#(with a few broad exceptions obviously)

[peachesofteal]

Hi! Very personal peach stuff beneath the cut, don't like don't read. (tw for mental health and medication)

If you haven't figured it out by now, I am bipolar. I've talked about it here and there in very broad, non specified terms but haven't really done a post where I say it point blank because I just never felt the need, however, I do feel like we've built a pretty supportive, lovely community here and I wanted to explain where I am mentally and why updates might be lagging (as I've gotten a few messages asking about SM and DD). I also think it's important to you know, talk about it a little bit. When I was younger, I would have really liked to talk to someone who had their head on straight and lived a happy, fulfilled life on medication. I would've liked to talk someone who made it through. Maybe me talking about it will make someone feel less alone, or less scared (because once upon a time, I was fully fucking terrified). Or maybe it won't do anything, who knows.

Also, let me be clear: I am not ashamed of who I am or how my brain works, I just feel this has always been too personal to share on here. I'm starting to shift my perspective on the sharing bit, a little. Obviously.

Anyway, the winter to spring transition can be really rough if your brain is spicy like mine. I know most people love the days getting longer, the sun shining on their face, the sky turning brilliantly blue everyday, winter turns to spring and you might get a little bit of spring fever, a little bit excited, inspired, etc... and I feel that way too, except it makes it way too easy to roll upward into mania. It's like one stumble or fall- and the next thing you know you're falling down the rabbit hole. Mania is not some fun little day trip where you get bangs and stay awake until the sun comes up, it is not the romantic mood swing that some people think it is, it is dangerous and could potentially derail my life.

I am feeling particularly... "disrupted" this spring, and have been working really hard to keep the boat from rocking, so to speak. I am overall a very healthy, well managed person (on medication- that saved my life) but the boat is rocking a little bit, and things may need to be leveled out, or adjusted. It takes time and patience, and I am very grateful to have quality care (my psych is the best) that knows me very well and hears me out.

The good thing is I'm still writing little by little and hope to have updates for ongoing works up soon, and in the mean time, if you need someone to talk to, if you feel like you can relate to this, I'm here. I appreciate your patience and understanding in regard to the delay in updates!

[corazondebeskar-reads]

you know you never stood a chance - chapter two

you know you never stood a chance series

two: call on me

series masterlist | prev chapter | next chapter

qz!Joel Miller x f!reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Summary: an injury leaves you struggling to make ends meet. you do what you swore you'd never do and take Joel Miller up on his offer.

Warnings: Sex as payment, technically prostitution, power imbalance, dub-con, canon-typical violence, canon-typical descriptions of injuries, breath control, oral (m receiving), masturbation (f-self)

Originally written for Kinktober 2023 - Day 17: blowjob/breath control, from prompts by @absurdthirst

also on ao3

You stand outside the door long enough that you become intimately familiar with the striations in its sickly ocean blue, eyes focusing and unfocusing until the steel peeking beneath becomes crests of the stormy sea. Your eyes flicked up to the rusty brass 414, as if it might have changed and become someone else’s apartment. But no, the second four still dangling by the singular nail jutting from the top corner. 

In the seasons that have passed since you fucked him for ration cards in a shitty motel room, you’d seen Joel a few times. Sort of. Usually the back of him, going down the stairs a few flights below you, or a fleeting glance if he entered the building while you were exiting. You had developed a sort of Joel Miller Alert System, enough to duck under the stairs or become really interested in tying your shoe any time you were within sight of him.

If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Because he didn’t say anything to you, at all, even in the horrible moments when you’d pass each other on the stairs or the one really awkward time he held the door open for you and you couldn’t decide if you should speed up so you got in faster or pretend to turn and go another way so he stopped looking at you. 

You settled on half-hustling with poorly executed casuallness that ended with you brushing against his jacket when you tried to slip through the door and mumbling “cool” instead of “thank you.” 

Suffice to say, you don’t really want to be here. You could just go back to the brothel. He probably wouldn’t know. Except you’re still not sure how he knew the first time either. 

The evening breeze through the busted hallway window isn’t as bad down here, you think. Another perk to having a lower-floor apartment. Y’know. Besides not having to deal with all the fucking stairs. 

A spider crawls across the door frame, which is the most interesting thing to happen since you walked down here twenty minutes ago.

The door opens and you jump. “Fuck!” 

“Just get in here,” Joel says.

“If you’re leaving, I’ll just come back later, or never,” you turn to flee, but he catches you with a broad hand around your bicep.

“Wasn’t leaving, just tired of you lurk—” he stops and lets go when he’s turned you around. “What happened?” 

“Uh, nothing,” you scratch the back of your head with your good arm. Well. Your temporary good arm, given that your left arm is hanging bent in the makeshift sling your sister made from an old shirt. The long sleeves were knotted around your neck and your wrist was wrapped against a wood shim with a dish towel, cut into strips and tied tight. 

He pinches his forehead between two fingers. “Hurry up.” 

You shuffle in and hover just inside his living room, rocking back and forth on your heels. You’ve never seen Joel’s apartment before, obviously, but it’s just as sparse and shitty as every other flat in the building. Filled with broken, improvised furniture, filthy carpet over the rotting floorboards. 

He stalks off through a large archway to what you’d wager is the kitchen. You hear the pop of the fridge and wonder if you could slip back out the door while he’s distracted. 

“You comin’ or what?” Joel calls and you sigh. 

Resigned to your self-inflicted fate, you move to hover awkwardly in Joel’s kitchen, instead. He rolls his eyes and indicates the spindly wooden chairs around the oval table.  When you’re seated, he comes around the table, and you jump again, not expecting to find him so close when you look up.

He sets a glass of water on the table and pulls a chair up close, too close, caging you in with his thick thighs. He reaches out and you flinch.

He freezes. “M’not gonna hurt you.”

“I know.”

He doesn’t ask any questions, to your great relief. He just reaches out again, slower this time, and unwraps the sling. His hands are so gentle you can’t reconcile the touch with the man in front of you. He unties the splint and shakes his head at your shoddy workmanship.

His finger ghosts over the bruises. The nastiest of the purple and yellow blossoms are on your inner wrist, but a good two inch radius is dusky purple and angry, extending up the pad of your palm toward your thumb. You bite your tongue. It’s tender, but there’s no way you’re going to show it. 

“Um, I don’t want to be rude, but—”

“So don’t be,” Joel says, pulling a cloth bundle over and setting it on the worst of the swelling. He cradles it there, hands cupped around yours to keep it in place, and the cold burns through the thin rag. 

“It’s just, um,” and you hiss through your teeth as a particularly sensitive nerve makes contact, “I didn’t come here lookin’ for a nurse—”

“Didn’t ya see the big ole’ red cross out front? Why else would you come here?” 

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but he doesn’t let you get in a retort.

“I know why you came here. But you’ll take what I give you. Drink your water.” 

The glass shakes in your hand, water sloshing. Your face heats, trying to just take a drink and put it down, and you pray he ignores it.

“Don’t move,” he stands up, chair screeching across the linoleum. He takes your right hand and puts it over the ice pack before pulling his hand out. 

He disappears again, and you stare at the peeling pear-patterned wallpaper, wondering if after you fainted at work, you woke up in a bizarre alternate universe where the apocalypse still happened but you were dumb enough to go to Joel Miller’s apartment.

Actually, you think, that makes sense without the alternate universe nonsense. You must have taken a bit of damage when you hit your head against the counter on the way down. 

Best not to mention that, you decide. 

When he comes back, he sets two oblong white pills on the table next to the water.

Maybe the alternate universe thing is still a possibility. 

“What’s that?” you ask. 

“Tylenol,” he says, sitting back down. He puts his hand back on the ice pack so you can remove yours. “It’ll take the edge off.” 

“I didn’t come looking for pills—”

He doesn’t interrupt this time, but he does fix you with such a withering stare that you trail off. 

“Right. Take what you give me. That’s, uh,” you give a little nervous laugh, “that’s funny, ‘cus you’re tellin’ me to take these and also your…” 

He raises an eyebrow and you hurriedly pop both pills in your mouth before going back for the water. Anything to shut yourself up. 

You sit in silence until he decides you’re done with the ice. He sets the melting cubes and washcloth in the sink and digs around in a drawer before coming back to the chair.

He has a large, wide serving spoon, which he fits to your palm, and carefully lines your wrist up with the handle. Using the fabric you had on before, he wraps and ties it tightly. 

“Holy shit,” you say, rotating your arm carefully to look at it. It still hurts like a motherfucker, but the difference in support from the shim is incredible. 

“How much did they cut you by?” he says, voice quiet. He’s leaning back in the chair now, arm sprawled on the table. The delicate curl of his fingers splayed against the faded yellow wood, nails scrubbed clean of the filth from the work day. 

“Half,” you mumble. “And nothin’ for today, I had to leave.” 

“Looks a couple days old.”

You nod. 

“Did you work yesterday?”

“Yeah. And the day before, when it happened. It makes me slow, so.”

“So why’d you have to leave today?”

Whoops. Fuck. “Oh, um.”

“S’it got anything to do with the dried blood in your hair?” 

“Shit,” your hand flies up to your head. Not that you thought he was making it up, but when you feel the hard globules stuck to your scalp, you groan. “I didn’t know it bled.” 

He opens his mouth to say something, but shakes his head instead, exhaling hard through his nose.

“Well, I didn’t! I was trying not to touch it.” 

“Gonna tell me what happened?”

“I fell. Twice. Two days ago and then today.” 

He narrows his eyes, scowling. “How’d you make it this long without gettin’ yourself killed?” 

It’s not a real question, but you answer anyway. “I didn’t used to be clumsy. I ran track in high school. And I only left today because they made me, I’m not going to slack off. I just. You said…” 

“They made you leave?” FEDRA usually didn’t care if people worked while sick or hurt. 

“Yeah, Carrie said I was gonna put someone out of commission if I keep faintin’ with a knife in my hand.” Irony of ironies, you worked prep in the fucking kitchens most days, butchering meat for proper portioning. 

“You said you fell.”

“I did!” 

“When you fainted.”

“Well, yeah.”

He stands up abruptly. “Go home.” 

“What?”

“You heard me. Go home. You’re not up for this today.”

You sit for a second, mouth agape. The rejection stings but it quickly boils over. “You’ve got to be kidding me. I could have been home from the fuckin’ brothel by now. S’past curfew.”

“Yep.” 

“Oh, fuck you, Miller.” You get up to leave, grabbing your jacket where you left it on the couch. You don’t even bother trying to struggle getting it over your useless shoulder, just tucking it under your arm and reaching for the doorknob.

He catches you by your good wrist. “Be back at 8 tomorrow.” 

You don’t notice the expired protein bar or little baggie of pills in your coat pocket until you toss it onto your bed and they hit the floor. 

That absolute asshole.

You want to be obstinate, but the earlier dose did help, and maybe if you take these in the morning, you’ll be able to get through the day.

The only perk to your job is that the closest distribution stand is right outside the building. Some people are always lined up already, but you hop in right at 5 when they open up and only have to wait fifteen or so minutes to get your food.  

You get home by 6:15 but with no free hands and unsteady balance, it takes you a long time to get up the stairs to your empty apartment, your sister sleeping over at her boyfriend’s again. By 7, you’ve flopped into bed fully dressed and you’re asleep by 7:03. 

Loud pounding on the door wakes you up at 9. Your head is throbbing in time with whoever has the damn nerve and you don’t remember to check the peephole before throwing open the door to yell at whatever poor soul is on the other side.

Joel takes one look at you and sighs. “C’mon.”

“Sorry,” you say while haphazardly shoving your bare feet into boots. “I didn’t mean to, I fell asleep.”

