#may Drabble challenge

[dieterbravobrainrotclub]

Thank you to everyone who participated in the May Drabble Challenge, you are all so creative and there were so many wonderful submissions throughout the month to read through!

A full masterlist of the challenge submission can be found under the readmore:

Make sure to read individual warnings in each fic

Walk in the Park by @bitchesuntitled

Seeded by @covetyou

Do you believe in aliens? by @eff4freddie

Heart of the Cards by @freelancearsonist

Greatest of all time by @gnpwdrnwhiskey

The Lovers, Reversed by @marisferasiop

Close Encounters of the Grocery Kind by @morallyinept

Barefoot in a Twilight Zone by @nerdieforpedro

platinum tier by @perotovar

Do you believe in aliens? by @rulexofxnines

I wanna be someone who believes by @rosellacwrites

Trouble by @schnarfer

Do you think I’m spooky? by @sin-djarin

Final Frontier by @sunshinehaze1

Out of this World by @the-blind-assassin-12

Do you believe in aliens? by @whatsnewalycat

(I believe I have caught every submitted fic but if your fic is missing from here, please let us know so we can rectify that asap!)

Please remember to show to support to these wonderful fic writers with comments/reblogs if you enjoyed their work!

If you'd like to join the Dieter Bravo Brainrot Club Discord server, to get early information about future events and challenges and to discuss all things Dieter - please contact us here or DM @sp00kymulderr for a link.

[nerdieforpedro]

Barefoot in a Twilight Zone

Dieter Bravo x plus size AFAB reader

Rating: Teen

My blog is for readers 18+ MDNI

Word Count: approx 1.1k (I even edited it and couldn’t get it below 1k 😭)

Warnings: mild intoxication, a fall, a flash, that carpet, dated references, alien talk, one pull, a few innuendos, some smoke

Summery: Getting out of the house to a party is great until it’s not. Things are weird. A little less so with Dieter.

Notes: My entry for the @dieterbravobrainrotclub May Drabble challenge. 💚👽👽👽👾 I did really try to keep under 1000 words. Nerdie is wordy 👀 It was at 1.3k so…I did better? 🤣 Anywho I hope it gives you a giggle at the references or just the story itself. 🤭

Prompt: “Do you believe in aliens?”

Trope: Meet-cute

Main Masterlist / Dieter Bravo Masterlist / Writing Challenges

The neon green dress is the main part of your costume and so are the three inch thick black flip flops you thought were cute, but now are impossibly heavy. You added silver and green costume jewelry in addition to a headband with little white spiral bouncy balls on them. It was a good idea coming to this party. At first, you were having fun, dancing, drinking a bit, but that was before you tipped over in these damn flip flops and fell. You didn’t see the small step that led into the middle of the room.

The bottom of your dress went over your head and your panties were exposed to everyone. Adding to the alien theme, you wore black panties with little green oval alien faces on them. It was a cute idea and a private joke to yourself. It was now known to everyone. Some laughed, most people stared and thankfully, one person helped you up - no costume for him. He had on a tan button down shirt, sunglasses inside, brown striped pajama pants and no shoes? “You alright? Come on.” Given that he was helping you up, it wasn’t the worst idea.

The two of you end up in a different section of the house, facing a pool. A gray robe is draped over one of the chairs, by this time, you’ve straightened out your dress and re-adjusted your bra. That shifted too and it felt like each breast had their own rules on rejecting gravity. This guy pulls out his phone, snaps a picture of you, looking rather confused and a bit disheveled. He pulls up the picture on his phone and shows you your dress and a woman who is wearing a similar dress to yours. Hers looks tailored to fit her slender body and has some gold on it. “You look like a sexy sixties alien. I like the green on you. The silver looks better and matches your cute panties.” You could only laugh at the last line as does he, it’s not like everyone hadn’t seen them. He’s looking around the chair that has his robe, you don’t see anything. He might be missing something but you’re not sure what.

“Thanks. I’m glad you approve of my underwear choices. Could you delete that photo of me? It’s not great.” He frowns and makes a counter offer, retrieving his robe, he takes you into another living room. The size of this house is impressive and feeling the shag carpet on your feet makes you realize that you don’t have your shoes on. Why didn’t you realize you were barefoot? This entire night is far out - not unlike a Twilight Zone episode.

“I will if you sit with me a bit, miss sexy alien, I’m Dieter.” Holding out his hands like he is presenting a prize, it’s really just the couch, but it does look comfy and is when you plop down. The man’s already seen your panties so a pair of thick thighs like yours aren’t going to make a difference when the hem of your dress rises. You don’t mind him sitting so close to you, despite him not being in any sort of sci-fi or neon clothes. You find him handsome, a fluffy mop of mocha hair, scruff on his chin and cheeks, a permanent grin to his face along with broad shoulders underneath his shirt.

“I’m sitting with you so you’ll delete now, right?” You didn’t ask and you should have before patting his soft hair. Though, you find the low growl he releases is enticing, he hasn’t taken his phone back out. Gripping his hair, your other hand presses on his chest as you sit up on your knees on the couch next to him and look down. “Right Dieter?” You feel like slapping those sunglasses off his face, but they’ve slid down his nose. It looks like he wants more, but more what? Well this is also weird, but you’re also at an alien party plus you haven’t told him your name. “Do you believe in aliens?” He nods.

“Well you are right in front of me, so yeah. Am I gonna see stars? You’re not going to pop little green or gray dudes from somewhere are you?” Dieter has not only deleted the photo but removed his glasses, tossed them on the coffee table and is running his hands down your arms. A wider grin creeps across your face, rolling with this appears to be a very good idea.

“No little men from anywhere Dieter. I think we should get out of here and go see some stars together. You might get a better picture of me then.” Moving your hands and placing them on his shoulders, you kiss his forehead and stand up, still leaning over him. “Come to think of it, I don’t know where my shoes are.” Straightening your back, you put your hands on your hips as you laugh, you are going to need something on your feet to leave. Dieter shrugs and slips an arm around your waist, his lips grazing your shoulder for a moment.

“Neither do I. Only found my robe earlier. I think we’ll happen upon some shoes on the way to the stars Moon Pie.” Side by side, you walk with Dieter outside, barefoot as he whips out his phone again. He sends a few texts then puts it away.

“That’s curious. You didn’t want me to tell you my name? Just going with the nickname?”

“For now, but we’ve got the entire night.” The merits of the monikers ‘moon pie’ vs ‘miss sexy alien’ are debated while enjoying the chilly night air. The laughs shared over if aliens have tentacles with suckers or are just covered in a sort of slime is cut short by an SUV that pulls up. “We’ll get some shoes first and then cruise around.”

“As long as you don’t pop out any tentacles with slime on them.”

“I make no promises on that.” Bravo assists you into the SUV and follows in behind you, running his fingers along the rolls on your sides to tickle you as he makes a fish face while creating sucking noises. “It’s a mystery in these pants.” The snort you make is hidden beneath the base of the music that comes on when the driver turns on the radio.

Later with the windows down, both of you are singing along loudly while he lights up a sample and takes a puff, offering you a hit which you accept, blowing the smoke out of the window. Outlandish and not in character at all but with Dieter makes it oddly serene.

Trash Panda Pals 🦝: @katw474 @readingiskeepingmegoing @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @megamindsecretlair @pamasaur

@ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @sp00kymulderr @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @titlee78 @tinytinymenace

@wannab-urs @magpiepills @soft-girl-musings @morallyinept @rhoorl

@survivingandenduring @missladym1981 @yorksgirl @gwendibleywrites @soft-persephone

@yourcoolauntie @schnarfer @tired-tyrant @saturn-rings-writes

[novasintheroom]

Smell is one of Vash’s favorite senses.

It wasn’t before he met you. Before you, smells were just smells. The hot air of the desert, the metallic tang of bullets too close, B.O. in a bar, the smell of the day’s stew being boiled in the back. All information telling him a million different things. Some of them he even likes! Especially donuts.

But then you come along and you rub your hands with apple scented lotion, you spray yourself with rose water, your breath is minty fresh and you smell clean. He hadn’t realized how much he missed the smell of cleanliness ‘til he travelled with you. He only smells cleanliness when visiting Home – and you’re becoming a second home to him. It’s hard to stay clean out in the wastes, he knows better than most. He appreciates what you put into your cleanliness so much.

He gets into the habit of looking for lotions or body sprays you (and he) would like. You complain once that you’re nearly out of your lotion, and the next day a new bottle is sitting on your bag, because he keeps emergency bottles just for cases like this. He starts smelling his own clothes, trying to not bother you with any sweat smells (though he’s been told that he only ever smells fresh, which must have something to do with his Plant DNA). He becomes so much more aware of scent after you.

