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gaiuswrites · 3 years

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Thread the Needle | Yoga!Din

Pairing: Modern!Din x Yoga Instructor!Reader

Rating: Explicit (minors, goodbye)

Word count: 3.5k~

Warnings/tags: Yoga!Din (yes, he gets his own warning), hurt/comfort, language, smut, good ol' fashioned cunnilingus, piv

Notes: ✨ HI FRIENDS ✨ Yoga!Din rides again. This idea has been stewing (pun intended, you'll get it later) in my dumb brain for a while now and I've finally decided to write it. Technically, this takes place a little farther into the future (perhaps when the pair is more of an item, and less of a fuckbuddy fling, but thorough plot? We don’t know her). Anyways, enjoy! Cheers x

He doesn’t mean to be dramatic, but it’s the most agonizing sixty minutes of his goddamn life.

He’s seated on his mat, legs folded into a fucking pretzel—lotus pose, a calm voice inside his head corrects—and he’s steaming.

She isn’t here.

He is—Din, for all his faults, showed the fuck up to class but she didn’t, and in her place there’s some smelly old bat, this woman’s wrinkly ass – sits bones – plunked down at the front of the studio— occupying her spot, where she should be.

His eyes stalk the movements of this other woman as she putters around the studio—the godawful stench of something earthy wafting behind her— and it looks wrong. It feels wrong; like a violation somehow—of the space.

Of their space.

“The light in me recognizes the light in you,” they all utter in unison like a fucking hippie cult, and he books it out of there, swiping his mat up with an aggressive slap and rolling it under his arm.

“Hey,” he calls out, pacing towards the front desk. The receptionist— Riley? Kylie? Din can never remember—glances up from her phone, bright eyed.

Poor thing.

“Who the fuck is that?” He jabs his thumb over his shoulder towards the studio, the gaggle of ladies trickling out of it already gossiping and clucking away. Din doesn’t mean to sound accusatory; he doesn’t mean to be this intense. It’s not this girl’s fault, he knows that— but she’s in proximity and she’s shit out of luck.

“M’sorry?” she sputters, blinking up at him.

Breathe, that same voice coos—he can feel the tickle of it behind his ear.

“Our usual Wednesday instructor,” Din begins again, clipped. “Where is she?”

“Oh," she shrugs, "she called in sick.”

With a furrowed brow he pitches forward, craning over the desk. “Is she okay?”

The girl— Miley? —all but flinches back from him, a quizzical expression wormed onto her. “Uhm, yeah she has the flu—nasty one, too, but she’ll probably be back by ne-"

Din doesn’t linger long enough for her to finish. He’s wheeled around, striding from the building, the tinny chime of the bell ringing out as the door creaks closed behind him. The women exchange waggling glances in his wake, tittering in mouthwatering delight—more juicy fodder for their post-yoga soiree.

///

He doesn’t remember driving there. He made a quick stop to the grocery store— their grocery store, now— to pick up what he needed and before he knows it, he’s at her front door, bringing his fist down upon it in hard raps.

He hears movement—can sense it there, can practically imagine it: her lithe body tip toeing over— no, she’s got the flu, maybe it’s more of a shuffle—and peeking through the peephole. There’s a weighty pause and then—

The slow, dubious clicks of unbolting locks, the turning of a handle, the yawn of the wood as it opens.

Her voice is made small with disbelief and exhaustion. “Din?”

“Can I come in?”

She cracks the door ajar, standing in the frame of it now, a thick blue comforter slung over an arm, and she can’t quite mask the stupefied look etched onto her face.

He’s never done this. She’s never done this. He’s been to her place twice—three times, if he counts them fucking in the car in her driveway—and he’s certainly never showed up unannounced.

“Uhm, I-”

“Great.”

Din pushes past her, plastic bag swinging heavy at his side.

“W-What?”

She’s left gaping, mouth and eyes opened incredulously, ogling the way he struts through her entryway, before finally having the wherewithal to close the door. “Hey, what are you-”

“You need to keep your fluids up,” he says roughly—as if it’s obvious—making a beeline towards the kitchen.

She follows after him, bunching the throw snuggly around her shoulders. “Din,” she utters feebly, “I really don’t think you should be here right now.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Please, I don’t wanna get you sick."

He thunks the bag onto the granite countertop, producing two cans.

She doesn’t know why she bothers, it’s not like he’s listening to her anyways. If she’s learned anything about Din Djarin, it’s that he’s nothing if not stubborn—impossibly immovable. He’s tossed his jacket off, slinging it over the island, a determined glint in his eye as he prowls around the kitchen, opening cupboards at random.