He snorts, but you can’t tell if it’s with derision or if he’s laughing at you. “You fall asleep or did you faint again?”

“I’ll have you know I have not fainted once since.” 

“Congratulations,” he drawls. 

You’ve reached the stairwell and you do a decent job keeping up, since you don’t have anything to carry. By the time you’ve toed off your boots, it’s fully dark outside. You should have been getting home by now, not just getting here. 

“Go sit,” he says, jerking his head to the kitchen. 

“We’re not doing this again,” you say on your way to take your seat. 

How was this your life? You were racking up enough debt to Joel Miller that you’d be paying him back for months. And everyone knew what would happen if you didn’t pay up in time. He hadn’t earned his reputation by being forgiving.

He comes into the kitchen and sets another pair of pills down before pouring you a glass of water. You take them without protest, even though it means another mark against you. But truth be told, you’d do anything right now to ease the pain. 

He doesn’t get out the ice pack again. Worse, he ladles a heap of boiled, unidentifiable meat and potatoes into a chipped ceramic bowl and places it in front of you.

You look at him but there’s no fight in you. Instead, you stare with sickening, desperate gratitude. He leaves the room while you eat but returns in time to pluck the bowl from your hands when you go to wash it. 

“I can do plenty of things with one hand,” you snap.

“I know.” He’s got you cornered against the cabinet, and his voice is low and quiet. The room shifts immediately and your breath sticks in your throat. He sets the bowl down on the counter and cups your chin, brushing his thumb over your lips. “Gonna have you do more than that, though.” 

When he pulls away, you follow him like a magnet. Not thinking about it, just tugged along in his thrall. He sits down on the couch and you notice there’s a cushion between his feet. You purse your lips and then try to relax them, which takes a lot more effort than you think it should. 

“You waitin’ for an invitation?”

You shake your head and drop to your knees onto the cushion. You put your shaky but unbroken hand on the eternally stained knee of his jeans. 

He doesn’t make you wait any longer, reaching down and unzipping his pants to pull his cock out. He shifts the jeans and underwear down his thighs.

Your mouth waters. He’s not fully hard yet but it’s still a beautiful cock. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and he huffs a laugh.

“Here I was, thinkin’ you were scared. Thought you said you’ve never done this before.”

“I haven’t. Never had a chance to try.”

“None of the boys you been with wanted a blowjob? I don’t buy that.”

“Well. It, um. It was just boy and it was kind of over before it really started.”

He’s rubbing his temple again before you’re done speaking, shaking his head. “You told me—”

“I told you it wasn’t my first time. It wasn’t.” 

He throws a hand up. “Whatever. Well, get to it then.” 

His eyes have darkened, pupils wide. He’s got one arm sprawled across the back of the couch and the other on his leg. 

His legs are spread wide enough for you to comfortably situate yourself. You lean forward, careful to keep your injured wrist out of the way. You take a deep breath and press a soft, hesitant kiss against the tip. It twitches, which startles you back for a second, and Joel huffs another breath.

You pause to glare at him. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Wasn’t laughin’. Keep going.” 

You don’t believe him, and it makes you bolder. Irritated. You’re not some little girl fumbling between football-dotted sheets with her scrawny, geeky boyfriend. You can do this. 

You press your tongue flat against the underside of his cock and lick a stripe up to the top. 

He groans and you swear, repeating the motion. “That’s it,” he croons, “you like that, huh?”

It’s your turn to moan, catching the tip between your lips and licking in lieu of a response. He gives you a while to explore, encouraging you with wicked words that get you wet. 

“Good girl,” he moans when you take more of his cock into your mouth, and it just about does you in. 

At some point, though, he decides he’s done letting you play around. “Alright, that’s enough teasing. Get it down your throat.” 

You pull back, and he catches you by the back of the head and holds onto a fistfull of your hair. 

“It’s too big. I’ll throw up.”

“You’re not going to throw up.”

“But what if I do?”

“You won’t. I got you.” 

You don’t understand how exactly he can prevent it, but the words spread something warm and electric through your body. “Okay,” and you bring your mouth back around him.

He loosens his grip on your hair, but keeps his hand there, feeling you start to bob your head. It’s sloppy, but you’re trying, and when he hits the soft palate at the back of your mouth on a slipup, you moan. 

He takes the opportunity to push your head down, filling you until you gag. He pulls you off and lets you sputter for a few seconds, blinking tears away. 

“That was good, try again.” As if he gives you a choice, hand pushing you down onto his cock again.

But you gag again. And again. And again. You get frustrated and the sharp prick of humiliation brings you closer to crying than choking on his cock had. 

“S’ok, darlin’, I know. It’s a lot.”

Your lip trembles. “I want to take it.”

His neglected cock twitches. “Then take it.”

This time, when you hit the point just halfway down where you’re struggling, he pinches your nose and holds your head down.

You struggle harder, and he moves his leg away from your hurt wrist so you don’t fuck it up more, but you do slide further down his cock with all your brain’s attention on getting air. 

He lets go and you pull off, coughing and clutching at your chest. “What the fuck, Joel?” 

“Worked, didn’t it?” He wipes away one of the tears freed by your efforts. 

Your shoulders are heaving and you look away. For a moment, he thinks maybe he did go too far. But then you square them off and look up at him with gritted teeth and steely eyes. 

“Yeah, see, you’re tough,” he says, working his hand back into your hair as you take him back in your mouth. He doesn’t try it again yet, just lets you lick and suck and try to work your throat open on your own. “Bein’ so good for me.” 

He’s noted the way you shudder a little when he praises you. He wouldn’t be this talkative if he hadn’t. 

You get more of him down, grim determination fueling you, and try to tense against yourself when you hit your limit. 

He pinches your nose again and you jerk, the soft walls of your throat clenching around him and he groans. You moan around him in response and he pushes into you a little more.

You’re not going to be able to take the whole thing. At least not yet. He knows that. So when you’ve gotten used to nearly three quarters of it stuffed down your throat, he eases up just a little so you aren’t at risk of throwing up.

Your jaw aches when he begins fucking up into your mouth. You can taste him, the way he leaks in you. The velvety heft of his cock is divine. 

“Relax,” he rubs a thumb against the hinge of your jaw. “Just take it now. Just keep that mouth open for me and take what I’m givin’ you.” He picks up the pace, still not forcing in any deeper, but rutting himself inside all the same.

Your eyes roll back and you realize you might cum from this. He watches you slide a hand down the front of your leggings, leaving his fist in your hair as your only support, and swears. 

“You touchin’ your pretty little pussy for me? Fuck, that’s a good girl, keep rubbin’.” 

You do, not quite because he tells you, but because you think you’d have to cut off your hand in order to stop. Your throat flexes around him as you whimper little desperate moans.

“Oh fuck. Hey,” he says, and waits for you to peer up at him. “Try and swallow it, okay?” 

Your eyes go wide but you don’t try to pull off. Your hand picks up pace against your clit, two fingers dipping into your soaked cunt. 

You startle when he actually starts to come, but try to hold still and drink him down. Your hand slows, losing focus.

“Fucking cum with my cock down your thoat.” It comes out in a choked snarl and pushes you over the edge. 

Your throat closes up around him and you forget about trying to swallow. He grabs his cock and tugs furiously, the rest of his spend decorating your face. 

“That’s a good look for ya,” he says with a smirk.

You rest your cheek against his thigh, and he lets you, stroking a hand through your hair for a moment. Too soon, though, he gives your face a tap so you lift it up and he stands, stepping to the side around you.

He brings back a wet washcloth, and you gratefully scrub your face with it. You reach up, and he takes your hand in his, pulling you up as your knees crack in protest. 

He reaches into his pocket and presses a little bag with two more Tylenol into your hand. “Now get goin’, and tomorrow, don’t make me come lookin’ for you.” 

You clutch the little baggie and shove your boots back on. You hesitate in front of the door for a moment, turning to look back at him, but you leave without another word. 

next chapter

[honeyedmiller]

Close | Din Djarin

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: so much fluff, like literally this whole thing is just pure tooth rotting fluff and din and so soft in this, helmet comes off, reader and din are in LOVE

word count: 5.1k

synopsis: the man in shining beskar armor is one of mystery, and you were determined to get close to him.

based off of the song “close” by nick jonas

not revised (go figure) so sorry if there’s mistakes.

divider by @saradika

“‘Cus space is just a word made up by someone who’s afraid to get too… close.”

He intrigued you from the moment you set your eyes on him. Tall, broad, glinting in beskar, and a complete mystery underneath the helmet.

You often passed him and his little green apprentice in the marketplace. It started off with you glancing at him. It then turned into small smiles on your end, and a curt nod on his.

The spring air was fresh the first time he spoke to you. You were picking out some fruits for your home, when you turned around and saw him standing behind you. You gasped softly, beaming up at him.

“Those are Grogu’s favorite,” The masked man said, tilting his visor down at the fruit you had in your hand. “I was going to get him some, too.” His modulated voice was deeper than you expected, but had a warm tone to it nonetheless.

“They’re my favorite, too.” You respond with a smile, splitting the fruit in half after quickly peeling it and handing it to the small creature.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to—” He starts, but you shake your head.

“I insist.” You grin as Grogu coos up at you, his ears perking up.

“He likes you.” The Mandalorian says, and you give him a small smile.

“Well it’s nice to officially meet you to, uh,” You pause, not knowing what to call the man.

“Mando.” He says, and you nod.

“Mando.” You repeat, holding out your hand. He looks down at it for a second, like he’s contemplating on shaking it or not. After a couple of beats, he extends his hand to shake yours.

“What’s your name?” He asks you, and you just grin up at him before slowly backing away from him.

You knew Mando obviously wasn’t his real name, so you decided to be a mystery to him all the same. You didn’t know much about Mandalorians, but you did know they had a creed they followed. It was strict and hid their identities, and you respected that. You just thought it’d be a bit fun to mess with the man in glinting beskar for awhile.

He knew it, too. He knew you were playing a little game, and honestly, he thought he’d hate it. He was a straight-to-the-point kind of man.

But he didn’t.

He saw it as a challenge. He asked people around to see if anyone knew your name, and no one did. Maybe you were just a private person. Which, in all honesty, you kind of were. You minded your own business on Nevarro. You were friendly, just not very talkative.

You on the other hand had went to the local library to find any books you could on Mandalorians. There weren’t many, but you did find one that explained some of their history and their language. Next time you saw Mando, you’d surprise him with your newfound learnings of his culture.

That wasn’t going to be for a few months, though. He ended up getting a job that sent him to the near other side of the galaxy.

He thought about you every single day. He didn’t know what it was about you that had you in his mind stuck like glue. Maybe it was the way you smiled up at him, how you were so friendly to his son, how you remained a mystery to him. Maker, it was just you in general. Your sweet voice, your kind eyes, your beautiful smile.

Mando felt strange about the way he perceived you. He barely even knew you and he was already thinking about you nearly every waking second of the day. He’d never felt this way with anyone, except for one other person.

Omera.

When he was on Sorgan, he almost thought about risking revealing his identity for her. He’d started to feel strongly about her, but he whisked those feelings away quickly.

He never knew how to connect with someone. His lifestyle always prevented him from settling down and allowing himself to actually get close to someone for once. He had a hard time expressing his feelings, and when they overcame him, he just shut down. He’d go into panic mode and close himself off completely so nobody would be able to experience the softer side of the man underneath all of the armor.

He couldn’t help but wonder from time-to-time what life would be like if he’d just settle down. Sure, he had a house to come back to now, but he had no home. Someone he could come back to after a long journey to ask him how it went, assure him everything will be okay, be there for him when he needed someone.

He craved that so badly, but he knew he just couldn’t get it.