And when you aren’t travelling together, when you must go your own ways for a day, or a month, or a year, he looks for you through scents. A whiff of apples will bring back memories of your soft hands and bright grin. Roses are subtle and remind him of the jokes you’d say to get him smiling after being run out of town. He buys these things now and uses them every once in a while when he’s feeling lonely.

Vash always waits for the day when roses and apples will come back into his life, and you always do.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

What Can Still Be Known

A/N: This is my submission for @wannab-urs Hozier Drabble Challenge... which I meant to have finished weeks ago, but since it's May the 4th, today seems like a good time to post it even if it is later than I originally planned. Thank you so much to Gin for putting this together! I love music prompts, so this was right up my alley. I can't wait to catch up on the other stories written for this event! Make sure you all go check them out, too! You can find them here.

Prompt: My song was Butchered Tongue from the album Unreal, Unearth, and my character was Din. I was delighted to get this prompt, because that song speaks to my soul. It's melancholic and beautiful, and I think it fits Din so damn well, so I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: angst, mentions of canon typical violence, mention of death of parents/family, you know, Mandalorian stuff.

Word Count: 3,545 (oops.)

Summary: Din doesn't remember much about his parents or his life with them... but that doesn't stop him from wishing it were different.

Nevarro’s sun burned bright and hot as Din crossed the scrubby stretch of flatlands that separated the town from the Mandalorian encampment. Shifting the crate he carried under one arm, he tilted his head down to where Grogu hopped along beside him, using the Force to propel himself every few steps to accommodate for his father’s much longer stride. The sight, along with the string of happy gurgles and babbles spilling from the kid’s mouth, made a smile sprout beneath the man’s helmet. 

“It’s good to be back, isn’t it buddy?” 

Grogu looked up at him and squealed happily, nodding and pointing one clawed finger at the semi-permanent settlement growing closer with every step they took. 

Though the efforts to reclaim their homeworld had been successful, a small group of Mandalorians remained on Nevarro during the rebuilding process on Mandalore - mainly those responsible for teaching and raising the foundlings and other young children that were not yet ready to start their trials. There were two combat instructors, two teachers whose focus was on the tenants of the Resol’nare, one additional teacher who was responsible for teaching Mando’a, as well as a dozen or so students and their guardians. Eventually they’d all join the rest of their people on Mandalore, but until things were more solidly settled there, Nevarro was as safe an option for an outpost as could be found in the Outer Rim. 

Din chuckled. “I’m sure your friends will be happy to see you again, too.” 

That response sent the kid bouncing with excitement, hopping high enough so that he could fit in a flip before touching down again, the rondel and small pauldron he wore clinging together like chimes with his motion. 

“Go ahead,” Din urged him, jutting his chin out in front of him. “You don’t have to wait for me. I’ll be right behind -” But the child was gone before the last word left his lips. He sighed and shook his head in amusement. “-You.” He watched through the tinted screen of his visor as Grogu darted towards the sparring grounds, no doubt in search of Ragnar.  

It had been a few months since they’d been back on Nevarro, Din busy taking Grogu through his apprenticeship, teaching him skills that he would need in order to move on in his training. Tracking, hunting, navigation, survival, negotiation, just to name a few. Every lesson took them to a different planet, some of them coming with the added bonus of coinciding with a bounty or paid favor. The most recent one, a lesson in tracking on Rodia, had resulted in uncovering a stash of beskar ingots that had been defaced with an Imperial stamp. 

Immediately after finishing up on Rodia - Din showing Grogu how to incapacitate an enemy without killing them - they’d taken the recovered beskar back to the Armorer on Mandalore, so that she could fashion it into new pieces for the foundlings. It was strange, but good, to see the glass encrusted planet so teeming with life. It was a relief to know that what his people had fought for for so long, what so many had given their lives for, was finally secure. Finally theirs. 

But despite the fact that the Mandalorian people finally had a safe place to call home, Din had yet to feel that sort of connection with the planet. Unlike Bo-Katan, he hadn’t been born there, nor had he spent any time there as a child. He’d heard stories about what the Great Forge had been like in its glory, how lush the gardens of Sundari had been long ago. But to him, a foundling Child of the Watch who had never set foot on Mandalore until he was a grown man, they’d always felt like stories about some fictional, far off place. He wondered if that would change, if he would ever feel at home in a place that brought him no nostalgia or warmth. 

A part of him hoped that it would. Because it wasn’t just Mandalore that he felt that absence of connection to. It was everywhere he went. A side-effect of losing every home he’d ever had, it turned out, was not knowing where your roots would grow if they could grow anywhere they chose. 

He knew he had a home once. A true home, one where he could have collected a whole life’s worth of memories, enough of them so that when he returned there they’d all come rushing to fill his heart with warmth and welcome. He knew he had a family before the Tribe had become that for him, too. A mother and father who loved him so fiercely that they sacrificed their own lives to save his. When he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could still find their faces. His father’s was easier to recall because he himself wore so many of the same features. Every time he saw his own reflection he was reminded of the man who carried him through the battlefield that their village had become. 

His mother’s face was more difficult to recall in detail, but that didn’t mean he had forgotten her. He remembered her thick, dark hair and the way it curled at her shoulders. He remembered the texture of the red robes she wore, remembered tracing the intricate pattern of woven stitching on the cuffs of her sleeves with the tips of his fingers. He couldn’t be sure, but he had the thought that he must have remembered these things because she was the one who comforted him when he was hurt, sad or scared. That what he really recalled when he thought of his mother was the feeling of safety and warmth that her embrace provided. 

He remembered the tone of her voice, soothing but strong. His father’s was full and confident and always sounded like a smile was about to appear. He remembered that the two of them sang often. Sometimes he’d be hit with a snippet of a melody, the lyrics lost, turned to dust and ash like the rest of his homeworld, but he’d find himself humming and realize that it was one of the songs his parents used to sing. 

The forgotten lyrics were only a small part of a larger loss, though. They were written in a language that had died when the population of Aq Vetina had been snuffed out. So he could remember his parents’ voices. He could remember the melodies they sang. But the things they said, the words they used, the meaning behind them? All of that was gone. For all the languages and means of communication he did know, the first one he’d ever heard and learned escaped him. And in all of his travels since leaving his homeworld in the arms of an armored stranger that had become his Buir, Din had never met anyone who spoke his native tongue. 

It made him wonder if anyone else had survived the attack on his home that day, or if he was the last living member of a completely slain culture. 

Before he could ruminate on that thought for too long, though, Azil, one of the combat instructors, saw him walking towards the sparring grounds and waved him over. “Olarom, Djarin!” He pointed at the crate Din carried, tilting his helmeted-head in question. “Gifts from home?” 

The contents of the box shifted as Din handed it over, newly cast cuiresses ringing together in answer to Azil’s inquiry. “New beskar,” Din responded with a nod. “Freshly forged on Mandalore,” he added in answer to Azil’s question about where it came from. “I was told to deliver them to you for distribution to your students.” 

Azil set the crate down and clapped one gloved hand to Din’s shoulder. “Vor entye, vod.” 

Returning the gesture, Din did the same. “This is the Way.” 

“This is the Way,” Azil echoed, and then immediately set about unpacking the box of armor, sorting it by size, leaving Din to see where Grogu had gone. 

It didn’t take long for him to find his son. The long, green ears were a giveaway, sure. But so was the small crowd of other children gathered around to watch him levitate a black chunk of volcanic rock while Ragnar Vizsla practiced blasting it with training darts. With each successful hit, the other kids would cheer, a collective sound of amazement coming from them each time Grogu managed to evade the blast by redirecting the rock. 

Din stood watching for a few moments, silently appreciative that these children had this opportunity to laugh and learn and grow together somewhere open and safe and free. He could remember playing similar training games and showing off new skills with the few other children in his covert, though then it was all done underground, in hiding. But he couldn’t recall the kinds of games he might have played with friends in his village. If there were any nursery rhymes or tall tales he might have known once, they’d long since faded from his memory. 

It made him wonder if he’d eventually forget what little he could remember about his native culture. Would he lose it piece by piece? Until not even a familiar tune or the color red or his own reflection sparked any feeling? He hoped not, but it seemed inevitable. 

At least, it had. 

Suddenly - from a different group of children than the one gathered around Grogu, much to Din’s relief - a small child went darting by his boots, arms outstretched in front of her, the distinct sound of sniffles and cries trailing after her. Turning away from the training grounds, he watched as the child was scooped up by a woman who had just stepped out of one of the tents. He assumed that whatever sent the girl running was just the result of one of the other kids being a little too rough. Or perhaps one of Nevarro’s reptilian species had frightened the child. Either way, it was clear that there was no real danger and that the woman had things under control, so he started to turn back towards Grogu and Ragnar’s shenanigans. 

