest, and you hum contentedly when you finally catch the lovely beatings of Maul’s twin hearts. They thrum in alternating rhythm beneath your ear, both strong and deep.

“You’re not running from me.” You speak again, eyes still closed. Maul is quiet, though you feel him lift an arm and a tender, yet firm, hand comes to rest on the low of your back. You smile fully, lightly gliding your nails over Maul’s back in the way you know he loves. His thumb starts to rub circles on your skin.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“... I was scared.”

“I know.”

You look up at Maul, eyes beneath heavy lids, your smile still bright and kind on your face. The conflict in his eyes has cooled to a simmer, being replaced more and more by that boyish, starry-eyed look he gets sometimes, the one that reminds you of how much he loves you. Maul’s other hand reaches up and cups your cheek, caressing your face. You tilt your head into the touch.

“Can you find it in your heart to forgive me?” He teases in a low murmur, honey gold eyes glimmering with rising mirth, and you quirk an eyebrow. Your hands stop to rest on his waist, just above the band of his pants. Maul’s face starts to inch in closer and closer to yours, stopping right when his lips are just above yours.

“Mm... you might have to do some convincing.” You whisper, eyes drooping further until your irises are nearly obscured by your eyelashes. Maul chuckles low in his throat, his hand shifting to place two fingers under your chin. He tilts your head up slightly, pulls you closer against him.

“How do you suppose I accomplish that?” He asks, breath puffing on your cheeks, gaze breaking from yours when he closes his eyes. You follow suit, and the tips of both your upper lips touch.

“... I can think of one way.” You say, and you tilt your head and your jaw slackens slightly, and Maul’s lips are on yours, balmy and soft. The kiss is slow, slower than he usually does, but it’s perfect and sultry and so Maul. You hum when he deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips to gyrate in your mouth. He explores everywhere, relearns every touch. It’s like you’re kissing for the first time all over again, lost in each other as if the years of memorizing each other’s body melted away into oblivion. Your hands clasp his waist, his one hand moves up to your mid back, and the heated, passionate kiss ends.

Maul pulls back a little more to look at you properly, tucking your hair behind your ear, and you open your eyes from the touch. He’s wearing that satisfied, lazy grin, the one that always makes him look mischievous. 

“Do you still need more convincing?” He asks with a tilt of his head, though he knows the answer you’re going to give by the cheeky smile that spreads across your face. You giggles, eyes sparkling, and you nod.

“Lots.” And with that, Maul’s lips are on yours, stifling your laughter in his mouth. He smothers you with kisses, peppering your lips, cheeks, and jaw, and you do the same for him, kissing over and over until you’re sure your lips will fall off. At some point, Maul heaves you into his arms, carries you to the bed, and drops your bodies atop it.

You squeal with laughter when he rolls on top of you, trapping you between his thighs, nuzzling and kissing the side of your face. Your hands fumble at his shoulders, before sliding to his face to turn his head to you. He’s grinning between your hands, looking absolutely charmed, and you kiss him on the nose, breathy from laughing.

When you pull away, Maul’s panting and still grinning like a madman, but his wild eyes have gone somewhat tame, controlled. His eyes dart all around your face, like he’s analyzing each one of your features. He breathes an exhale, licks his lips, and meets your gaze.

“I love you.” And his voice is slightly raspy, but he says it with such conviction, so raw and passionate, that the intensity floors you. Sure, he’s said those words to you before, but you don’t think you’ll ever get used to it. Your eyes go slightly misty again, and you smile sweetly, fingers rubbing the bases of his horns on his temples.

“I love you.” You reply and again, Maul sinks into you with a deep kiss, and you all but melt into each other, bodies a welcoming sanctuary for the other.

[krauseandrickmanfan]

Buck: You were going to make Lucy the captain...?

BUCK DOING THE RIGHT QUESTION INDEED.

911 stop releasing last hour clips that ruin the hype of your own show challenge

Who wrote Bobby deciding to first try pick someone who is there for like months to cover for his job as a captain, rather than someone who works with him for years?

This isn’t hate on Lucy in any way (actually i’m frustrated because this will just rise the hate on her again).

You would assume after last season events with Jonah and the whole thing about “a single piece out of place potentially ruining the rhythm of a good team”, Bobby would reasonably first consider give the role to people who are there for years and knows the team well rather than even consider giving the role to someone who is relatively new to the team.

This writing choice for Bobby was what frustrated me the most. I mean, unless the writers are going for Bobby breakdown this time and this is purposely done to reflect bad on his judgment, there is no sense in this decision to Bobby's character at all.

"But okay Lucy can't be the captain, we know she won’t be, so there is no reason to be weirded about it right?"

Maybe not yet... But I can’t stop being worried about the possibility the writers might have done Hen, a black character, "the second pick" over a white character... The only reason I’m not so annoyed about this clip is because we do not know the context of that scene... 

I really do hope Bobby have thought on Hen before that, but just wasn’t sure because he didn’t want to burden her with captain role when she does have a lot with her schedule between med school, being a paramedic and being a mom. If the writers not going this route, then how the fuck did they consider this would be a good way of bring up Hen as interim captain, something so many people were hyped for. Not to count on how this would not reflect well on Lucy (in the eyes of the fanbase), who is already hated for nothing...

[parkers-gal]

the late late show T.H.

wc: 1.4k (fluff)

ariana grande!reader and tom on the late late show for spill your guts or fill your guts

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Y/N said, a grimacing smile on her face as she sat down.

The cameras weren't rolling yet, so her & Tom's microphones were still getting set up and clipped on.

Y/N's Zach Sang radio interview had quite literally blown up all over the internet. Though it had only been released about a week ago, it already had 30 million views, and thousands of comments. No doubt, tonight's live Late Late Show would have tons of viewers. 

Tom grinned at her, slightly mischievous. "It'll be fun, love." 

"That's what they always say," she replied. 

Before Tom could say anything else, the producer was counting down and crew members were shushing the crowd as a red light blinked on and the show began. 

"Hi, I'm Tom Holland," he introduced himself, looking directly at the camera. "And this my wife, Y/N Holland-"

"I hyphenated," she cut in.

Tom looked at her and chuckled before continuing, "and this is Spill Your Guts or Fill your Guts." 

"Explain to the world the misery we have to go through," Y/N commented, making brief eye contact with Tom before breathing out a laugh.

"Right," he laughed. "So, one of us asks the other a question from the cards and you have to answer truthfully or-" he looked down at the food. "Eat whichever food the person has picked for them." 

"Alright," Y/N said. "Let's see what we got then, shall we?" 

" 'Course darlin'." 

Y/N blushed before spinning the table to a random dish. "We have salmon smoothie," she spoke with a grimace. "And a thousand year old eggnog." 

Tom made a 'yuck' sound, and the audience laughed at them. "Here's bird saliva," Tom said. 

"And bull penis." 

"Ah, the bull penis," Tom said.

"Oh shut your trap," Y/N laughed. "And we have bug trifle." 

"Jellyfish," Tom said. "That shouldn't be too bad, right?" he asked.

"Guess you'll find out," Y/N laughed at him.

"You wouldn't dare," he challenged.

"Watch me."

Both of them laughed before continuing. 

"Giant water scorpion," Y/N said with another grimace. "Cow blood and-" she playfully gagged. "And pork tongue jelly," she finished. 

"And lastly, we have cod sperm," Tom grinned. 

"Oh god." 

"Let's start then!" he said, smiling. His accent was thick, and it seemed as though he didn't even bother trying to tame his hair. 

Y/N, on the other hand, was wearing one of Tom's sweaters. It was oversized on her, and colored beige. Her hair was in a low ponytail and her white acrylic nails showed slightly out of her sweater paws. She had butterfly clips in her hair and her feet were fitted with thick, white Filas. 

"I suppose so," she said, sounding like a kid that had just been denied some ice cream. 

"Should I go first or you?"

"Uh, me." 

Tom picked up a card and tried to suppress a laugh. "Okay, let's go with... a thousand year old eggnog." 

"Ew, Thomas. What the fuck, it smells so-" she gagged playfully again. "Ugh, I'm gonna get you back."

"You haven't even heard the question yet!" he laughed, his eye crinkles growing. 

"It's due to be bad though!" She defended, laughing with him. "C'mon, Tommy. I wanna get this," she sniffed the eggnog, "over with." 

"Okay," he paused to laugh after rereading the card. "You have previously stated that track seven, or 'make up,' of your upcoming album is inspired by, co-written, and about me." 

"Correct." 

"What is the song about? .. and give us one lyric or line." 

"Oh god," Y/N covered her face with her hands. "I am not doing this." 

"It's the question or the eggnog, baby. Though you might need a mint after you drink that," he laughed. 

"Uhm," Y/N glanced around, taking another whiff of the eggnog before setting it down on it's tray. "Make up is about... int-imacy after an argument," she stuttered out.

Tom was laughing now, a blush present on his cheeks at her confession. "Alright, the lyric now." 

"Uhm... do I sing it or just.. s-say it?" 

"Saying it's kinda awkward, lovie." 

"Okay," she dragged out her reply. "Bring you to the bed where we can really make it right, sorry-in-a-box so when it pops, surprise, surprise," Y/N sang.

The audience responded immediately, the lyrics clear with their meaning. The couple was blushing intensely, Y/N almost regretting the snippet she just released. When she made eye contact with Tom again, he lip synced 'it'll be okay. I love you,' and she nodded her head and picked up a card. 

"Okay, I'll give you..." she spoke after a few moments. "The bull penis." 

Tom's jaw dropped open in surprise. "I think we should save that for you, darling." 

"Thomas!" Y/N gasped. "Shut the fuck up, or so help me-" 

His laugh interrupted her, and he blew her a kiss. She rolled her eyes playfully before asking the question from the card. 

"Have you ever.." Y/N laughed. "Gotten off to one of my songs?" 

Tom's jaw went slack as his eyes widened. He glanced towards the audience, then back to his wife, in complete disbelief. "I do not want to answer that!" he choked out. 

Y/N laughed at him, "It's just a yes or no question, Tommy." 

"Easy for you to say!" 

Tom glanced towards the audience one last time before taking the bull penis in one bite. The true disgust on his face as he chewed made Y/N laugh harder than ever, the crowd joining her. 

"I cannot believe you just did that!" she said, holding her stomach while laughing. She wiped her eyes, and Tom turned to spit the food out into his bucket, before gulping down some water and playfully gagging, a shutter running through his body. 

"Next question,"  he said. Picking up a card, he glanced to foods displayed in front of him, before deciding which Y/N would eat. "I'll give you... bug trifle."

"Tommyyyy," Y/N whined. 

He laughed before reading the question. "Out of all my movies, which ones the worst?"

A chorus of "oo's" went around the audience as Y/N's jaw dropped. She looked down at the food before glancing to the audience for a split second, making brief eye contact with Tom before taking a bite out of the food. Everybody gasped, her lack of words making it all the more dramatic. When she finished chewing, drinking some water, she picked up the next card and spun the table.

"Next question-" 

"Y/N!"

"What?" 

"You just- y-you- you just ate that!" 

"Yeah?" she asked. "I wasn't gonna answer that question."

Tom's face softened at her, a small smile forming as fast as the blush on his cheeks. 

"Okay, I'll give you... codsperm." 

"Again, we should probably save that for you," he giggled mischievously. 

Y/N playfully rolled her eyes before asking the question. "Which of my albums do you hate the most? And... why?" She asked the question rather slowly, hesitant to see how he'd respond. She most definitely had better works than some, but she loved everything she put out into the music industry, and she only hoped Tom felt the same. 

"Uhm-" Tom said, glancing between his wife and the food in front of him for a good minute. 

Y/N squinted her eyes shut, afraid of his response, if there was one coming. Tom could sense her discomfort, not only in the question but how he would answer, so he reached across the table to hold her hand, before using his other to eat the dish sitting in front of him. Putting the fork down, his face showed disgust once again, but Y/N was watching him now, a blush on her cheeks too, and a very grateful smile adorned on her face. 

After a considerable amount of time of Tom chewing, Y/N burst. "Just spit it out!" 

"Well," Tom said dramatically. "He picked up his bucket before turning to the audience, "Spit or swallow?" 

Everyone laughed, including Y/N, and Tom spit it out into the bucket before drinking some water. 

"That was Spill Your Guts or Fill Your Guts! I'm Tom Holland, and this is Y/N Holland, and we'll be right back!" He finished. 

The red light went off, and a crew member from backstage handed both celebrities a packet of mints. Y/N went to hug Tom, wrapping her arms around his neck as his securely wrapped around her waist. 

"Love you." 

[wreckofawriter]

Bubblegum

pairing: remus lupin x reader

word count: 3k

warnings: language, none fluffy

summary: you know you annoy remus but that doesn't stop you from trying to get close to him

a/n: i actually like this fic more than I thought I would... anyway I'm actually motivated again so posts should be more frequent. I plan on writing the next part for pulled apart next

    Remus has always been very good at ignoring distractions. Considering who his best friends were that was really no surprise to anyone around him. He had ignored parties and screams and fights and pretty much everything else you can imagine. He could probably read through a tornado if one happened to strike the castle. But we all have that one thing. 

    The classroom was quiet. The scratch of quills on parchment and the occasional shuffle of feet filling Remus’s ears as he did everything in his power to focus on the test in front of him. Potions was a subject he excelled in, yet he had barely finished the first three questions and now sat practically fuming in his chair, his mind clouded with irritation. 

    A pop once again resonated through the room and no one else blinked, the quills continued their march. Remus gripped his own feather so tight he thought it might break in two. A few moments later  the sound greeted his ears again and he whipped around. His eyes fell on you, your hair bouncing lightly as you tapped your foot to some inaudible rhythm. Soft pink bubble gum lined your lips, the corpse of a bubble being tugged back into your mouth for rebirth. 

    “Would you cut it out?” Remus hissed drawing more than one pair of eyes. 

    You tilted your head in confusion, reminding the boy slightly of a puppy. You glanced behind yourself quickly and then pointed a finger at yourself in a silent question. 

    “Yes you.” Remus scorned, “Stop popping your bloody gum.” 

    Maybe it was because of how rude he had been or maybe it was the cute red tinge of anger on his cheeks, either effect led you to the same action. You gathered the treat in your mouth inflating one of the bigger bubbles you had made that day, popping it between your teeth.  The noise was loud like the snap of a whip. You smiled softly at the boy's stiff reaction, “No.” You hummed turning back to your work. 

    Remus was pretty sure you had verbally slapped him across the face. 

    The library was crowded with people, almost every chair was taken, faces shoved into books and fingers stained with ink.

The quiet atmosphere was broken by James’s loud groan, “Godric, that test Slughorn gave us was dreadful.” he complained, his head hitting the table in front of him. A chorus of hushing which he paid no mind to followed. 

“Tell me about it.” Remus mumbled his mood still sour from the period before. 

Sirius snapped to attention, “Since when do you have trouble in potions?” 

Remus sighed, rolling his eyes at his friend's amusement, “It wasn’t the test you idiot.” 

James turned his head, his cheek now squished against the wooden surface, eyebrows scrunched.

“There was this girl.” 

“A girl!?” Both boys shouted in unison, James’s head popping up from the table. They both were shushed aggressively. 

Remus scoffed, “Not like that-”

“Was she just so hot you couldn’t focus?” Sirius mused, the smirk on his lips mildly irritating.

“Did she have the top few buttons of her blouse undone? I damn near fainted last time Lily did that.” James chimed in.

Remus felt his cheeks go hot, “What? No-”

“So who's the lucky lady Moony?” 

“Yeah I can’t believe you didn't tell us.” James pouted. 

    “I don’t fancy her, you idiots!” Remus snapped, earning multiple glares.

    James and Sirius’s smiles dropped, disappointment finding their faces as all the excitement they had just been tempted with washed away.

    “I knew it was too good to be true.” Sirius mumbled halfeartly. 

    “So what was it then?” James asked, “If you don’t fancy this girl what’s the issue?”

    Remus huffed, “She was being bloody annoying that's the issue. She wouldn’t stop popping her gum, it is one of the most infuriating things I've ever experienced.”

    Sirius quirked a brow, “That's it?”

    “James was there.” Remus continued, “He gets it, it was absolutely dreadful.”

    James shrugged, “I don’t remember hearing any popping.” 

    Remus gauffed, “Seriously? It was so loud.” 

    “I probably just tuned it out,” He hummed, “Why didn't you just ask her to stop?”

    “That's the problem.” Remus groaned, “I did and she was totally rude and popped it right in my face.” 

    “Sounds kinda bitchy.” Sirius mumbled, “Any chance you know who she is?” 

    Remus racked his brain, “I think her name is y/l/n something, I'm not sure.”

    Sirius paused, “Y/n y/l/n?”

    “That sounds right.” 

    Sirius whistled, “She is wicked hot.”

    Remus scrunched his face in mild disgust, “Is that all you have to say on the matter?” 

    Sirius nodded returning to Transfiguration book,

    Remus sighed, “You guys are no help at all.”

If you had heard the conversation that had just taken place you would have been sorely disappointed. In fact you probably would have stormed up to your dorm and pouted fiercely. 

Remus Lupin was someone you knew well. Probably too well considering he had never even looked your way until the period before. It's not like you were a stalker or anything, he was just… really cute.

He had caught your attention in 4th year and never seemed to let go as he slowly reeled you in with hazel eyes and soft smiles. 

You would count his freckles in charms and imagine running your hands through his hair in potions, he never seemed to notice the pair of eyes boring into his curls. You were pretty positive that your crush was hopeless. I mean this was Remus Lupin you were talking about, sure he wasn’t as sought after as Black but he definitely had his fair share of admirers.

Your friends, the few you trusted with important information that is, were always pushing you to take some sort of action on your crush. You ignored them for the most part claiming it was useless and he would probably end up with someone else anyway. Yet year after year he was still single. It was a bit shocking in fact. Almost as shocking as the words you had spoken to him earlier that day.

You buried your head in your hands for the third time that minute, embarrassment and regret were eating you alive. What the hell is wrong with me? You thought. 

Adrianna, who was one of your closest friends and the one seated next to you for the horrific event was snickering behind her hand attempting to turn it into a cough as you glared at her. 