The next time he saw you, it was the peak of summertime. He spotted you first. He was in the marketplace trying to restock on food for him and Grogu, when he saw you talking to the spice vendor. You had that same pretty, kind smile on your lips as you shook the vendor’s hand, putting your purchase in a bag you had slung over your shoulder.

You wore a black sleeveless shirt with a floor length green skirt. You looked even more beautiful than when he left.

You turned your body in his direction, saying your goodbye’s to the vendor as your eyes snapped to the familiar shine of beskar in front of you. You halted for a split second before approaching him slowly.

“Mando.” You greet, smiling up at him.

“Cyar’ika,” He nodded down at you, and your heart skipped a beat. Sweetheart. He’d called you sweetheart.

“It’s been awhile.”

He nodded.

“It’s nice to see you again, Mando.” You softly grabbed his bicep for a second, not wanting to overstep your boundaries. You let go of it quickly before walking off into the opposite direction, leaving each other to wonder about the other for the rest of the day.

That day, Din made it a point to stop by Greef Karga’s office.

“What can I do for you, Mando?”

“What can you tell me about this woman?” He pulls up a hologram photo of you from his glove, feeling nearly guilty about what he’s about to ask his old friend.

Karga quirks his brow at Din. “She’s not a bounty, is she?” He strokes his chin as his stance goes wide, gaze flickering between the hologram and Din’s visor.

“No, I just–” Din pauses, not even knowing what to say. “It’s to babysit Grogu. Need a sitter next time I go out to hunt a bounty.” Din lied, and Karga laughed knowing he was.

“Sure, Mando.” He chuckled, and Din’s face was hot under his helmet. Luckily, Karga didn’t press any further and gave him your name and where you lived. Din thanked the man and headed out for your house later on that evening.

You were hanging your freshly washed clothes up with clothespins, humming an unfamiliar tune. Din approached you carefully not wanting to startle you, but he did anyhow.

You jumped as you turned and saw him, putting a hand over your heart.

“Stars, Mando. You scared me.” You huffed, clutching your tunic against your chest.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s alright. What brings you on this side of town?” You hang up the tunic in your hand, turning to face him.

“Just… strolling through.” He shrugs, but he knew he couldn’t lie to you.

“Uh huh.” You grin, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I actually, uh, asked Greef where you lived.” He admitted, visor tilted down toward the dirt crunching underneath his boot as he scuffed his foot.

“Do I have an unknown bounty on my head?” You half joke, and Mando tilts his helmet.

“You do anything that could make you a bounty?” He retorts, and you laugh. Oh, how he liked that sound.

“I may be wanted for making the best pog soup in town,” You joke. “Wanna join me for some? It’s almost finished.”

“I can’t.” He shakes his head, and you give him a small, sad smile. You wish he would, but you respect him and his wishes.

“Sure. Would you like some to-go?” You ask, picking up the woven basket that previously contained your freshly washed clothes. You popped your hip out and held the basket to it, tilting your head at him questioningly.

“I don’t want to impose.”

“You’re not, Mando, I’m offering.” You softly chuckle in disbelief.

He wondered, for a second, how his real name would sound rolling off of your tongue. He bet it would sound like honey. Something sweet, something pure.

“Sure.” Was all he said, and you coaxed him to follow you into your home.

It was cozy and comfortable, walls decorated with artwork made my locals that they sold at the marketplace. The place was perfect for a small family, but since it was just you, you had more room than you knew what to do with.

You pulled out a container and ladled the soup into it, cautious not to burn the pads of your fingers. You packed the container nicely in a bag, handing it to Mando.

“Here you are.” You push the bag into his hands, and he looks down at it before presumably looking at you.

“Thank you, cyar’ika.” His voice is soft behind the modulator, his heart filling with that unfamiliar warmth once more.

“You have to let me know how it tastes. You know, once you try it.”

A small laugh is heard behind the modulator, and your heart swells at the sound.

“I will. I promise.”

Din went home that night, warming up the soup again after he put Grogu down for bed so he could eat in silence. He was used to it; it was comforting. But it also made his heart strings tug with the wish that he’d have someone to share a meal with. He was scared to join you for dinner, so he quickly said no. He was scared you’d turn around to try and look at his face; he was scared of you not liking what he had to say; he was scared you were going to find him mundane.

Even with all of the stories he had, he was afraid you wouldn’t find any of them interesting. He was terrified you wouldn’t be into him. So, he pushed and pushed and pushed himself away until he was so certain all of his feelings were detached from you.

But, when he took his first sip of your pog soup, he knew he was doomed. Maker, that was the best soup he’s ever had in his life. Usually, he’d scarf down his meals. It was a habit he was trying to unlearn. But with your soup, he savored the taste on his tongue and enjoyed each and every flavor it had to offer.

It easily became his favorite meal in the whole universe.

Weeks went by and you’d make him the soup, even when it was the peak of summer and sweat would glisten on your forehead. You did it for him, because he intrigued you, and you wanted to get to know him.

That opportunity finally came one night when he knocked on your door in the late hour. You were surprised to see him standing at your door with his son fast asleep in his arms.

“Hi.” You said softly, motioning for him to come in. He stepped inside, only allowing himself a few inches into your home.

“Sorry to come by so late,” He starts, “The water went out at my house, and, uh, I was wondering if I could borrow your shower.” He explained.

This was the first time you heard a more shy tone behind the modulator. It was sweet, and you could tell it must’ve taken him a lot of courage to even come here and ask you such a favor.

“Of course. Let me, um, get you a towel.” You walk over to the hall cabinet and take out a towel for him, going into the bathroom and hanging it neatly on the towel rack.

“Thank you.” You felt his visor linger on you for a little longer than you were used to. You looked down at your attire and finally noticed that you were wearing a sleep tunic that barely covered the top of your thighs. Your cheeks heated in embarrassment, and to shift the awkward ambience, you held out your hands.

“I can watch him while you shower.” You gesture to Grogu, and Din hands him to you carefully. The little creature coos, nuzzling into you as a tiny hand clings onto your tunic. You smile down at him as you settle down on the couch in your living room, rocking him softly.

“Thank you.” The Mandalorian says, turning swiftly to the bathroom.

He didn’t take long, and you tried to not let your mind wander to what he looked like underneath his helmet. You tried to guess his features deliberately, weighing the options of dark or light eyes, hair, skin, everything. You bet he was gorgeous underneath the beskar. It was a shame no one got to see him, but you respected him and his privacy.

You wonder how many people have seen him with his helmet off. If anyone’s ever gotten to touch his face. Oh, that man was probably so touch deprived. The thought made your heart sink a bit.

Your thoughts dissipated into thin air when the bathroom door opened, steam coming out of the room as he stepped out in his flight suit. The only piece of armor he had on was his helmet. You frowned softly in the darkness, thinking that must be insanely uncomfortable for his wet hair to be sticking to his helmet like that.

“Here,” You stood up, careful not to wake the baby. You gestured down to a basket that was empty, and motioned the Mandalorian to put his armor in there. You took a piece of armor for him and gently set it in the basket, and he followed suit with the rest of it. “I can wear a blindfold, Mando.” You told him. He looks at you, tilting his visor.

“I know other people can’t see you. I presume Grogu here already has, but, I can wear a blindfold so your hair can dry properly. That helmet must be awfully heavy.” You explain, and he thinks about it for a moment.

“Okay.” Was all he said, and you smile as you head into your bedroom and set Grogu down on your bed before rummaging through your clothes for a blindfold. You found one tucked away in a corner of a drawer, and you held it out to him.

“I’d feel more comfortable if you put it on. You know, so you don’t think I’m trying to get a peak at you or anything.” You smile softly at him, and Din’s heart clenches. You respected him and his creed, and he was so thankful of that. You drop the satin material in his bare hands, which you noticed were tan. That was just one piece of the puzzle that is this man before you.

You turn on your heel so you’re facing away from him, and he takes the material and wraps it gently around your head to cover your eyes. His fingers accidentally brushed your neck as he pulled back after tying the blindfold onto you.

Goosebumps raised onto your skin, and he noticed. Even in the dark and with the tint of his visor, he noticed. He felt it, too.

He wasn’t a man of many words. That was something you both knew. But in that moment, he wanted to tell you you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen in the galaxy. He wanted to tell you everything there was to know and take you to every single planet that he think you’d like.

But, as always, he was at a loss for words. Too many thoughts and emotions trying to claw their way out of him, and he wouldn’t let it surface. He wouldn’t let himself fall for someone as beautiful and smart and kind as you. He just couldn’t.

You felt yourself being spun around as Din waved his hand over your face. “Can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?” He held up four, right in front of your face.

You shook your head. Everything was pitch black.

“Good.” Was all he said, before you heard a hissing sound of pressure being released.

“You can stay in here awhile and, I don’t know, talk if you’d like. If not I set out a blanket and pillow for you on the couch out there.” You pointed in the wrong direction of the living room, and Din’s lips curled up in the slightest.

“What would we talk about?” Din’s unmodulated voice rang through your ears, and you gasped. His voice was beautiful. Almost shy sounding, but deep and smooth.

You shrug your shoulders. “Whatever you want to talk about. I don’t get company, ever, so… it’s up to you. Or we can just go to bed and we don’t have to talk at all.”

“I can… tell you about some stories of my adventures across the galaxy.” He offers, and you grin toward the sound of his voice.

“I’d love that.”

And so he does. For the next couple of hours, you sit on your bed with your arms enveloping your knees to your chest as you listen to him talk about these intense days hunting a bounty, battling Moff Gideon, running into Jedi, the fact that he gave Grogu to Luke Skywalker, how he won the darksaber and gave it rightfully and respectfully to Lady Kryze, and how the Mandalorians retook their home planet.

He even went as far as telling you that he wasn’t originally born a Mandalorian, that they saved him after a droid killed his biological parents, which is why he absolutely despises the bots. Well, besides IG-11 and R5-D4.

You soaked in every single detail he chose to give you, finding himself loosening up over time while he talked to you. He found you very easy to talk to, and he could tell you were attentive as you followed along with his stories.

“I’ve never talked this much to anyone, ever.” Din chuckles, sighing softly.

“Really? I could listen to you go on for days. You’re an amazing story teller, Mando.” You smile softly, and his heart skips a beat.

He contemplated on telling you his real name, too. After all, you two’ve been acquainted long enough. He knew your first name so it was only fair that he told you his.

“It’s Din.” He says in a near whisper. He saw your brows thread together in confusion, so he elaborated.

“My name is Din.” He says, and he saw your body go rigid.

Your heart melted at the fact that he was willing to give up a part of his identity to you. That he trusted you enough to even tell you everything he’s said thus far, including his actual name.

“Din.” You repeat, and him hearing you say his name felt so right. Like it was a secret of yours to keep.

“Just… do me a favor, please. Don’t repeat my name to anybody, and only use it when it’s just us two together.” He gnawed on his bottom lip as anxiousness overtook his body. He was never vulnerable with people like this, and not having any of his armor on in a place that wasn’t his home furthered his anxiety.

You reached out in front of you, successfully finding his warm hand as you gave it a soft squeeze before pulling away. “Of course, Din. You have my word.”

After that night, you two seemed to get closer. People noticed and talked, but you didn’t really pay any mind. Neither did Din. There were many more nights of him coming over to your place to talk and eat delicious meals with you, which he finally allowed himself to do. You ate with your backs to each other as you talked about your days, another brief mission Din went on, and how Grogu is finally getting along with the kids of Nevarro City.

It wasn’t until the fall time that you realized you were starting to fall for the man in shining armor. It’s ironic, really. The one person you’d told yourself was off limits, you found thinking of nearly every minute of the day. The one that you were sure of just being strictly friends with.

You were falling in love, and you were falling hard.