But then he overheard the woman begin to soothe the young girl in her arms. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

It stopped him in his tracks and sent his head swiveling back in the direction it came from. His heart pounded beneath the elongated diamond stamped into the center of his chestplate as he felt something unlock in his memory. 

He’d heard those same words before. So long ago that he was stunned when he recognized the phrase. So long ago that the meaning behind them was lost. But he knew they were spoken to him as comfort. He knew that they were words steeped in love. He watched the way the woman cradled the child to her armored chest, his eyes catching on the piece of red fabric that was pinned to the cowl of her flight suit. 

No matter how impossible it seemed that the words he’d just heard had survived what a whole settlement of people hadn’t, no matter how unlikely it was that it was there of all places that he’d heard it, no matter how slim the odds were that the tattered scarlet linen was the same fabric that he remembered from his home, Din found himself drawn to her. 

To you. 

—  —  — 

You were rewiring the com device in your helmet when you heard Tira’s cry. 

Though you knew that she was probably fine - there were dozens of other Mandalorian adults present in the settlement, and you knew that none of them would allow any real harm to come to the children - you immediately set your work down and stepped outside, senses heightened. But as soon as you saw her running towards you, you relaxed. She wasn’t hurt or being chased. She’d likely just been knocked over by one of the bigger kids while they played one of their games. Tira was small, but didn’t like to be told that. And since her older brother had begun his trials and wasn’t there as often to make sure she didn’t get pushed around by the others, she’d been having trouble adjusting. 

It didn’t help that less than a year ago, she and Maj had lost both of their parents in the battle to retake Mandalore, which is how the children had come to be in your care. 

As a former foundling yourself, you were more than willing to step in and raise them as your own, just as the Mandalorian who rescued you the day your village was attacked and your parents were killed would have done had he not been able to reunite you with your kin. You’d been brought to Corellia, where your mother’s sister lived with her family, and they’d taken you in and raised you instead. It wasn’t until you became an adult that you rejoined the Mandalorians and took the Creed, choosing to commit your life to the very people who had saved it. 

But though you mainly spoke Galactic Basic and were muddling your way through learning Mando’a, it was still your first language that came to you when you scooped a sniffling Tira into your arms and cradled her to your armored chest. It was still the words your parents - and then your aunt - had spoken to you when you’d been hurt or scared that you used to comfort the girl. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

You’re safe with me, sweet one.

You knew Tira and Maj didn’t speak Aquitto. They only knew the meaning of that one phrase because you’d taught it to them. And since your aunt had passed away, you knew that you were possibly the only person left in the galaxy who would even recognize it let alone speak it. As far as you knew, there hadn’t been any other survivors from your village that day. It struck you that every time you spoke it could be the last time it was ever uttered. 

Pushing that thought from your mind, you focused on Tira, kissing her cheek and letting her clutch at the sculpted pin that held a piece of red fabric - a remnant of the hooded robe you’d been wearing the day you were rescued on Aq Vetina - in place on your cowl. The pin had belonged to your mother, the woman pressing it into your hand before disappearing to go try to fight off the monstrous machines with the rest of the village. As a child you would trace the design on it with your fingertip whenever she held you, whenever she made the same promise you were making Tira. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

By the time you’d said it a second time, the girl had stopped crying. The words themselves weren’t magic, but the sentiment in them was. Even if they were the last scraps of the Aquitto language to live on, you hoped that one day Tira or Maj would pass them along to a child who needed to hear them, too.

Whatever had brought on the sudden storm of tears had passed, and Tira wriggled in your hold as she caught sight of some of the other children watching as the Jedi foundling levitated chunky rocks for Ragnar to blast with darts. You chuckled at her eagerness to get back out there with the big kids. “Okay, necta. But watch out for yourself, got it?” You set her back on the ground, stooping down to her level and ruffling her hair. “I know you’re a tough one, but you still have to be careful.” 

She nodded enthusiastically, telling you that she would be, and then she was gone, scurrying back across the crusty flatland towards the other kids. When you stood back up, you were met with the dark visor of Din Djarin - a man you’d never personally met, but who you’d heard a great deal about from the others in the settlement on Nevarro. You knew he was the Jedi foundling’s adoptive father. You knew he had previously wielded the Darksaber and that he was instrumental in helping Bo-Katan Kryze and the others take back Mandalore. You knew that he was responsible for reclaiming the beskar that your armor had been forged from. 

– – – 

“Oh, hello,” you greeted him, a small laugh in your voice that he figured was a result of the way he’d caught you off guard. You lifted a hand and reflexively tucked the piece of red fabric at your collar into place. “It’s Din, right?”

“Yes. Din Djarin. I’m sorry I don’t know your name, I-” 

You waved him off and introduced yourself. Smiling, you pointed in the direction that the little one you’d just set down had run off in. “That’s your son over there, isn’t it? Tira was excited to see him.” 

Din turned his head to follow your finger, though he didn’t need to look to know that you were indicating Grogu. “It is,” he confirmed, facing you again with a small shrug. “He likes to show off.” 

You laughed at that. “I would too, if I could do what he can.” 

“He’s a special kid,” Din replied, and you smiled again. 

“He is.” You nodded, and it was clear to him that you were still unsure of why he had approached you. “Is there-”

“Can I ask you something?” He tilted his head, hidden eyes fixed on the fabric at your neck - and on the sculpted pin that held it in place, the designs so familiar to him he could feel them on his fingers. 

You furrowed your brow, expression turning serious. “Of course. Not sure if I’ll be able to help you with it, but-” You held your hands up, palms to the sky. “Ask away.” 

“The words you just spoke to that little girl… Tira?” You nodded so he went on. “How do you know that language?” 

He watched your eyes widen with your blink. “You… You’re familiar with Aquitto?” 

Din sighed, giving a slight shake of his head. “I didn’t even remember what it was called, but… Yes. Or, that phrase, anyway. How do you know it?”

You let out a breath. “I… I was born on Aq Vetina. It was the language my parents spoke. It…” Again your fingers came up to the pin and the fabric that it secured. “It was my first language. I was lucky that my aunt knew it, too, or else I would have forgotten it completely after our village was destroyed and-” Something dawned on you and your eyes widened again. “You said you were familiar with it?” He nodded. “How?” 

You asked the question in a way that made him think you already knew the answer, but you needed - or wanted - to hear him say it. So he did. “Same as you. I was born there. It was my parents’ language. But I haven’t heard it spoken since the day droids raided our home.” He blinked, somewhat stunned that only moments before he had been mourning the loss of his native language and culture only to find a source of it right in front of him. “I didn’t know there were other survivors.” 

Your mouth fell open slightly as you stared up into the visor that hid his eyes from view. When you spoke again it was quiet, your words equally full of disbelief. “Neither did I.” Your lips twitched into a small smile despite the way your eyes had started to water. “I’m glad we were both wrong, Din.” 

“I am, too.” He felt a tightening in his chest, but it was unlike anything he felt before. It wasn’t from sorrow or anxiety, it wasn’t to alert him to a threat or caused by regret. It felt more like a connection forming - like meeting you had brought him closer to his own heart somehow. Instantly, a thousand questions popped into his mind for you, and he imagined you might have had some for him as well. But there was one thing he needed to know first. “Can you tell me what it means? What you said to Tira? My… I think my parents used to say it to me, and…” He trailed off, waiting for your response. 

“It means, ‘You’re safe with me, sweet one.’” You smiled again. “It literally translates to ‘You’re in my heart’ though. It’s… It’s what you say to the people you love most.” 

Just then, Grogu and Tira came tearing over, Din bending down to pick up his son and you settling your hand on the little girl’s head as she clung to your side. “Hey, Buddy. Remember when I told you about my parents and what I remembered about where I came from?” 

“Patu.” His head moved up and down, ears flapping with his nod. 

“Well, this lady comes from the same place that I do, and she just taught me how to say something in my old language. You wanna hear it?” 

“Patu!” He spread his clawed fingers over Din’s chestplate. 

Din looked over at you - at the warm smile on your face as you smoothed the little girl’s play-ruffled hair and gave him an encouraging nod - and then back down at Grogu. “Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

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Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist for this or any of my stories, please feel free to let me know in an ask or message, or you can fill out the form on my masterlist! :)

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[beyondtheclose]

Potter Gossip

written for the drarry discord drabble challenge january 2023, for the prompt “rumours”, wc 188. (ao3 link)

thank you to @crazybutgood for beta-ing this for me <3

When Pansy slid in beside him, devious smile in place, and proclaimed that she “learned the most interesting tidbit in DADA today,” Draco considered casting an ear blocking charm at himself. 

“I heard about Potter’s Patronus,” Draco groaned. “The student body is eternally fixated on Potter gossip.”