“Seriously, I don’t want you catching this. I feel like shit… Oh my god, I look like shit,” she groans in realization, burying her head in the blanket, hermitting herself away.

“You look fine,” he replies gruffly, delving through the drawers in search of a can opener.

Frumpy sweats and a baggy t-shirt with some faded logo on it that’s absolutely hanging off her. Hair tossed up and sloppy, coiled into a loose bun, errant pieces rebelling every which way. A little pale, maybe. Tired eyes. Messy.

Beautiful, he meant. She looks fucking irritatingly beautiful.

Din continues to rifle through her cabinets and he exhales in frustration, “Jesus, where do you keep your pans?”

“Bottom right,” she points begrudgingly.

He grunts, finding one big enough and sets it down on the stove.

She can’t stop fussing over him; making comments here and there, asking if he wants anything, needs anything—water, kombucha, tea, a beer, a snack—if she can help in any way possible—and it nearly sends him over the damn edge.

“Would you quit it and just let me take care of you?” he grits out, and her mouth clamps shut with a pop.

She’s quiet after that, picking anxiously at a thread poking out from the blanket she wears like a shawl—observing as he empties the cans into a large pot, lights the gas stove, and brings it to a boil. She gives him space, stationing herself by the kitchen table, leaning a hip into one of the four chairs there.

Honestly she does try to keep to herself; she tries to accept what Din is doing for her, but she can’t help it. As soon as she sees him ladling the soup into one of her favorite cups—it looks so tiny in his grasp— and bringing it over to her like a goddamn patron saint, she breaks.

“You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“Yeah well, you need to get healthy so you can take your class back from that fucking fossil.”

“Din,” she admonishes.

“Baby,” he gives her a pointed look and she gnaws at the inside of her cheek, a blush blotting her clavicle. “She fucking smells. Now sit your pretty little ass down-”

“But-”

He presses a hand to her shoulder, forcing her to sink into the chair with a soft oomf, and places the bowl in front of her. “Don’t fight me on this. Drink the fucking soup.”

She huffs, glancing down, and then back up to Din.

“Progresso?”

He grunts.

She blows at the steam rising from the hot liquid. “Chicken noodle?”

Din crosses his arms over his chest and plops back onto the island.

“Classic,” she praises, mumbling into it.

She loathes to admit it, but the first sip tastes like heaven. It soothes her raw vocal chords, worn hoarse from nights of coughing, and seeps deep to warm her cold bones.

Din remains mute through the whole affair, staring owlishly as she spoons it down, slurp for slurp, until he’s satisfied she’s finished. When she does, she arches an eye brow at him— mouth pressing into a thin line. Happy now?

He tips his head and pads over to her.

“Wait, no you don’t have to-" He swipes it from the table, the spoon clanking against the ceramic rim. Din moves to the sink and she groans.

“Just leave it,” she whines, but he ignores her—stubborn stubborn stubborn— he’s already got soap on the sponge and the water running. Again, she huffs and rises to her feet, hem of the blanket trailing behind her.

“Thank you,” she gives in a hushed tone.

It’s so strange— being taken care of in her own place. She doesn’t know what to do, where to go. It’s ill-fitting, foreign, and she can only hover there, buzzing like a pesky insect beside him.

He’s wiping the dish off with a towel when he chances a peek back at her, practically stuttering when he does.

She’s swaddled in that fucking quilt, awkward and impossibly sincere and precious just standing there—watching him play house in her home. A brush of color has sprung up on her cheeks—more light in her eyes, too—and Din, try as he might, can’t pry himself off her.

She’s sick—she’s sick and gorgeous and he wants her. He wants her to feel better, he wants to fuck her, he wants to hold her. He’s overcome with it.

He swallows.

Fuck.

He abandons the bowl and rag in the drying rack and turns to her, her eyes widening, glassy and bloodshot, as he tucks a stray hair behind her ear— knuckles trailing down her jaw.

“Din…”

Her tongue skips over her lip—mocking him—damp and full and begging to be taken by his own, and her breath catches as he drags a thumb across that plump flesh, enrapt with the way her mouth parts so effortlessly for him—so fucking supple. Din’s gut twists and his blood thickens in his veins—the air between them rippling with something velvet and carnal.

He takes a step towards her. Her throat bobs.

“You’re gonna get sick,” she pouts in protest, rutting her palm into his chest, but there’s no fight in it. The blanket slips from her shoulders, hitting the ground with a dulled splat.

“Din,” she tries again, “I don’t want you to-"

He leans in, cradling her cheek, murmurs fanning over her face. “I’ll risk it.”