“I mean at least you talked to him.” She chidded and you threw your book at her. It was her turn to pout.

You groaned, your head hitting the table infront of you, “I’m a fucking idiot.” 

Adrianna shrugged, “Well yes.” 

“Why did I say no? Why couldn’t I just say yes and apologize like a normal person?” You complained.

She shrugged again, “Maybe it’s just in your blood to be a dick?” This time she caught a quill on her forehead. “Sorry, sorry,” a pause, “You know you could use this to your advantage,”

You raised an eyebrow, “How the hell would I manage that?”

“You could apologize, you know like a normal person.” she giggled.

You cringed at the thought, “Why would I do that?” 

Adrianna rolled her eyes, “Because you were an asshole. And most people apologize after being an asshole.”

You scrunched your nose, “Do you have any idea how awkward that would be?” 

“You’re helpless.” She mumbled returning to her work. 

You pouted, “Well you're not very helpful.” your mind began to turn as she continued her essay, one you had already finished the night before. Then suddenly an idea struck. 

You marched up to Remus with confidence you didn’t actually have. Your anxieties buried beneath a blanket of boldness. Your hands shook, stuffed deep in your pockets. 

“Yes?” He repeated reminding you that you had indeed called his name. 

You glanced around at his friends, their eyes locked on you with amused smiles. You put on an uncaring mask and rolled your eyes at Potter whose smile only grew, “Could we talk away from your goons?”

Remus grinned a bit as Sirius gave an over-exaggerated gasp, “Yeah sure.” 

You nodded quickly turning and starting towards the staircase. You didn’t catch Remus raising his eyebrows back at his friends and he didn’t see you release a shaky breath.  

Once you both stood in the narrow staircase leading to the deviations room you turned back to Remus who stood two stairs below you, the height advantage made you feel powerful. 

He didn’t seem particularly bothered by it, “You here to apologize?”

Your eyes widened, he seemed snarkier than he had been in potions, almost like he was challenging you, “I was, but now I don’t believe I will.” you clipped back.

Remus rolled his eyes, “Can I leave then?” 

Panic struck you, this was not going well, “Actually I need a favor.” 

Remus was surprised, that was definitely not what he had expected.

You huffed, praying to whatever god was up there that this would work. “Can you tutor me in potions? I’m actually not all that good at it and I know for a fact you are.” One of those statements was a blatant lie. Potions had been one of your better grades for a while now but he didn’t need to know that. 

“Why should I help you?” Remus asked, taking a step towards you, the height advantage lessening. 

You weren’t really sure how to answer that, “I suppose you shouldn’t.” You sighed and Remus smirked, “But you will.”

He raised his brows, “And why's that?”

You popped your gum enjoying his flinch, “Because you are just so sweet.” you said it with a slight coo like you were talking to a young child.

Remus didn’t respond as you brushed past him.

“Meet me at the library tomorrow after lunch and don’t be late.” You called over your shoulder.

Remus stood in the stairwell staring where you had just stood. He let out a heavy sigh , his heart beating louder than it should have been. 

Part of you thought he wouldn’t even show and that instead you would sit in the library like a fool as Remus laughed about you with his friends. So when you entered the library and found the boy already seated at a table, textbooks and notes placed neatly around him you were surprised. You fought a wide smile skipping beside him and reaching for the book in his hands. Before you could snatch it away Remus snapped it shut and moved it aside. 

“Take a seat y/n”  He spoke, smirking at you, clearly happy about his quick reflexes. 

You rolled your eyes sitting beside him and glancing at the papers in front of you. They were notes, neatly taken, no doodles in the margins. 

Remus leaned over your shoulder, “I think we should start with the basics and see how much you already know.”

It was only then that you realised you were going to have to pretend to be terrible at potions. You swallowed thickly, “Sounds good.”

You surprised yourself with how easily you lied. You slipped up only twice, brushing both off as lucky guesses and contuinuting with your stupid little curade. 

Remus ate it up, showing you simple questions and walking you through them as one did a child. It would have bothered you if he wasn’t leaning over your shoulder with his breath soft on your neck. He smelt like chocolate and fresh parchment, his curly hair so close you could reach out and run your fingers through it if you wanted to. 

You walked back to your common room in a slight haze, your stomach full of wings.

Remus peered after you curiously. Your actions confused him, he could’ve sworn you had already known the practice problems he gave you. Yet you had struggled, almost comically. He supposed you were just really good at pretending to be smart. 

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to pretend to be stupid?” You groaned.

Adrianna shook her head too focused on the note sheet in front of her to really care about what you were saying. 

Your rambles continued regardless, “Do you think I’m going to have to fail my next test so I can keep Remus as a tutor?”

She sighed fed up as she tried to study over your speaking, “You know you could just ask him out like if you weren’t such a pussy.” 

You glared at her lacking real malice, “I’m not a pussy, I’m just creative.”

“Pussy.” Adrianna coughed quietly and you rolled your eyes, she was only a little bit right. 

As your study sessions continued Remus found himself growing strangely fond of you. The banter you offered was entertaining, despite the fact you took every chance to annoy him. Your sarcastic comments made his lips twitch into a grin. Your response to his own remarks; a scrunch of your nose, making him chuckle. You still seemed a bit off and for the first week, Remus wasn’t sure what it was. It was clear that you were hiding something, faking something but he just couldn't place it. 

A pattern began to settle in front of him quickly. Your slip ups became a bit repetitive. And by slip ups he really meant your success. You were good at potions. In fact probably better than he was. Remus wasn’t sure why you were pretending to be terrible at a class you clearly were doing well in, but he was even more confused on why he didn’t call you out on it. 

For some reason he was dead set on keeping you at those study sessions. In fact he used a nearing test as an excuse to meet you daily. He debated his actions in his own mind most nights, why did he keep wasting his time to teach you things you already knew he wondered. He always came up empty, even more lost than he had been before. 

You had thought Remus to be smarter than he was. The fact that he hadn't picked up on your seemingly obvious act was astounding. You supposed it only helped you if he fell for it hook line and sinker, right? You started meeting him everyday in the library, he was very adamant about you passing the upcoming test and you weren’t going to complain, it gave you more time to count the freckles that dusted his nose anyway.  

You hummed quietly to yourself, fiddling with your quill. It was the night before the test and Remus had been insistent on you studying late into the night. So now you sat in the Gryffindor common room under the hazy light of candles with notes you had memorized ages ago. 

The crack of the fire was a pleasant background noise to your tune as your eyes locked onto Remus whose hair had fallen in front of his eyes yet again. You smiled softly watching him scribble final notes onto his Transfiguration assignment. Your gum was slowly losing its flavor on your tongue. 

Feeling your gaze he looked up, “You want me to quiz you on them?” He asked, gesturing to the notes under your arm. 

“Sure.” You reposed picking up the paper and passing it off to him. 

Remus watched you carefully, answers came easily most of the time but every once and  while you would struggle, himming and hawing as you pretended you didn’t know how to respond. He played along until you finished the note sheet.

You were confused when he put it down, “Aren't we going to go over the ones I got wrong?” 

Remus sighed, “Why would I do that when you already know them?”

You furrowed your brow, “I got them wrong.”

“You know them though don’t you?” He smirked, “You know all the stuff that I’ve been teaching you.”

You laughed but there was no humor to it, “I don’t know what you mean.”

He only smiled more, “Yes you do.” 

You just sat there, your mind was spinning, you hadn’t really planned for the end of it all. You had no clue how you were going to explain this. 

“I’m curious.” Remus said, “Why go through all this trouble?” 

You just started at him opening your mouth to answer only to close it again. 

“Come on y/n don’t leave me hanging.” He grinned and you felt like you were going to throw up. 

“How long have you known?” You asked quietly.

Remus shrugged, “About a week.” 

You hesitated, “Wait, why didn't you say anything sooner?”

He shrugged again, “No reason.” 

It was your turn to smile “No really Remus, why waste your time with me?” You questioned. 

He sighed, “It wasn’t really a waste of time.”

“It wasn’t?” 

Remus felt weirdly trapped, “You still haven't answered my question.” 

“Fine you really want to know?” You said chewing your gum anxiously. 

He nodded.

“I wanted to hang out with you, and I wasn't really sure how to ask.” You huffed picking at your nails. 

There was a beat of quiet, the fire popped behind you.

“Now you tell me why you didn’t say anything earlier.” You said trying to divert from your embarrassing confession. 

Remus pondered his answer for a moment, “Because I like you.” 

Your eyes widened, “I thought you found me annoying.” you laughed lightly.

“Oh no I do.” He grinned leaning closer to you as you scrunched your nose in annoyment. “You know you could have just asked me out instead of pretending not to know anything about potions.”

You ignored the heat in your cheeks as Remus leaned just inches from you, “Where’s the fun in that?”

He chuckled, “I supposed there isn't any.” his breath was warm on your skin and your eyes slipped shut as he closed the distance between you. 

Remus’s lips were smooth and soft against your own, his hand cupping your cheek lightly. You ran your fingers through his hair as he tilted your chin back, deepening the kiss. 

He hummed lightly, you tasted like bubblegum.

taglist:

@evyiione @accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-doodl3 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1 @obsessedwithrandomthings @coldlilheart @suseptiable-but-siriusexual @inglorious-imagines @the-natureofme @trickylittlewitch @layaa-layaaa

Masterlist

[when-he-writes-stuff]

So I actually wrote this! I’ve never written dark!Sterek before, but I saw the gifset and couldn’t help myself. I hope you all enjoy <3

THREE DAYS, FOUR HOURS, AND twenty-two minutes. That’s how long the one they called Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski had been separated from his pack.

Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. Stiles realized what happened nine minutes after his pack was taken. Therefore, the hunters were unofficially dead at the countdown of three days, four hours, and thirteen minutes.

To Stiles, though, time blurred. It was a stain of colors, a snarl at the back of his throat, and the faintest ringing in his ears that made him feel like he was losing his mind all over again.

Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. It was the longest Stiles had ever been alone.

He was greeted by gunshots first.

At a first glance, Mieczysław was nothing but a boy. A boy who grew up surrounded by wolves, an emissary to a bunch of wild animals. There were rumors about what rested behind the amber of his eyes, but few people chose to believe them. Because he was scrawny, he was human, and it seemed like easy pickings when a group of hunters chose to go after the crumbling pack.

At a first glance, Mieczysław was nothing but a boy. And that that always been the easiest way to lure in unsuspecting prey.

He was greeted by gunshots first. The screams that followed were a welcome sound he hadn’t heard for far too long.

There was something about the smell of gunpowder in the air, the feeling of blood on his fingertips, and the taste of ash in his mouth that made Stiles feel alive. He could be wrapped in the darkest shadows or walking through the heat of a blazing fire and the smile on his face would never waver. At a first glance, he was nothing but a boy. A weakling. But to the hunter watching him tear through their ranks without even blinking, it was like hell had become a place on Earth.

The hunter’s name was Col Henderson. And he hadn’t wanted to take the job in the first place.

Beacon Hills was a shell of what it used to be. At first, Col hadn’t even believed the rumors were true. The rumors saying there was still a werewolf pack patrolling its borders, that is. He’d been hunting since he was old enough to carry a gun and at this point in his life, he wanted a challenge. Something to make him smile when the beast went down; something to make him feel proud when the light faded from the monster’s eyes.

The Hale pack had been fairly easy to round up. Most of them were feral to the point of being wild animals anyway.

It was the emissary that remained elusive.

“A bunch of mutts,” he told the man at his side, listening to the distant sound of snarling wolves from another part of the compound. “Good for nothing but a bullet between the eyes.”

The hunter only grunted, looking tired. And honestly, Col couldn’t blame him. They were all tired. The emissary had yet to come for his pack and they’d been sitting around all day, waiting for something that didn’t seem to exist.

Until the sun touched the tips of the trees, that is. 

That’s when all hell broke loose.

Col first saw him when the compound doors slammed open. He was on his feet in a second, loaded rifle held tightly in his hands. The already dying lights above his head flickered and briefly went out— and when they came back on, a lone figure stood in the compound’s entrance. His head was head tilted slightly and his eyes practically glowed against the faint darkness.

There was a dull spark in them that held nothing but the last remnants of humanity. Humanity that had been clinging to the boy for years now, though that hadn’t mattered for a long time now.

A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. One that sent a chill down Col’s spine.

“Emissary,” someone breathed. And Col didn’t even realize the word had come from his mouth until amber eyes fixed on where he stood. The boy raised an eyebrow.

“My pack,” he said. “I want them back.”

There was a loud click as the man next to Col loaded his gun. The emissary’s attention immediately snapped to him and Col almost sagged to the floor, suddenly aware of each breath that he had been holding.

“You're going to give my pack back,” the emissary said again, the smile slipping from his lips. He took a step forward and immediately, every gun was trained on him. The boy paused, eyes flashing, but it didn’t seem to be out of fear. 

No, there was a new look on his face, replacing the amused one that had been there previously.

It was cold and dangerous. The bags under his eyes seemed to darken, holding the exhaustion of each day that he’d been without his pack. Around him, the shadows grew as the softness of his face hardened.

“No?”

In the distance, one of the wolves yelped. Loudly.

And just like that, the spark of humanity in the emissary’s eyes flicked out.

Col had faced a lot of beasts in the past. He’d gone after born wolves and those newly turned. He’d taken down a dozen packs and faced an alpha that nearly ripped him to shreds. Col told his blissfully ignorant friends that he hunted deer and then went home to a list full of names— one of every monster he’d ever killed.

He’d seen a lot over the years. But nothing added up to the boy that stood in front of him, eyes turning to stone as he caught the sound of his feral pack in the distance.

Once more, the lights overhead blinked out. But this time, they didn't turn back on. In a moment, the silence had turned to gunshots, gunshots turned to screams. And dammit, Col hadn’t even wanted to take this job in the first place.

He stumbled back, pulling his walkie from its clip on his belt.

“Backup! We need backup!”

Static was his answer. Col stumbled blindly through the darkness, trying to get as far away from the screams of his fellow hunters as fast as he could. There were things he’d heard about the Hale pack’s emissary, but he’d never imagined any of them were true. In fact, he'd laughed at 'exaggeration of it all.

The job of an emissary was to keep the pack connected to themselves, to their humanity. Col hadn’t thought much of the feral pack they’d put in chains but this boy seemed to be even less human than all of them combined. Less than the alpha who had nearly bitten Col’s head off, less than the betas who had snapped and snarled the entire way to captivity.

In his panic, Col stumbled over his own feet and fell hard to the ground, his gun skidding somewhere across the floor. Suddenly, the lights flicked on and when he looked over his shoulder, all that was left were bodies.

The one they called Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski stood among them. His eyes raked over the entire room, not a single emotion on his face. Then, they snapped to where Col had fallen and that smile from earlier tugged at the corners of his mouth once again.

Col shoved himself up and turned, running faster than he ever had into the depths of the compound.

They had come to Beacon Hills with an even number of eighteen hunters. When Col turned the corner, stumbling to a stop as a dozen guns aimed in his direction, there was some part of him that wondered if even double that would be enough.

“Henderson?”

“Don’t shoot, dammit!”

“What the hell are you doing?”

Behind him, the sound of footsteps echoed off the cement floor. Col’s heart skipped a beat and he slowly turned around.

“You took my pack,” the emissary said, turning the corner. “Now I’m gonna take them back.”

Col retreated back behind the line of guns. The emissary’s gaze traveled over them all and his eyes darkened. He took a step forward, ignoring the tightening of every finger around the trigger.

“It’s doesn’t matter how many of there you are,” he said, words almost a snarl. He moved closer— Col started to tremble. “I’m going to kill every single one of you until I find them. Do you understand me?”

“Stand down, boy!”

“Do you understand me? I’ll burn this whole fucking place down if I have to!”

Someone fired. Sparks flew.

Somewhere in the distance, one of the wolves howled.

It happened too quickly. Col scrambled for his spare pistol and a crackle of electricity filled the air. Something was burning, the smell like a sour acid began to fill his nose. Col's eyes burned, his hands were shaking too hard to get a proper hold on his gun as he scrambled back away from the fighting. It was like a nightmare brought to life and when he managed to make himself look back, the sight that awaited him was even worse.

The emissary’s eyes were brighter than fire. The air around him swam with the shadows and his face was so pale, it was like the blood drained right out. Distant howls collided with the chaos in the air and Col momentarily flashed back to his latest kill— a young omega, newly bitten. She’d looked at him like he was the Grim Reaper and it had made him feel powerful. Being the predator always did.

For the first time in his life, Col Henderson knew what it was like to be the prey.

The emissary flicked his wrist and Col slammed up against the nearest wall, losing all ability to breathe as the boy approached. There was something about him. Something darker than night, colder than death. 

“Big bad hunter. Where is my pack?”

Struggling for breath, Col managed to point down the hallway. The boy followed his gaze and then hummed.

“Thank you.”

Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. Stiles had realized what happened to his pack nine minutes after they were taken. Therefore, the hunters were unofficially dead three days, four hours, and thirteen minutes ago.

The clock continued to count— three seconds on the timer. Col looked at the emissary like he was the Grim Reaper.

And at second one, the boy smiled.

-

An emissary’s main job had always been to keep a pack connected to their humanity. However, as a group of bold hunters learned the hard way after capturing a bunch of feral werewolves known as the Hale pack, the one known as Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski, barely had any humanity in himself to begin with.

There was a hum under his breath as he released his pack one by one. The betas first and his alpha right after them, whose eyes glowed red as he barely contained a series of whines. The second the chains were off, clawed fingers latched onto Stiles's arms and sharp fangs skated up the side of his neck. Stiles smiled, tracing bloodstained fingers through Derek’s hair.

“It's okay. I'm here now.”

Warm breaths snuffled against his skin. “That was stupid.”

“I know.”

“And dangerous.”

“But so fun.”

Derek drew back, his attention zeroing in on a darkening red patch right underneath Stiles’s shoulder. “You’re bleeding.”

"Only a little."

"Does it hurt?"

“They took my pack,” Stiles said, a dangerous glow in his eyes. “Isn’t a little agony worth it?”