The first he heard of it was in the Slytherin common room, a sixth year laughing over Harry Potter’s Patronus changing from the mighty stag into a flobberworm. Then, while going to Potions, a group of first years were debating whether it was a lion or a dragon until they noticed him and scattered. Finch-Fletchley told him it was a wolf, delivered with a barely veiled threat to watch out, “because you never know what might happen if a wand slips—wolves are ferocious.”

Never mind that Patronuses can’t cause bodily harm. (That Harry wouldn’t hurt him). 

Hippogriff, beaver, horse—everyone had a theory. It was exhausting. Pansy could excuse him for not caring.

“Oh? You know his Patronus is also an Arctic fox?”

Draco whipped around to the Gryffindor table, only to find the man already looking at him. Was Harry blushing ? 

“Thought so,” Pansy said smugly. 

[sev-on-kamino]

30 Days of Blossoming Romance

Day 1: Accidental Hand Touching (prompt list here)

Wrecker x fem!reader

warnings: none, reader has a small injury, no details though, it’s fluff your honor!

word count: 819

“I gave you a direct order!” Hunter was yelling as the pair of you raced down the mountain, a battalion of clankers in pursuit.

“And I followed it! I just got lost!” You argued. It was technically true. You had taken a wrong turn, and decided you might as well double back for Hunter.

“We both know that’s not true!”

“Wrecker, I’ve got him, light it up!” You ignored Hunter’s fussing completely. He could chew you out from the safety of the Marauder.

“Thought you’d never ask!” Wrecker replied gleefully.

“Wrecker, you were in on this?” Hunter groaned.

“Less fussing, more running!” You shouted, cutting him off and ducking a blaster shot.

“This is not over!” Hunter bit back with a growl.

You rolled your eyes even though he couldn’t see them, as the rumble of explosions chased towards your position.

“Tech, get airborn, we need a pick up!” Hunter’s irritation couldn’t have been more clear.

“Locking in on your signal,” Tech replied, not letting on that he’d probably heard the entire bickering session.

“Left!” You took a sharp left leading Hunter towards a ridge where you could step into the Marauder without Tech needing to land again. Right on time, the ship hovered at the edge, the gangplank lowering to reveal Crosshair, who provided cover fire. You and Hunter threw yourselves into the ship and collapsed onto the floor. You struggled to take a breath, as the hard floor knocked the air out of you.

“Nice of you to join us,” Crosshair quipped, popping off a few more shots for good measure, as Tech closed the door, and made a sharp turn away from the mountainside. He turned to you, and offered his arm to help you up.

“Did you see that fireball?!” Wrecker exclaimed, eyes trained on you, as he hauled Hunter to his feet. “It was beautiful.”

“It was amazing, Wrecker,” you huffed, bent over, struggling to catch your breath. “Absolutely perfect placement.”

He beamed at you, before frowning. “You’re hurt.”

“What?!” you and Hunter shouted simultaneously. You straightened up with difficulty and looked down frantically to find a nice little blaster wound in your side.

“Great,” you said flatly, shuffling towards the corner of the ship that you’d turned into your med bay.

“Tech,” Hunter called. “Doc’s hurt!”

“I can handle it on my own. I’ll slap some bacta gel on it, and it’ll be fine,” you waved him off. “I’m fine, Tech!”

“Fine, when you’re done with that, I want you front and center in the cockpit, so we can discuss your listening skills,” Hunter was quite intent on this lecture that he’d no doubt been planning since he saw you back in that base.

“I warned you he’d be mad,” Crosshair said, heading towards the cockpit.

“Yeah, yeah, I remember,” you grumbled, heading the opposite way.

The pain in your side was noticeable now, but you were in no hurry to get an earful, so you stopped by the crate of ration bars on your way to your little corner of the ship, and flipped the lid open. You reached for one of the good bars, only for your fingers to meet Wrecker’s.

“Oh! Sorry, Wrecker. I’m so out of it, I didn’t even hear you behind me,” you apologized.

“It’s ok, sorry for getting you in trouble with Sarge,” he said offering you an apologetic smile.

“Don’t worry about it. He would have found something else if not this,” you grinned up at him. The sincerity in his smile made your heart clench, and you looked away only to realize your fingers were still touching.

Wrecker noticed too, and picked up the ration bar, offering it to you.

“Here, you have it since you’re hurt and all.”

“I don’t know, Wrecker, that explosion was awfully deserving of one of these,” you trailed off.

He grinned at you. “It was beautiful, wasn’t it? Reminded me of you.” Realizing what he’d said, he laughed nervously and looked away. His eyes darting back to see your reaction.

“An explosion reminded you of me?” You smiled up at him, one of your eyebrows raised. You were flattered by the strange compliment because you knew he meant it.

“Ah, cyar’ika, I’m sorry,” he started only for you to cut him off.

“Why? You like explosions, and if a massive one like that made you think of me, it’s a good thing, yeah?”

His shoulders drop in relief, as he grins.

“You always know what I mean, doc!” He replies, pressing the bar into your hands, letting your fingers brush against each other again. He lingers a moment before pulling back and grabbing a different bar. “Come find me when you’re done patching yourself up, and I’ll help you hide from Hunter.”

“It’s a date,” you smile, opening the wrapper with your teeth and taking a massive bite. Wrecker nods and salutes you as he leaves you to it.

[asha-mage]

Rand/Mat/Tuon, judicious

[Send me a character or pairing, and a one word prompt, and I'll write you a drabble!]

Fortuona Athaem Devi Paendrag stood at the edge of her chambers, luxuriating in the feel of silk curtains brushing against her bare skin. The faint salt twanged breeze that came up off the River Eldar had mostly dried her of the left over water from her bath, and she could at any time, retreat back into her chambers to be dressed and begin hearing the day’s reports. But for the moment she was content to simply stand, hidden by the fluttering of the curtains and observe the garden below.

Inarian laid sprawled out beside one of the ponds there, where she had left him the night before, a sheer silken blanket covering his naked form. His hat, coat, scarf and other effects she had ordered returned to his sleeping chambers, but his ashandarei and his medallion she had ordered to remain untouched. If he wanted to depart, he would do so inconvenienced but not seriously hindered. A fine line to walk, but a necessary one, now more then ever.

She had acknowledged him officially as Emperor Consort, which made him Lord of the Tower and, in theory, her most important councilor and ally, as it was supposed to be with every Empress and her consort, though it had rarely been so in truth. Even Lothair Paendrag had kept a Favorite to shower with his affection and love, while marrying for the good of his budding Empire, as was practical and necessary for a ruler.

Yet the common folk required some illusions and romantic notions to take away the sting of harsh truths. A nation existed as much because people believed in it, as for anything done with a soldier’s blade or an official's pen, and to believe required the sorts of stories that made children starry eyed. That the Seekers never erred in their quest for the truth. That the army was truly always victorious in the end. That the Empress loved the Emperor.

She had never expected to find truth in the illusion, anymore then she had expected to be stolen away by a dashing hero.

And yet…

A silvery slash of light appeared in the garden and lengthened till it was tall an archway. From where she was standing that slash seemed to widen and part, becoming a silvery haze in the shape of a solid rectangle, before snapping back into a slash again and winking out.

The man who had stepped out of the gateway walked with all the confidence of a member of the Deathwatch Guard, as if he where not an intruder in the heart of Seanchan power and violating so many laws by his mere presence that he could, at the least, expect to be condemned to the Tower of Ravens for the rest of his life.

If he where anyone else that was.

Fortuona watched the man cross the garden, the blades of grass seeming to visibly grow greener, the trees more full in branch and flower, by his mere presence alone, and stoop down to where Inarian was laying beneath his blanket. She knew he was pressing his mouth close to Inarian’s ear to whisper to him. Fortuona watched her husband stir, coaxed by his lover’s voice to wakefulness, and she did not need to be near enough to hear to know that there would be soft laughter in both their words, anymore then she needed to see them to know that smiles would be painting both their faces.

The name Inarian would not be muttered, nor would whatever name that man was using these days. To each other, like this, they would simply be Rand and Mat, nothing more or less, no titles or burdens or barriers between them.

Inarian insisted that Fortuona call him Mat as well- in private at least- and she no longer minded doing so, no matter how much her skin itched from the bad luck of it. (In her friskier moods she even went so far as to call him Toy again, which he seemed to not mind at all.) She saw it now as a symbol of their trust, their connection.

Yet it still rankled something in her, that he rejected the honors and accolades she so freely bestowed on him. He was not ungrateful, not really, and he had understood the import, once she explained it. Yet he still did not regard the name she had gifted him with anywhere near the reverence as the one he had as a mud footed farm boy. And a part of her, the part that was still the petulant angry girl who had needed more switchings then any Imperial Princess in memory, couldn’t help but wonder if it was because that was the name Rand al’Thor had known him by.