There were some days you felt you couldn’t even face Din, because you genuinely feared total and complete rejection. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t have something to cover your face to hide your feelings or the soft sparkle in your eye every time you looked at him.

Whatever affections or strange feelings Din had for Omera a few years ago, he had for you much stronger. He found himself wanting to be the source of your beautiful smile and laugh. He wanted to be near you as much as he could, and the times that he couldn’t, he found himself spending every second thinking of you.

Some might say it was an unhealthy obsession at that point, but truthfully, you both were just lovestruck fools. You didn’t need to see Din’s face to know that he was a loyal, trustworthy, honorable man. He had a heart of gold that he only reserved for you and his son.

He never thought that with his old lifestyle he’d be able to settle down somewhere. Now that he’s here in Nevarro with his son, he wanted a family. Not that Grogu wasn’t his family, of course, but he wanted to settle down. Start some family roots here. Find a wife, have a (human) child, grow old with his family here.

He saw that life with you.

The times he thought about it in depth, he truly thought he might’ve actually been going crazy, but he didn’t care. He was so content with just him and Grogu in his cozy little home, but ever since he finally allowed himself to grow close to you, he feels as if the house isn’t a home without you in it.

Come winter time, those feelings from you both never dissipated. If anything, they grew stronger.

It was a busy day at the market one particular chilly day. Vendors were selling caf and pastries, which you gladly indulged in. You were looking at a new painting to buy for your house when you heard your name being called. You whirled around to come face-to- well, helmet, with Din.

You smiled up at him.

“Mando, you’re back!” You cheer, going to give him a hug, but you stopped short. You suddenly remembered you were in a very public place, where wandering eyes could clearly see you both.

Din felt your hesitation and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest plate. The metal was cold, sending a shiver down your spine. You relaxed in the familiar embrace (you two may’ve cuddled from time-to-time when he came over to talk with you), looking up at his visor.

“Wanted to surprise you at your house, but you weren’t there. Figured you’d be here instead.” He explained, and you grinned up at him.

“Was a short trip, hm?” You asked, walking with him through the market. He kept his hand loosely wrapped around your hip as you walked.

“I needed to go back to Mandalore for something.”

“What was it?” Curiosity overtook you, and he looked down at you.

“Not here, cyar’ika. Let’s go back to your house.”

You both made your way back to the warmth of your home, shucking off your three top layers so you were left in just a long sleeve and pants. You kicked off your boots before you made your way to the couch, sitting down as you waited for Din. He sat down next to you after checking to see Grogu was fast asleep in his pod.

“I went to Mandalore to ask the Armorer for something. Something I want you to have, something very significant and dear to me. But I want you to know this first,” He begins, leather-bound hands grabbing your own. “Cyar’ika, you’ve been nothing but a light in my life. I spend every day thinking of you and how much you mean to me and Grogu. You’re brilliant, kind, brave, beautiful, and so many more things that I couldn’t even begin to cover. You’ve made me fall in love with you the past near year that I’ve gotten the privilege to know you. You’ve got me, cyar’ika, and nothing would make me happier if you’d become my riduur, my wife, my partner for life.”

Tears are flowing out of your eyes now, and a happy sob escapes your throat. He untangles one of his hands from yours to take something out of a pocket he has, and he presents you a shiny necklace with Din and Grogu’s signet as the pendant. A Mudhorn.

Your free hand flies over your mouth as you cry, looking down at the beautiful necklace and back up to Din’s visor.

“Din.” You choke out a whisper, moving toward him to embrace him in a hug. He hugs you back tightly, resting his helmet against your forehead. You take both sides of his helmet and lean back, sniffling as you smile in pure adoration.

“I would love to join your clan, Din. Become your riduur. Be your wife. Partner for eternity. I love you.”

“Cyar’ika.” Din’s modulator barely caught onto his whisper. You two held each other like that for awhile, your sniffles finally dying down.

“You know, Mandalorians have an oath we follow our whole lives after we’ve been sworn into the creed,” Din starts, breaking the comfortable silence. He pulls back from you and brushes your hair out of your face. “Honor is life, for with no honor one may as well be dead. Loyalty is life, for without one's clan one has no purpose. Death is life, one should die as they have lived.”

“That’s beautiful, Din.” You whisper, hands moving back down to your lap. He takes off his gloves and grabs your hands into his once more.

“Mandalorians also don’t do wedding ceremonies. We just say a short vow together, and that’s it. Once we’re married, you get to see my face.” Your breath hitches in your throat, and your heart pounds rapidly.

You completely forgot about ever wanting to see him, let alone being allowed to see him. The thought of him showing his face to you made you both nervous. He was worried what you’d think, and you were happy you could finally put a face to the man you’re deeply in love with.

“So, we can just say the vows right now, and that’s it? We’re married?” He gives you a short nod, and you mirror his actions. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Let’s get married.” You smile at him, giving his hands a squeeze. He chuckles softly, wanting nothing more than to kiss you right in this very moment.

“Okay. We need to say them at the same time, so I’ll say them to you and then we’ll say them together,” He instructs, and you nod to signal you were ready.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde. Got it?” He asks gently, rubbing his thumbs over the top of your hands.

You nod with glossy eyes and a drumming heart.

“Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde.” You both say synchronously, and a tear falls from your cheek once more.

“We are one when together, we are one when parted, we will share all, we will raise warriors,” Din says, unclasping the necklace so he can put it around your neck. “My riduur. I’ll love you forever.”

“I love you, Din.”

“Are you ready to see me now?” His voice wavers a bit, and you can tell he’s nervous.

You’re his wife and you’re part of his clan now and he wants to spend the rest of his life loving you so tenderly and sweetly as you deserve, and yet, the nerves coursing through his body at the thought of revealing himself to you are in full force.

“Whenever you’re ready, riduur.” Your voice is sweet and patient. Even if he wasn’t ready to show his face to you now, you’d be completely okay with it. You fell in love with him for his loyalty, honesty, kind heart, and protective nature.

Even so, he removed both of his hands from yours before moving them up to his helmet, taking a deep breath before slowly lifting the heap of beskar up and over his head. He set his helmet down on the ground, eyes moving back to your face.

You were in complete awe with what you saw before you. He was simply the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen in your life. Tan skin, brown eyes you could easily get lost in, strong nose, pink lips, and some scruffy facial hair along his jaw with a mustache to match. His brown curls sat messily atop his head, and you just couldn’t stop staring.

Before he could speak out of nervousness, you moved both of your hands and held the sides of his face gently. He closed his eyes in pure bliss, never being touched by another like that in his life. His eyes slowly blinked back open to look at you, brow creasing as he waited for you to say something.

“Meshla,” You whispered, and he inhaled sharply. He had no idea where or how you learned a word of Mando’a, but hearing you speak the language of his people made his heart swell with absolute pride. “You’re so beautiful, Din.” You lightly trace the tips of your index finger over the curves of his face, resting your hand on his cheek once more.

You swept your thumb over his cheekbone, moving closer to him to press a kiss onto his forehead and his nose. You leaned your forehead against his and closed your eyes, rubbing your nose against his gently.

“I love you, my riduur.” He whispered, and you smiled as you leaned in a little more.

“I love you too, Din.” And finally, your lips connected. The kiss was soft and sweet, but passionate and full of promise and want and need.

Falling for and marrying the beautiful woman from the market in less than a year was not on Din’s agenda, for his fear of getting too intimate to someone overtook his whole being. But, stars, he was so glad he took that leap of faith.

And, maker above, was he ever so eternally grateful that the person he chose was you.

Someone who made him unafraid.

Someone who allowed him to get close.

tag list: @cool-iguana ; @party-hearses ; @amanitacowboy ; @angel-in-beskar ; @pamasaur

[pekejscatbed]

Leather Jackets and Painkillers | Jason Todd & Tim Drake

Info/Warnings:

Tim Drake-centric, Trans Tim Drake, Menstruation, Tim is on his period and in PAIN, Jason takes care of him, Good Sibling Jason Todd, Tim Drake is Red Robin. Jason Todd is Red Hood, Trans character written by trans author 

batman masterlist

------

Red Robin is in the middle of tying up a pair of thugs when a particularly bad cramp hits, twisting his insides like a blender and stabbing his gut with the viciousness of Damian with his katana; he grits his teeth, willing the pain to go away, and works his nimble fingers around the cord to finish off the knot.

With the criminals now taken care of, Red Robin taps the comm link in his ear, "O, I got two thugs tied up here."

"On it, Red. Alerting police now." Oracle responds after getting the location.

Red taps his ear once more, effectively shutting off their communication, then grapples to the top of a nearby building to wait for the police just in case the goons escape, or someone comes along to cut them free. While waiting, another cramp has Red clutching at his stomach and he has to sit down on the building's roof to stop himself from swaying on his feet and falling over the edge. He groans, cursing to himself as waves of pain wash over him, and his vision flutters before he realizes what's about to happen- fuck.

Suddenly, Red Robin falls to his side, vision black as excruciating pain grabs ahold of his consciousness and knocks him out.

------

Red Hood is out on patrol, surveying his territory for trouble and shooting (rubber) bullets at anyone who provides it, when he notices the collapsed figure a few buildings away, just on the outside of his territory; when he gets closer, he realizes who that figure is, red chest piece and black sleeves and leggings giving it away before Hood even sees the yellow bird head in the middle of the figures chest: Red Robin.

Muttering curses to himself, The Hood bends over and picks the other up, throwing the smaller male over his broad shoulder. With Red Robin hanging over his shoulder, Hood's arm around his thighs to keep him from slipping, Hood turns in the direction of his nearest safe house.

About halfway to his hideout, Red Hood smells the metallic odor of blood thanks to the absence of his helmet, only wearing his domino mask tonight, before he feels a wetness against his shoulder, and he curses once more. "If you got blood on my goddamn leather jacket..."

He grumbles to himself, moving faster now, obviously so he can clean his jacket sooner and definitely not because he's worried that his (brother) replacement is injured.

The pair arrive at the safe house without incident, and Hood is quick to lay Red Robin on the couch that Hood himself has laid injured on many times before. He begins to strip Red of his suit, of his crime fighting persona, starting with the mask, turning Red Robin back into Tim Drake. The cape comes off next, then the chest piece, and so on.

Tim is down to his underwear when Jason realizes the other has no injures- scratch that- no open wounds, because in this line of work? One is always injured in one way or another, Tim is no exception, but none of the youngers current injuries are bleeding, and that confuses Jason. He looks down at his jacket, which definitely has blood on the shoulder, and at his hands, that are sticky with crimson; he then goes through the difference pieces of Tim's uniform, searching for blood, when he comes across the wet spot at the crotch of his leggings- his hands pull away covered with blood, and of course he didn't see it, because Tim's leggings are black and so are his underwear, but that means-

Jason looks at Tim's chest, where identical crescent scars shape his chest, and he remembers the gender marker on Tim's file when Jason first found out he'd been replaced as Robin and went snooping, and how the F was crossed out with a M next to it, and-

Tim is on his fucking period.

------

Tim wakes up in a bed he doesn't recognize, in a room he doesn't recognize, and he's not in uniform even though he remembers that being the last thing he wore, instead dressed in an oversized pair of black sweatpants and a red hoodie that engulfs the whole upper half of his body, and he knows he's seen this hoodie before...

There's a nightstand to the right of the bed with a bottle of painkillers and a glass of water on the surface, as well as a bottled sports drink from Tim's go-to brand. In front of the nightstand are two plastic grocery bags from a corner store native to Gotham, one filled with a variety of Tim's favorite snacks and different brands of chocolate, the other filled with pads and tampons in a multitude of sizes-

Tim slips out of the bed and quietly opens the drawers of the nightstand, snooping around for anything to tell him where he is and who lives here. The first drawer contains medical equipment, bandages and gauze and hydrogen-peroxide, etcetera. The second drawer is half filled with shirts and half filled with pants, though under the clothes lies a pocketknife and picture of... Alfred and teenage Jason?!