The red of the alpha’s eyes burned even brighter. Derek growled and pulled him into a hungry kiss— one that promised a much more thorough examination later. The man's lips were a little cracked and Stiles could taste blood. Humming at the back of his throat, he kissed Derek harder.

Three days, four hours, and twenty-two minutes. That’s how long the one they called Mieczysław ‘Stiles’ Stilinski had been separated from his pack. The longest he'd ever been alone.

But he wasn't anymore.

They left the bodies as a warning to anyone who dared cross the Hale pack again. 

[gedankenspaziergang]

Diversmagazin Interview  Translation

Diversmagazin released an interview with director Sarah Blaßkiewitz and Head-Writer Jasmina Wesolowski today. Read it here in German.

Jasmina (she/her), DRUCK writer since season four and head writer since season six together with Jonas Lindt. In a writers Room with Paulina Lorenz and Raquel Kishori Dukpa (Jünglinge)

Sarah (she/her) director of the last four episodes from season six

I’m leaving out the general introductory questions.

Alicia: Can you talk about the writing process? And what’s the most important thing for you while writing and telling stories?

Jasmina: We especially wanted the profound exchange with young adults who represent our protagonists. For season six we had the challenge that we wanted to tell the lovestory of a Gambian-German girl and a Vietnamese-German girl, perspectives that aren’t represented in the writer’s room. That’s why we talked a lot to research partners, to make up for our lack of knowledge/ experience, but we also talked to the actors and actresses.

Alicia: Why do different directors work on DRUCK?

Sarah: We try to produce as much in real-time as possible. And of course, we have to pre-produce but still have to work [overlappingly]. While one director is already in the editing phase, the next one already starts to shoot. Another reason is of course, that this way, also in the writer’s room, there’s more space for diversity.

 Alicia: It’s similar to the writer’s room. You’re also dividing the writing of scenes between different people. … Are you working together with racism and LGBTQIA+ experts?

Jasmina: I think we all have blind spots and that it’s absolutely impossible to end up with a perfect result. It was an important first step, that the Jünglinge collective joined. They are big advocates for queer BIPoc representation in German media. They were always present for feedback loops and made all of us, crew, actors and actresses, participate in an anti-racism workshop. We were lucky to have the brilliant author and anti-racism trainer Arpana Berndt, who advised us on these topics. On top of that, we did a lot of research on different topics. I think now it should be the only way to produce movies and shows this way, with an intensive research phase. This way you don’t appropriate the stories of others and also don’t tell inauthentic stories or, in the worst case, use hurtful clichés/stereotypes. It was helpful and needed that Black perspectives were present also behind the camera – Sara as a director, but also in the social media team, make-up department or costume design. But we are also aware that more can be done.

Sarah: It’s important to me to highlight the make-up and costume design department. When I, an afro-German person, joined this project and met other afro-German women in those departments, who can relate to me, the character of Fatou and Ava, I was really glad. I can say from many years of experience that that’s not a given.

 Alicia: How about experts on LGBTQIA+ issues?

Jasmina: To talk a bit about the process: We were set on Fatou being a lesbian pretty early on, and that was already discussed in the earlier writer’s room, where that perspective wasn’t present yet. In the beginning, those were loose ideas, and we had to implement them with the casting. The casting team Raquel Kishori Dupka, Melek Yaparak and Angelika Buschina worked closely with the directors and contacted different institutions and specifically asked for actors and actresses who could be queer. At this age this is of course a super sensitive topic. You don’t want to force young people to [define themselves/come out]. It’s a huge challenge to handle that with care and it was extremely important that the Jünglinge collective was part of the casting process.

But also, apart from the casting process, we profited a lot from the queer people in the writer’s room in the cast.

Sarah: For my part I asked the authors and queer people “What would you like? What is nice? What hurts? What’s important? Or what have I never seen before?” And then I put those different experiences into the different scenes. On top you of course need common sense (?) to portray something that you haven’t experienced yourself.

 Jasmin: I just thought of a small really beautiful example: How Fatou was given these rainbow socks as a Christmas present. You immediately notice, that was the idea of a queer person who knows what non-queer parents give to their kids as gifts. The fans notice: Queer people were in the writer’s room. Or “Ah, these actresses know, what they’re doing.“ And those are the small things that make a difference.

 Alicia: For sure! In DRUCK you notice that queer people were part of this in really subtle ways, and that [resulted] in really nice fan-moments. I can confirm that.

Right now, the community is discussing the conflict between Mailin and Ava a lot. What role does that conflict play for you and what does it teach us?

 Sarah: I’m editing the last episodes right now, so I really feel it, also because you already see the reactions online.

For me, the conflict is important because it shows over a long period of time, that not everything is always only good or only bad. That it takes a lot of time, patience and confrontation to understand all nuances of that kind of conflict.

That Ava could be prevented to outright say what’s bothering her, because we’re talking about a really serious trauma of exclusion. How do you even tell people really personal stuff when you were bullied for years? And now we have that conflict, that seemingly takes forever, and you’re always asking yourself: “Why aren’t they talking to each other?” But it’s only in real time that you realize how hurtful this conflict is. How hurtful it is what they experience. What racism means, and also what it means to [deal] with that topic as a white  German girl. And I think it’s really important that everyone is going through that with this season. That takes time and sometimes hurts. And you don’t always understand Ava and you don’t always understand Mailin. When we really [dedicate ourselves to understand this conflict] then I think, we can experience what for example a person like me experienced their whole adolescence. I’m not saying I was bullied my whole adolescence, and maybe it wasn’t because of the color of my skin, but because of something else. But that went on for half a year. After being bullied in school for half a year you’re not up for school and your classmates anymore. And you don’t talk to them anymore. And if people realize that because of this season then I’m glad. I think it’s really touching that this conflict takes up so much space.

 Jasmina: I found it really interesting what you said about the nuances, because it was a real process for me to learn how many facets this conflict has. And especially that us white people, who grow up in a society with structural racism, have a particular idea about what racism means. And that’s not a detailed and uncritical perspective of that topic: As soon as you call me racist, I feel attacked and start defending myself.

The role that this conflict played for us was to show how incredibly exhausting it is as a Person of Color, to always have to deal with these problems and that there’s a kind of fatigue, that you don’t want to talk (or should want to talk) about certain topics anymore, especially if you have other things going on in your life on top of it.

On the other hand, we have Mailin, who has a strong desire to understand. She’s not aware of her privileges as a white girl. We want to take this journey together, when she starts to realize things and when she goes through different stages; until she understands, what it is really about. We also have an arc there that isn’t finished. Because in real life, you have to deal with some topics over and over again. We think it’s especially important to show that it’s not the job of Black people to explain racism to their white  friends. By now, they have all the resources to educate themselves and to talk with other white people about this topic, to unburden Black people.

 Alicia: That’s really interesting! The lovestory of Kieu My and Fatou is an important part of season six, which many queer young adults love. How is the relationship between Fatou and Kieu My representative for a generation?

Sarah: I can actually also see it in an older generation. When I send the cuddle clip of Kieu My and Fatou to my grandpa, he says “Wow, how amazing that a Viet-German and a Afro-German girl are lying in bed together, talk in German and are in a relationship.” This generation hopefully isn’t alone anymore, for example in the sense of: being the only Afro-German person in a small city. That changed and now we see it in that second and third generation. And that’s why it shows me something very real and beautiful.

 Alicia: Which scene are you really proud of and why?

Sarah: My favorite scene, and one I’m really proud of and that was really important concerning the pressure of school, was with the main character Fatou. It’s about a path of finding yourself from Fatou and a [Reinigungsmoment] with her brother. Two people, who know each other from the moment of their birth, are sitting together. When I read that scene I thought yes, I can relate, I can feel that, and when we shot that, a world opened for me. And that was partly because of the music, which was decided before we shot this scene. Then we shot it and it was fucking cold, but we shot it again and again but every time we really felt it like the first time. And when I now watch that scene while editing, it really is the perfect moment. Every facial expression is perfect, every reaction. And that’s that kind of truthful (?) moment you’re looking for as an actor, actress, director or author. When everything fits.

 (There’s a script for every social media part, What’s App Chats and ideas for social media stories. )

 Alicia: When can we expect the next season and what will it be about?

Jasmina: For now, DRUCK is finished and we have to wait how it will continue. Fingers are crossed and of course we’re hoping for a new season.

[Note by me: We‘re not gonna spiral, Jünglinge looked for more writers, Black writers, on facebook a while ago. Nothing is safe but they probably don’t want to make any promises]

[css1992]

Guilty Pleasure

Summary:  Peter and Beck used to be a power couple in the porn industry, but after Beck dumps him, Peter is forced to start over. With no money, no family and nowhere to go, he doesn’t have much choice other than to keep doing porn, so he joins Just4Fans to get back on his feet and then one day he gets a very generous tip from someone under the username of YKWIM. All the warnings listed on Part I apply. 

Read on AO3

Part I / Part II / Part III / Part IV / Part V /  Part VI /  Part VII /  Part VIII / Part IX / Part X /  Part XI / Epilogue

-x-

Living with Ned and MJ was both a dream come true and a bit of a nightmare.

A dream, because when they were kids, they always talked about how they would all go the same college and live together one day, and Peter would finally have a real home – and a real family, he used to think to himself,  in secret.

A nightmare, because he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous of his friends, and that was the worst kind of feeling to have for the people who opened their arms and their home for him when he needed the most. Still, he couldn’t avoid it and he felt awful for that. They were both attending NYU; Ned was majoring in Computer Science and MJ in Journalism. All according to the plans they made in high school.

When Peter was younger, he made plans, too. He wanted to study Biochemistry, his teachers used to say he could probably get a scholarship to a good college, he was smart enough. Mr. Harrington, his science teacher, even offered to write letters of recommendation for him. Instead, Peter’s life choices led him to his current predicament: a 20 year-old porn actor, selling dirty pictures for a living, crashing on his friends’ couch, not a single dollar in his wallet.

He was definitely not getting any awards for good decision making, that was for sure.

He had been staying with Ned and MJ for a week when he was finally able to set up his Just4Fans account. He knew that had to be a temporary thing, it couldn’t last, even if he wanted it to. He wouldn’t be young forever, let alone a “pretty twink”, as his subscribers loved to call him. He had maybe three or four years left of that hype, at most, then he would be too old for that, and/or people would start getting bored of him. So he had to be smart, the plan was to save up as much as he could while he thought about what he was going to do once the fountain of youth dried up, and the clock was ticking fast.

But for the time being, porn.

Good thing he had his own Instagram account with a few thousand followers. All the other social media accounts were under Beck’s name, and those had hundreds of thousands of followers, but Peter no longer had access to them – he checked. He also checked and noticed that Beck hadn’t announced that they had split up yet, his last post dated from five days earlier, when he released their last video together – two days after kicking him out of the house, the asshole.

So Peter posted a few Instagram stories explaining to his followers that he and Beck weren’t a thing anymore – he didn’t give many details, he didn’t want any drama, specially not with Beck – and that he had set up a Just4Fans account for the time being. In minutes, his Instagram blew up. Apparently, people were either heartbroken over their breakup; relieved he “got rid of that perv!”; or devastated they wouldn’t get to see them doing porn together anymore.

He got a hundred subscribers in just a few hours, which was incredible. The subscription fee was ten dollars a month, so even after the website’s cut plus tax deduction, it still was a good start. He wondered what kind of money Beck made with their videos, because they had thousands of subscribers on their channel.

Once he got the hang of the site, he tried to post at least two sets of pictures a day – which was challenging at that moment, because the apartment was tiny and he didn’t have any outfits or toys with him, they were all at Beck’s. He made plans that as soon as he got the subscription money in around fifteen days, he would try to buy a few things and take tons of pictures to last a few weeks.  

He also made sure to answer people’s messages every single day, which often earned him a little more money in tips. It was shocking how many people were willing to tip him just because he answered them. Some other people asked for extra content, like specific pictures, videos or even voice notes, which he sent via “pay-per-view messages”.

In the end, he felt like he was prostituting himself. Again.

He would never judge a person for earning their living in any way necessary, as long as it didn’t hurt anyone, he just never thought that would be him. Never ever. As a kid, he thought he’d be an astronaut. Growing up, he wanted to be a physicist. As a teen, he made plans to study Biochemistry. And somehow he ended up selling his body online, one way or another.

He didn’t dwell on that for long, he focused on the fact that it was temporary. If he managed to retain at least some of the people that had subscribed to his account for two or three years, then he would be able to start a small business of some kind in the future. Maybe he could go back to school. Twenty-three wasn’t too old for college, right?

Right.

It was two weeks later when he got a weird message. Not a weird message, actually, a weird tip. Someone under the username of YKWIM had sent him ten thousand dollars for no reason, there was no prior conversation, nor did the person ask for anything in return. Peter was sure there must have been a mistake, maybe they had typed in some extra zeros or maybe they had sent it to the wrong person, so he decided to reach out.

“Hey. I think there must’ve been some sort of mistake with your last tip. Lol.”

He left his phone on the counter and got started on dinner. He was a terrible cook, but to be fair, they all were, so it was fine. Ned and MJ were both at work, but they would be home soon and they were having a quiet night in. Those few weeks at their place had been good for Peter, it felt nice not to be alone after what happened, but at the same time, he was starting to feel like he really needed his own space. He was already looking for an apartment to move into as soon as he got the money. He was hoping to get one in the same building or at least close by, so that they could still see each other often.

His cell phone beeped as he sliced some onions and he stopped to check.

“Hey, gorgeous. There’s been no mistake, it’s correct.” Peter was taken aback by the answer, so he checked again to see how much the person had tipped him, and sure enough, there it was. Ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand. American dollars.

“Oh. Wow, that was very, very generous of you. Is there any particular content that you’d like to see from me as a thank you? I could send you exclusive pics and videos, whatever you want.” Inwardly, he was thinking that no amount of pictures or videos from him would ever be worth ten thousand dollars. Ten thousand dollars, holy fuck.

“That would be excellent.”

“Great. What would you like to see?”

Please don’t be weird, please don’t be weird, please don’t be weird… Usually, Peter’s subscribers liked to see him in cute outfits or with cute toys, but some people liked very messed up stuff. He usually said no, but that person had just sent him ten thousand dollars. Fuck, that was so much money, it would cover rent for at least a few months.

“I’ve enjoyed everything you’ve put out so far, baby, so surprise me. I’m sure I’m gonna like whatever you send.”

God, generous and reasonable? Had Peter died and gone to porn heaven?

“You flatter me.” He typed in quickly, leaving the sauce unattended for a few seconds. “Give me a few hours to work on it, I don’t want to disappoint you.”

“Take your time, but I don’t think you could disappoint me if you tried.”

Peter felt so stupid when he blushed and giggled to himself, because that was exactly how Beck lured him in when he was seventeen, with charming, easy words. He was an adult now, for Christ’s sake, and he didn’t even know who he was talking to. To be fair, it was probably a woman. For some weird reason, according to his Just4Fans statistics, a surprisingly large percentage of his subscribers were middle-aged, cisgender, heterosexual women. Peter supposed those were the ones who used to follow his “love story” with Beck – most of them hadn’t got over them yet, apparently they were “the perfect couple! So cute!”.

He couldn’t blame them, they sold them the perfect love story. And for a time, it was true. Peter really thought Beck was it for him, the love of his life, his soulmate. He didn’t know at which point it all became an act to Beck – or if maybe it had always been an act.

He sighed, shaking his head, he couldn’t afford to waste time thinking about him, so he focused on what he should send YKWIM.

As he finished making dinner, he tried to come up with ideas. They said they loved everything Peter had posted so far – he had posted thirty pictures and five short clips over the past two weeks. The pictures were all in MJ’s bedroom – she offered –, most of them in her bed. There were only a few pictures in which he was completely naked, in the others he had some sort of underwear on –  lingerie or tight briefs.

So, he decided he should do something similar, but different enough that YKWIM would feel somewhat special. He had a few good ideas, but they would have to wait for the next morning, he would need good lighting and privacy.

“Hey, nerd, what’s up,” He almost burned his fingers when he heard MJ’s voice, and realized he had spaced out for a minute there. He shook his head quickly and smiled at her.

“Nothing, how was you day?”

The next morning, once Ned went to visit his family and MJ left for work, Peter started working on the pictures. For some reason, he didn’t want to tell his friends about YKWIM, just like he didn’t want to tell them about Beck when they first met, three years earlier. And if he really was as smart as his teachers used to say, he would have seen the pattern. But as it was, he just focused on the fact that YKWIM was probably a woman living on the other side of the world, who just liked to get off to pictures of pretty boys in lingerie.

But.

For the sake of getting in the mood for the pictures, he imagined YKWIM was a guy. Not too tall, but taller than him. He imagined he had a beard, but not a full one, like Beck’s, no, perfectly trimmed, scratchy, in a good way. He’d have dark, warm eyes, not blue and cold. He’d be older, older than Beck, more mature than him. A real man. Maybe he’d have a few streaks of gray amidst his otherwise dark hair.  

He’d be gentle, despite Peter’s past. He’d treat him like he was the first one to ever touch him, even if he knew that was far from the truth. He would be careful, mindful of his pleasure. He’d start off slowly, kissing along his collarbones, fingers brushing the sensitive skin on the inside of his thighs, just shy of where Peter wanted him to touch, as his mouth traveled down his chest; hot, moist breath leaving a trail of kisses down his stomach.

He sighed. Yeah, that would do to put him in the mood.

He put on a white t-shirt that was just long enough to graze the tops of his thighs, and a simple, plain black thong. He decided to take the pictures in the shower – the classic wet, white t-shirt, he couldn’t really go wrong with that. He positioned the camera on top of the bathroom sink, set the timer, and started posing.

First, he rested his back against the wall, one hand pulling the t-shirt down to cover the front his underwear, eyes staring directly at the camera lens as water ran down his face, neck and chest, making his nipples stiffen, becoming visible under the wet shirt.  

Next, he pressed his chest to the wall, looking at the camera from over his shoulder, lips parted, just a peek of his exposed ass cheeks showing where the t-shirt ended, but by then it was so wet it was mostly see-through.