For a moment Fortuona considered retrieving one of the hidden crossbows she kept secreted about her room- the one inside the tea table would be closest, loaded already with a single short bolt and tipped in powdered peach core already for a fatal blow even if it missed any essential organ- and firing down at the man who presumed to make her husband laugh. With the curtains fluttering around her still she was the next thing to invisible, and it would be easy enough to explain away: Inarian and his lover had not been as discreet as they should. A Deathwatch guard had assumed the Emperor Consort was being threatened, and acted in zealous protectiveness. She could even offer the life of one of her Guards to Inarian’s satisfaction, knowing full well her soft hearted husband would never claim such, would be horrified the very idea. It would be clean, brutal, and final.

Fortuona let the thought roll about in her mind for a bit, as she always did, and then as she always did, she set it aside firmly. It would be a misstep in the long run she knew, cracking something between her and Inarian that would not be easily mended. Cracking him maybe, in his heart. And for what? Silly childish notions like affection and love? She was a woman grown, and arguably the most powerful woman on the planet at that. She could not afford the silly indulgences of children. Her world was bitter reality. It always would be.

She would do her part in the dance instead. Inarian would listen to the sweet whispers to the man who had once been the Dragon and vanish for a few days, and she would hold back his hat and his coat, his scarf and his bag of oddities and keepsakes, to keep a tie to him that he would neither feel nor be able to break. She might burn something, perhaps the coat, to punish him in the meantime (she liked the hat and the scarf on him to much to destroy them) but when he returned she would act as if he never been away. She would not acknowledge his dalliance with his lover in any way, and instead let his guilt and anxiety prick him for her.

Inarian was suspended she knew, between her and the man who had once been the Dragon, each of them holding him by equal force, and with equal gentleness. He was like a fox between two dens. He would run this way, then that, as he willed, answering her call and then his lover’s, divided always between two masters, each playing the game to keep him enticed and entranced, each tempting the attention of dark glittering eyes. Fortuona knew not how the game would end, only that the surest way to loose would be to try and trap him, bind him in some way where he could feel the cord. He would bolt against which ever hand, hers or anyone else’s that tried to do that, and be lost forever.

The only thing worse would be letting him know how much of a claim on her heart he had. He would never take advantage of such- that was not her Inarian, in character or nature. Yet it would frighten him she was sure, if he guessed even half of the depths of her affection for him. The love that burned in her breast for her clever trickster of a husband.

An Empress was not supposed to love anything but her people. Love for an individual was a dangerous madness, a sickness of hot passion that had broken a thousand kingdoms. It made people value one life above the lives of the masses, one person’s opinion over the well being of an Empire. She had not believed it to be real for most of her life. What could one person’s opinions matter more then the fate of nations? The blood of thousands? It was a thing for stories, not bitter realities. Not her reality.

And then she had been stolen away by a fox that made the ravens fly.

So now she walked her fine line, of gentle push and pull and twist and turn. Never showing her hand, never letting the mask break. Never letting her fingers quite leave Inarian’s neck, while never pressing down so hard as to make him bolt.

She kept the secrets of Rand al’Thor, once the Dragon, and she said nothing when Inarian vanished from her life for days or weeks or months, smothered the ache in her rib cage as surely as she smothered the pain from knife wounds and cross bow bolts. The alternative was to loose him forever, or else reveal her weakness, her childishness, the defect within her that should disqualify her from sitting on the Crystal Throne. Neither outcome could ever born.

Better, more prudent, more judicious, to keep her cards to chest, and to play the game for as long as she could manage.

The Empress of Seanchan loved her husband, and their was maybe no greater danger to the Empire in all the world then that.

[ageplay-may]

Welcome to Ageplay May 2023! This is a chill, low pressure event dedicated to ageplayers big and small!

Rules & FAQ || Ao3 Collection || Twitter || Discord

Find all prompts transcribed below the cut!

Prompts

Sugar Prompts & Spice Prompts

May Day & Outdoor Fucking

Ageplay 'verse & D/S 'verse

A Bad Day & Bad Touch

Food Fight & Food Play

Solo Ageplay & Masturbation

Heartwarming & Cockwarming

Arts and Crafts (Gone Wrong) & Arts and Crafts (Gone Sexy!)

Whining & Whimpering

Under the Bed & Over the Sheets

Pacifiers and Sippy Cups & Oral Fixation

Family Day & Incest

Pet Names & Pet Play

Dress Up & Stripping

Mother's Day & Daddy's Turn

Candy & Stranger Danger

Kiss It Better & Make It Hurt

Love Notes & Instructions

Sweet Dreams & Nightmares

In the Middle & In the Middle

Swing Set & Sex Swing

Accidental Swearing & Accidental Orgasm

Dinosaurs & Primal Play

Bedtime Story & Dirty Talk

Waterslides & Watersports

Big Hugs & Bondage

Plushies & Plushie Fucking

Adopted & Abducted

Tooth Fairy & Teeth and Biting

Gang's All Here & Gangbang

Ten Tickles & Tentacles

Fixed & Broken

[ashfae]

In the Beginning

“In the beginning,” said Brian, lying on the grass, “there was nothing. Then God said ‘Let there be light.’ And there was still nothing--” He flashed a grin at his friends. “--but now you could see it!”

Pepper groaned. “That’s ridiculous.”

“And it doesn’t make any sense,” said Wensleydale. “How can you see nothing?”

“I dunno,” said Adam, considering this. “I think I get it. Like…just a huge white space, waiting.”

“Waiting for what?” Pepper asked sarcastically. “Brian to spill something on it?”

“Actually, yeah,” said Adam, looking up. “Something like that. Needing someone to come and mess it up.” https://archiveofourown.org/works/47091118/chapters/118641076 - by Ashfae

[safyresky]

Scrimbly Jacqueline 36/52: tfw you sacrifice yourself to save a pal from experiencing The Horrors™ too early and fucking up the ENTIRE timeline

She's seen the time fracture in action. She knows exactly what it wants to do. And she knows exactly what she needs to do. The moment she sees the fracture zero in on Lucy, she's running. She drops her staff (it disappears before it even hits the ground) and relies on her instincts. Shoves her hands back as the summer sprite glamour falls. The snow jumps up to aid her, but it's not enough, it's not enough, she needs to use her full power set or it'll be too late and Lucy— She grits her teeth. No. No. She's not gonna let that happen. The snow pushes her forward as she reaches up and tears the simple silver bangle with the small hourglass charm off her wrist, tossing it down into the snow behind her. The second glamour drops. Her powers are at her full disposal once again and she is flying across the battlefield, piercing blue eyes set on the large, dark, fragment hovering dangerously above Lucy. She'll make it, but only just. "Wait!" "What are you doing?!?" "J—Winnie! Winnie, STOP." She ignores every single warning. Mel, Jack, and her Lucy fall on deaf ears as she closes the gap between the splintered piece of time and pre-Horrors Lucy. "This is gonna hurt like a bitch," she says, and springs off her pile of snow like a diver jumping the high dive, arms out, crashing right into Lucy as the fracture hits her right in the back. It's breathtaking. Literally. She can't breath. Pain blossoms. In sharp succession. Onetwothree (all THREE?? REALLY? FOR FUCK'S SAKE, she thinks) shink-shink-shink and she is bleeding, she is bleeding so so bad but Lucy is tucked up against her and is safe, she's in one piece and she is there and she is okay. They fall to the floor with a thud, rolling for a moment. She grabs the snow, stopping herself, letting Lucy go. The redhead rolls once more before managing to stop herself and sit up on her knees, watching with horror as 'Winnie' pushes herself up. A puddle of blood is quickly spreading around her, and in the distance, Mel and the other Lucy are panicking, frazzled, wands out and at the ready as they rush across the field towards them. Blood seeps between her fingers. She coughs; a dribble of red creeps out the corner of her mouth. She moves her right hand away from her chest, blood glistening against her pale palm. She winces. Her left hand is still holding her stomach tightly, glowing a light blue now. There is a sharp cracking sound as ice blossoms across her stomach, a feeble attempt to stop the bleeding. Lucy can't help but let out a sharp gasp. She looks up at her, then; a sharp, piercing blue gaze, concern lining her features. She coughs; blood splatters. "Are you okay, Luce?" Lucy doesn't say anything. She is transfixed, staring at the blue eyes, the very very familiar blue eyes. She thinks back to that familiar warm presence, acutely felt as she sought to help Jack. The warm presence that had returned every time she was near older Lucy's friend. "Jacqueline?!"