Tim sighs, now knowing who brought him here and where he is, or where he thinks he must be: one of Jason's hideouts. Still, that doesn't mean he's safe, as Jason has hurt him before- what if this is all just a trick, a trap? Tim slowly opens the bedroom door and tip-toes his way out of the room and around the corner, where he sees a uniform free Jason hunched over on the couch, wearing grey sweatpants and a green t-shirt and scrubbing at what looks like a leather jacket.

Jason doesn't look up as he sighs, "You owe me a new jacket, pretender."

"And I owe you a new jacket because?" Tim raises an eyebrow as he walks fully into the room, stopping a few steps away from the couch.

"Because," Jason emphasizes the word as he looks at Tim, throwing the jacket at the other, "you got blood on it."

Tim looks at the stain on the jackets shoulder.

"You do know I found you passed out on a rooftop, yeah?" Tim doesn't answer, throwing the jacket back. "What happened?"

Tim scoffs. "I think you know, considering the bags you left by the bed."

"If you're in enough pain to pass out on a fucking roof, then you shouldn't be out there in the first place."

"Don't tell me what to do!" Tim oh so cleverly fires back as another rush of pain hits him full force, and he stumbles for a second before catching himself.

"You didn't take the painkillers." Jason rolls his eyes as he stands, letting his jacket fall to the couch, and he grabs Tim's arm, dragging him back to the bedroom. "Come on."

"Let me go, asshole!" He tries to fight back, but he's in too much pain, though he's brought some comfort when he's pushed to the bed and a blanket is thrown over him, and he stays quiet when Jason hands him two of the painkillers and the glass of water, taking them without protest. However, he does ask, "Why are you doing this?"

It's now Jason's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Why are you being nice to me? Don't you care that I'm..." Tim's voice trails off.

"I don't. It's none of my businesses." Jason shrugs, picking up the bag of pads and tampons from the floor and dropping them next to Tim on the bed. "You might wanna use these. I didn't... I didn't think you'd be comfortable with me going that far, so I just put you in my sweats. You can put on something else if you bled through. Bottom drawer."

Jason walks out of the room before giving Tim any time to respond, and Tim just stares for a minute, what the fuck on the tip of his tongue, before he takes Jason's advice and grabs the bag, making his way towards the bathroom.

[petalsscribbles]

6. night out

The sound of Heeseung's footsteps echos along the almost empty street. The orange light on the tip of his cigarette brightens as he takes in a drag of his cigarette safely proped between his rough, tattood fingers. It's an especially cold night, but somehow his body is satisfied with his ripped jeans and leather jacket over a thin grey hoodie.

It was supposed to be an uneventful walk home, but destiny had other plans. Not far ahead in front of him is an obviously wasted man and a girl accompanying him. Heeseung's fucked up eyesight doesn't allow him to recognize the stranger's face but the loud voice is unmistakable.

It's the guy that somehow has continously popped up in Heeseung's mind ever since they met.

Yn is unique. Heeseung has truly never met someone like him. You can never quite predict what he'll do or say and Heeseung's intrigued to say the least.

The boy in question falls flat on his face with a grunt of pain as his friend laughs her ass off. Heeseung decides to approach.

"That was quite a fall." Heeseung notes as he crouches next to Yn and turns him on his back. "Can you stand?"

"I can but I don't want to." Yn asnwers and grins.

"So you're gonna spend the night here?" Heeseung asks and pokes Yn's cheek. Yn frowns and rubs the sore spot.

"You can carry me." He suggests.

"You watch too many kdramas." Heeseung retorts and scoffs. Yn just shrugs.

"Are you really not getting up?" Heeseung asks.

"Nope."

"Fine. Get on my back." Heeseung turns around and Yn lazily climbs onto his back, resting his arms on Heeseung's broad shoulders. "I'll take it from here." He states as he turns to the girl. She just smiles and waves, seemingly a little drunk herself.

The whole way to Yn's room is filled with his unintelligeble mumbling. He even takes out his phone to type something out.

Heeseung is quite worn out by the time he finally arrives to the building, climbs a few flights of stairs and sets Yn on his bed. He helps him out of his clothes except underwear and gets him a new T-shirt.

It's funny. They've seen each other few times already, but Heeseung never quite noticed how attractive Yn actually is until he saw him sprawled out on flowery bed sheets under the dim flickering light of a cheap lamp.

Heeseung takes a second to truly appreciate his features as he leans in a little closer. He's just Heeseung's type.

Suddenly the two make eye contact. Yn visibly squirms under Heeseung's intense gaze. Heeseung doesn't move away however, instead he puts his right hand on Yn's cheek, thumb lightly grazing the warm skin in short strokes.

"How drunk are you?" He whispers.

"Not that much anymore. I think the pain sobered me up a little." Yn answers, voice weak.

"If I tried to kiss you right now, would you let me?" Heeseung adds. Yn nods slowly and the other doesn't hesitate.

He leans in, his lips moving slowly against Yn's while he slowly wraps his arms around Heeseung's neck. Heeseung's own hand slowly travels south until his fingers sneak their way under the hem of Yn's T-shirt.

Then all of a sudden Yn completely stops reciprocating. Heeseung pulls away, wondering what went wrong.

Yn passed out is what happened. Heeseung can't help but laugh in disbelief.

"Better luck next time."

a/n: KISS KISS FALL IN LOVE

taglist CLOSED

taglist: @nootnootpinguuu @kkurbys

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[aquato-family-circus]

I love imagining the Psychic 7's powers as like the absolute extremes of what you can do with psychic potential for good or bad. Like obviously the best example at the forefront of our minds is Maligula's country destroying floods but there's also the fact Ford's illusions protecting the Gulch are still very much working during his 20 year dissociative mind break or how it's implied Bob's heartbreak fueled psychic outburst terraformed basically all the gulch in one night.

Compton's animal talking powers being too broad and strong so it's hard to be precise... Cassie having such a masterful control over copies of herself even when they're detrimental to her living situation. Helmut's music was one of the few things we know brought Lucy out of her grief for just a moment, at least if we trust Helmut's mind vault theorizations, which I do, bc it's emotionally resonant.

then Otto. Otto i was gonna make a joke about since popular fanon dictates he's less powerful than the others but I feel like his ability to basically carry the Psychonauts' R&D Department on his back indicates a really good grasp on how to bring ideas to life that maybe he directs a lot of his mental energy toward, so his machines are his powers externalized in a sense.

idk exactly where im going with this except to gush abt how much i love the old people. so same as always

[thelocalconstellation]

okay okay okay. so we all like us a good danny damian twins au, yeah? I'm a sucker for duos who are twice as dangerous together than alone, either adapting to or being taught to cover each others weak spots.

Samurai typically carried three swords on them, if what I recall from 8th grade and what my 10 minutes of googling tells me is correct, a longer sword that was used for longer-range combat, a shorter sword used for close range combat, and then the third was a smaller sword, if it really counts as a sword, that would be used to honorably kick the bucket in case of failure. Anyways.

now this could work with three people, I dunno make it more interesting or whatever, but the primary two swords, a longsword and a shortsword, (technically there were five swords (???) , but I'm not going too deep into it right now) they were to be used in different scenarios, to cover different weaknesses. Do you see where I'm going with this? Now obviously they'd be trained to use both, but Damian uses a katana specifically, a longsword and one of the longer swords used by a samurai. I know they aren't samurai. Doesn't change the fact that the weaponry is at least similar in some regards. Damian learned to use a katana, the longsword of the pair primarily used, where Danny could have primarily used a shortsword. Damian, taught more longer range with the sword, meant to cover the broad majority, being more comfortable with everything and the older twin. Danny, younger by only a couple minutes raised with the shortsword, usually being less comfortable with the whole killing thing with the exception being when it comes to Damian. Whereas Damian would cover the broad majority, Danny more agile and ever sneakier would cover blind spots.

They both still learn to use the others weapon. They both still learn to have their own backs. But when they're nine or so, something goes wrong, an intentional test to both where Danny can't move fast enough, and to avoid the heir taking the hit, takes it himself. He doesn't quite get back to base soon enough to survive. Talia rolls him into the pit, and Danny is sent away, practically kicking and screaming. Gets picked up by the fentons, and learns to fight differently. He learns to shoot, he learns all kinds of ranged combat, and he is gifted a proper katana that can be used against ghosts for his 14th birthday, three days before he walks into the portal. He learns to fight in ways that the league hardly ever considered, so that when Damian finds him again, or the day that he can go back arrives, Damian will never be at risk from Ra's and neither will he. He never uses the katana.

Eventually, someway somehow, Danny finds Damian again, out in Gotham. I'm impartial to trying fenton parents, who don't quite know how to react, never poorly, but unsure regardless. Danny doesn't know how to deal with the tension in the house and follows Jazz to gotham, locking the portal finding ways around it on his own.

Whether it be a night that Robin is out on his own, or maybe seen with another bird, but not the bat himself, he is on his own, and he missteps. A wrong footing, an instinctual move that cannot be followed up without a partner to battle with, regardless, Danny is there in a moment, eyes as green as the day he rose from the pit, to fill in the blanks again. A moment, a word, a name exchanged (Pollux, to Castor. The Demigod who survived after his mortal brother died, an ironic tale for the two now.) and the scuffle lasts no more than a few moments after.

Damian thinks he'll keep this one to himself for a moment, ensure it's him, not another twisted clone, and learning about the time spent apart. A week later, Bruce is hearing of Robin's shadow coming to life, before Danny is brought into the fold. The first time there's an Arkham breakout is when the bats and the birds really understand why the simple slip ups on the training mats happened, why Damian seemed to much better and clumsier when fighting alongside somebody else.

They also learned how dangerous the two can really be.

[aquaquadrant]

Hello! I've been told to ask you this =D

What do you think about Jimmy as a minecraft player, what is he?

It's for a project =3

ooh a project, how fun :0

i should preface this by saying i’m not the BEST person to give this opinion, cuz despite how much i write jimmy, i uh… don’t actually watch his pov? i haven’t seen any of empires (except the hermit’s crossover in s2), i don’t watch his streams, and i don’t watch the one-off vids he posts on his channel. most of my knowledge of jimmy comes from his appearances in other pov’s life series episodes and how ppl portray him in fandom.

howEVER, that said, i’m curious how my interpretation would line up with other ppl’s. i view minecraft players as generally fitting into a few broad categories- tho there can def be overlap between them or a jack-of-all-trades situation. and this prob applies more to people who actually play minecraft professionally (ie. ‘play video games for a living’) than the casual player (such as myself hagshdha).

builders: have a creative eye and practiced skill in building to the point where they can, generally speaking, throw down a decent build on the fly (things that require a lot of planning/detail work often drafted in creative mode first). have good understanding of achieving a certain shape and color with their block placements. may or may not include terraforming ability. generally drawn to the game’s building aspect and spend a lot of time/care making things look good.

redstoners: have an adequate amount of base knowledge for how most redstone components work and interact with each other, tho they may occasionally still use tutorials or take inspiration from others (can only reinvent the wheel so many times). usually capable of making simple redstone machines/contraptions on the fly. generally drawn to the game by the possibility of farms and automation. some take it to extreme game-breaking lengths (doc).

competitors: have highly-trained skill in areas such as PVP, parkour, and/or any other multiplayer server type minigame. think hypixel and MCC. this isn’t to say they don’t have their own solo worlds for building or other projects, or don’t participate in smps, but their main draw to the game initially was competitive multiplayer and it features heavily on their channels. to me, speed-runners/challenge-seekers are a subcategory of this.

explorer: this type doesn’t actually show up often in popular mcyt bc it’s a largely solitary- and in some ppl’s opinion, boring- experience. but these are the players that spend hours in their solo worlds just traveling around, mining out massive caves, or doing any other kind of repetitive grindy work as a manner of relaxation. some ppl really enjoy this aspect of minecraft and it’s a major draw for them. special mention for kurtjmac, a mcyter who’s spent 13 years and counting just walking to the farlands in an old version of the game (tho he does other things on his channel as well).

and now for what category i think jimmy fits best in (which again, doesn’t mean he can’t build or do other things). i don’t have a good name for it rn so i’m just gonna call it ‘the sillies’ (affectionate).

sillies: above all else, they’re here to have fun. most, if not all, of their content is on multiplayer worlds (both public servers and private smps), and on these worlds they are extremely social, making a concentrated effort to interact with others even if not legitimately roleplaying. high amounts of pranks and hijinks abound, as well as ‘committing to the bit.’ lots of videos feature them doing some kind of funny little challenge, game, or mod with their friends. again, that doesn’t mean they can’t engage w the other aspects of the game or be skilled in those categories, but generally, it’s not their main objective and not how they spend most of their time.

that’s what i’ve got! obviously u could split all of these into many subcategories, and your average player is gonna be fairly well-balanced. but for our pro cubitos, i think this is a nice way to categorizing things (and it at least makes sense in my mind).