Then he turned so his side was facing the camera and stuck his head directly under the stream of water, running his hands through his hair, back arched obscenely, eyes closed. He let his hands travel all the way down his neck, chest, and stomach, hearing the familiar “click” as the camera took several pictures.

He turned around again, placed his hands on the wall and lifted his t-shirt just over his lower back, sticking his ass out, showing off his provocative underwear.

He got out of the shower and turned the camera into filming mode, then got back under the water and also shot a short clip of he sensually and slowly taking the thong off, but in a way that the viewer couldn’t really see the skin that was revealed. He pulled the wet t-shirt down so it covered everything, but by then it was so see-through that it left nothing to the imagination. Peter twirled a little, then threw an innocent, shy smile at the camera.

That should do it.

He finished his shower, put the wet clothes in the washer, then went to edit the pictures. He didn’t do much, just adjusted the light and contrast, then cut them into squares, because he though it looked classier or whatever. He chuckled to himself at the absurdity of that thought, as he attached the photos and the video to a direct message to YKWIM.

“Hey, gorgeous! Hopefully these won’t disappoint. Let me know if you’d like something different.”

He cringed re-reading the message, he thought he sounded desperate and insecure about himself and he supposed that wasn’t very attractive, so he decided to change it just a little.

“Hey, gorgeous! Hopefully these won’t disappoint.” And he finished off with a hot face emoji, because why not.

He sent the message and went on with his day. Ned and MJ were both back for lunch and since none of them felt like cooking – and they all sucked at it anyway –, they ordered something to eat in front of the TV, as they binge-watched the first seasons of The Office.

“Oh, hey, Pete, I almost forgot, I talked to our landlord earlier and he said there’s an apartment on the fifth floor that should be vacated by the end of the month, if you’re interested,” Ned told him around a mouthful of pizza and Peter’s head snapped up.

“I’m definitely interested!”

“Cool, I’ll talk to him for you, I’m sure I can get you a good deal on rent.” He winked, and Peter smiled, feeling hopeful.

Things were getting better. Slowly, yes, but they were. He was spending time with his friends – who he had neglected for the past two years–; he had a good amount of money to withdraw in the next few days, that could get him going for a while; he was still doing porn, yes, but at least he was in control of the whole thing, including his own body, which was nice; and he only cried for Beck every other night instead of every single night, so he had that going for him.

All in all, things were looking up.

Ned and MJ convinced him to go out for a bit in the afternoon, they said he had been cooped up in the apartment for three weeks and should breathe in some fresh air, and since it was the first somewhat warm day of March, they decided to go jog at Central Park in the afternoon. They didn’t really jog, but they walked around some and Peter must admit that it felt good to stretch his legs and feel the sun on his skin for a change.

They were lying on the grass, resting for a bit, when they saw a blur of red and gold fly overhead. People started cheering and clapping and Peter smiled when MJ groaned, because he knew exactly what she was going to say.

“How can people cheer for that guy, he’s an egocentric, misogynistic, elitist, disgusting asshole.”  He laughed to himself, because he knew what came next.

“He’s a genius, he changed the world multiple times and he even saved it at least twice. I think he’s pretty cool,” Ned argued without any heat and Peter could hear MJ rolling her eyes.

Peter didn’t love or hate Tony Stark or Iron Man, like most people, he just – didn’t pay him any mind. Sure, when he was a kid, he was obsessed with him, he was New York’s first superhero after  Captain America, who was still in the ice when Stark announced he was Iron Man. But as he grew older, he had other concerns in mind other than who was the coolest Avenger, so he kind of forgot they existed, except for when there was some crazy alien threat looming over New York City – which was, like, a biannual thing since they found out aliens existed back in 2012.

The fact that Iron Man was flying over Central Park on a Saturday afternoon was a little alarming though. From what Peter knew, Stark was mostly retired since around 2016, he only ever “avenged” when there was a big threat, like the near-end-of-the-world they had back in 2018.

“Do you think we’re under attack?” Peter asked and Ned shook his head calmly.

“Nah, I think he must be late for something. I read an interview recently and he said he uses the suit sometimes when he needs to get some place fast.”

Seemed like overkill, but who was Peter to judge, he would probably do the same if had a suit like that.

They spent the rest of the afternoon in the park and then headed home for the night. MJ turned in early, she said she was beat from a busy week, and Peter and Ned stayed up until a little later, re-watching Star Wars movies. It was close to 2AM when Ned said his goodnight and Peter went to check his Just4Fans, because he hadn’t answered any messages all day long.

There were quite a few, but he did notice there was one missing. YKWIM hadn’t answered him yet and Peter immediately felt like a failure. They probably hated the pictures, they must have thought “ugh, ten thousand dollars for that?”. Peter should have photoshopped them. He could have made himself look at least a little bit better, if only–

Before he could hate on himself too much, YKWIM messaged him, like they could read minds. Peter quickly opened their chat, still a little worried about their reaction to the pictures.

“Damn, baby! You have no fucking idea what those did to me. Fuck! Can I show you? Please?”

Peter was oddly relieved to read that, and was endeared by the fact that they actually asked before sending a dick pic. Or a clit pic? Was that a thing?

“Of course, gorgeous, I’d love to see it.”

Within seconds, they sent a video in the chat. Peter was a little surprised by that, but pressed play anyway, and almost fell off the couch when he did.

It was a thirteen seconds video. He could see the man’s midriff, all the way down to the tops of his thighs. His belly was toned and spattered with dark hair that led down to perfectly trimmed pubes that framed the most beautiful cock Peter had ever seen. There was no other way to put it.

It was long and thick, but not so much so that it would hurt – Peter knew better –, it stood proudly between his thighs, attached to a heavy set of balls that made his mouth water. He was jacking it mercilessly, Peter could only hear him grunting quietly before his balls recoiled and he came, covering his stomach in thick, pearly white come. Peter whimpered, pressing down on his hard-on, and almost cried when the video was over.

“Fuck, daddy, that was so fucking hot.” It was probably the first time ever that he actually meant that answering a DM from a subscriber.

“That was the third time today, baby, I have been thinking about those pics from the minute you sent them. Spent the whole day with blue balls, even after coming twice.”

Fuck.

“Wish I could have helped you with that.”

“Who knows, honey, maybe someday.”

Yeah, Peter thought, biting his pillow on the couch so he wouldn’t be heard when he came embarrassingly hard in his pajamas pants, face burning with shame. Maybe someday.

[1ddotdhq]

🦊Wed 30 Dec ‘20🇮🇹

People Magazine released the rest of their interview with Liam from last week: he talks a lot about Maya (and calls her his SPOUSE) and Bear ("I am very frightened about the idea of him entering the world that I'm in”). But the new and exciting thing is that he has something we haven't heard before to say about his music plans for the next year! He says "I'm hoping to write some songs and rewrite my story a little bit, because I don't think that I got it right yet. The music I've been making has been a lot of fun for people, but they're momentary songs, they're not songs that made you think deeper thoughts about someone you really care about. I've really evaluated a lot about myself this year and I think I'm going to take a bit of a different path into 2021." Last year he said, “I want to make a really amazing album that’s not, like, important… I just want to make people move, if that makes sense?” and then he did make that kind of music for a while, and previously he'd said that writing songs for 1D came easily to him, he “just knew how to make it” but that it wouldn't be what he'd choose sound-wise so this will really be the first time he'll be sitting down to both write from the heart and be able to explore his own sound, and we can look forward to something completely new in the world! Good stuff!

Anne Twist put up a selfie of her in the Italian Golden merch, I’m very glad that she got it before they sold out and I hope that she got lucky and it came with a Louis bucket hat! A lot of merch seems to be getting confused these days, with more people getting Harry boxed sets that didn't order them (or order from Harry at all), among other mixups-- if they're trying to get us to buy more I admit, it's motivating. She wasn’t the only one with fashion input today: Lizzo put two new pictures of H on her Instagram story as a part of a “New Years challenge”, Harry Lambert tells us that in his Professional Opinion the JW Anderson Cardigan and the Golden pants should win this round of the Fashion Archive’s competition, and even Fox News can't keep out of the discourse, they stuck Harry on their “Naughty List of 2020” (that’s not the official name but uh fuck them that’s what I’m calling it) for his fashion choices! Apparently, they didn’t like the Vogue dress. Twitter said nahhh fuck that and trended “#foxnewsjacksofftoharrystyles”, which you know what, that feels organic: are they pissed at him bc they’re attracted to him in the dress? Well, get in line, they have a LOT of solo stans to fight!

Niall will be on the Morning Mash Up tomorrow, and we got a little clip of it today, with Niall talking about when he (FINALLY) met Ashe in person. “We had a great laugh,” he says, “we got very drunk!” He also talks about how he doesn’t like to collab with people he hasn’t met, because he thinks it comes through in the song. Anyways, tune in tomorrow for the rest of his NYE Parrrtttyyyyy! Louis won “best male” in the Power Radio awards, accurate, Honey Pop released an article called “How Louis Tomlinson Made 2020 His Year”, accurate, and Walls made Alt-Rock Magazine The Aquarian’s Top 25: “every song features Tomlinson’s expert storytelling abilities, even when documenting... his whirlwind decade long relationship”-- also extremely accurate!

[sithsecrets]

release | din djarin x reader

A difficult hunt has Mando in a huff, and his crewmember knows just what he needs.

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2.9k words

mentions: mando’s frustrated but not mean in the slightest, blowjobs, general musings on sex

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Some hunts are easier than others— that’s one of the first things the Mandalorian told when you joined his crew. You’d thought that was a fair answer to the question you’d ask, and it made a lot of sense at the time because of course bounties have levels like practically anything else. Some people are stupid, others are smart…  A simple bail jumper’s probably not going to be much of a challenge, but a spice smuggler or a member of an organized crime ring? That could be difficult.

Before this assignment, you’d thought you knew what a difficult hunt looked like. There was the pimp on Jakku that led Mando on a chase for three days in the dessert, the pair of bail-jumping brothers that ended up being very well-connected to some very scary spicemakers, and a few other quarries that stick out in your mind. But Mando’s most recent mission…

This whole thing was a clusterfuck from the start. Karga had called it a “special quest” when he offered up the puck, and you’d been right there at Mando’s side when he asked for the price. The number that came out of Karga’s mouth was absolutely insane, almost too good to be true.

There was a catch, of course. The quarry is a member of an alien species known for their sameness— each being looks identical, no sex, no gender, no differentiating characteristics. To make a hard job even harder, the quarry’s…. a bad person. They’re dangerous, armed to the teeth, and known to leave a lot of collateral damage in their wake. And they’re rich. Unbelievably rich. The kind of rich that makes a person bulletproof, the kind of rich that lets a person disappear at will like they never existed in the first place.

Yet despite all of this, despite how difficult the task seemed, Mando accepted the puck anyway, and now you’re here in the Crest wondering what the fuck you’re going to do with him.

Four dead-end leads and three planets later, you think Mando’s going to crack. He came back to the ship earlier in a huff, announcing that you, he, and the baby would be going to yet another location to track this person down. Quiet rage has been radiating off of him ever since, the anger Mando feels slipping out here and there in all the wrong ways. He was less patient with the Child earlier when he was putting him down to sleep, and Mando’s tone was clipped when he declined your offer to make him something to eat. You try not to take any of his behavior personally, knowing good and well that Mando’s running on empty. The stress of this hunt has been immense, and you’re not sure if he’s been sleeping or eating like he should during his days away. Knowing how Mando takes care of himself in the best of times, though…

The man needs to relax, you think. He needs a good meal, something warm and filling, and a good night’s sleep. Mando also needs to blow off steam, needs to fight or scream or fuck—

You force yourself to clear that thought from your mind, even as you prepare yourself for what you’re about to do. It’s gamble, to say the very least— this could cost you your job, your place next to the Mandalorian. You don’t think you could stomach it, being sent away by this man that you care for, but something has to be done— about Mando’s agitation and your feelings for him.

Drawing in a deep breath, you stand before the ladder the leads up the cockpit, gathering every bit of courage you have. “Mando,” you call, hoping he won’t react too poorly to be disturbed right now. He went off hours ago, shutting himself away up there to “look over some intel,” whatever the fuck that means.

“What?”

The word comes out short, but not angry, and you figure it’s fine to go on.

“Can I come up?”

Mando doesn’t give you much in the way of an answer, but the noise he makes is affirmative enough. You climb up the ladder, the rungs cold on your bare feet, and then you’re there in the cockpit. Mando’s just as tense as he was when he went up here in the first place, shoulders drawn taut, eyes trained on a hologram in front of him. It looks like some sort of map, though the lines and colors mean little to you.

“How’s it going?”

He doesn’t even turn his head. “Fine.”

You watch Mando for a moment, nervous as you consider how to play this.

“Don’t you think you should rest, Mando?” you ask, coming to stand beside the pilot’s chair. He’s still hasn’t looked at you, hasn’t so much as glanced in your direction. “You need to eat, and I think sleeping would—”

“I’m not tired,” Mando cuts, and it takes everything in you to bite back your frustration.

“Yes, you are. You’re exhausted, and probably hungry, and even the baby can sense it.”

You don’t get a word of acknowledgement from the Mandalorian, not so much as a fucking syllable, and you finally slip just the slightest bit.

“Mando,” you declare, tone firm and demanding, and finally, finally, you have his full attention.

“Yes?”

Exasperation is clear in the Mandalorian’s voice, but he’s looking at you know, turning the pilot’s chair in your direction. One or two steps closer, and you’d be standing right between his legs, close enough to reach out—

Focus.

“Don’t talk to me like that,” you huff, hands on your hips. “You know I’m right. I know this quarry’s been hard to catch, but you’re starting to slip.”

Once again, Mando leaves you sitting in silence, though it would seem that some of the fight’s left his body. Carefully, you inch forward, and just the slightest thrill runs up your back when Mando opens his legs to make room for you.

“I’m worried about you,” you confess, voice softening. “I don’t want you to wear yourself out.”

Mando’s sigh is long and tired, but he’s out of energy to argue any further. “You’re right,” he concedes. “I— Maybe I am going a little too hard.”

“Of course I’m right.”

You take no real pleasure in this, but you are glad to hear Mando admit that he needs to slow down. With that done, though, it’s time for you to be brave, perhaps braver than you’ve ever been in your life.

“You need to relax, Mando,” you say softly, reaching out to rub at his arm. The visor follows your every move, but Mando trains his eyes right on you when you murmur, “Let me help you.”

“How— What do you mean?”

You’ve got the Mandalorian stuttering, and something about that boosts your confidence to a dangerous level. It almost feels like it’s not you that sinks down onto the floor, dropping onto one knee and then the other between Mando’s legs. Your fingers are on his belt for no more than a second before he’s reaching out, before he’s pushing your hands away and jolting in shock.

“Whoa, mesh’la, that’s not—”

“Necessary?” you cut, cocking your head. “I think that it is, Mando. You need to relax.”

“Yeah, but I don’t— You’re not obligated to—”

“Of course I’m not obligated. I want to do this, Mando. I want to take care of you.”

You settle on your knees and twist your hands out of Mando’s gentle grasp, the leather of his gloves cool on your palms. His fists clench and unclench under your touch, anxious and fidgety, and you feel the need to pause for just a moment.

“Mando,” you say softly, squeezing his hands, “I know what you need, and I’m happy to give it to you. But if you don’t want this, tell me now. I’ll go back down to the hull, you can go back to your map, and we never have to talk about it again.”

Mando hesitates, and you find yourself wondering if you this was a good idea.

“You actually want to do this? You— To me?”

You nod. “I really do.”

Finally, after a few more seconds of tense silence, Mando lets himself relax. You feel it, the way the muscles in his thighs go slack under your arms, the rest of his body sagging back in the pilot’s chair. Eyes track your every movement as you unbuckle Mando’s belt, though you see nothing but the blackness of the visor when you glance up. He’s good help, shifting from side to side as you try to tug his pants down just the slightest bit, and then there’s nothing left for you to do but start.

The moment you lean down to kiss the head of Mando’s cock, you’re blindsided by just how much you missed this. It’s been so long since you had sex with another person, so long since you felt the weight of a man on your tongue in this way. And the smell, Maker, the smell… You get lost in what you’re doing, focused on nothing but the feel of Mando’s cock in your mouth and the throbbing between your thighs. So lost, in fact, that it takes you about ten seconds too long to realize that you’re being touched.

Sometime between you undoing his belt and this very moment, Mando took off his gloves and threaded his fingers in your hair. He doesn’t pull or push or so much as try to control what you’re doing, but there’s a pressure there, a warmth. It would be inconsequential if Mando were someone else, the fact that his hand is bare against your scalp, but he isn’t. Such a simple gesture, and yet…

You sit back on your heels and catch your breath, one hand stroking Mando’s cock at a steady, even pace. A noise indicative of something not unlike despair slips out of the modulator that same instance, so quick and so quiet that it’s almost lost in the static, and not for the first time do you find yourself cursing the fucking helmet. You ache to see Mando’s face, you ache to see his whole fucking body…

“Are you feeling better?” you purr, mouth slick with drool as you talk. You’re not sure Mando likes you all sloppy and ruined like this, but you think it’s safe to go out on a limb just this once.

“Yes,” Mando grits, body shuddering when you lean down to kiss his cock. You take private pleasure in that, thrilled by the notion that a person like you could affect a person like him in such a way.

“Would you feel even better if you came down my throat? Or do you want to see it on my face instead?”

Mando keens, and you feel all-powerful.

“In your mouth,” Mando answers, fingers coming up to stroke your cheek. He sounds shaky, and you let up on his cock just the slightest bit. “I don’t— You don’t deserve to have someone make a mess of you.”

“I don’t mind a mess,” you say, because you don’t, not if Mando’s the one fucking you up. “Maybe next time I suck you off I’ll let you cum on my tits. I—”

“Now you’re just fucking with me,” he groans, squirming in his chair like he can’t help it.