I think this is number 3?? Of 5?? Of the @kscribbs suggestions! This one is delightfully angsty. I've mentioned before about how I bug her about a "The Forgiven" AU that involves ML Lucy and Jacqueline time travelling and nonsense ensuing? Yeah! This is where this is from 🤭🤭🤭

Quick Facts:

Mel knows from the get-go who Jacqueline is. Lucy, as well, but that's because she doesn't really need to disguise herself the way Jacqueline does!

The pair of them pop into this timeline to take care of a time fracture that escaped from their timeline, and immediately get their asses handed to them bc it was stronger than either of them expected—the question is, why?

They go to Mel after that immediate defeat and stay with her while they figure things out

They both have a glamour to appear younger; the little bangle I describe? FT gives it to them to help with said glamour and make their powers seem not as advanced as they are, since they're trying to appear the same age as Forgiven!Lucy

Jacqueline has a second glamour she wove into her staff to make her appear more summer spritey than winter spritey. Since she's dead in this universe, she disguises herself as a summer sprite and goes by Winnie (short for Winifred, she claims, and definitely NOT Winter which is definitely NOT her middle name because she's definitely NOT a very alive and well Jacqueline from another universe) for reasons. Which I have. But am too sleepy today to elaborate on, lol.

Forgiven!Jack and Lucy are sus but Jacqueline is okay at keeping her true identity on the DL, probably bc Lucy and Mel are a HUGE help with that bc let's be real, Jacqueline ain't SLICK

They drag her to the Springs and then CS General after this. She is a terrible patient and her non-existence causes problems in CSG and so does she

But she'll be okay! :)

Forgiven!Lucy finds out who she is after THAT stunt; Jacqueline asks her not to tell Jack while she's bleeding out so, y'know, given the whole bleeding out thing, Lucy agrees (for now)

Jack finds out a few days later after Jacqueline does more dumb shit bc post hospital visit, she gets fed up and misses her wife and kids (that's milf jacquie babes!) and is like I WILL GO FIND THE SPLINTER MYSELF and learns VERY VIOLENTLY why the splinter is so much more powerful than they expected!

Ends up on Jack's couch with a magic shortage and it all goes down then >:)

hmm...I think I'll leave you with that!

Will I ever fully write this thing? I don't know! It's fun to theorize and entertain K with, and this drabble sure was fun, but my GOD her writing is so fucking GOOD I don't think I could match the gorgeous style at all! Please read Miller's Law if you get the chance, it's so so SO GOOD! And The Forgiven, which is an alternate ending to the Jacqueline Dies AU! Which you can find Part 1 of, Blood Upon the Snow, HERE and Part 2: Ghosts of the Past, HERE.

(Like the titles? I've been trying to name that sucker for AGES. Still not totally sold on Part 2's title, but for now it works :)

Design wise, I bugged K for what she thought ML!Lucy would look like at this point as well as Forgiven!Lucy, and she showed me some lovely little doodles and I based them off of those! I really like oldML!Lucy's design a LOT! Look how cool her hair is!

Perspectives and proportions are all off but! A) this is a SCRIMBLY! I'm not supposed to THINK about that sorta stuff! That was the POINT to them! And B) I'm only just starting to refine doodles and it's baby steps! Practise makes perfect!

Colours wise, I am going to fistfight the purples I used for older Luce bc they looked lighter based on the caps and the test lines and when I used them? YEAH. NO. WAY DARKER! IT'S TWO DIFFERENT SHADES AND YOU CAN'T EVEN TELL!!! One day, I'll have a full set of the alcohol based markers I like and THEN I won't HAVE that problem, IN THEORY! AH. And Mel's SHIRT is too YELLOW! GRAHHHHHHHH.

Right. So. This is the FIRST September scrimble! One more and I am caught up to where I should be next week! And I PROMISE the next two are gonna be so cute and fluffy and silly I SWEAR!

[grapecaseschoices]

Those word prompts are so good!! If you're taking prompts for the May challenge (no pressure!!): cantankerous or audacity

You feel as if you are being warmed from the inside out. Your chest is expanding to the point where it feels like your heart is trying to break apart your ribs, and your throat feels so tight that it almost hurts to swallow. You feel faint. The AC is on blast, and you feel so heated as if you're about to faint. There is no way that the effect of it - there is no way that your stomach is churning and your heart is hammering - isn't showing up on your face. 

From where he was seated, so close to you, he could see everything. If only he wasn't, as he claimed, 'blinder than a bat born in an abyss.' 

His cantankerous tone momentarily dragged you back to your senses, "I thought you said you knew how to put in contacts."

You manage not to flinch. But you can't quite contain the hitch in your breath at the feeling of the way his words tickle against your lips. 

Yes, momentarily. 

He was ... too close! Offering to help him replace his contacts had been a bad idea. Why had you thought this was a good idea? This was a terrible idea!

"Ms. Carita?" 

[chaotic-orphan]

Merry Whump of May, Day 31:

“Thin ice” : lighter // chronic pain // dead ends

Okay look, is it long? Yes, but does it make up for not doing the entire Merry Whump of May? Absolutely. This is all you’re getting, and if you are inconsolable as to why, we’ll it’s the last day of May, okay, enjoooyyy

*~*~*~*~*

It was early. Too early to be awake, but somehow Whumpee was reaching for their phone that was blaring their call sound and put it to their ear, mumbling a tired: “hello?”

“Hello Whumpee.”

Whumpee was out of bed at the voice. His voice. Bare feet padding on hard wood floor, and looking around their room for any sign of an intruder. Their heart pounding against their chest, suddenly wide, wide awake.

“I’m sorry, did I wake you? My apologies.”

The phone was shaking in their hand, though they made their voice hard as they said: “I’m hanging up.”

A deep, reverberating laugh from the other end of the phone and Whumpee’s hand stopped shaking as ice flooded through their veins, sticking them to the floor, a shiver running up their spine.

“I have missed you, and your little adorable rebellious spirit.”

“Give me one fucking reason why—“

“And I see you’ve fallen back into bad habits in my absence. That just won’t do, Whumpee…” Whumper sighed and Whumpee had to stop the apology threatening to fall from their lips.

“How did you get my number?”

“I think the real question you should be asking yourself is how did I get your address?” Whumpee threw themselves at the window, grabbing the curtain in their hand and tearing it open. Eyes scanning left and right down their street and seeing no one. “No. Try again.”

Whumpee hung up, dropping the phone on their bed and listened. They put their ears to the floor, listening for any creaks, any sound. Breathing, anything. They jumped as the phone started ringing again and they just stared at it, breath coming out in short panicked gasps and fuck they were having a panic attack. Over a ringtone.

Whumpee reached with trembling fingers and answered the phone to a very pissed Whumper.

“Whumpee, Whumpee, why do you vex me so?” Whumper was singing down the phone gleefully and it made Whumpee want to scream. Whumpee walked to their door and opened it, peeking their head down the hall to the rest of their apartment.

If Whumper was here they would have heard his singing. Which meant Whumpee could breathe in peace for a few merciful moments.

“You’re not here,” said Whumpee, and then they listened again, quiet. Waiting.

Go on you bastard, call my bluff. Prove me wrong.

Whumpee could practically hear the smile at the end of the phone as Whumper said: “okay. Maybe I’m not, but I bet I made you poop your pants just a little bit.”

“You fucking sadist.”

“Watch your language, Whumpee. You’re on thin ice already, do you want that ice to break? I can pay you a personal visit if you keep testing my patience.”

“No!” Whumpee said, a little too quickly and Whumper chuckled again lightly on the other end of the phone.

“Good. So now that I have your attention… tell me. Did a little bit of pee come out?”

“I’m hanging up.”

“Oh Whumpee. So difficult. And after I went through the trouble of leaving a gift for you. It should be at your door. Go fetch it for me first and open it on call, then feel free to hang up, Whumpee.”

Whumpee’s ribs felt like they were caving in on their lungs as their eyes zeroed in on their front door. They walked down the half staircase of the loft and walked to the door.

A voice in their head criticising them for still obeying Whumper but they had to know. Had to know if they were there this morning. Had to know if they actually knew their address.

Whumpee’s hand reached up to the lock, then hesitated. What if this was just a trap? They’d open the door and Whumper would be waiting there in a blind spot.

“How do I know this isn’t a trap?” Whumpee demanded and Whumper chuckled lightly.

“It’s not a trap. Why, you hesitating at the door like a little coward, Whumpee?”

Whumpee huffed out a breath and hated that Whumper still knew them so well. That they didn’t change since their time in Whumper’s care. That no matter how much they wanted to think they moved on, they were still trapped in the past with Whumper’s name stamped all over their skin.

So Whumpee opened the door, and poked their head out, looking left and right and seeing no one. Then they stepped out and looked over the railing to the car park and found nobody waiting. They finally set their eyes on the small box waiting outside their door and picked it up, walking back inside and locking their door.