[fomulapookie]

soo i’m writing a marcmarc fanfiction and Im going to make it multi chapter, it’s going to explore a bit Bez’s internalised homophobia and his path towards the light (fucking with Marc)

and i’m going to upload it both here and on Ao3, if you like it i’d love for you to leave kudos, no pressure tho obv <3

I took a bit of inspiration by @anitalianfrie and some ideas from @yeastinfectionvale because the two of you are the most dangerous marcmarc psychosexual supporters I relate with

Below you can find the fic, if u enjoy reading on Tumblr more than on Ao3❤️

2024 pre-season

It was cold, but still, Marco was sitting outside the ranch, it was around 3 in the morning he supposed, thoughts clouded by the joint he was still finishing up.

He was trying to reflect on something that had been seriously affecting his life lately, or rather much someone.

Marc Marquez.

Since he had signed with Gresini the Spaniard just seemed to continuously pop up into his life, whether it was on track or not, like last week for example, he was out with a group of his friends and who did he meet at the club he went to? Marc Marquez, drinking with a guy he thought was a friend of the man, but the more he thought about it, the more he remembered strange details, like a hand lingering a bit too much or a few glances casted in a very lustful way.

He archived the memory as a made up one, a result of the not so little amount of alcohol he consumed that night.

Plus, Marc had a girlfriend, and even if he didn't, everyone on the grid was straight.

All the jokes, flirty ones even, were always platonic and between friends, he did that too with Pecco, and it wasn’t like he was…gay.

He had had a girlfriend until a few weeks prior, when she decided it would’ve been a good idea to cheat on him and dump him via text of all things.

The joint was coming to an end, and with it all his will to stay outside and freeze, looking for a warm blanket and a snack instead.

Memories grew along with his hunger, and the frames of his mind ran back to the night he saw Marquez at the club.

Shirt buttoned just halfway, a silver necklace adorning his neck and bouncing slightly every time he moved.

His smile, a painfully magnetic one, drawing people to him like moths to a flame, like his eyes, profound and deep.

But what Bez remembered the best were his shoulders.

Broad, muscled, tanned and glowing with sweat, moving up and down rhythmically when he laughed.

If he focused enough, he could remember peeking the outline of one of Marc’s scars from the hem of his shirt, and something similar to a hickey on the juncture between his neck and shoulder, sinfully on display.

Fuck, why did he remember those things? He was pretty sure that a blonde flirted with him that night, he was sure she was hot even, but he couldn’t remember a single detail from her, just from that small fucking bastard

As his mind stopped wandering Bez realized he was back into his room, an half finished protein bar in hand and an obviously painful bulge in his pants.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck how did that happen? was it the blonde? it couldn’t have been Marquez, could it?

The answer came when his dick twitched at the mention of Marc’s name.

cazzo

He was conflicted: should he let it go away on its own or act on it? because he knew the moment he would’ve touched himself thinking of his rival it would’ve been over for him.

Seeing him in the paddock, on insta or at one of the clubs would’ve meant remembering this.

No no no he hated Marquez, this was just the smoke speaking for him, he always got a bit horny after smoking, it wasn’t different from other times.

Except it was. It was so much different, this longing he felt for the older guy, the need he had to just lick his lips and bite down on those delicious looking shoulders, grabbing his neck and crushing their lips together.

Bez also remembered the cologne he was wearing; it smelled like woods and fresh, he didn’t know much about perfumes but that was surely a smell he wasn’t going to forget it easily.

“Maybe it’s not that bad. Just once, one time and then I’ll forget about him”

he thought while sliding into bed and slowly slipping his hand into his pants.

It was embarrassing how quickly he became vocal about it, softly of course because he didn’t want the other guys or worst, Vale, to hear him moan out Marc Marquez’s name and finding him like that.

He stroked his cock with growing speed, twisting his wrist when he came close to the tip, gritting his teeth and grabbing the sheets with his free hand.

“Marc-“ a suffocated plea leaving the boy's mouth, but remaining painfully present in his room, floating around as a curse.

The more he thought about the Spaniard the harder he got, he wanted more more more.

He wanted Marc, in all his stupid perfection, he wanted him to choke on his cock, or bouncing on it, he wanted Marc to be as desperate for him as Bez was for the man.

“Si si si” a trail of words left the boy’s mouth to get lost into the silent and cold night in Tavullia, alongside with Marco’s orgasm, which hit him hard and fast, ropes of white liquid staining his abdomen and part of the sheets.

He went to the bathroom to wash his hands and getting cleaned up, being extra careful not to wake anyone up.

He looked at himself in the mirror, cheeks red, puffy lips and glassy eyes, pupils still blown wide from the smoke and the excitement of the recent jerk off session.

He knows he will have to face what he just did, because what if it wasn’t just Marc? What if it was men in general? Could have he been bisexual? To be fair he was a bit scared to know, what if Vale or one of the guys found it disgusting? what if his family did?

Could’ve he kept that secret for long?

He doesn’t think so, honestly he’s scared of loosing both families at once for something like that.

No no, he ultimately decided.

If he understands he likes guys he’s going to keep it for himself.

It’s going to be better for everyone that way

[allykatsart]

It's other anon and yes yes yes, please more about Peccantum and his life! I know authors often don't think their OCs are interesting for audience, but I'm pretty sure there's plenty of people here, who'd like to know more abt him;

Also I'm bad at coming with specific questions, since I'm interested in literally any info lol, may be more about his day-to-day life in the Hotel, if that's not too broad? Like, what he does while working, like, his duties etc, do he sometimes leave Hotel to go to the city for smth, where he spends most of his free time when alone (except for working on paranoid theories abt Alastor) and when with others (except science fun with Pentious), how his room looks, may be what group activities (like those trust exercises was in ep 3) likes/dislikes? (i think this is already too much lol, srry in advance, ofc any amount of ifo would be cool ^^" )

(also, want to add that I really like his design - he's cute, but also obviously a serious and kinda tragic character even if only judge by appearance)

Who is Peccantum?

💜❤️❤️💜❤️❤️❤️💜❤️💜❤️❤️❤️ thank youuuuuuuuu!!!!! I love my boi dearly and I'm happy to answer questions about him!

Tbh I am a little hesitant to post stuff on him. It feels incredibly self indulgent and I always worry I'll not be respectful to the canon characters. I've been really surprised at the reaction to him though! Usually you only get like 10 likes max when posting OC stuff. Thanks for all the love tho! 💜

There's a lot here so I'ma take it point by point below!

Peccantum's Duties

Peccantum is the bellhop, but it's more of a title than anything. Mostly he helps out with whatever is asked of him. He helps out Nifty with cleaning when she can't reach spots. He makes sure Fat Nuggets gets fed when Angel is in the studio for hours on end. He cleans up the bar for Husk when the former overlord is uh.... Not functioning and unable to.

Peccantum has also taken it upon himself to do most of the grocery shopping. The hotel crew takes turns cooking, but Peccantum really enjoys when it is his turn. Cooking is one of the few skills outside of magic that he's proud of!

Other than that, he's basically another set of hands to help wherever needed!

Peccantum's Room

For his hard work, and because his shitty, piss stained apartment is on the other side of the Pentagram, Peccantum has a room in the hotel! Technically this makes him a guest, but he always claims that he just works for Alastor, and Alastor wants him on call.

His room in the hotel is nice. Better than the crap studio apartment that he was barely able to afford. Yes, there's bugs, but after a few months Peccantum has his room looking nice. He even starts collecting bits of furniture that others have discarded, and personalizes it with enchantments. Slowly, the space starts to feel like it's 'his'.

The ceiling looks like outer space, a foggy mist of an incantation dotted with white stars and galaxies. Constalations shift and weave themselves in and out of existence. Golden suns burn bright until they turn red and swallow planets whole. When he has trouble sleeping, Peccantum will spend hours getting lost in that night sky...

One wall is covered in a red, plush curtain. Specifically, it's his 'Stalker wall' and Peccantum tries to hide it, just in case a certain Radio Demon comes into his room. When he's very stressed, Peccantum will fling the curtains wide open and start obsessively reorganizing his 'evidence'.

The City

Peccantum goes to the city for three things. To get groceries, to run an errand, or go visit his old neighborhood. Not any old friends, the closest thing he had to a friend was the cafe owner he stole a recipe from, but the area does remind him of when he first allowed himself to be free. It's where he had the first taste of independence. It's nice to revisit when things are getting a bit too much.

Grocery shopping is always an interesting experience. Sure, on a month to month basis, Peccantum can be sure to go to the market at least once, but Alastor will sneak some uh... Suggestions onto the list that Peccantum has to go out of his way for. There have definitely been a visit or two to Rosie's to pick up an order for the Radio Demon.

The Activities

Peccantum doesn't like to participate in the hotel's trust exercises. He's technically only working there for Alastor, so there's no need for him to participate, right? Not wanting to hurt Charlie's feelings, he ducks out before they begin most of the time. (If Charlie catches him and asks him to stay, though, he has no choice in the matter. Polite requests from her are a weakness of his.)

That's not to say he doesn't bond with the other residents though, he just does it in his own way. With Pentious he's quick to befriend with curiosity and genuine interest. With Husk, he slowly forms a co-worker type of relationship. Angel gets a bit more suspicion, but after episode 4 Peccantum would be willing to be a bit more open with the spider. Nifty gets herself into a lot of trouble, and Peccantum and the others keep having to get her out of it.

It's slow going, but the hotel crew slowly learns to trust Peccantum.

Free Time

Peccantum really isn't used to having free time. He worked his ass off to survive for those seven years, doing what he had to do. But now that his safety is secure and he's got time on his hands... He's kind of lost. Alastor hasn't told him what to do in that time so... He's unsure.

Peccantum finds things though. He practices magic, he makes things with Pentious, he reads. After a month or two, he ends up taking an interest in an old radio he finds, and listens to the Radio Demon's broadcasts. For evidence, of course! (Partially because he actually enjoys the music lol)

And sometimes... He uses that free time to further his own goals.

[batneko]

It's been almost a year since I wrote up this Role Swap AU, and we've had a couple significant character reveals since then so I think it's time to add to it.

Melinda takes the Yuri role, obviously. She's overly devoted and clingy with her sweet baby boy Damian (who is thirty years old), and though she likes the idea of him getting married in theory, no woman is ever going to be good enough for her tiny little baby (who is 6'2"). And unfortunately even with a cover identity as smooth as Anya's, she is a widow with a young son and from a lower social class than the Desmonds. She never stood a chance.