“I’m not,” you purr, “I promise you I’m not. You can do anything you want to me, Mando, I mean that. I’ll lie there and take it—”

“Maker, your fucking mouth,” Mando cuts, breath ragged. “If you keep fucking talking, I’ll—”

He never gets to finish the sentence, words crumbling into nothing as you abandon your little game. You suck him off in earnest, using your tongue, paying special attention the places that make him jerk in his seat when you so much as breathe on them. It doesn’t take him long to fall apart, and you try your best to take it all, swallowing obediently like the taste is nothing to you. And how could you care about something as inconsequential as of the flavor of Mando’s cum when his cock is pulsing in your mouth, when he’s groaning and fisting his hand in your hair…

Listening to Mando cum, feeling him cum makes you drunk off arousal, but you force yourself to tamp down the feeling. He’d fuck you if you asked, rub your clit and let you clench on his fingers until you came at the very least, but this just… isn’t about you. No, this was something for Mando, a way for you to help him calm down, and you don’t want to ruin whatever peace he’s found by making demands. You’ll get yours soon, if you’re patient, and that’s more than okay right now.

Mando seems tired when you finally pull off of him for good, body sagging under his armor like simply holding himself upright would be a chore. You feel shy under his gaze, all your confidence and bravery slipping further and further away by the second. This was something you’d neglected to think about when you formed this plan in your mind, the after. Sucking Mando off and making him feel better is all well and good, but you still have to look at him, still have to go to sleep tonight and wake up in the morning knowing this happened. Knowing that he knows this happened…

Slowly, ever so slowly, Mando musters up a bit of strength, pulling up his pants and doing up the fly as you watch from your place on the floor. You’re half expecting to be dismissed when he’s done, and that’s why it’s such a shock when Mando leans forward to hold your face in his hands.

“Come here,” he says softly, and you don’t have to be told twice.

Your legs burn when you stand up, and your knees ache from kneeling like you did. None of that matters though, not when Mando sits you on his thighs and wraps his arms around your body. You’re facing him, legs dangling just above the floor on either side of his. The beskar is cold and hard against your skin, but Mando’s hands are warm, the expanse his palm soothing down the plane of your back. Up and down, up and down, up and down the heat travels, breathing life into something delicate and raw inside your chest. You thread your arms around Mando’s neck after a few minutes, glad that he’s still not talking. Something about his affection has you choking up, and you’d rather die than give yourself away. It’s the silence, you think, the way he says so much without speaking a word.

“Thank you.”

The words come out in a staticky whisper, the sound of them crackling in your ear. And though it pains you to do so, you sit up and look at Mando properly, missing the warmth of his neck the minute it’s gone.

“It was… You don’t have to thank me,” you say softly, fiddling with the collar of Mando’s shirt. You wonder where his cape is and why he took it off in the first place, though you’re not exactly sad to see it go. “Are you hungry? I made you a plate earlier even though you said you didn’t want to eat. It’s still good if you want it.”

“I do have to thank you,” Mando insists, holding your chin in his fingers. “You take good care of me, cyar’ika.”

Cheeks hot, you refuse to meet his eyes. “Well, it’s not like you don’t deserve it.”

You want to ask him what those names mean, the one he called you just now and the one he blurted out earlier when he tried to stop you. But you think it might ruin the mood, and so you swallow the question like you swallowed the lump in your throat a few minutes ago.

“If you go lie down in my bed,” Mando says slowly, one hand trailing down, down, down your shivering back, “I’ll take good care of you too.”

And though the very idea of what that could mean has you ready to run down the ladder as fast as you can, you shake your head.

“I just want to go to sleep, Mando,” you tell him, “I’m tired. And I know you are too.”

Mando’s going to protest, he’s going to insist he pay you back, this much is made clear by the way his hands tighten around your hips. But you cut him off before his tongue can so much as form the words, pressing your chest against his, rolling your hips…

“But when you catch the quarry, we’ll do whatever you want. I said you could do anything to me, remember?”

The Mandalorian’s breath hitches, and you know then that you have him.

“This was a release,” you explain, ducking your head to press you lips to whatever skin you can. The helmet does a good job of concealing his jaw, but not every bit of his neck is hidden away. “That will be a celebration.”

Mando huffs through the modulator, though you think his discontent is all for show.

“Fine,” he concedes, “but you better be waiting for me in that fucking bed when I get back.”

[shelovescontrol91]

Between a starring role in Cinderella, live performances, and a forthcoming album, it would appear things are business as usual for Camila Cabello. But there’s a difference: Before the pandemic her work was leaving her drained, anxious, and insecure. Now she’s found a way to be a pop star on her own terms, and everything—from the music to her relationship with her body—has fallen into place.

By mid-September, Camila Cabello was feeling burnt out. In the span of three days she had performed at the MTV Video Music Awards, attended the Met gala with boyfriend Shawn Mendes, and shot the first-ever global cover for Glamour. So when she finally returned home to Miami, rest wasn’t just desired—it was essential.

But rehearsals for New York’s Global Citizen Festival loomed. Before jumping back into pop star mode, Cabello put on a yellow bikini and headed to the beach for two hours of blissfully uninterrupted downtime. She sank into a chair and cracked open a book, her favorite pastime. The salty air enveloped her; waves crashed in the distance. This is why she lives in Miami, her hometown, as opposed to a showbiz hub like Los Angeles: more privacy.

Or so she thought. Somehow the paparazzi found out where she was for those 120 minutes. She didn’t see them at first, but there they were, snapping away.

“I didn’t consent to those pictures,” she tells me over Zoom, camera off as she drives in Miami. (At one point she says to someone on the road, “Why are you honking at me, bro?”) “I got my period on the beach. I’m in a bikini and on my period, so I don’t know if I have a fucking period stain and that’s going to be everywhere. I didn’t sign up for anybody to be taking pictures of me in a bikini.”

Cabello has developed methods for dealing with invasive situations like this. She’s had to. The 24-year-old—born in Cuba, raised in Miami—has been in the public eye since 2012, when she competed on The X-Factor. She auditioned as a solo artist but was later matched with four other girls to form the pop group Fifth Harmony. They released two albums before Cabello embarked on her own—and achieved mind-boggling fame. Her singles “Havana” and “Señorita” (with Mendes) topped the charts worldwide. She’s earned three Grammy nominations, become a face of L’Oréal, and tried her hand at not just acting but starring in a feature film: this year’s Cinderella remake on Amazon Prime. Her third studio album, Familia, is due out later this year.

By all accounts it’s a lot. Careerwise it’s the closest things have felt to prepandemic times, when she was working constantly, arguably to an exhausting degree. As COVID-19 shutdowns went into effect last March, Cabello was able to realize just how tired she was.

“I by no means am trying to complain,” she says, “but it was such a thing of, ‘I have to get onstage tomorrow and I’m performing at this big thing,’ or whatever. ‘I want to do a good job. How do I do that when I feel nervous?’ I did this without being like, ‘Am I even happy right now? Do I even feel healthy?’ I didn’t have the space to ask myself those questions. I’m still working a ton now, but after quarantine I’m able to be like, ‘You know what? Right now I’m just not happy. I need to change something.’”

Therapy helped her see the changes she needed to make. Cabello tells me she’d experimented with therapy before the pandemic, but it was always situation focused—quick fixes to help her tackle the next performance or songwriting session. But with time at home, she dug deeper: “Because I wasn’t stressed about all the things I needed to do the next day, I was able to slow down and have enough stability to look at my stuff.”

Cabello doesn’t expand on what that “stuff” is. She does, however, explain why she decided to switch therapists as her internal work continued. “I wasn’t feeling like I was progressing in the areas I wanted to progress,” she says. “But when I switched, I found I was able to apply what they said in a way that benefited my mental health.”

One lesson she’s learned is the power of saying no. Two hit albums under her belt give Cabello the freedom to do things her way. Now she always has one day off a week, minimum. And when time came to start work on Familia, she forwent the standard pop music factory for a more intimate approach. The new album was made with just a handful of collaborators she could be open with. If Cabello was feeling anxious or nervous in a session, she had the space to address it. As a result, she says, it’s her best work yet.

“It’s the most grounded and calm I’ve ever been making an album,” she says. “I worked with people I wanted to have dinner with, and I was like, ‘I’m not going to write every single day for months, but write a few days a week and have time to gather experiences and be a human being.’”

Shawn Mendes is one of the people she’s gathering experiences with. The two singers confirmed their relationship in September 2019, and they’ve been tabloid magnets ever since. Everything from their laughably slow pandemic walks to their kissing style is dissected with a fine-tooth comb. A clip of them getting ready for the Met gala went instantly viral.

Cabello tells me she and Mendes try to avoid the social media chatter about their relationship, but it inevitably seeps in. “When stuff that’s negative is out there, it’s going to get to you,” she says. “So yeah, that’s very, very challenging. I feel like it’s another thing therapy has been really helpful for.”

Mendes goes to therapy too. While Cabello says she and Mendes haven’t done couples therapy—though she’d be open to it—they very much work on their mental health together.

“For better, for worse, we’re very transparent with each other. I think that’s why we can trust each other so much, because it’s a very 3D human relationship,” she says. “I’ll be venting or ranting about something, and he’ll be like, ‘Have you talked to X about it?’ And I’ll be like, ‘No. I’ve got to do a session.’ And he’ll do the same thing to me. I think even just the language of being like, ‘Hey, I’m sorry that I’ve been distant with you or snappy with you. I’m just struggling and I’m feeling kind of anxious.’ That level of transparency really helps a lot.”

Mendes echoes Cabello’s thoughts. “Camila and I give each other an extreme amount of patience and understanding,” he tells me via email. “I think the truth is that when you’re struggling with mental health, it turns you sometimes into the version of yourself that you don’t like to be—and kind of loving and accepting your person through that, and being there for them through that, is life-changing. We give each other so much space and understanding and patience.”

A behind-the-scenes VMAs story perfectly illustrates this. When Cabello was nervous meeting new people at an after-party, she caught herself leaning on a habit she’s trying to break. Mendes helped her through it.

“I have this pattern of eating a lot when I’m anxious or uncomfortable,” she says. “It’s a comfort thing for me. I’ll just kind of become unconscious and zombie-eat a lot, and then I’ll feel sick. I’ve told Shawn about that. So at the VMAs party, I was like, ‘I’m doing it.’ And he was like, ‘It’s okay. You’re doing it. That’s okay. Let’s just take a breath and not do that.’ It’s really good for me to be able to talk about my patterns with someone.”

Food and body image are two things that have really been on Cabello’s mind this year. A July TikTok she posted shutting down body-shamers racked up 4.8 million likes. “Being at war with your body is so last season,” she says in the video, which she posted after photos of her running in Los Angeles made the rounds online.

That mantra is true, sure, but it’s easier said than done. Even Cabello has difficulty following it. She braced herself for what she might feel when those aforementioned bikini pics went live: “I need to work out. I need to eat better.” “Not that those things are bad,” she says. “But maybe I wouldn’t think about them as much if there weren’t people taking pictures of me.”

It’s not just the paparazzi who ignite moments of self-doubt. Cabello tells me about a time she was exercising with her trainer, Jenna Willis—who’s great, she says—and feeling insecure. “She’s the same height as me, and I was kind of comparing myself to her, because she is a lot skinnier than I am,” she recalls. “I was just like, ‘Yeah, but I’ve been working out and I look better, right? I look better, right?’”

It’s Willis who helped silence those voices in Cabello’s head, reminding her that how she feels is more important than appearances; that life is about balance and enjoying food. These are health philosophies we’ve all heard—but when you’re Camila Cabello and millions are picking apart your beach photos, it’s hard to tune out the noise. Now when she’s feeling down on herself, she just turns her phone off and goes outside.

“When I’m having negative thoughts about my body, that’s actually when I’ll want to binge-eat cookies, and then I have a stomachache,” she says. “It’s this weird psychology: The more I love my body, the more I actually want to take care of it…. As long as I’m healthy and working out and feel good, that’s the best I can do. There’s no point in trying to have another kind of body.”

By this point in our conversation, Cabello’s made it to her destination. When I ask if she’ll have time to chill and decompress, she says, “To be honest, not yet, but I will after this weekend.” There’s a calmness in her voice when she says this—a stillness, a readiness. She seems perfectly prepared for what lies ahead: album promo, performances, and undoubtedly more scrutiny about her body, her relationship, her everything. But she’ll be fine, because just around the corner is a day off. That’s nonnegotiable.

“It’s important to be on top of not just what’s making you sad or anxious, but also what’s giving you joy,” she says. “I want to be happy and enjoy my life. That’s kind of it.”

[thevioletjones]

I’d love to see you tackle 5 or 44! Congrats on the Kudos!

Thank you! 5 was included previously, so just 44. 🙂 This one is explicit, FYI.

Prompt 5: “I still remember the way you taste.”

Cell Date

Getting smart about how he acted behind bars was really starting to pay off for Mickey. Not only was he staying out of trouble so that he’d have a chance of making early parole, he was also forging advantageous relationships, mostly with the guards and the old-timers that liked to do good deeds like helping other inmates get an education or decent legal representation.

Little things like that, plus abstaining from shanking for pay or cold-cocking bitches who got mouthy, were making this Mickey’s most pleasant and drama-free stint in prison since his unceremonious induction into juvie ten years previous.

Along with his cooperation and best behavior came some quality perks: first pick of audiobooks from the dude he helped in the library; extra jello, pudding, and french fries from that dude’s kitchen husband; extended yard and gym time when the guard he had people doing favors for on the outside was on duty; and the holy grail, his very own recently acquired smartphone, which he could keep with him in his cell whenever the right people were working, and otherwise stow with a friend when sweep checks were imminent. All he had to do to get safekeeping was provide phone privilege favors. Gave him an extra source of income too, when he sold video call time to inmates on the side.

Tonight, though, he was finally gonna have the damn cell to himself all night long. His bunkmate had just been released, no one else had been assigned to his bed yet, and the overnight guard was a friendly. That meant that at long last, he’d be able to have some kind of sexual escapade with his boyfriend for the first time since he’d gotten locked up nine months ago. As a bonus, they could maybe stay up shooting the shit too. But really, Mickey was horny as hell, and he imagined that Ian was too.

They had a kind of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy when it came to banging other people while they were apart, but as a rule, they weren’t allowed to do it more than once a month, or with the same guy twice, blowjobs included. That meant a lot of lonely masturbation sessions on both sides of the prison walls.

It was cruel that the only relief they could get from each other was by proxy of their own hands anyway, but at least now they’d be able to watch each other and egg each other on. It wasn’t the most ideal situation ever, but it was way better than having to stick to innocuous topics on the prison landlines that ran out at the ten minute mark.

This was going to be a treat.

He waited ’til 30 minutes past lights out just to be sure the coast was clear, counting down the minutes like a fucking schoolgirl waiting to make an illicit phone call after her parents fell asleep. As soon as the digital display hit 9:30, he was eagerly punching in the memorized number, smirking as he selected the video option.

He actually felt nervous as it rang, irrationally worried that Ian would be indisposed despite their agreed upon time and date. It took almost four whole rings before the display lit up, and a buffering vision of Ian appeared.

Mickey’s smile couldn’t help but mirror the cheerful redhead’s, and it only widened when he heard his deep, familiar voice.

“Hey, Mick.”

“Gallagher,” he replied softly and full of affection.

“I can barely see you,” Ian said with a chuckle. “That's not really fair.”

“Oh, shit, yeah. Forgot. Hang on.”

He’d managed to get his hands on a clip-on reading light through the library contraband network, so it would have to do. He dug it out from the hole in his thin-ass mattress pad and clipped it to the bar of the lower bunk, angling it toward his face and flipping it on. It wasn’t exactly super-bright, but it was good enough.

“Happy now? This is the best I could do on the after-hours lighting.”

“Yeah, I am. You look good.”

“Shut the fuck up. You look way better. Like a free man.”

Ian ran a hand through his hair, and Mickey wished it were his hand. “It is a nifty advantage, but it’d be a lot better if you were next to me.”

“Yeah, no shit. I’m getting the rawer deal here.”

“Who’s fault is that?” Ian challenged with a raised brow.

Mickey licked his lips, humming. “Didn’t realize the purpose of this call was to get on my ass about gettin’ locked up. Thought we already did that fun routine.”

Ian sighed. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I just miss you.”

“I’m doin’ what I can, gingerbread. Might get lucky in the next few months. Been playin’ the game all nice like. No demerits on my scorecard.”

“I appreciate that. You know I’ll be waiting.”

“Mm.”

“So… what’s new?”

Mickey laughed. “You want me to recount the thrilling tales of the jailbird jerk-offs? How would that be interesting or entertaining?”

“I’m pretty sure you witness more random acts of weirdness than I do everyday. You want me to talk about my job and coworkers, or my niece and nephew? I’m sure you’re dying to know on all counts.”

“Yeah, you got me figured out, Gallagher. That’s exactly why I wanted this dimly lit video call with your pale ass.”

Ian snickered. “Is this the part where we jump straight to the sex?”

Mickey shrugged and scratched his balls. “I mean, if we were in person without that fuckin’ glass between us, we woulda already been bangin’ by now.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“So?”

“What?”

“Show me your dick.”

Ian snorted, and it was nice to see him laugh unrestrainedly. They usually didn’t do too much laughing during his visits.

“It’s not hard yet.”

“Well, what the fuck you waitin’ for? Shoulda started before I called.”

“God, Mick, you really know how to romance a guy on his first date in nearly a year.”

“If this is a date, you got a really low bar, man.”

“Haven’t I always?”

“‘Ey! Fuck you.”

Ian laughed again and it made Mickey smile wide. He was gonna get addicted to these phone interludes, he could tell.

“Which reminds me… I expect you to take me out a few times when you get sprung, Milkovich. Restaurants, clubs, movies, the works.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Exactly how many acts of penance are on your little atonement list?”

“As many as I want. You got a problem with that?”

“You know I didn’t get locked up on purpose, right? Cuz I think you maybe don’t know that.”

“I think that I want you to stop putting yourself in situations where one of the possible outcomes is getting locked up. Cuz then we’re forced to resort to one sad long-distance video wank every nine months, which kinda fuckin’ blows, and not in the good way.”

“First of all, as long as I don’t get this shit confiscated by one of the asshole guards, we can keep doin’ this pretty regularly. Secondly, we haven’t even gotten to the wank part yet, so don’t call it sad. Also, is sex all that matters to you?”