“You have it yet? The anticipation is killing me.”

“Yeah,” said Whumpee, voice cracking. “I have it.”

“Well come on now, don’t leave me in suspense. The card first whumpee.”

And still Whumpee obeyed and tore the card away from the parcel, putting the phone on speaker phone and laying it on the table. Whumpee pulled the card from the envelope and saw a teddy bear looking sad reading: “Sorry for your loss,” in cursive letters.

Whumpee opened it and saw just an address inside. The inner card reading: “Here for you whenever you need me.”

“I’m not going to this address,” said Whumpee putting the card down and picking up the parcel.

“Well, not to make you eat your words, Whumpee but— are you opening the package? Oh good. I won’t spoil it the fun, keep going.”

Something heavy fell out of the package, hitting the carpet floor with a dull thud but Whumpee didn’t pay attention to that. Instead they stared at the photograph in their hand and they wanted to get sick.

It was Caretaker. Tied to a chair, arms behind their back head hung low and blood… so… so much blood and Whumpee wanted to cry and curse and scream. They said they got out. They said Whumper would never know. The idiot.

“What was that? You’re never coming to the address? Should I put Caretaker out of their misery then or?”

“No!” Whumpee said too quickly and shut their eyes. Realising too late their mistake. Their display of emotion. Pathetic. Stupid.

Whumper just laughed down the phone. “Good. I should see you soon then? Let’s say, twenty minutes? If I hear a siren, Whumpee, I’ll make sure Caretaker knows that it was your fault they have to die.”

“Whumper, wait. Twenty minutes isn’t enough time for me to—“

“Well how about you make it happen, Whumpee? A little incentive for you, every minute you’re late, is another cut for Caretaker hmm? How about that?”

“You fucking—“

“Do you really want to waste time with that foul language?” Whumpee hung up and resisted the urge to throw their phone at the wall. They ran upstairs, pulling on a hoodie and a grey tracksuit and their runners before rushing downstairs again and grabbing their keys.

They unlocked the door, eyes going back to the table where they left their phone. Then the shiny metal on the ground below it. It was a lighter. It was Caretaker’s lighter. Their heart broke a bit but the took the lighter with them and ran out the door, not bothering to lock it.

They’d get Caretaker free.

Just like Caretaker did for them all those months ago.

Whumpee expected to pull up outside a deserted industrial park where a single lone warehouse waited for them and Whumper watched their every move.

They didn’t expect to pull up to the poshest hotel in the city and have a valet take their car to the parking lot, handing them a ticket in return for their keys. Whumpee didn’t have time to question it, as they ran into the lobby looking for Whumper. They still had a few minutes. Surely, surely.

Two security guards with a sign in their hands reading: “Guest of Whumper” had all sorts of bad news written all over it. For one, the two security guards were twice as tall as Whumpee and twice as broad. They were also wearing ear pieces which they just knew were on a constant live feedback loop to Whumper.

Whumpee wanted to hesitate. To run the other way. To grab their car and go and never look back, but they didn’t have the time. Which is exactly what Whumper wanted. They wanted Whumpee panicked and acting rashly because that was easier to control.

So instead of running Whumpee walked over to the security guards and handed themselves over. “Your name?” One of them asked and Whumpee told them.

The guards nodded, then moved. One stepping in front of Whumpee and extending a hand to the elevator. “Right this way, Whumpee.”

When they got into the lift, Whumpee’s nerves flared up again and they got the sudden urge to run. All that energy stored in their legs, adrenaline pumping going nowhere… it would exhaust them before they even got to the danger.

One of the guards put a key into the lift’s door panel, and keyed in a code and all Whumpee’s best laid plans turned to dust right before their eyes. Their plan of getting in, outwitting Whumper and running into the sunset with Caretaker all dashed by a simple fucking key and an elevator that was taking them God knows where.

Instead of going up or down, the lift moved backwards and then up, and Whumpee swallowed hard, putting their shaking hands deep into their hoodie pockets. To at least hide how much they were shaking.

“We have been instructed to…” one of the guards began, then coughed slightly, almost embarrassed. Whumpee looked up to see the hulking brute blushing at the command they had been given to follow. It was the strangest thing Whumpee had ever seen, and they’ve seen everything that should have been buried in Whumper’s dark, dark imagination.

The other guard took up the slack, and said: “we were instructed to give you these. Our boss said you’d know what to do.”

Whumpee looked over their shoulder at the other guard who held up a pair of pink, fluffy handcuffs and Whumpee rolled their eyes, staring forward again.

“I’m not putting those on.”

“I don’t blame you,” said the first guard, which prompted the second to elbow the first.

“The boss said you had to.”

“Well the boss doesn’t pay my salary,” said Whumpee matter of factly. “So there is no way I am putting those stupid things on.”

“He doesn’t pay you?” the first guard asked. “That’s rough.”

“Ron!” the second guard cried. “You’re not supposed to chat this much.”

“What the boss doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” said Ron and Whumpee found themselves leaning towards liking the tall, strong security guard with morals.

“And when he finds out we haven’t carried out his orders to the letter guess who’s wages get cut?”

Whumpee’s heart dropped as they heard Ron sigh. “Ah shit. Sorry kid, but my daughter wants to go to college. Can you put them on?”

“No,” said Whumpee and prayed that the doors would open mercifully so Whumpee could flee the slowly shrinking metal cage that they were currently trapped in.

“Easy way or hard way, last chance to do it nicely,” the second guard said, warning and intent colouring their voice cold and still whumpee refused to play ball.

“Kid… there is literally no room to fight or flight right now, and I don’t want to get blood on my suit, so please? Put your hands behind your back. We’ll put them on loose, I promise,” and just because Ron said it so nicely Whumpee put their hands behind their back and fought the flinch at the sound of the handcuffs clacking on. They pulled their wrists apart, testing the metal, and swallowed when they realised there was barely an inch of give on each side.

The doors dinged and opened and Whumpee wanted to scream. If they just held out for five more seconds, they would have had control of their arms.

“Go on kid,” said Ron with a gentle push, and Whumpee let themselves be pushed. The other guard stayed in the lift while Ron escorted whumpee through the mansion hidden inside a hotel. That way it wasn’t like they were knowingly walking into the lion’s den. It was like it was against their will.

Whumpee didn’t even take in the extravagant decor or the winding halls they travelled before stopping in front of a black door. Of course the door was black. It was Whumper, of course the door was black.

“I was told to knock twice then leave,” said Ron and Whumpee nodded. Ron raised their fist to the door and stopped before knocking. “Hey, something’s not sitting right with me, so if you need the code for the lift it’s 7839, but you’ll need a key as well, I just…”

“It’s okay,” Whumpee nodded, committing the number to memory. “Thanks for that.”

“Yeah,” said Ron and then knocked twice. “Okay. Good luck.”

They needed a key. Whumpee needed a key to open the keypad and put in the code to freedom which they knew Whumper would never give them. Even if they somehow managed to grab it from Whumper, with their hands behind their back, they didn’t know which halls led to freedom and which one’s led Whumpee back to dead ends.

Whumpee steeled themselves as best they could.

Then the door opened.

*~*~*~*~*

@themerrywhumpofmay for the second and final time, your prompts were delightful, thank you for sharing them

[shywhumpauthor]

The Merry Whump of May—Day 1

“No Pain, No Gain”

Compass | Haphephobia | Kitchen

Masterlist

Cw: descriptive mentions of gore, implied amputation, heavily conditioned Whumpee, descriptions of past violence, unstable Whumper, obsessive thoughts

Warm water bled through Whumpee’s fingers, foaming slightly with soap as their hands dipped in and out of the sink. Hot water ran smoothly from the faucet, draining down on the dishes as they slowly picked through the mountain of plates they were to clean.

Their sleeves were rolled up to their elbows, but even then they couldn’t stop a few drops from soaking the fabric. On a normal day, something like that might have bothered them, tugging at the corner of their mind until it finally forced them to change into a fresh shirt and start their task over from the top, replace the clean dishes in the sink and repeat the entire process of soaking, scrubbing, and drying, a steady cycle which they had finally fell into a smooth rhythm with.

Let it sit in the still water for twenty seconds, hold it under the faucet for ten. A small bit of soap on the sponge, thoroughly scrubbing away any bits of leftovers, a minute. Under the faucet again for fifteen. One final wash. Place on the drying rack, and then after they finished five plates, dry them the rest of the way with the hand towel and put them away neatly in the cupboard. Double check to make sure they were perfect, and if they weren’t, they cleaned the stack again. Same for bowls and cups.

Silverware was different. They let those soak while they cleaned all else, and then they would rinse them and clean by sponge, except for the knives which they did by hand.