Publicly Melinda is "retired" from the social scene, but she maintains a broad range of contacts and is still popular enough that she could show up at any event and be welcomed. She is also not retired from anything in fact, and still works for the SSS in an administrative role.

Loid eventually manages to get her to warm up to him, as a nice young man if not as a grandson. Anya continues to never stand a chance, but at least Melinda is too classy to try and ruin her social life.

When Damian takes in the Briar siblings, they allow Melinda to think it was his own idea instead of a family agreement, which makes her more accepting. This isn't more "fake" grandchildren, this is her son being the generous caring man she knows he is!

She takes to Yor the fastest since she never had a little girl to raise before! (Yor is 14.) It helps that Yor isn't weirdly intelligent for her age like her sons and Loid and even Yuri are. She's a normal teenager surrounded by geniuses, which brings out Melinda's protective side. (Yor is still the LAST character in need of protection in the entire series.)

Though Melinda's security clearance is high enough that she knows Garden exists, she has no idea her own son is part of it, and she would be furious if she found out.

Demetrius is, and stay with me on this one, replacing the Authens. He's a former scholar whose declining mental health (PTSD) means he can't work anymore, and ends up moving in next door to the Forgers (Melinda arranged it) and helping Loid with his studies (Loid works better with someone who is blunt and straightforward).

For the last few years Demetrius was living in the Desmond family's old country house, but his condition has improved enough that he can handle other people, albeit in small doses. During the war Demetrius worked in weapons, especially bombs, and his triggers now are mostly to do with the sky and wide spaces. So the city is better for him, even though he rarely leaves his apartment except for doctor's appointments.

The public believes that Demetrius took to the countryside to write a dissertation, and since he was never very social to begin with people eventually forgot about him. His name only comes up when people are lamenting how disappointing the Desmond sons turned out to be. A reclusive bookworm and a middle manager.

Damian was never close to him either, though he did dutifully visit him twice a year while he was "convalescing." They usually didn't speak at all during these visits. Demetrius is more communicative now but he doesn't have anything to say most of the time. Damian feels awkward around him until they get to the topic of Loid's schooling and both agree, firmly, that children should be allowed to be children.

Interestingly, Demetrius's paranoia means that he correctly deduces that both Anya and Loid are a lot smarter and more calculating than they're letting on, but because he knows he's paranoid he dismisses his own observations most of the time.

Eventually he will be the second person that Loid tells about his powers.

[xxkylarthelonerxx]

What do you think when your darling goes missing for days at a time?

i mean, obviously: i get worried. terrified. this town is really bad. everyone here is bad, except for my darling...

i always get worried they'll get kidnapped by someone. that's my biggest fear. students leave school and never come back with too high of a frequency. i don't just bring a knife to school just to look cool, it's for self-protection.

it usually happens in the woods, i think? my parents go in there, and they're fine, but... they're different. i personally never go past the garden. i had a bad experience out there once, so i don't trust it. some of the normies from school go out to the lake to swim, but they're idiots. i know what's out there.

the whole town is unsafe, though. the woods just a little more so than the rest. i've seen people dragging unconscious bodies off the streets and into their vans in broad daylight. i've seen people get dragged underwater in the sea and not come back up. and i've seen hitchhikers willingly give themselves over to strangers just for a chance to get out of this town. not that i care about any of them, they probably deserved it. i only mean that it makes me worried for my love.

and it's hard because my darling loves exploring! it's so cute when they go off on their little adventures. i try to follow them and save them from afar when i can, while still leaving them a sense of freedom. <3 ...it's just that sometimes i can't be around to shadow them and they get lost or forget to come back for a few days... and that's when i start to worry. but it's turned out okay every time that's happened so far!

... but someday, once i stop having all of these obligations, i'll be able to always be with them and keep them safe. and then them going missing will stop being an issue for me!

[operationmorewhitecollar]

Shall we play a game?

Nope, not chess or Parchisi. And not even global thermonuclear war. (If you get that reference, you might just be as old as we are!) But no, none of those games are where we're headed. This year, we're hosting a good old-fashioned game of bingo!

That's right, since we're almost two weeks into the new year, we thought it might be time to roll out our new creative challenge, which will continue throughout 2024.

As always, we're in the market for any and all fan creations centered on White Collar, and this year, we're providing prompts in the form of mini bingo cards, with new prompt cards coming out quarterly. (Jan, April, July, October) If you want to play, just let us know (comment here, dm, however you want to get in touch), and we'll get you a card so you can get started!

Some details:

When we say "any and all fan creations," we mean it--let your creativity run wild and make whatever you want to make! Draw, write, paint, record a podcast, shoot a video, whatever your creative preference.

We're using a 4x4 card format, and there is a FREE space, so that means a total of 15 prompts for three months. Complete a line of prompts, get a bingo; complete the whole card during the quarter, and that, dear friends, is a blackout!

Much like our drabble prompts, the bingo prompts are pretty broad, and many (maybe most?) are only one word. They run the gamut from theme words to genre to story length and beyond. (Not to worry if you're making art or some other non-written creations; we've got provisions for swapping prompts.)

Prompts were randomized to create the cards, and the card numbers were randomized to create the distribution order, so the prompts you end up with are strictly luck.

Okay, that's probably the most important stuff to know, except, of course, that we hope lots of you will join in and that everyone has tons of fun creating new White Collar stuff, because we're sure going to have fun seeing whatever you make!

So whenever you're ready, shall we play a game?

(We'll put a few more detailed FAQ items below the cut, but if you've got questions we didn't think of, just let us know and we'll make up an answer.😉)

Q: What can my entries be? A: Any type of creation you choose. fic, art, blog post, essay, cross-stitch, we're not picky. Interpret the prompts any way you like, in any genre, any relationship, any rating, any characters, you get the idea. (Unless, of course, the prompt is more specific.) As long as it's White Collar, it's fair game.

Q: Where do we share our work/how will you know we made something or got a bingo? A: First, put your creations somewhere we can see them! There'll be a collection on AO3 where most types of work can be shared. (We're debating if it's better to have just one collection for the year or one for each quarter; if you've got any opinions on that, feel free to weigh in.) If you're sharing here or on other socials, be sure to @ us, and use #WhiteCollarBingo. But, while we'll be doing our best to keep up, we're hoping there will be so many entries we'll lose track, so definitely tell us if you completed a bingo!

Q: Can I make one story/picture/video/etc. for the whole card? A: You may use as many prompts as you like in each entry, but only 2 prompts per line may be counted toward a bingo. (So you will need at least two entries to achieve a single bingo, and though we may have miscounted, we think that means at least ten entries to make a blackout.)

Q: Are crossovers allowed? A: Yes (and may even be a prompt!), but White Collar should obviously be prevalent in your work.

Q: How long do I have to complete my entries? A: We'll be issuing new cards each quarter (Jan-March, April-June, July-Sept, Oct-December), and in a perfect world, we'd like to receive entries within that quarter. But you know we've never been sticklers for schedules, and the point is to encourage more White Collar creations, so we'll be glad to get them whenever you finish.

Q: What do I win when I bingo? A: Bragging rights, and your name on our (soon to be created) bingo accomplishments page.

Q: What if there are some prompts I really don't want to use, but I want to try for blackout? A: We will provide a max of two alternate prompts. (This max does not apply if you're making non-written creations and somehow ended up with a card full of writing-centric prompts.)

Q: What if I just can't work with the card I receive at all? A: We'll exchange your card one time. Part of the fun is stretching our creative muscles.

Q: If I exchange my card, will any previous entries count toward bingo on my new card? A: Nope. It's a fresh slate, so examine your card when you get it to decide if it works for you.

Q: If I complete my card, can I have another? A: Yep, and we'd be very impressed! (and happy!)

Q: Where did these prompts come from? A: Many suggestions from our followers, and we've been hunting and gathering, too. But we want to have lots of variety as the year rolls along, so please keep those suggestions rolling in.

Q: Can something I made for another challenge count toward a bingo prompt/Can I submit my work to more than one collection or challenge? A: As long as it's new work, and if the other challenge doesn't ask for exclusivity, bring it on! And frankly, we'd love to see more White Collar activity in multi-fandom spaces. Also, we'll surely be hosting other events throughout the year (at least Mozzie Mania and Caffrey-Burke Day), and you can certainly use a bingo prompt for any of those challenges as well.

[polyhexian]

*holds up a weird plotbunny* So this one's kinda different. It's not quite Agony and not really eventually and is kinda mostly inspired by that second-to-last shot of the Jabberwocky animatic.

Jasper dies.

It goes down exactly like it does in Jabberwocky. The moments after happen the same way we saw them in the Collector's memory in Agony. At first glance, there's no difference.

There's a lot of aspects about magic that TOH never fleshed out. I don't even think that's because of the whole cancellation debacle, I think it just wasn't important to the story. Aside from the basics, the details about how magic works are delightfully vague and give a lot of leeway to play around with--even if it's annoying that some fields of magic were barely touched on at all.

We don't really know much about oracle magic in general, but ghosts and spirits exist. Hooty coughed up a bunch that one time. We don't really know how they occur, but if our own ghost lore has anything to do with it…

Jasper died desperate to protect his child. If you want to go the unfinished business route, Hunter is still in Belos's clutches. Jasper's final moments were intensely emotional and unjust and pretty much perfect to cause a haunting.

Except he doesn't haunt a physical place.

Hunter's nannies remark on how unusual it is for a baby to sleep through the whole night. He'll wake up when he's hungry or needs a diaper change, but never for no reason. Belos has never had an infant Grimwalker before so he chalks it up to the lack of humanity and spins some words about the Titan's small blessings, blah blah blah.

Hunter rarely has bad dreams as a child. Sometimes one will try to take hold after a bad day, but it's always pushed aside, and it almost feels like someone he can't see takes his shoulders from behind and gently steers him away to kinder thoughts. (When he was very young, it was a much larger hand holding his own, and shaggy blonde hair and bright magenta eyes like his and a gentle smile as he was led to nicer thoughts. But that stopped before he could remember it.)

As Hunter grows older and his responsibilities and expectations pile up, it gets harder to find kinder thoughts to steer to. But the nightmares are still held at bay. The nights after a punishment when he's cried himself to sleep, he dreams of strong arms holding him against a broad chest, his head tucked under someone's chin, and he doesn't know why but he feels safe.

Jasper is…idk, how does one cope with being dead and accidentally haunting your son's mindscape? It wasn't PURPOSEFUL that's for sure. There's so much that can go wrong here. But for the first few years it's like, Hunter's a BABY, he's a TODDLER, at the very least Jasper can be there for him for now! Crap he's learning how to talk, better back off, wouldn't do for Hunter to start telling people about having an imaginary friend. Except double crap, Hunter's life is shit, there's no way Jasper won't help him, he'll just have to make sure he manifests in Hunter's dreams mostly as a sensation and faceless if he has a form at all.

Obviously this can't go on forever cuz that'd be unfulfilling for the plot but idk what would actually trigger them meeting, so to speak. Hunter passes out on his mountain trial or gets knocked out during training/a mission and Jasper is desperate to get him to wake up again? Hunter innocently hyperfixates on oracle magic and mindscapes for a month, realizes from his readings that his dreams are actually really unusual, and purposefully dives into his subconscious to confront Jasper himself? Darius is a jerk to Hunter and Jasper is so angry about it that he accidentally fully manifests in Hunter's dreams while he's angrily pacing around the mindscape that night and when he realizes Hunter is staring at him he just kinda freezes awkwardly like, shit?