“Says the guy who just told me to shut up and get my dick out.”

“Like you said, it’s been a long time.”

“And I’ve already told you that I miss you and want you beside me. I thought you wanted your dick stroked, not your ego.”

“Good one,” said Mickey, reaching down to fondle himself. “So how we gonna do this?”

“The only way we can, I guess.”

“Fine. Do I get to ask you to start touching yourself now?”

Ian giggled. “Yeah, yeah, let’s get it over with.”

“What kind of attitude is that? Get the hell on board or this ain’t gonna work.”

“Calm down and get your cock hard, convict boy.”

Mickey didn’t need to be told twice. He slipped his hand under the waistband of his boxers, rubbing and squeezing gently.

“You gonna give me somethin’ to look at or what?”

“Gimme a minute, fool. It’s not gonna be very pretty in its current state.”

They both went non-verbal for a while as their arms started working, the only sounds being stray gasps, rustling noises, and slick skin against skin.

“‘Kay,” urged Mickey, “lemme see it.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“Fine, just flip the camera.”

Mickey pressed around and activated the rear camera with flash, licking his lips when the screen filled with Ian’s lower half, hand jerking his big dick in that perfect rhythm he remembered so well. It forced out a moan before he could catch himself.

“Mick,” Ian whispered, and he suddenly missed the feel of his boyfriend’s breath blowing hot against his skin as they fucked. And that just reminded him of the way he’d nip and lick at Mickey’s neck, or pinch his nipples at just the right time.

“Ian,” he groaned, his strokes getting faster and more deliberate now that he was fully hard. “Miss you.”

And that was definitely the lamest shit to say when you were supposed to be talking dirty for the purposes of video sex, but it’s what came out of his mouth on account of all the memories surfacing, coupled with the regret of not being able to put his hands on Ian or have Ian’s hands put on him.

Mickey had never wanted to suck a dick so badly in his entire life, simply because he was being denied the opportunity. He’d almost forgotten how delicious Ian’s cock really was. It could wreck him all night long, or Mickey could worship it a little on his hands and knees when the urge overcame him. He wanted it in him one way or the other. Keeping him away from it was cruel and unusual punishment.

“Wanna fuck you, Mick.” Ian was still using this soft, breathy voice that was making him crazy. “Wanna see your ass.”

Mickey’s hand faltered for a moment as he snickered. “How the fuck am I supposed to get you that camera angle right now, genius?”

“You really didn’t think this through enough first,” chided Ian.

“Suck my dick, Gallagher.”

“Mmm, I’d love to get my mouth on you right now. I still remember the way you taste.”

“Oh, shit.”

Mickey’s jerks got tighter with that fantasy egging him on, and silkier with the ease of the pre-cum oozing from his slit.

“You got something to stick up your ass?”

Mickey whined. “Fuckin’ wish. Don’t exactly got a dildo permit, and that’s the kinda contraband no one tries to smuggle or sell.”

“A finger or two will do, right?” asked Ian, pausing for a moment to squirt some lube into his hand.

“‘Ey! What the fuck? No fair! You want me to try and prop this thing somewhere so you can watch me finger myself without lube, and you’re gonna casually use some to jack off with right in front of me? Read the room, fuckhead.”

Ian chuckled. “Sorry, Mick. What happened to the mayo packets?”

Mickey grimaced, regretting ever having told Ian about sometimes using that condiment as lube when he wanted to spice up a solo sesh. “Shut the fuck up and just help me get a damn orgasm.”

“What else am I supposed to do?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know! What am I, the video sex expert?”

“You’re not a sexpert?”

“Now is not the time for your lame jokes, okay?”

“Yeah, okay, but I’ve never done this before either, jackass. I already made my request and you’re ignoring it. You do that for me, I’ll do something for you.”

“Fine, but if I do this for you, I won’t be able to see shit while it’s happenin’, so you have to fuckin’ wait to blow your load, or I’ll never do this with you again.”

“So is that your request? To see me blow my load?”

“Bitch, do I need to explain how porn works to you? You know how at the end of the video, you get to see everybody come? Jizz flyin’ everywhere?”

“Oh, believe me, next time we’re actually together in bed, I will cover you in jizz from head to toe.”

“That’s a lofty goal. Could take a while.”

“I’m willing to put in the hours. Now… get to it.”

Mickey sighed and let his cock fall out of his grip, glancing around to try and figure out how he could set the camera up in a decent place to where it would actually get what Ian wanted in frame.

“You’re gonna have to tell me if I need to adjust it, but I don’t have a lot of options, so just tell me when it’s good enough. Don’t need to get all Scorcese with the precision.”

It took a couple of minutes to figure out something that worked, his erection flagging to half-mast as he concentrated on the task Ian had given him. He was pretty sure that Ian should be the one going out of his way to give Mickey a nice show, but he figured if he let Ian have one first, he could make requests for their next long-distance fuck date.

Once Ian said it was good, Mickey kneeled and sat on his haunches, body remaining upright. He could only imagine what his asshole looked like through that badly lit phone camera, but whatever. At least he didn’t have to look at it. Ian could go crazy for it if he wanted to, and apparently he was if the renewed moaning was any indication.

“Get it wet,” Ian directed.

Mickey licked his palm and gave his cock a few tugs to get it back into the game, then spit in his hand and did what he could to work it around his hole. He was crouched with the damn top bunk rubbing against his bent head, with no view other than stiff white sheets and his own thighs and dick.

Yes, Ian was going to owe him a nice fucking show for this crap.

“Well?” the cocky little prick demanded. “Play with it.”

“Hold your damn horses, I ain’t a cam boy,” retorted Mickey.

With a deep sigh, he emptied his mind of the discomfort of his position and the embarrassment of his actions, and just went for it, wetting his finger with his mouth, then shoving it in as far as he could get it on initial entry. It wasn’t very far, but he wiggled and shimmied it as he slid it in and out, until eventually it was in as far as it could go from the angle he was in. He could faintly hear Ian going to town on himself, and he once again longed to be the one doing it to him. Pressing his ass back onto Ian’s cock instead of his own measly finger. Getting Ian’s big hand around his own dick while he did it.

As it were, he had to use his left hand to get some action on his dick, and as soon as he got back into the swing of things on that score, he set about trying to hit his prostate with his right hand.

“Add another one,” rasped Ian.

“You’re gettin’ real mouthy, ain’t you,” Mickey complained, wetting his hand again before sliding in two fingers to the knuckles.

“Oh, sorry, am I supposed to just remain quiet during this phone sex?”

“Stop sassin' me while I try to hit the spot. Some of us don’t got long-ass E.T. fingers.”

Ian chortled. “Jesus, Mick. Can you not bring my favorite childhood movie into this? Plus, you don’t need to go that deep. Just flip your hand over and crook your fingers. You’ll find it.”

“You think you know my ass better than I do?”

“Probably.”

Mickey did as suggested, even though it was the weirdest combination of body angles. It didn’t do anything at first, then all of a sudden, “Oh.”

Both hands got fast and furious as he felt that familiar tingly throb building up inside. He let himself get lost in it for a few minutes, then came to just enough to realize that he wanted a visual of Ian to orgasm to. It’s what he'd been looking forward to all week.

All at once, he stopped, flipping onto his back and grabbing the phone. All he could see on screen now was the damn ceiling, which was annoying, but also hilarious, since it meant that Ian was probably holding the stupid phone a few inches from his stupid face.

“Why’d you stop?” asked Ian breathily.

“Cuz I wanna see you, numbnuts. As fascinating as your ceiling is, it'd be great if you got the main attraction back onscreen. Please and thank you.”

Ian tittered and angled the camera back down, pushing it past his sternum. “‘Kay, where’s yours?”

Mickey pointed his phone back toward his crotch, eyes extremely focused on Ian’s impossibly hard red dick and large pale hand, sighing when he touched himself again. He needed a finger or two back in his ass, though. He always came harder with something up his ass, and it reminded him more of Ian too.

But there was no way to film himself and still get a view of Ian, plus use both hands to get himself off. He had to choose one type of orgasm to have, and since he wasn’t entirely sure he could pop from anal only, he stuck with the jerking off.

Maybe Ian was right. He hadn’t thought this through enough. But he knew exactly what his daydreams would be scheming up until their next interlude.

“You gonna come all over yourself like I asked?” said Mickey.

“Just a sec,” Ian replied with a grunt.

Mickey’s hand synced up with Ian’s, flying up and down his length on the phone screen. “Wanna see it on your stomach and in your pubes.”

Ian’s moans and groans got louder and closer together, building Mickey’s excitement up to the edge.

And then of course his gay-ass boyfriend had to go and say some gay-ass shit like, “I love you!”

And then he was shooting jizz out the tip of his dick, letting it get everywhere.

And the effect was the same as a quality porno scene in that it made Mickey come too, eyes squinting shut as the sensations overwhelmed him. He wanted to throw the phone across the room, but he somehow managed to keep it resting against his chest and filming everything.

As soon as the last of it gushed out, he did let the phone drop next to him for a short time, and Ian must’ve been recovering too, because he didn’t hear any complaints. He reached for the toilet paper roll and wiped himself down as best he could, not bothering to put his shorts back on when he was done.

He flipped onto his stomach, picked up the phone and went back to the front camera, leaning it up against the wall as he burrowed a pillow under his chin.

“That was halfway decent, Gallagher.” He grinned in relaxed satisfaction.

Ian flipped his camera back too, lying on his side, and propping the phone up against what was probably the empty pillow next to him that Mickey should be on.

“You’ll get the real thing soon enough,” Ian replied with a sleepy smile.

“Fuckin’ hope so…” he trailed off in thought. “Sorry I can’t be there. It is my fault.”

“Nah, just forget about all that, okay? All we can do now is get through the time that’s left. But if you think I’m not gonna ride your ass the non-sexy way when you get out, you’re dead wrong. Not gonna let this shit happen again.”

“You want me workin’ some minimum wage bullshit legit job?”

“Yep. We know how to be poor, Mick. Tired of getting the shitty end of all the risk.”

“Your pillow talk could use some work, Red.”

“I know. Thanks for showing me your asshole earlier.”

Mickey laughed. “No sweat. Well, probly some sweat.”

Ian snorted and shook his head. “Shut up. I’m glad we get to do this. It’s nice being with you at bedtime.”

“Be nicer if it included your dick in my ass, but I guess it’s alright.”

“Want me to tell you about the boring shit now?”

“Might as well.”

“As long as you don’t fall asleep before you tell me you love me, bitch.”

Mickey frowned. “Normal people don’t shout that shit as they’re coming, you freak.”

“I don’t care when you say it, just fit it in.”

It wasn’t really something they could comfortably say to one another on their regular taped prison calls and visits. It was better for Mickey's orientation not to be common knowledge to the wrong people around the joint.

“I love you, you silly bastard, now tell me about your dumbass day.”

Ian smiled brightly. “Franny did the cutest shit…”

Mickey half-listened, content to be in the distant presence of Ian’s face, voice, and manner; imagining a day soon to come when they would be reunited for good in the great wide open.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

She [9]

Warnings: non-consent sex (fingering, toy play, dildo, butt plug); violence

This is dark! Steve and explicit. 18+ only.

Series Synopsis: Steve Rogers’ life is turned upside down by a reporter.

Chapter Summary: The reader finds herself trapped.

Note: Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Reader

You were shaking. Your veins flowed with fire and yet the basement was frigid. You watched Steve’s broad shoulders as he bent over the plastic drawers. You could hear him sifting around though you couldn’t see through what exactly. He stood straight and you trembled.

He turned as he extended the legs of the tripod. He was deliberate as he spread them and pulled out a small camera. He secured it and looked to your as his finger hovered over the button.

“Do you mind if I record this?” He taunted. You grunted and he pressed a button.

You tugged on the hook but only managed to swing your feet. It took you a moment to get your toes steady on the floor. As he reached into the drawer again, you bared your teeth, helpless as the restraints stretched your arms above you. 

The breath went out of you as you saw what he held. It was all too familiar. The rabbit was yours; the same purple hue. You’d found it missing a few days before but merely thought you’d moved it without thinking. He lifted the silicon as he admired the length and neared.

“How--” Your voice fizzled as his eyes flared and you clasped your lips shut.

“It’s a good start,” He taunted. “But nothing compared to the real thing.”

He hit the small button hidden by the small arm. The toy began to buzz and he poked it against your cheek so that your teeth chattered. He dragged it down your neck and chest. He held it there and jabbed you with it sharply.

“I’m trying to figure out if that’s fear… or something else,” He smirked. “Your heart is racing.”

You opened your mouth and tasted the blood along your lip. You closed your mouth again and thought better of talking. Your cheek was still throbbing.

The dildo tickled you as he pushed it lower. He pressed it to your stomach and traced along the waist of your pants. You gulped back a breath as he inched onward. He stopped again, just along your vee. He came closer and grabbed the back of your head. 

He forced the toy between your legs roughly and pushed it against your cunt. He clicked the button again and it buzzed faster. Once more and you could feel it clearly through your pants. He pulled your head back and his blue eyes bore into you.

“You like to play innocent, don’t you?” He sneered. “But you’ve been hiding this…” He pushed harder and you winced. “Whew, listen to that heart go.”

Your thighs squeezed around his hand and shook. He began to move the rabbit against you and you felt your panties getting damp. You closed your eyes in shame and he released your head only to smack it.

“Look at me,” He hissed. Your eyes snapped open and he grabbed your chin, adding to the tenderness in your jaw.

“Steve,” You rasped as you tried to wiggle away from him.

“Shut up.” He snarled. “The only thing I want to hear from that mouth is you cumming.”

You whined and sealed your lips. The ripples spread from the toy into you. The waves spread from your core and along your spine. Your shoes slipped on the floor and your breath picked up. His hand wrapped around your neck again and he leaned in so that his nose touched yours as he rubbed you faster.

“Let me hear it,” He said. “I can see it--”

“Ahhh,” The small gasp burst from your lips. 

You tried to swallow it back but he didn’t let up. Your eyes watered as you gulped like a fish and the long moan escaped you. It rose to a fever pitch and you bared your teeth as the carnal cry was torn from your body. Your back arched without thinking and your thighs clenched around his hand as you came.

He snickered and ripped his hand from between your legs. He shoved you so you swung from the hook and shut the toy off. He tucked it in his front pocket, it barely kept from tipping out. He rounded you again, like a hawk. You hung your head and measured your breaths.

“Just like every other pest on this planet, you don’t realise how much you owe me.” He stopped in front of you again. “You owe me your life and that’s what I’m gonna have.”

He grabbed the front of your blouse. He tore it easily, the frills shred in half as it split to the hem. He snapped the right strap of your bra and then the left. He ripped it from you as the hooks popped out of the back and dropped it at your feet. The fabric of your shirt draped loosely from your shoulders and exposed your chest.

He tweaked your nipple and made another circle around you. He pressed himself to your back and reached around to undo your fly. He shoved his hand down your pants and felt along the cotton of your underwear. He tutted and drew his hand away. He grabbed the sides of your trousers and tore them down.

“You’re wet.” He remarked. “But you stand there and act like I’m such a bad guy.”

“Stop,” You begged weakly.

He untangled your pants from your ankles and threw them aside with your wedged shoes. He bunched the side of your panties in his hand and turned you to face him.

“What was that? You giving me orders?” He challenged. You shook your head in fear. “Despite all the trouble you’ve caused, I’m still the captain. You listen to me.” He wrenched your panties down and let them fall along your legs. “The only words you will speak are ‘yes, Captain’.” He turned you away from him and slapped your ass. It stung and you groaned through your teeth. “Nothing else. Understood?”

You shuddered and he smacked you again. This time it sent a pang up to your shoulders. You whimpered as your eyes dampened.

“That’s when you answer me, bitch.”

“Yes… Captain,” You said, hissing through the pain.

“Louder,” He slapped you again.

“Yes! Captain!” You called out as your legs quivered beneath you.

“Better,” He rubbed your sore flesh. “You’ll have lots of time to practice.”

He spun you back to him and took the toy from his pocket. He waved it before you and watched it intently.

“You use this a lot?” He asked. “I replaced the batteries, don’t you worry.”

You looked to the ceiling, your wrists ached from the cuffs.

“You seem the lonely type. Repressed.” He brushed the toy against your thighs and you closed your legs. “Off chasing your little fairy tales.” He pinched you. “Open those fucking legs.”

You parted your legs and he pushed the silicon against your cunt. He waited, silently.

“Yes, Captain,” You breathed.

“Good,” He purred and clicked the button. The toy pulsed against you and quickly rekindled the flickering flame. “Back then, before all this, women like you never made it far. They all just ended up in the exact place they were running away from; a horde of children tugging at their skirts.”

You were quiet as you kept your eyes above you.

“They say those weren’t the good ole days. Say we were wrong,” He clicked the button again. “But they don’t know. They can’t.” He dragged the toy along your folds, lingering on your clit before repeating the motion. “Look at me.”

Your eyes flitted down to him. He stepped even closer and angled the toy against your entrance. He turned it so the little arm faced him. You tried to say something but your voice died as he shoved the dildo inside you. He clicked the button again and the arm pressed against your clit.

“That’s it,” He began to move the toy, slowly. “I see it. You don’t want that life. You know it’s not meant for you.” He grasped the back of your head and pressed his cheek to yours as his breath grazed your ear. “You know this is where you belong. You knew that day… you knew what you were doing.”

“No…” You gulped.

“What?” He pushed the toy to its limit. “What did you say?”

You squeaked but kept silent.

“I never want to hear that word. You got me?” He growled.

“Yes, Captain,” You forced out.

“I don’t want to break that face,” He warned. “I really don’t.”

“Yes, Captain,” You whined as he thrust the toy in and out.

“Come on,” He sped up as the vibrations had your nerves whirring. “Don’t you want the real thing?” Your pussy made slick sounds as he pounded the toy into you. “You come and I’ll let you have it.” He slammed it in hard. “Come.”