And he dissolves the gap, sealing her mouth with his in a tender kiss. It’s almost chaste at first, how they rove tentative and unhurried over each other—an innocent exploration— all until his tongue darts out to touch along her lip and she whimpers into him, letting Din dip into the dark cavern of her mouth. She tastes warm, like comfort and broth and rainy days, and he sighs as she brings her hands up to weave into his hair.

Neither of them fight for dominance like this—their tangle of soft sounds is perfectly balanced— Hatha; effort and ease, breath and body. He pushes, she relents—she surges forward, Din bends. They dance like this, slow as tar, until she catches his bottom lip between her teeth and tugs.

It’s like a switch has been flipped.

He seethes, inhaling sharply as his hands slide possessive and greedy down her body, grabbing fistfuls of her waist hidden under all the oversized layers, and crushing her into him. She’s making these airy noises, panting and urgent and fuck if it doesn’t tear him apart—viscerally, from the inside out.

Din walks her backwards, step for choreographed step, foxtrotting until she bumps into the kitchen table. He breaks away from the kiss to reach past her, frantically pushing away the unopened mail and receipts and loose change, the jingling of her keys cutting through the wanton quiet as they clang onto the tile, and he hitches her up to sit there with one fell swoop.

“I wanna make you feel good,” he husks, inbetween the bites he’s searing onto her neck. “Please, just lie back for me sweet girl.”

“Din, I-“

He silences her with a nibble to her ear, coaxing a breathy yelp out of her. “Lie back, baby.”

It doesn’t take much convincing after that. She acquiesces, Din’s wide palm splayed on her breasts, guiding her to recline back onto the table. He makes speedy work of her sweatpants, yanking them down her legs and flinging them off to land in a crumpled heap.

He sinks to his knees, pulling the cradle of her hips to the edge of the table before parting her thighs. The gloss of her cunt, wet and glistening for him, makes his hardening cock jump up to his stomach, and she twitches as soon as the cool air brushes against her.

“Fuck me,” he groans, whispering into her heat like he’s pained, like the sight alone is torturing him—like it’s slowly but surely ending his fucking life.

Din breathes her in with a sigh, that summer fruit tang— the scent of her aching and pulsing for him— and he starts tracing up and down her inner thigh with his tongue and teeth, nibbling along the path there until he’s at her apex. He’s dimpling her pliant skin with his calloused fingertips, strong hands wrapped under her knees, keeping them splayed as he kisses along her outer lips, nipping at her hip bones, teasing everywhere but where she needs him most.

It’s devastating—debilitating—and she’s shaking now. Every muscle, every fiber of her, convulsing with anticipation—with the promise of being dissected, of being torn apart and stitched back together again. She’s already got a hand covering her mouth, muffling the sobs he’s drawing out as he toys with her— playing her like a fucking fiddle.

Din’s eyes flit up to find her like this, brow pinched tight and cries stifled, and he chuckles— he fucking laughs— heady and ambered into her legs.

“You doin’ alright up there, teach?”

“F-Fuck you,” she hisses out with a weak whine.

God, she’s fucking perfect.

“You need something, sweetheart?” He smirks— she can feel the shape of it against her thigh, the way his stubble grates along her skin— and she can only mewl, speechless. Pathetic.

“Yeah, I know what you need...” Din hums, before finally - finally - taking mercy on her.

With one single drag, he tongues a broad stripe up her slit.

The noise that rips through her sounds like she’s being strangled— it gets caught in her throat like a trapped animal in hot car— a desperate little thing clawing to get out. Her nails scrape against the wood, leaving nicks in the chestnut lacquer. Immediately, she cants up to him, searching for his mouth hungrily and Din all but obliges as he clasps onto her hips, keeping her still while he fucks into her.

He’s carving her out— hollowing her; burying himself in her folds, nosing against her mound. He laps her up in kitten licks, delving the muscle of his tongue in and out of her, leaving her weak and gasping. Din laves up and down and side to side in clever little swivels, before he reaches her clit and sucks.

Her fist shoots from her mouth to grip his wavy locks, grinding shamelessly against his face.

“O-Oh my god, Din - fuck - Din. Oh fuck oh fuck-"

He loves it when she gets like this; that serene and tranquil exterior— the one that can quell a studio full of strangers into a haze with only the sound of her voice, that voice he can’t get out of his fucking head, the one that got them into this mess in the first place— shattered, mutilated beyond recognition and all she has left is her need— her wild, unbridled need.

Her need for his tongue, for his fingers, for his dick. Din Din Din, she only wants him— only needs him.