Also not sure how to navigate the reveal… I feel like they have to come to some kind of terms or agreement with each other. Like, the end goal here is that Hunter 1) Understands that yes, he's been haunted his whole life, and 2) Understands that he cannot tell anyone about it.

It's not even for Jasper's sake, though Hunter might think it's for Jasper's sake. I imagine one of Jasper's biggest fears is some oracle witch realizing that Hunter has a ghost in his brain and telling Belos. Thank Titan Osran doesn't pay much attention to the kid. Jasper doesn't really want to haunt his kid, but he REALLY doesn't want to deal with the fallout of an exorcism. If Belos learned that Jasper has been haunting Hunter this whole time, he'd kill Hunter immediately, just as a precaution.

I also imagine Jasper wouldn't come clean about everything for a very long time. Belos will let Hunter live so long as he's loyal. Jasper would love to get Hunter away from Belos, but he's dead. So Hunter has to stay loyal until there's a viable escape route. Jasper isn't going to spill everything about how Hunter's a Grimwalker and Belos is evil and Hunter needs to run away, it won't help and it'll add to the poor kid's stress and he'll have to pretend he didn't know these things and then he'll slip up and Belos will kill him. All Jasper can really do is offer emotional support and advice.

But this is Hunter we're talking about so like. A little emotional support and advice goes a LONG way. Hunter becomes extremely attached to his live-in brain ghost, who may or may not be his family. Look at this, an AU where Hunter actually wants to maintain his sleep schedule because it gives him access to the one person who gives him positive attention, even if that person is incorporeal, and also dead. He infodumps about whatever he's reading about lately, or he rambles about some issue he's having while Jasper helps him think through the problem solving, and he really appreciates all the tips Jasper gives him about fighting and using the artificial staff. (Maybe in this AU Jasper actually teaches Hunter how to teleport, not Lilith.)

Hunter would dive into oracle magic over this, too. Just a personal side project, y'know, no big deal. Idk how much oracle magic a magicless witch could use, Luz at least seemed to be able to use that one crystal ball a bit. But at the very least Hunter could probably establish a better link to his mindscape, allowing him to choose to talk to Jasper even when he's awake.

And that's all the general ideas I have for this, I don't have very many specific ones, but here:

Belos starts in on the child abuse, and Jasper realizes that Belos didn't hurt him because Jasper was imperfect, Belos hurt him because Belos hurts people, and Belos was always going to hurt Hunter.

Would Darius's relationship with Hunter continue as it did in canon, or would Jasper decide "screw this" and tell Hunter exactly what to say to Darius to make Darius realize "holy shit is this Jasper's kid and am I shooting myself in the foot here??"

Hunter really does like Jasper but as the years go by Jasper slowly starts insinuating that he doesn't like Belos and by canon he might even be trying to get Hunter to question Belos because he's getting desperate and it causes a bit of tension.

Luz and the gang trying to talk or argue or fight with Hunter and he grunts and glares at her but his standoffishness is also covering for the fact that his attention is split by Jasper going SHE KINDA HAS A POINT, MAYBE YOU SHOULD LISTEN TO HER, ASK IF YOU CAN CRASH ON THEIR COUCH.

Flapjack chooses Hunter and is also fully aware that Jasper is present and both of them are like "what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck"

Hunter and Jasper being absolute dumbasses who reinforce each other's dumbassery over very stupid things. Hunter goes undercover at Hexside like "I bet teenagers like authority and rules!" And Jasper has never been a teenager and is too dead to read parenting books but he did know some scouts who joined the coven as teenagers so he's like "Sounds right to me!"

As Hunter's friendship develops with Willow, Jasper watches all the trees in Hunter's mindscape slowly morph into willow trees.

Hollow Mind happens and through the handwavey powers of mindscape magic Jasper also manages to be there somehow. Caleb Wittebane's Hallucination Ghost is also lurking in Belos's mindscape and the two of them just stare at each other for a minute. Belos sees Jasper but figures he's just some weird manifestation of his guilt for killing his brother's clones, even when Jasper punches him in the face while the kids escape.

Hunter having his melt-down post-Hollow Mind and freaking out because YOU KNEW??? And Jasper tries to apologize and tries to calm him down but Hunter is so upset that he just shuts down that mental connection and refuses to sleep for 24 hours until he passes out at Hexside. He expects Jasper to show up and yell at him or try to explain or something, but instead his dreams that night are like the ones he had as a kid--strong arms and supportive silence and apologetic love.

Belos tries to possess Hunter in TTT and Jasper is just like SURPRISE BITCH. It doesn't go well for Belos, but it goes much better for Flapjack.

Idk what the endgame would be here, exactly, but I feel like Jasper can't haunt Hunter forever. It's not fair to either of them, Hunter needs privacy in his own mind and Jasper needs to pass on peacefully. But if you go the unfinished business route, well, Hunter is safe after Belos is dead, and he has real living friends and a support network now, so Jasper COULD move on finally. A bittersweet ending.

Hdjsjdnnf Ghost Dad (1990)

Maybe he tells him oh, he's the memory of the last Golden guard here to help train him, yeah, sure, that's most of the truth!

I do also kind of like the idea of him manifesting as like a Ghost-Ghost sometimes because. I want him to meet Papa Titan. I want him to Learn All The Lore. Also to go play cards with kings dad when Hunter is hyperfixating on like algebra or something that jasper finds boring and a little frightening

GOD tho... Ghost jasper running into ghost Caleb in Belos' mindscape.and they stare at each other in silence. I'm imagining Jaspers lips parting with this look of shock and apprehension like he wants to say something, but then he hears Hunter cry out in the distance as he gets schlorped up by the ground and his eyes linger for just a moment before he turns and runs in his direction... And you just see Caleb's head turn silently to follow him, then his expression shift ever so slightly toward pity before the camera cuts back to the action

And the DRAMA of brain ghost j-

Oh my god. Brain ghost jasper. Oh my god

The DRAMA of brain ghost jasper jumping from the darkness in front of Luz and hunter between them and Belos and hunter being like :0 when Belos recognizes jasper and is fucking PISSED to see him.

I don't even know how this would fit in but I have this image in my head of Darius sneering at little Hunter and saying like your predecessor would be ashamed of you and jasper is so fucking filled with vicious anger and passion that he just sort of snaps forward and accidentally possesses the little guy. Tiny little like ten years old hunter staring up at Darius with an older man's eyes and-- I don't even know what if have him say but it would be something sharp and so unsettling it fully throws Darius the fuck off his game like hang on what the hell. And jasper is immediately like oh fuck oh shit [poof] leaving hunter like what. The hell was that. Why did I just say that

Oh my god possession arc brain ghost jasper..... R/possessthemback

[moyokeansimblr]

Some ramblies ⬇️ who the hell let me play this game

Ya know I've had some interesting thoughts the last few days 🤔 I think I might be starting to fall out of love with 4t2. Which is a problem because that's like 99% of my downloads folder... But I'm not totally sure if I really like my game 😅😅

But I'm not making any rash decisions...like, oh, idunno deleting everything (except for poppet v2 hairs I am still happy with that decision (aside from the times when I occasionally wanna go afterglow)) but like a lot of the 4t2 clothes and build/buy I'm loving less atm. On the one hand if I do really want to change things up I think outright starting fresh is the move, I can't miss what I don't know I don't have right? But not everything I have would have to go, there's a speckle of 3t2 and less obviously 4t2 pieces I could hang on to. But it'd be a great excuse to go through my build/buy CC which I've not done in years since it's not as easy as CAS stuff because I can't just delete things inside bodyshop.

I kind of started feeling this while I was default replacing all the clothes tbh, there were a lot of clothes where I actually liked some of the super old options the database had but I passed and opted for the 4t2 option even if I liked it a little less because the other option would look out of place. I let a few things slide through (like Mitch Indie's outfit here). Also I knew it was a thing but I recently stumbled across the repository project which again, is all things I've not let myself download because it wouldn't match 4t2. But I kind of want some of it 🤔 Also like I don't even know what other CC exists these days because the echo chamber of tumblrland shows me pretty much exclusively 4t2 stuff because that's what I've used the last few years as well as that's what's "in" right now. And as I said like not everything 4t2 would have to go, "4t2" in itself is actually quite broad and idk about you but I know what I mean when I say it.

But the greater question is DO I EVEN WANT to makeover the 60+ sims in my Strangetown and now oh my god I just made over all the Veronaville sims last weekenddddd 😫 Help I'm stuck in an aesthetic box and I can't get out.

[mareenavee]

⭐️ mages and literacy

Director's Cut -- Mages and Literacy in The World on our Shoulders

FRICKEN FANTASTIC. Thank you so much for asking about this specifically.

Actually, on a side note, my mom and I were talking about how strangely well read the people of Tamriel are considering the setting. I really love it even though it's relatively odd. We only ever meet a few authors in game, and never anyone who transcribes professionally. Certainly no printing presses. Maybe there are and we just don't know it.

On a more serious note, since literacy seems very common in the setting, generally speaking -- obviously like everywhere there will be exceptions to the rules, I'd like to talk just a bit about arcane text specifically. I'd mentioned before that becoming a mage, or at least becoming more skilled at the use of magic requires time, effort and study. Some people are naturally more inclined to do so, and some are not. There could be a myriad reasons, culturally or biologically or what have you.

I have a scene in chapter 2 where Hadvar gives a spell tome to Nyenna that he'd taken out of the keep in Helgen. The scene starts after she quickly understands and memorizes the words for the flames spell:

“How curious… I had no idea this could be so simple,” she said. “My mother never saw sense in trying to teach me. My purpose was to unite houses, and that’s it. At least according to her. It was a miracle I learned even the tiniest alchemic recipes in all the time I’d had to observe her work.” Hadvar looked at her, again with his eyebrows knit, making his broad face seem even wider than it was. She returned the confused stare. “Wait, is it not simple?”

“Magic definitely isn’t simple, no, I can assure you. I can’t make any sense of those scribblings no matter how many hours I stare at them. I know they’re written in Common but they start to swim around on the page like they’re not meant for eyes like mine,” Hadvar said, reading over her shoulder.

We're not exactly sure what language magic is written in, or if it exists in all languages, or is something else entirely. We're not sure if it's a manifestation of the blessings of Magnus or Julianos on Nirn, even. In my hc, sometimes the text is very difficult to read. Some people can't read it at all, though it's possible they could learn the spells if the words were ever spoken to them. Some people, especially considering the social attitude toward magic in Skyrim in this case, accept that arcane texts are more trouble than they're worth -- as Hadvar might in this scene. Or maybe there's more to it that we can't know.

I like to think the arcane texts are themselves magic of a sort, that spells and the intentions behind them are found in the shape of this language -- even if it's actually written in Tamrielic/Common. It's possible, for some, it's simply not something they're willing to put the effort in to comprehend.

Even if many people in Skyrim/Tamriel own and read many more books than would normally seem possible in such settings, arcane texts are probably on a different level. I would imagine that's probably why there's not very many spell tomes sitting around on peoples' bookshelves in their houses or anything like that. Usually one must go to where the mages are to borrow their copies.

There's probably a lot more we can extrapolate on this question, but there's surprisingly little lore about the mechanics of why spell tomes work. (Or really, why they get destroyed in game when you're done with them.) In the end, I think there's a lot of factors that influence why someone might become a mage, and perhaps a lot more as to why someone else might not, and some of that reason could be the difficulty of the craft and the amount of study and work that probably has to go into it under most circumstances. Less literacy, and more cultural and aptitude based.

(I like to think it's like any art in real life. Some people have natural affinities to do creative work, some don't. Anyone who wants to improve their skill in said art will need to put in the work, no matter how easily or not it comes to each specific artist.)

Thanks! This was fun to mull over :D