You grabbed onto the metal clasp above you and your feet arched painfully. Your legs tensed as he worked the toy inside of you, over and over. You panted desperately and tossed your head back. You squealed as you came and the pleasure rolled over you like crashing tides.

He held the toy inside of you and let it buzz as he drew back and knelt to watch you shake. His eyes focused between your legs as he slowly pulled the dildo out and rubbed his fingers through your cum. He shook his head as he stood and clicked the toy off. He pressed it to your lips.

“A good woman cleans up after herself.”

He pushed until it hurt and you opened your mouth. He shoved the rabbit to the back of your mouth, the arm pushed painfully against the roof of your mouth. You nearly choked as he jammed it in and out several times and you tasted yourself on the silicon. You gagged and he tore it out suddenly. You barely held back the wave of nausea as he admired the string of spit hanging off the toy.

“Almost there,” He keened as he stepped around you. 

He placed the rabbit atop the stack of drawers and opened another. You heard a soft metallic rustle and he turned to you with a thin metal chain. He watched the silver sparkle in the light as he came close. 

“I never knew much about this stuff but with all this time off, I had a lot of time to shop around.” He grinned. “Things I never even thought of before.”

He clipped one of the metal clamps over your nipple and you flinched. He did the other and you curled your fingers into a fist. The other end hung down your stomach and dangled in front of your pelvis. He reached down and lined up the clamp with your clit. He secured it around your swollen bud and you let out a tortured cry.

He backed up and was once more at the drawers. You shied away from the lens as the red light shone back at you. He flipped open the cap of a bottle as he returned to you and the shape in his other hand was a blur. You flinched away as he touched your ass and spread your cheeks.

The cool liquid flowed around your hole and you teetered on your toes. You tried to step away from him but only managed to stumble. He growled in warning and he rubbed around your ring with his fingertip. He slowly pushed until he was inside, just a little, and he drew his finger in and out as he carefully stretched you.

He pushed another in and you exclaimed. The burning pain intensified and he impaled you to his knuckles.

“Tight ass bitch,” He laughed darkly and pulled out.

You felt another prod in place of his fingers and you tried to turn away. He slapped your ass and tossed the lube across the floor.

“So much for being nice,” He hit the back of your head and grabbed your shoulder. “We can do it the hard way.”

He pushed and the shape slowly stretched your ring. Your breath was laboured as it only got wider and wider. You mewled pathetically and a tear trickled down your cheek. The fullness was unbearable as the plug reached its limit and your hole puckered around its stems. You wiped your face on your arm.

He circled round you and his hand went to his hips as he took you in.

“Now, the real fun starts.” He announced as his lips curved.

[razorblade180]

OC test: Survive pt1

Each character has been split off from one another by hard light fields to form a circular ring divided evenly; with a safe zone in the very center. They can all see and hear each other, but that’s it. All characters will face grimm at the same time. The type of grimm is dependent on what will give that individual trouble. Once a character defeats their grimm, it is their choice to what zone they want to go to next to help. The test is over when a winner in every zone has been decided.

Aero:Anybody getting Saw vibes from this, or at least something sinister?

Kovu:It did say “a winner” meaning the grimm might own us.

Summer:Remember the good old days where a test was make breakfast? I do...

Veronica:Just don’t fuck up and you’ll be fine. I’m ready for everything!

Sienna:Aren’t you technically a civilian?

Veronica:Pfft, I can still kick butt. I’m a Xiao Long!

Jacquelyn:I think the test is beginning.

Yujin stretches out her wrists and grabs her sword. It was soon after that ten pools of grimm opened up with Ursa Majors clawing out, fully armored and foaming at the mouth. One final pool had a King TaijituYujin wasn’t expected anything less, yet she was still upset. “I am sick and tired of these stupid things! Why all at once!?”

“Because it’s called survival...” Tenzen said, witnessing dozens of baby deathstalkers marching towards his as hives of lancers swarmed above. “Guess I’m playing exterminator...” he syched himself up, before a Beringel came stampeding in. It beat on it’s chests and let out a roar. “And....fighting baby King Kong...”

Jael hadn’t wasted any time making headway on her test. She knew herself pretty well and what she could handle. That still did not entirely prepare herself to fend of eight fully grown manticore in aerial combat. “So this is a manticore? Yeah, about what I expect .” She said , dodging their fireballs. “Air or land, they seem pretty dangerous. Guess I got no real advantage, yet.”

Sparrow was on the ball. Military training served him well. Armed only with an Atlesian pistol and a fishing rod, he controlled the battle ground. His mother had taught him long ago what his limits were and how to make up for them. A single Sphinx flew down to swipe at him. The young man back stepped and shot a high powered round at its foot. The beast roared before trying to fly.

“Oh no you don’t!” He casted the line right in the Sphinx’s mouth and yanked back down on the injure foot. “You’re gonna move the way I want you to!” Another round hit its front paw, making the creatures spin around, using its snake tail. Sparrow had already dropped the line and cought the second beast. He didn’t hesitate to press his gun right to its eye and blow up the head of the...tail. “Whoo! Still got it!”

While several of the kids quickly understood their enemies, others were left a little perplexed. Sienna was one of these people. “Uhhh I know Remnant is a big place, but since when do grimm look like roaches?” She stuttered.

The question got many to take a glance. Yep, roaches, but not the small kind. These roaches looked on par with the size of house cats. The black insects with bone white wings scattered around the floor. Several stood on two legs while grinding their human-like teeth together that made a shrill noise Sienna found personally irritating. The only Kovu alone seemed to grasp that situation.

“Don’t run! Walk in big circle! They’ll be huddled up that way!” He shouted. Sienna followed his instructions without question. The heard of roaches began following her on two legs while the others reached outward.

“Ohhh don’t like that!” Sienna looked at Kovu with a look that said, “what I’m the actual hell” very apparently. “Kovu-”

“They’re called Feasters. Do not let them swarm you and do not run! They will get on all of their legs and be much faster. Also don’t jump! They fly; just whack them with your chain.”

Sienna did just that. “I hate this I hate this I hate this, they’re so many! And that stupid noise!!!! Agh, my ears!” She winced. A second of stopping prompted the infestation to lunge at her like a wave. Sienna quickly tumbled backwards and kept walking. The last thing she wanted was for those things to take a bite of her. All things considered though, this was manageable. The benefit of no semblance she supposed. “How we looking everyone?”

“Peachy!” Veronica yelled, rider kicking a Tar Maw, a voracious gator like grimm that had a bond white back with black carvings. It’s red eyes glared and the tar black underside dripped like a leaky faucet. The sixteen foot beast opened its gaping mouth, hurling up grimm fluid before diving into it and through the ground subsequently; as it the dirt itself has become as flowing as water. Veronica phased through the ground to try and hit it from underneath but was shocked to see the beast diving down for her. Along with two more smaller but equally dangerous Tar Maws. Quickly, Veronica shot upward through the ground and into the air to barely avoid the the creatures that burst through the ground almost as forceful as her.

“As if one wasn’t enough.” Veronica snarled. Her body rolled forward midair to deliver a swift axe kick to one of the grimm’s hid, knocking it into the others. “I think Summer and I finally agree on something! I miss breakfast tests!”

“Glad you see it my way...” Summer groaned, watching a Arma Gigas rise. She looked over to her brother’s section to see the same exact expression of annoyance. Of course he had one as well. Nick looked at her as if she could do anything about it. “I know, it sucks.”

“Royally.” He added. Nick armed himself with Mort Froide and placed 15 upright ice glyphs around it in a diamond formation. His next move was summoning a gigas blade in his left hand before running towards the emerging knight that has yet to form from the shins down. With limited options it swung its blade which Nick proceeded to jump onto an continuing his charge towards its face. “I’ve killed one before. I can do it again!” Nick jumps at the face to slash it but is knocked back by a headbutt. Fully formed, the gigas bends its knees to prepare a jumping slash. However, blades of ice rockets out of the glyphs, wedging themselves between the knees and ankle armor space to stall movement long enough for Nick to recover. He runs his head and grunts, “Gah, okay. This one has a bet more heft. Noted...”

Valerie watched her two closest friends head off to fight their grueling challenge. “Always setting the pace.” She faced forward towards a fresh Nucklevee, free of any armor but still big enough to be a problem. “What, is this some kind of generational test? Too bad dad isn’t here. He’d love this!” Valerie leaped forward, twirling her battle axe before smashing it into the ground to break up the floor. “Can’t let move easily.” She leaped again.

The Nucklevee shot it’s arms out into the crushed floor and then upwards, it’s hands full of rocks. They flew up and over Valerie before crushing the rubble. A cloud of dirt and debris rain down and struck her back, throwing her balance off. Both arms came plummeting downwards to wrap her up and slammed them into the earth.

“It’s thinking!? But it’s new!” Valerie struggled trying to break free of the elastic grasp. “Huh?” She looked up to see the horse mouth exhale a plume of black smoke along the floor and headed right to her. “That’s not good...” through pure strength and will, Valerie got to her feet and started pulling with all her might. The arms wiggled and where dragged up from the ground but would not break. The fog crawled closer and closer until the edges of it began stinging her skin on her ankles like fire. “Gah! Aw screw it!” She yelled, taking a deep breath and releasing the tension of her struggling. Her entire body slingshotted forward through the smoke and to the best, striking it with a double kick to the skeleton like face. It’s arms finally loosened enough for her to escape. She went to sever an arm until the beast turned around and struck her with it’s massive hind hooves. Val tumbled back and onto her legs. A strange numbness and pain resided in her ankles. Moving felt...odd. Valerie looked up to see the fog continue to spread and the beast beginning to charge. “Tsk..” Maybe it was best her father wasn’t here after all?.

In a other section, a much better circumstance was taking place for Lucas. The man effortlessly weaved around the onslaught of razor sharp feathers, bouncing some back to clip the Nevermore wings that sent them. It helped, but only a little considering he was dealing with an entire flock. Multiple enemies that used a wind ranging attack with multiple projectiles. Quite the headache for one who sees the future. So he did what he always did, not even try.

“One thing at a time Lucas. This moment, right now.” He said to himself as more feathers rained. He transformed his blade into a whip and began flailing it to deflect only what he could see and hear coming his way. The moment he found an opening he would swimg the whip around the bird’s neck and yank it down for him to cleave it. A simple strategy, effective. However, it was time consuming. Not a problem for him specifically, but his mind could only think about the people around him. He hadn’t been paying close attention to all of them, but the screaming grimm he could hear outside his zone let him know they weren’t all getting lucky in this test. “EVERYONE OKAY!?”

“NO!” Aero cried as he crashed to the ground, his wings covered in webs. The flexed it off the best he could while avoiding Soul Suckers, enormous spider grimm that had a real bad habit of draining aura and turning people into soulless husks that were robbed of will. Seven of the bastards shot dense web at him in an attempt to do just that. Aero spread his wings and slammed them towards the ground, rocketing himself upward with one powerful flap. “I AM NOT EQUIPPED FOR THESE!”

“They have spider grimm!?” Lucas said with concern. “That’s just sadistic...”

“You’re telling me!?” Aero looked over to Mona’s section, who was dealing with a single Goliath. Her spry nature allowed her to maneuver around its legs, quickly attacking. Unfortunately she was up against a Goliath. Simple daggers might as well be paper cuts. “You hanging in there Mona!?” He asked before having to dodge more webs.

“Worry about yourself Bird Boy!” She yelled sprinting. Mona went into a one armed hand spring onto its trunk and rolled onto its back, sliding down it with her dagger running through it shallowly before hitting armored bone; killing her momentum and hurting her shoulders. “Shit!” She winced. She yanked her blade out and jumped off as the Goliath’s trunk tried grabbing her. “Uuuggh this big bitch might as well be made of clay!” She pulled out her second dagger and took one giant lunge that sent her flying like a bullet. Mona began spinning like a sideways buzz saw as she went by the grimm’s left and right leg, making an average size gash. Not enough to cripple it but enough to piss it off.

The thief couldn’t stop her speed correctly and ended up tumbling along the ground and barely missing a tree. Her head buzzed loudly and her vision blurred enough to not realize the two ton monster charging until it was severely feet away. “Oh f-” she tried blocking. The tusks were aimed right for her blades but suddenly, her entire body was shot up in the air and away from the attack. “Aaah! What the heck!?”

“Stop screaming!”

Mona was spun around to see Eliza hovering with the power of wind. “How the- you finished!?”

“Yeah I had those gross centipedes and a couple annoying alphas with majors as well.” Eliza said. She causally pointed behind her to a zone charred beyond belief. “My semblance was useless so I had to go all out from the start. Guess you’re in a similar situation? Let’s waste this thing.”

“Hmm you’re lucky I like the way you look. I’ll take you up on that, not that needed help.”

“Whatever you say. Maybe I should’ve checked in with Kovu!” She looked his way. “But considering with Carmine said I’m sure his challenge-”

“oPeN UuuP...” gurgled a cold, torn voice. One that reached all ears, freezing grimm and human alike. It came from Kovu’s section. There the young man sat pinned and shaken up. Nothing but the dust barrier against his back and his own bubble-like barrier in front of it, constructed from his golden aura. The thing gnawing it, a very big and very aggressive Hound. It’s teeth grated against the aura, barely cracking it but cracking it nonetheless. “oPeN UuuP...”

Kovu’s face dripped sweat. His arms were completely stiff from trying to maintain his gaurd. “Guys, I don’t want to sound needy, but...” he grunted.

Several of his friends began working harder on their matches. Yujin and Veronica in particular had a fire lit inside them to make sure Kovu would be okay.

“Hang on Kovu!” Yujin yelled. “Just give me a bet of time and-”

“I thought you wanted to be a huntsman?” Carmine interjected, gaining Kovu’s attention. “I thought you wanted to try and catch up to me, but you’re asking for help this quickly? Not only that, but now you’ve caused others to worry more about you which could make them rush and make a mistake that’ll be disastrous. Hmm, I thought better of you than that.” She said bluntly.

He said nothing. Veronica on the other hand. “Hey!” She had a few words. “Isn’t that your cousin!? You of all people should be-”

“Worried?” Carmine finished. “I’m not saying I’m not, but I’m more worried about the thing behind me, I’m case none of you payed attention.” Carmine looked over her shoulder to the massive grimm pool that all but filled the entire area and continued to flow.

Of course nobody else noticed. It wasn’t big enough to caste a shadow over them all until this moment. Once again eyes looked to see the danger but it was their ears that heard it before anything else. A deafening roar that shook the ground like a disaster. Carmine fully turned around to look at her opponent. It was cruel. Downright evil to the letter. What could she have possibly done to earn-

“Leviathan!?” Tenzen yelled.

“I know right? It’s ridiculous.” Carmine said, a bead of sweat running down her head. “I rather switch with Jacquelyn.”

“Hehe, is that a fact?” She laughed nervously, witnessing the creation of a fully realized dragon staring her down as the shook off excess fluid. Yet another huge thing that nobody but Carmine was aware of apparently because they were once again floored. Not necessarily at the beasts even though they were scary, but because that was two people’s test!”

Yujin looked briefly at Carmine in awe. “You can take down Leviathan!?”

“What? Hell no! Are you crazy!?” Carmine said, unapologetically. “That thing is a kingdom killer! Look it’s flattering that you all seem to think I’m super badass but you do know I’m one person right?”

“Well when you say it like that I sound stupid. Didn’t Ruby beat one of those?” Yujin said, dodging.

“My mother flashed her eyes while a giant robot sucker punched it with a drill. Her eyes didn’t even do much but make it stuck for three seconds. Nobody just beats a Leviathan!” Carmine brandished her sword to face it. Her eyes looked back towards to see her cousin still struggling. “....Did you all know Kovu has never beaten me in a fight? He’s always been a pretty average fighter. That being said, I could never knock him out or keep him down for long. He’s resilient as hell. Almost like surviving is his special talent.”

“Carmine...” Kovu uttered.

“Surviving doesn’t mean winning. I’m definitely not about to win this and I doubt Jacquelyn over there is coming up with a grand slam plan to solo a dragon. Buying time though, I can do that all day.” The leviathan shot out a breath of immense flames. Carmine dove out of the way immediately. “Do not make me do this all day. I’m tired. Twenty minutes at best. More than enough time for anyone to lend a hand and then some, right?” Without another word, she got to work.

Carmine was an odd ball. If she had said anything like that to a stranger, it may have come off as rambling. But those around her in this test, they got the girl’s message. Kovu most of all, while Jacquelyn understood from the start given her enemy. Twenty minutes. Nobody was to aid her for that long or to worry. Carmine had temporarily removed herself the equation. One less thing for other’s to worry about.

“Twenty one.” Kovu said. “I got this mutt right where I want him for twenty one minutes.” Sure he was being optimistic, but this barrier bursting wasn’t game over right away. Like Carmine said, he was resilient.

Jacquelyn couldn’t help but smile. Part of it was the touching pep talk. The other was nervousness because no way was she about to put herself before kids. “Ah what the hell. I’m the winter maiden. A badass one at that. Thirty.” Her eyes glowed.

“Of course they want to out do me” Carmine chuckled. Alright everyone, nothing fancy! Those who know they can win, will. All others, do this test, survive!

Finally the stage was set. Everyone was on track. “Right!!!”

[youbloodymadgenius]

Photographs, Cuddles and Hot Cocoa (Modern!Ivar x reader)

A/N: Happy birthday, @flowers-in-your-hayr​ 🎉 May your day be the most beautiful! 🌺 Hope you’ll enjoy this silly thing I wrote. And @maggiescarborough​, thank you for planning this special challenge.

Of course, I chose an Ivar's moodboard. And now it’s Christmas in May 🎄

Once again, I wholeheartedly thank you, @inforapound​. You’re the best beta ever. And my friend 🌷

Obviously, the moodboard belongs to you, @flowers-in-your-hayr​ 😉

Summary: You’re tired and wanted to cuddle but Ivar’s got other plans. You’re not thrilled.

Warnings: fluff with no plot; Ivar may be a little OOC, sorry about that.

Words: 2066

"Ivar, where are we?"

Looking around, frowning, you don't even try to hide how annoyed you are, your head resting against the car window. He gives you an amused smile, the pad of his thumb stroking your cheek.