He slips a finger into her, easing past his knuckle in one movement, and her chin tips back, crown of her head digging into the table, hair mussing against the wood grain.

Her nipples have pebbled through her shirt, her pretty feet arched and contorted, and she’s heaving - writhing - like this above him.

He adds another digit, pumping in and out, the squelch of her pussy sounding lewd and obscene and fucking divine as he grazes her clit with his teeth, pulling at it.

“Fuck-” she rasps, legs quivering on their own accord— instinct and reflex demanding she tremble— and Din moans into her sex, feeling her walls constrict around his fingers, and he curls them up as he thrusts, hitting against that spongy patch insider her that makes her vision go white.

“Din, I- I’m—"

She can’t manage the rest. Instead of words, she cries— high pitched and wounded, as if she’s barely making it out alive. Her legs clamp around his head, bracing him there, and she cums— she loses it for him— her slick coating his nose, his lips, the hair speckled around his chin. She soaks him, and it leaves Din rocking his hips and humping the fucking air— as randy as a teenager, ravenous for anything, even if it’s just the friction of his pants drawn tight around his erection.

He takes her through her orgasm, lapping at her softly until she’s warbling—a slew of nonsense babbling out of her— and he leans back on his heels to admire his work, eyes singeing into her cunt made puffy and swollen pink, fluttering at the loss of him.

He plants one final kiss to the cleft of her pussy before shifting his weight back up to his feet, slotting himself between her.

Fuck, he isn’t as young as he once was— he feels his age in the ache of his knees. All the yoga in the world can’t erase his scar tissue, can’t undo time.

But he thinks maybe—if he’ll let himself—that she makes him feel younger. Lighter.

He squeezes her calf and begins to move away when she whimpers, bolting upright to palm greedily at the bulge pressing painfully against its constraint, her fingers fidgeting with his zipper and Din— in an uncharacteristic show of strength and self restraint— gingerly clasps onto her wrists, holding her still.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and her eyes snap up to meet his. “This isn’t about me.”

“No, but-”

“You don’t- we don’t have to-"

“Din,” she pants, grabbing onto the waist of his jeans and pressing her center into him, smearing herself along the denim there, her pearled clit catching on the rough fabric. Her eyes have gone jet-black with desire, obsidian lust burning through them. “Din, fuck me. Please fuck me, plea-“

Shit.

He’s never moved so fast in his goddamn life, unbuttoning his jeans in a flash, untucking himself— throbbing, leaking already—from his briefs. He gives himself two rough jerks, his blunt tip prodding at her entrance, before pushing into her with a gasp.

Fuck, she’s warm— not just warm, she’s hot. She’s molten, and she’s milking him for all he’s worth, gripping around him, fucking strangling his cock with how wet she is—how tight. God, she’s a fucking dream—a nightmare too, undoubtedly.

“Fuck baby - shit - you’re—hnng-” He groans—can’t even form a real sentence—all of his blood has rushed out of his brain and straight to the juncture where their bodies meet.

His eyes flutter deliriously at the feeling of her stretching around him like this and for a passing, fleeting moment, he considers the fact that he should be gentle with her— that she’s not feeling well, that she’s probably sore with body chills and God knows what else and that she should rest—

But once her knees are split apart and legs spread long— so fucking flexible, fuck she’s killing him— his well-met concern all but abandons him.

He fucks her hard— so hard she falls back, that unforgiving surface bruising into her spine. He probably hurts her a little—just how he likes, just how she loves.

Din plows into her, digging into the meat of her thighs, slamming into the pussy that takes him so fucking well, the pussy that feels like it’s made for him— like she’s made for him— and the table shudders with each roll of his hips, scraping it inch by inch along the tile, knocking against the chairs with loud, clattering bangs.

“W-Wait— wait wait wait-“ she pants, hands scampering up to his arms.

He slows his thrusts until he’s stilled inside of her, worry creasing around his eyes. “W-What? Are you okay—what’s wrong?”

“T-The table," she whines, “it’s from fucking IKEA. I built this piece of shit myself— there’s no way it’s gonna stay standing with you fucking me into it like this.”

Din barks out a laugh, throaty and genuine, and for the second time today, he comes to the conclusion that she’s perfect.

“Bedroom?” she nods down the hall.

“Bedroom,” he growls before scooping her up, lifting her off the table, her legs scrambling to hook around his waist, forearms bracing around the broad plain of his shoulders.

“Din!” she squeals in surprise, “I can walk, you know.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, giving her a bounce and a light slap to her ass. “You’re sick.”