A perfect task. Comprehensive and measurable, they could see their progress as they went. With the system they had set, it never took them longer than an hour to finish, though more often less depending on the dish load. It was just them and Whumper, after all, dishes were done every day, every evening without fail. It really only took them half an hour, which would take ten, if not for the regimen they strictly followed. Twenty seconds. Ten. A minute. Fifteen. Five plates.

Their eyes were focused intensely on the bowl which they now held, letting the water spill over the curve, tilting the bowl so it wouldn’t spray. Careful. Their fingers tight around the rim.

Whumpee had learned, perfectly, how to do them. They were careful. Mindful. Precise with what they were doing, unwilling to let their mind drift to anything but the feel of the sponge in their hand. Feeling slightly awkward in their hold.

They knew well enough to not mess up the dishes. If there was anything Whumper cared so much about, it was them. Whumpee wasn’t entirely sure why, but they had lost all interest. It didn’t matter. They knew they needed to get them done and do it right.

The last time they had fucked it up, the first and only time. Whumper had made sure they would do it right from then on.

Whumpee had only ever dropped two plates, in the months they’d been dutifully fulfilling the chore, and they had been quite surprised by Whumper’s reaction. How they were with everything else, Whumpee had been expecting a beating like no other. Forced to kneel on the shards, to brace their hands against the counter while Whumper grabbed the biggest fragment they could find and cut into their arms or back. Open their mouth and remain still as Whumper placed a porcelain shard between their teeth and commanded them to bite down and chew until their tongue and cheeks were torn to shreds. Palm shoved to a stovetop burner, and held there until the flesh of their hand began to melt away and stick to the heated metal, but Whumpee hadn’t done any of that.

An honest mistake, they shrugged, pointing Whumpee to the closet where the broom and dustpan were. All they had been given was three lashes for it, tacked onto the next punishment they had received for talking back. The second time, it had been five, but Whumpee didn’t dare even think to complain. It was bearable, a considerably gentler consequence than those Whumpee usually dealt.

They were really confusing. Whumper’s mood changed by the day. Sometimes they would be relaxed, lenient, telling Whumpee they could skip vacuuming that night and rather join them on the couch for a movie and hot chocolate. Sometimes they would be nice.

Other times, however…

Whumpee brought their attention back to the sink. They had fallen out of their pattern, quickly finishing off rinsing the dish in their hands. They had spent too long, and they cursed themself quietly, but it was better than cutting the task short.

Their hands, marred flesh twisted with scars, their fingers almost crooked with the amount of breaks and fractures suffered. They couldn’t move the last two on their left hand too well anymore, but they didn’t think about that.

The sponge felt loose in their grasp, something Whumpee wasn’t sure they’d ever get used to. But they didn’t care. They couldn’t mess up the dishes. Ten seconds. Twenty. A minute. Fifteen.

Whumper had made it very clear that the next time they found so much as a crumb stuck to the bottom of a plate, they’d do so much worse than take a finger.

————————————————

@themerrywhumpofmay

[bloodred2023]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Darkwood (Video Game) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: The Stranger (Darkwood) Additional Tags: Double Drabble, Sleep Deprivation, Horror, Ambiguous/Open Ending Series: Part 14 of Whumpuary 2024, Part 1 of May 200 Challenge 2024 Summary:

The Stranger can barely keep an eye open.

[sev-on-kamino]

30 Days of Blossoming Romance (2)

Day 2: Eye contact across a crowded room (prompt list here)

Cody x femJedi!reader

warnings: Minors DNI just to be safe, this takes place in the space between exchanging confessions of feelings but before things escalate, so it’s suggestive from both points of view, but clothes stay on, and imaginations wander a little

Word count: 990

You only ever tolerated briefings for Cody. You could listen to him talk about anything for hours on end, but your attention span only lasted long enough to accommodate him. Even Obi Wan’s pleasant, almost melodic cadence couldn’t keep your mind from wandering towards Cody.

You found yourself searching for his Force signature whenever you meditated, and you could find it easily now. You were a moon tidally locked to his planet, and you knew it was wrong, but it felt so natural. As easy as breathing.

It had started as a comforting friendship. You were in a new space separated from your Master for the first time since passing the trials, and you were still finding your way. Master Plo knew you needed space from Wolffe as the two of you cared for each other but in the most antagonistic way possible. The constant bickering over who was being the most reckless, who needed the most supervision, who was responsible for whom. Even Plo’s endless well of patience was running low, so he’d contacted Obi Wan to see if some time with the 212th would be possible.

Cody had been the first one to make you feel like you were safe, and had a true place there. Greeting you in the hangar, as you arrived, giving you a tour despite your protests that he needn’t waste time showing you around, and making sure you ate something before showing you to your quarters.

Somewhere amidst the battles where you kept each other safe, the shared meals, the sheer ease of each other’s company, it had gone from friendship to the precipice of something much deeper and far more intimate than either of you were allowed.

You did your best to conceal your feelings. To lock them in the safest part of your heart, but when you were close your Force signature reached for his just as surely as his reached for yours. More importantly during these long, and frequently dull briefings you couldn’t keep your eyes off of him. That was much harder to explain, and Obi Wan’s visiting protégé had been so pleased to let you know you weren’t as subtle as you thought.

The pair of you were sparring surrounded by an eager gathering of troopers, members of your 212th, and Anakin’s 501st. Hand to hand only. No weapons. No Force. Despite his reach and strength, you were keeping pace with him out of sheer will. You owed it to your men.

“You’re pretty good. You probably could’ve taken me down by now, if you weren’t daydreaming about Cody,” Anakin had teased when the pair of you were close enough that he couldn’t be overheard before dancing back out of your reach.

“Kriff you, Skywalker,” you’d snapped, catching him off guard mid-laugh at your outburst, and Force pushing him into the rack of sparring weapons.

The satisfaction had been brief, as he’d retaliated, and things had escalated to the point where Obi Wan had to separate the pair of you. Impressed that you’d put Skywalker on his ass, Waxer had dubbed you Sucker Punch, and the rest of the 212th had run with it happily.

Even Cody had started calling you that, which had made your face burn with embarrassment until he said he quite liked the nickname. Fitting since you’d earned it because of him.

It had pushed you closer to him, made you whisper words of affection in a moment of weakness. A reunion, after you’d spent hours fearing for his safety. Cody had returned your affection, grasping your hand as you cried quietly in the med bay. The first of many invisible threads tying you to one another.

Stuck in yet another riveting briefing, your mind wandered to him, your eyes roaming over his form until you met his regal gaze. There were no less than 20 people crowded into the room, and you could have sworn they’d all disappeared into thin air.

Cody could never resent you, but you made these briefings nearly impossible to get through. Your presence in any space commanded his attention, and he couldn’t deny you. Even now with a full room, that held both his general and his vod, he only saw you.

He held your attention with his, lifting his chin slightly, which made you instinctively lower yours. His eyebrow lifted, and a smirk pulled at his lips. He resisted the urge to shift his weight, at this surprising display of submissiveness. The commander took a deep breath that could have been passed off as being done with this lengthy briefing, but it was a sigh of frustration that he couldn’t lead you straight to his room to show you how your submission would be rewarded.

You tilted your head to one side, as though you were actually paying attention, your hand lifting as if to play with your earring. On its way down, Cody realized your true intention. Your finger tips lightly grazed down the side of the column of your throat, as you bit your lip for a brief moment.

Curious as to what was possible in a room full of people, Cody pretended to absently brush his fingers over his chest plate, lifting his brows towards you. You followed suit, finger tips slipping lower, and dancing over your heart, brushing innocently over the swell of your breasts, as your hand returned to your side and you took a deep breath to center yourself.

This was a heady reminder that no lines had been crossed. He had yet to feel the press of your body against his. He could only imagine how soft your lips were. Only in his fantasies had he mapped out every inch of you.

But the groundwork was laid, and as your eyes locked onto one another across the briefing room, he knew that when the opportunity presented itself, the pair of you would walk over that imaginary line hand in hand.

[purlturtle]

YOTP 2023 - May - "sunshine"

January, with an explanation | February | March | April

“Christina would have loved a day like today.”

Myka looked up. Helena was standing at the porch door, looking out over the sunlit lawn. She still didn’t volunteer details about Christina often; it felt like a gift. Myka gave a soft smile back. “Yeah?”

Helena nodded, eyes far away. “She’d run, and laugh, and try to catch birds, bees, and butterflies, but ‘only to see how soft they are, mummy!’”

Myka walked over, looked, envisioned a small, dark-haired girl romping through Leena’s yard: easy. She touched Helena’s hand, an offer of companionship; Helena took it immediately, and held on tight.

(on AO3)