"You don't remember? I thought you'd recognize this place."

He seems slightly disappointed, which doesn't help your mood. Because you should be the disappointed one. Well, you probably are. More disappointed than he is, anyway.

"No, I don't."

He lets his hand fall back into his lap, clearly surprised by your increasingly irritated tone.

"Just look around, love."

"That's what I'm doing, Ivar! I'm not sure what you want me to say. That we are in the middle of nowhere? Okay, we are!" Blowing up, you raise your voice. "I'm not stupid, Ivar! I know we're on the heights of Kattegat, not far from the chalet since we didn't drive long. But we could be anywhere! It's white, white and white! There's snow everywhere!!! How am I supposed to recognize this fucking place, Ivar???"

"Okay, take it easy Y/N!" Smiling, he squeezes your knee. It's infuriating how he can stay calm on the rare occasions when you're the one who gets angry. "Remember, we're on vacation and we've got all the time in the world. Just tell me… what's wrong?"

You soften in spite of yourself when his forget-me-not blue eyes peer into yours.

"Imtiredandwantedtocuddle." You mumble, suddenly shy and embarrassed, sucking on your lower lip.

You're speaking the truth. Christmas Day with Ivar's family had been surprisingly successful. Sigurd had behaved, Aslaug's cooking had been, as usual, scrumptious and the gifts appreciated. Your somewhat grumpy lover had even been cheerful – well, most of the time. So yeah, everything had gone well. But it had been exhausting. Waking up at dawn, baking a cake, a two-hours drive to Kattegat, a whole day of smiling and keeping the conversation going, you and Ivar eventually had arrived at the Lothbrok's chalet very late last night, for a well deserved week's holiday, just the two of you. And this morning, all you wanted to do was cuddle, wrapped in a thick blanket. But here you are now, wearing your brand new snow suit, in the middle of nowhere, at the insistence of Ivar, your stubborn fiancé.

Ivar stifles a chuckle, scrunching up his nose. "Fuck, I love your pouty face, Y/N!"

Sticking your tongue out at him, you can't help but close your eyes, purring with delight as his hands cup your face. You love him so fucking much.

Still, you're not ready to admit defeat. Not just yet. "I'm not that easily bought, Ivar!"

Flashing his trademark smile, he gives a peck on your forehead, laughing. "I know, love!! If I promise tons of cuddles later, will you be less angry?"

"Maybe." A whisper escapes your mouth while a faint smile appears on your face. As much as you'd like to, you can never stay mad at him for long.

"Then I promise." His voice is soft now, his smile genuine, his eyes full of love, and you know he won. You'd do anything for this man, for his happiness.

Intertwining your fingers with his, you bring his hand closer, kissing it gently while releasing a light sigh. "Okay, let's start again." You stop, glancing around one more time. When you speak again, there's not the slightest hint of annoyance in your voice. "Mind telling me where we are? Because I swear to you, I don't have a clue."

Leaning forward, Ivar points at a snowy tree out on the right side of the car. "Doesn't that oak remind you of anything? Really?" Frowning, he looks truly astounded, maybe disappointed too. Realizing that you probably unwillingly hurt his feelings, you stare out at the winter scenery, paying particular attention to the majestic old tree. And it just hits you. Shit.

"Oh gods Ivar, I'm so sorry… Of course I know where we are. But you know, with all that snow, I had no bearings. Yet I should have known. Oh gods, I can't believe I didn't recognize…" Stopping your useless rambling, you can't help but cringe, mentally scolding yourself. Your hand grazes his cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. Swallowing hard, you lower your gaze, slightly ashamed. "I'm so sorry, Ivar. That's our tree."

Your tree, which regally overlooks a small pond. This is your little paradise. Your secret place, where you first kissed eight years ago, after he gave himself to you like never before, revealing all his fears and insecurities. Your secret place, where he proposed to you last summer, crying in your arms, gobsmacked that you said yes.

"Yes, our tree." Smiling softly, Ivar grabs his camera from the back seat. "I'm glad your memory returned, I was beginning to wonder if this place meant as much to you as it did to me." He winks at you, but you can see concern in his eyes. Ivar will never be completely sure of your love, no matter what you say or do, because he thinks he doesn't deserve it.

"It's the best place in the whole world, Ivar." You reassure him, your hand barely squeezing his thigh. "I'll gladly forego a long cuddle session if it means spending an hour here with you." Tilting your head, you reach out, fingers skimming his jaw, before kissing him tenderly. You're the first to pull away, looking intently into his eyes. "Now tell me, my love, why did you choose to come here today? If this is about asking me to marry you, you remember I already said yes, right?" Chuckling, you pepper light kisses over his face as he wraps his arm around your waist, drawing you closer.

"Actually, I've wanted to take pictures here during winter for a long time." Backing up just enough to show you his camera, he gives you one last peck on the lips. "I've never had the chance since we usually only come here in July or August. So yeah…", he shrugs, looking sorry, "that's why I rushed you a little bit this morning. But just look…" Getting excited, he gestures wildly, showing you the scenery around you. "All this fresh snow, it's beautiful. And the brightness today is amazing. A perfect day for perfect pictures. It would have been a shame not to come."

His words bring a broad smile to your face. You love seeing him like this, passionate and committed. Photography is his happy bubble. A world where his legs don't matter, where he doesn't have to compete against his brothers. A world which taught him patience. And gods, he's good at it! One day his pictures will be exhibited, you're sure of it.

Scratching the back of his neck, he scowls for a second, his hand squeezing yours. "I realize just now that it was silly to bring you here. You could have stayed at the chalet. Shit Y/N, I'm sorry. Do you want to wait for me here? You could stay in the car, so you won't get cold. I promise to be quick. What do you say?"

Shaking your head, you put on your woollen gloves, your pompon beanie already on your head. "No way, Ivar. Of course I'm coming with you."

Your hand on the door handle, you give him a questioning look. "Where do you want to go? At the risk of repeating myself, there's snow everywhere."

"I know that," he giggles at your obvious, rolling his eyes. "We'll go to the pond of course, where else?"

Doing a double take, you stare wide-eyed at him. "To the… pond?" Your high-pitched tone giving away your unbelief, you see Ivar furrowing his brows.

When he speaks again, it's with an expressionless face, apprehension clear in his voice. "That's what I said, yes. Is there a problem?"

A problem? Of course there is. The truth is, there is a problem. A long list of problems.

First, walking in the snow is always challenging for Ivar, his leg braces and his crutch. And right now, even the wheelchair friendly path leading to the pond is nonexistent, covered with a thick layer of snow.

Second, it's too cold out here. Too cold for his legs, which will stiffen in no time, causing him terrible pain.

Third, he woke up this morning unwell, wincing, swallowing with his orange juice a double dose of painkillers while complaining about how the previous day had been stressful and tiring.

You're about to talk, to explain, when you catch his pleading eyes. He knows exactly what you're thinking. There isn't a sound out of him, but it's not necessary, you can't miss the silent question in his gaze. “Please. Don't."

Overwhelmed with mixed feelings, you remain silent for a minute. You hate seeing him in pain, struggling to take a step and knowing he'll pay for it later makes you sick. Yet, you don't want to be the one clipping his wings. You can't be the one restraining him. You're his lover, not his mother. Your task is to trust him, be there for him no matter what, not to coddle him. You have to remember that your high school sweetheart is not as reckless as he used to be. He knows his limitations as well as his abilities. He's learned not to overwork himself.

Biting your lip, you release a shaky breath. "I won't." Your whispered answer to the question he didn't ask brings a faint smile to his face. He nods, closing his eyes for an instant, relief written all over his face. "Thank you."

***

"I'll be right there, love." Leaning heavily on his crutch, Ivar slowly crosses the kitchen, heading to the open-plan lounge, two mugs of cocoa in his free hand.

Getting up off the couch, you rush to him, a warm smile on your lips. "I got them." Reaching out, you quickly grasp the cups, putting them on the coffee table before returning to him.

As soon as you slip your hand on his waist, he wraps his arm around your shoulders, a gesture expressing a sign of affection as much as the need to be helped.

He's in pain and exhausted. You know it, you see it but it was worth it. His radiant face, his joyful exclamations, his childish enthusiasm were worth it. Watching him taking pictures for almost two hours, his eyes full of stars, raving about the pristine white landscape was worth it.

"Here, careful." You don't let go of his arm until he sits down, cursing under his breath. "Don't tell me 'I told you so', please,” he mumbles, hiding a wince as best as he can.

Kissing his forehead, you laugh, shaking your head, “How could I? I've told you absolutely nothing,” before grazing his left leg. "May I take off your braces?" Knowing that he trusts you and he won't mind, you get to work right away, gently removing the heavy contraptions. He gives you a grateful smile as you carefully lift his legs, helping him to settle on the wide couch before snuggling against him, the both of you tucked up under a fleece blanket.

The crackling fire, the invigorating cocoa, the warmth of your man, the love you feel, your two beings radiating happiness and those cuddles you were craving for, everything is perfect.

You're dozing off when Ivar breaks the silence, his fingers brushing your side. "How about a bath?" You lazily raise your head, yawning and stretching. "Hmm… A relaxing bath… Sounds like a good idea,” you say, as your hand lightly rubs his thigh, feeling each and every knot.

Sighing with relief, Ivar sits quietly for a while before grabbing your wrist, his suddenly husky voice startling you. "No… not necessarily relaxing… See… that's what…" sucking on your earlobe, he's hard to understand as he puts your hand on his crotch, "… I was thinking about."

Bursting out laughing, you playfully squeeze his cock. "Is that so? Well, all you can think about is sex, right?"

Hand on his chest, Ivar gasps, playing that he’s offended, making you laugh even more. "How can you think so little of me? Of course not! All I can think about is you, Y/N. I just can't help it, you're so beautiful. And so fucking perfect!"

Gods. This is your man. And he's so fucking perfect too!

🛡⚔️🛡

@honestsycrets​ @lisinfleur​ @saldelys​ @waiting4inspiration​ @hecohansen31​ @a-mess-of-fandoms​ @gearhead66​ @readsalot73​ @lonewolf471​ @milkkygirls​ @ivarthebloodyking​ @fuckindiva​ @tgrrose​ @flowers-in-your-hayr​ @maggiescarborough​

[tessandscottforever18]

By mid-September, Camila Cabello was feeling burnt out. In the span of three days she had performed at the MTV Video Music Awards, attended the Met gala with boyfriend Shawn Mendes, and shot the first-ever global cover for Glamour. So when she finally returned home to Miami, rest wasn’t just desired—it was essential.

But rehearsals for New York’s Global Citizen Festival loomed. Before jumping back into pop star mode, Cabello put on a yellow bikini and headed to the beach for two hours of blissfully uninterrupted downtime. She sank into a chair and cracked open a book, her favorite pastime. The salty air enveloped her; waves crashed in the distance. This is why she lives in Miami, her hometown, as opposed to a showbiz hub like Los Angeles: more privacy.

Or so she thought. Somehow the paparazzi found out where she was for those 120 minutes. She didn’t see them at first, but there they were, snapping away.

“I didn’t consent to those pictures,” she tells me over Zoom, camera off as she drives in Miami. (At one point she says to someone on the road, “Why are you honking at me, bro?”) “I got my period on the beach. I’m in a bikini and on my period, so I don’t know if I have a fucking period stain and that’s going to be everywhere. I didn’t sign up for anybody to be taking pictures of me in a bikini.”

Cabello has developed methods for dealing with invasive situations like this. She’s had to. The 24-year-old—born in Cuba, raised in Miami—has been in the public eye since 2012, when she competed on The X-Factor. She auditioned as a solo artist but was later matched with four other girls to form the pop group Fifth Harmony. They released two albums before Cabello embarked on her own—and achieved mind-boggling fame. Her singles “Havana” and “Señorita” (with Mendes) topped the charts worldwide. She’s earned three Grammy nominations, become a face of L’Oréal, and tried her hand at not just acting but starring in a feature film: this year’s Cinderella remake on Amazon Prime. Her third studio album, Familia, is due out later this year.

By all accounts it’s a lot. Careerwise it’s the closest things have felt to prepandemic times, when she was working constantly, arguably to an exhausting degree. As COVID-19 shutdowns went into effect last March, Cabello was able to realize just how tired she was.

“I by no means am trying to complain,” she says, “but it was such a thing of, ‘I have to get onstage tomorrow and I’m performing at this big thing,’ or whatever. ‘I want to do a good job. How do I do that when I feel nervous?’ I did this without being like, ‘Am I even happy right now? Do I even feel healthy?’ I didn’t have the space to ask myself those questions. I’m still working a ton now, but after quarantine I’m able to be like, ‘You know what? Right now I’m just not happy. I need to change something.’”

Therapy helped her see the changes she needed to make. Cabello tells me she’d experimented with therapy before the pandemic, but it was always situation focused—quick fixes to help her tackle the next performance or songwriting session. But with time at home, she dug deeper: “Because I wasn’t stressed about all the things I needed to do the next day, I was able to slow down and have enough stability to look at my stuff.”

Cabello doesn’t expand on what that “stuff” is. She does, however, explain why she decided to switch therapists as her internal work continued. “I wasn’t feeling like I was progressing in the areas I wanted to progress,” she says. “But when I switched, I found I was able to apply what they said in a way that benefited my mental health.”

One lesson she’s learned is the power of saying no. Two hit albums under her belt give Cabello the freedom to do things her way. Now she always has one day off a week, minimum. And when time came to start work on Familia, she forwent the standard pop music factory for a more intimate approach. The new album was made with just a handful of collaborators she could be open with. If Cabello was feeling anxious or nervous in a session, she had the space to address it. As a result, she says, it’s her best work yet.

“It’s the most grounded and calm I’ve ever been making an album,” she says. “I worked with people I wanted to have dinner with, and I was like, ‘I’m not going to write every single day for months, but write a few days a week and have time to gather experiences and be a human being.’”

Shawn Mendes is one of the people she’s gathering experiences with. The two singers confirmed their relationship in September 2019, and they’ve been tabloid magnets ever since. Everything from their laughably slow pandemic walks to their kissing style is dissected with a fine-tooth comb. A clip of them getting ready for the Met gala went instantly viral.

Cabello tells me she and Mendes try to avoid the social media chatter about their relationship, but it inevitably seeps in. “When stuff that’s negative is out there, it’s going to get to you,” she says. “So yeah, that’s very, very challenging. I feel like it’s another thing therapy has been really helpful for.”

Mendes goes to therapy too. While Cabello says she and Mendes haven’t done couples therapy—though she’d be open to it—they very much work on their mental health together.

“For better, for worse, we’re very transparent with each other. I think that’s why we can trust each other so much, because it’s a very 3D human relationship,” she says. “I’ll be venting or ranting about something, and he’ll be like, ‘Have you talked to X about it?’ And I’ll be like, ‘No. I’ve got to do a session.’ And he’ll do the same thing to me. I think even just the language of being like, ‘Hey, I’m sorry that I’ve been distant with you or snappy with you. I’m just struggling and I’m feeling kind of anxious.’ That level of transparency really helps a lot.”

Mendes echoes Cabello’s thoughts. “Camila and I give each other an extreme amount of patience and understanding,” he tells me via email. “I think the truth is that when you’re struggling with mental health, it turns you sometimes into the version of yourself that you don’t like to be—and kind of loving and accepting your person through that, and being there for them through that, is life-changing. We give each other so much space and understanding and patience.”

A behind-the-scenes VMAs story perfectly illustrates this. When Cabello was nervous meeting new people at an after-party, she caught herself leaning on a habit she’s trying to break. Mendes helped her through it.

“I have this pattern of eating a lot when I’m anxious or uncomfortable,” she says. “It’s a comfort thing for me. I’ll just kind of become unconscious and zombie-eat a lot, and then I’ll feel sick. I’ve told Shawn about that. So at the VMAs party, I was like, ‘I’m doing it.’ And he was like, ‘It’s okay. You’re doing it. That’s okay. Let’s just take a breath and not do that.’ It’s really good for me to be able to talk about my patterns with someone.”

Food and body image are two things that have really been on Cabello’s mind this year. A July TikTok she posted shutting down body-shamers racked up 4.8 million likes. “Being at war with your body is so last season,” she says in the video, which she posted after photos of her running in Los Angeles made the rounds online.

That mantra is true, sure, but it’s easier said than done. Even Cabello has difficulty following it. She braced herself for what she might feel when those aforementioned bikini pics went live: “I need to work out. I need to eat better.” “Not that those things are bad,” she says. “But maybe I wouldn’t think about them as much if there weren’t people taking pictures of me.”

It’s not just the paparazzi who ignite moments of self-doubt. Cabello tells me about a time she was exercising with her trainer, Jenna Willis—who’s great, she says—and feeling insecure. “She’s the same height as me, and I was kind of comparing myself to her, because she is a lot skinnier than I am,” she recalls. “I was just like, ‘Yeah, but I’ve been working out and I look better, right? I look better, right?’”

It’s Willis who helped silence those voices in Cabello’s head, reminding her that how she feels is more important than appearances; that life is about balance and enjoying food. These are health philosophies we’ve all heard—but when you’re Camila Cabello and millions are picking apart your beach photos, it’s hard to tune out the noise. Now when she’s feeling down on herself, she just turns her phone off and goes outside.

“When I’m having negative thoughts about my body, that’s actually when I’ll want to binge-eat cookies, and then I have a stomachache,” she says. “It’s this weird psychology: The more I love my body, the more I actually want to take care of it…. As long as I’m healthy and working out and feel good, that’s the best I can do. There’s no point in trying to have another kind of body.”

By this point in our conversation, Cabello’s made it to her destination. When I ask if she’ll have time to chill and decompress, she says, “To be honest, not yet, but I will after this weekend.” There’s a calmness in her voice when she says this—a stillness, a readiness. She seems perfectly prepared for what lies ahead: album promo, performances, and undoubtedly more scrutiny about her body, her relationship, her everything. But she’ll be fine, because just around the corner is a day off. That’s nonnegotiable.

“It’s important to be on top of not just what’s making you sad or anxious, but also what’s giving you joy,” she says. “I want to be happy and enjoy my life. That’s kind of it.”