///

“Onions,” he mutters, leaden eyelids nestled shut.

He didn’t mean to stay over this long—well past sunset, later than he’s ever allowed himself—but how could he be expected to leave? After she came on his cock - twice - and he had filled her up until his cum was gushing from her, extricating himself out of this exact position of woven, spent limbs and sweat stained sheets sounded criminal.

“What?” She cranes groggily up at him.

“The sub. She smelled like onions. And patchouli.”

“Hey,” she tuts in mock offense, “Brenda is nice.”

“Good for Brenda. Doesn’t make her smell any better.”

“God, you are so rude,” she laughs, shaking her head as she nuzzles into Din’s side, lips curving into a sleepy grin against his chest—right above the aching thump of his caged heart.

Taglist (I apologize if I missed anyone!):

@radiowallet @pedros-mustache @djarinsbeskar @chasingdreamers @greatcircle79 @iamskyereads @imnotinlove-thisisnotyoursong @fan-of-encouragement @read-and-rec @helmet-comes-off @keeper0fthestars @hellabaybee @ourmotherofyearning @krissology

#yoga!din #I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL #modern!din #modern au #din djarin smut #din djarin x female oc #din djarin x fem!reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #smut #mando x fem!reader #mando x you #mando x female oc #hurt/comfort #fanfic #one shot #star wars fanfic #pedro pascal #din djarin au

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leviiackrman · 2 years

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OC TAROT CARDS;

I was tagged by @arklay @gendameron @simonxriley + @florbelles to use this uquiz for some ocs BUT, I auto assigned cards to each of my ocs to make my own set sooooooo here’s my results! Thank you for the tags tho my dudes🤍 sorry its such a long post

Tagging: literally anyone and everyone cus I’m not doing this how I’m supposed to but also want people to see my mind ramblings muhahaha so random tags! (I know y’all have probably done this so this isn’t a tag-tag, it’s a ‘oh look a different take’ tag lmao)@chuckhansen @liurnia @shellibisshe @indorilnerevarine @shadowglens @queennymeria @denerims @preachercuster @risingsh0t + @duffmckagans

WHEEL OF FORTUNE;

A common aspect to most interpretations of this card within a reading is to introduce an element of change in the querent's life, such change being in station, position or fortune: such as the rich becoming poor, or the poor becoming rich.

TEMPERANCE;

This card indicates that you should learn to bring about balance, patience and moderation in your life. You should take the middle road, avoiding extremes and maintain a sense of calm.

THE MOON;

The Moon is a card of illusion and deception, and therefore often suggests a time when something is not as it appears to be. Perhaps a misunderstanding on your part, or a truth you cannot admit to yourself.

THE CHARIOT;

The Chariot is a card about overcoming conflicts and moving forward in a positive direction. One needs to keep going on and through sheer hard work and commitment he will be victorious.

JUDGEMENT;

This card is referred to as a time of resurrection and awakening, a time when a period of our life comes to an absolute end making way for dynamic new beginnings.

STRENGTH;

Strength predicts the triumphant conclusion to a major life problem, situation or temptation through strength of character. It is a very happy card if you are fighting illness or recovering from injury.

THE HANGED MAN;

The Hanged Man is the card that suggests ultimate surrender, sacrifice, or being suspended in time.

JUSTICE;

The Justice card indicates that the fairest decision will be made. Justice is the sword that cuts through a situation, and will not be swayed by outer beauty when deciding what is fair and just.

THE TOWER;

The Tower is commonly interpreted as meaning danger, crisis, destruction, and liberation. It is associated with sudden unforseen change.

THE HERMIT;

The Hermit suggests that you are in a phase of introspection where you are drawing your attention inwards and looking for answers within. You are in need of a period of inner reflection, away from the current demands of your position.

THE SUN;

The card portends good fortune, happiness, joy and harmony. It represents the universe coming together and agreeing with your path and aiding forward movement into something greater.

THE EMPRESS;

The Empress is traditionally associated with maternal influence, it is the card if you are hoping to start a family. She can represent the creation of life, romance, art, or new business.

THE WORLD;

The World represents an ending to a cycle of life, a pause in life before the next big cycle beginning with the fool. It is an indicator of a major and inexorable change, of tectonic breadth.

THE EMPEROR;

This card is suggestive of stability and security in life. You are on top of things and everything in under your control. It is your hard work, discipline and self control that have bought you this far. It means that you are in charge of your life now setting up your own rules and boundaries.

THE HIEROPHANT;

Hierophant stands for tradition and convention. It can represent marriage in an arranged setup. It can also mean a teacher or counsellor who will help in learning / education of the querent.

THE LOVERS;

The Lovers represent relationships and choices. Its appearance in a spread indicates some decision about an existing relationship, a temptation of the heart, or a choice of potential partners. Often an aspect of the querent's life will have to be sacrificed; a bachelor(ette)'s lifestyle may be sacrificed and a relationship gained (or vice versa), or one potential partner may be chosen while another is turned down. Whatever the choice, it should not be made lightly, as the ramifications will be lasting.

THE MAGICIAN;

When the Magician appears in a spread, it points to the talents, capabilities and resources at the querent's disposal to succeed. The message is to tap into one's full potential rather than holding back, especially when there is a need to transform something.

THE HIGH PRIESTESS;

High Priestess is a card of mystery, stillness and passivity. This card suggests that it is time to retreat and reflect upon the situation and trust your inner instincts to quide you through it. Things around you are not what they appear to be right now.

THE STAR;

When the Star card appears, you are likely to find yourself feeling inspired. It brings renewed hope and faith and a sense that you are truly blessed by the universe at this time.

THE DEVIL;

It represents being seduced by the material world and physical pleasures. Also living in fear, domination and bondage, being caged by an overabundance of luxury, discretion should be used in personal and business matters.

THE FOOL;

The Fool represents new beginnings, having faith in the future, being inexperienced, not knowing what to expect, having beginner's luck, improvisation and believing in the universe.

DEATH;

Unlikely that this card actually represents a physical death. Typically it implies an end, possibly of a relationship or interest, and therefore implies an increased sense of self- awareness.

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sledgefuweek · 3 years

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Each year we take a close look at the prompts for Sledgefu Week, for those who may be stuck for ideas or not quite sure about what the prompts could entail. Below the readmore are all seven prompts, as well as a short write-up exploring what they mean and some ideas to help get the creative juices going. Enjoy!!

Sickfic

This is a really popular and well-known fanfic trope that I feel probably needs little explanation, but I’ll write a little bit about it anyway! It essentially covers fic where one character is ill and the other cares for them -- it could encompass any kind of illness at all, (including chronic illnesses) and there’s a lot of room to get creative with it. You can go for angst, hurt/comfort, or fluff: it’s just a really good general prompt that I think works nicely to kick the week off!

It suits for Sledgefu pretty well, considering Snafu’s canon mild hypochondria, as well as the fact that Eugene’s dad is a doctor. It could be fun to lean into it: make Eugene play doctor for an actually-sick Snafu, and it could be just as fun to subvert it! There’s really endless options for canon fic: shrapnel wounds turned bad, heat-sickness, seasickness, illness from bad food or bad water or any kind of tropical disease you can think of (malaria is a big one!). You could make one of them (or both) a medic; you could genderswap them and write the gay field nurse fic this fandom sorely needs. And of course if you choose to branch out into modern AU you can begin to think of what might afflict them outside of a war setting: has Eugene been working too much and come down with a cold? Are they hungover, and need mutual care (and lots of takeout)? A lot of the time sickfic focuses on one character doing the comforting and the other character feeling unwell, but there’s nothing to say they can’t both be feeling shitty! I think we say this every year but there’s really no rules at all, you do whatever you feel inspired to do. With Sickfic, just be mindful to tag anything that others might be affected by eg. vomiting, blood, needles, etc.

Tarot

I feel like Tarot is pretty well-known to the Sledgefu fandom, or at least to those who like to write Snafu or his family a little witchy. In case you just have a vague idea of what Tarot actually is and what its purpose or origins are, I’ll explain it as concisely as I can! Tarot decks started life in Europe as playing cards, but eventually began to be used for divination. It’s made up of four suits, or the Minor Arcana, (Wands, Cups, Swords, and Pentacles) as well as a twenty-two card Major Arcana (the imagery of which you’re probably very familiar with). Commonly, tarot decks and tarot reading is used as a means of communicating with the higher self, deities, or with the universe. They can be used as a way to see the future, answer questions, or to give/receive advice. There are different ways of reading them too, depending on how one lays out the cards: I don’t want to make this too wordy, but if you’re curious I encourage you to check out this site to learn more!

For writers, there’s a lot of places this prompt could take you! Probably the most obvious will be fortune teller fic; a classic. Lean into Snafu’s Louisiana roots and have him telling fortunes in the depths of the French Quarter, or go against the grain and have Eugene reading cards and palms and tea leaves as a practice passed down through his family. Or maybe more casual: modern AU Sledgefu flirting through amateur tarot readings with a deck picked up from a junk shop. If you read Tarot and have a connection to it, you can express that through writing! It’s a pretty open-ended prompt, especially if you consider some of the meanings of the cards; you could even write a story inspired by that! The Hermit: Snafu withdrawing, leaving Eugene on the train to spend the next few months in solitude, working through things. The Moon: Snafu and Eugene hitting a rough patch, hiding things from each other. The opportunities really become endless once you start taking the readings of the cards into account! And for visual artists, this must be such a fun prompt: I feel like it’s so a visually rich, whether you’re re-drawing the cards to encompass Snafu and Eugene within them, or making a collage based around some of the things mentioned above: fortune tellers shops, witches cottages, etc.

Trinket

Every Sledgefu Week we tend to have a couple prompts that are a little more open to interpretation, and this year’s ‘Trinket’ is one of those. It might be difficult to try and think of something to base a whole fic or piece of art around, but we really encourage you to let your imagination run wild! There’s already some great trinkets in the show itself: Eugene’s ring, the lighter that Gunny Haney gave him, Snafu’s stolen gold teeth, or their dog tags. Think of small, special objects that you might have: what imbues them with comfort or meaning? What makes you love them? You could have Eugene giving Snafu his ring, or have Eugene musing over war and death and loss while smoking a cigarette lit by his lighter. If you’re into Modern AUs, how could these objects carry through to modern day? Once you start thinking about it, the ideas start rolling in. Feel free to invent special trinkets for them: or maybe trinkets that they hate and want to get rid of, trinkets that remind them of bad times. Trinkets that remind them of each other, or family, or war. So much meaning can be held in the things we own, and I think it’s such a lovely concept to explore!

Crossover

So this prompt was born from the sheer number of suggestions we had for various movie, TV, and book AUs. We didn’t want to put them all to the poll and risk a lot of you feeling disappointed over the one you wanted not being selected, so thought it’d work best to condense them into a ‘Crossover’ prompt so everyone could do whatever they liked. So this is a very very broad one! It would be impossible for me to really go through the prompt and highlight some things that you could do for it, because you can really do anything you want to! Anything! It encompasses movies, video games, TV, books, musicals... if something tells a story, you can do a crossover. So if there’s ever been a film/book/etc. AU you wanted to do for Sledgefu Week but couldn’t quite get it to match the prompts, now is the time!

Vacation

A pretty self explanatory prompt, and one that I think can appeal to people who prefer canonverse and those who like modern AU too! Do you want to send Snafu and Eugene on the holiday of their dreams, or are they gonna be bickering in a gas station over who gets control of the map? Is Snafu gonna drive across a couple states to surprise Eugene by visiting? Is Eugene gonna do the same? There’s a lot of scenarios you can apply to the backdrop of them vacationing, and a lot of emotional journeys you can take them through! And for the canonverse crowd, you have the extra addition of letting them go have fun on an R&R, or taking a road trip post-war, visiting 1950s Paris... you can really do whatever you like!

Historical

This was another prompt like ‘Crossover’ that came from a lot of various suggestions that all boiled down to a similar thing: different historical events or periods. So like Crossover, I won’t linger too long on it (this post is long enough already) except just to say again: do whatever you’re inspired to do! There’s no rules here, you could even take everyone out of the Pacific and put them over in Germany: give them a different experience of war. In fact, you can do that with any war if you wanted to! Wanna do a M*A*S*H AU but made something else for Crossover? You could do it here! Want to put them in the 1920s? You got it. In the 1850s? Yeehaw, they’re cowboys now. 1969, Summer of Love? 1600s, make Snafu a prince? Literally the world is your oyster!

Horror

Past Sledgefu Week prompts have included things that could come under the horror umbrella (Supernatural, for example) but didn’t necessarily have to be made 'horrific’. For the ‘Horror’ prompt this year, we want to see frightening! Disquieting, uncomfortable; creations that either cross over with existing horror franchises, or lean on horrific things you come up with yourself. Horror movies, or TV shows, or books or podcasts or pieces of art all seek to elicit a sense of fear: this can be done by tapping into common phobias, or nightmares, those things which are universally and almost instinctively scary. We want to see things which lean into that, in whatever way you want to do it!

I’m no horror media expert (not by a long shot) but the opportunities for this prompt are really vast simply because horror has so many subgenres to work with. You could go gothic horror; Dracula, Frankenstein, Wuthering Heights (a personal favourite AU -- Eugene soaked out on the moors, searching for Heathcliff-Snafu? Divine). Or you could go to the opposite end of the spectrum: Jennifer’s Body AU, Final Girl AU -- there’s no set way to do horror, in fact you could even bring horror into canonverse if you don’t like AUs. Think the Terror: some unknown beast lurking beyond the borders of their camp on Pavuvu, or Okinawa. Or you could even take the prompt entirely literally and explore the horrors of war and the toll it takes on them both. Please don’t feel stuck into needing to do Scary: horror is about fear and revulsion and dread, and these feelings don’t necessarily need to come from a haunting! (This is also a prompt ripe for monsterfucking, just FYI).

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So that’s the prompts for this year! They’re all really really great, and have a lot of potential to make some fantastic stuff :~) And to reiterate something I said right at the start, there are no rules here! I think every year we normally get at least one person unsure whether their idea will be okay for the prompt they’d like to make it for, so I just wanna say here: don’t second-guess yourself! As long as it can be linked back to the prompt in some way or another (can literally be the vaguest way possible) you’ll be absolutely fine. We don’t vet submissions at all, especially not for their content relating to the prompts. All we ask is that you remember to stay respectful in what you’re writing, and when the time comes to post it, you tag and warn appropriately :~)

On the subject of writing respectfully, we’d like to just take a moment to link the document on mindful writing re: race and gender that was made last year. Please take a look at it, even if you read it last year! It’s always good to keep these things at the front of your mind, as fandom is a community sport and we want to keep it fun and safe for everyone involved! So thank you if you’ve made it this far through this whole post, check out the doc, and enjoy the rest of the run-up to Sledgefu Week!

#sledgefu #sledgefu week #mod talk #info #if you saw this post before yes you did no you didn't <3 it has the horror prompt on it now lmao

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winchest09 · 4 years

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The Bunker Party - Debrief

Hey everyone!

Our bunker party was an absolute blast. It was one filled with laughter, smiles and support and it warms my heart to see so many of your faces each time we do this. This party went in many different ways from fanfiction to urban dictionary - to seeing some of the SPN family’s best dance moves. It was a TREAT.

6 and a half hours we were talking…SIX AND A HALF and again, I loved every single second. It was so nice to see so many gorgeous faces, and I’m so happy that so many of you joined us! The support from you guys for each other, the love in this fandom; I can’t express how much I adore it.

Me and @katehuntington love holding these events and we are already planning the next live stream (date to be announced) but it will be in July.

This is the lowdown for the The Bunker Party! Sorry it’s a little late, I’ve been ill!

Below you will find:

Everyone who joined - their tags, what’s coming up fic wise and their masterlist.

A Challenge to join

Blogs who want to help with your writing

Alpha? Beta? Omega?

Want a link breaker?

Fic & blog recs

Announcements

So without further ado… *cracks fingers*

To everyone that joined…

You are the guys that make it the live stream what it is. So below is a list of everyone who was on the chat last night accompanied by their masterlist and what they have coming up soon! In no particular order…

@katehuntington: Kate is currently working on the next instalment of Ride With Me and All I Want. She’s been teasing us with little ideas that keep popping into her head too...

Her masterlist can be found HERE

@flamencodiva: This babe is currently working on a multitude of things and we are super excited to see them come out. We have her brand new fiction ‘What could have been’ as well as Call of the Ocean and many others!

Check out her masterlist HERE

@whatareyousearchingfordean: Alex is currently writing the epilogue to her Jensen fiction Et Cetera AND she has decided her next fiction!

Firefighter Dean x OFC Marina. From what we’ve already heard…it sounds amazing! I won’t give away any plot points that we were told just yet but it’s one to be put on your watch list!

Her masterlist can be found HERE

@superfanficnatural: This babe is currently working on the next chapters of The Bringer of balance as well as the next chapters of The Choice! Also still thinking about his knight of hell x demon dean fic which just sounds so good.

We’re living for it!

Go and give him some love, his masterlist can be found HERE

@emoryhemsworth: This beaut has broken her lil hiatus and posted the sequel to Because of You. Piece by Piece is amazing and if you haven’t read it yet, i suggest you check it out. She’s also writing her first chapter of her series idea.

Check our her masterlist HERE:

@malfoysqueen14: This lovely lady is new to the Supernatural fandom and is trying her hand at writing fanfiction! Her first fic “White Flag” is Dean x OFC and it’s going in a very interesting direction! Worth a read!

She hasn’t yet got a masterlist but you can check out White Flag HERE

@waywardbeanie: This absolute gem of a woman has JUST posted her very first fanfiction and it’s an absolute DIAMOND. Dean. Letters. Fluff. Smut. It’s gonna tick all them boxes and it’s a must read!