#all the lights going dark and my hope's destroyed / captivity

[whumpsday]

K&J: Kane's Whumptober Bites #11

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: death wish / suicidal ideation, vampire whumpee, captivity, bear trap, broken bones, burns

@whumptober Day 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.” / Animal trap / Captivity / “No one will find you.”

-

The muscle in Kane’s leg spasmed as if crying out, crushed between shattered bone and hard metal. He whined in pain and tried to curl in on on himself, but any movement just made it worse.

With a sharp gasp, he abandoned the effort, lying limp on the floor of his cell, the bear trap snapped snugly around his leg. The silver, melted and slathered haphazardly over the trap’s jaws, pressed into his skin with enormous force as it desperately tried to close together, frustrated with Kane’s leg in the way.

It was always so much worse when it pressed in, and now it did it from both sides. A touch against silver was bad enough, but the way it pinched his skin between the jaws to sear into it, a white-hot flame that would never die, was unbearable. The pressure was greater than when hunters would push or pull him into the cell’s bars, and unlike a human, the trap was uninclined to ever let go.

But the hunters had left him like this, and he had no hope of removing himself from the trap until they returned. Kane whined again, louder this time, and pressed his face into the cool concrete floor, as if it could somehow cancel out the hellish burning.

“Help,” he gasped. A habit he’d been making less and less use of. He’d well lost track of how long it had been by this point, but it was obvious no one was coming to save him– and even more obvious that he was helpless to save himself.

There was only one way out, and that was death. And even that had been cruelly dangled out of his reach.

As long as his captivity felt, Kane knew that in reality, it was laughably short. Surely only a few years. He was young enough for a vampire, only barely past one-hundred. While a human his age would be on death’s door if they hadn’t already met it, and a human equivalent to him in physicality– thirty or so– would only live for sixty-odd more, he had more than a thousand years stretching beyond him, if he couldn’t earn a staking before then.

Even that hope was diminished, knowing the hunters had too much fun making him their plaything to let him meet death so easily. Perhaps in a century, when all his current tormenters would be dead and cycled out for new ones, the next generation of humans would have a change of heart.

It was little comfort to him now, the peace of death a distant dream. A shard of bone shifted in his leg and the trap cinched tighter, wringing a wail from his hoarse throat.

[kybercrystals94]

Unconventionally Easy

(Part 2)

Read here on Ao3!

Read Part 1 here!

By KyberCrystals94

Whumptober 2023|Day 11|Prompt 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.” | Captivity

Bad Things Happen Bingo: Bleeding Out

Rating: T

Words: 1080

Summary: Tech is worse off than he first let on to Echo.

The first thing Tech is aware of is pain. Although difficult to pinpoint, after some experimental movement, he decides that it originates from three significant places: his right thigh, the right side of his abdomen, and his right arm in its entirety. Cleverly, he deduces that he must have landed on his right side.

Next, Tech becomes aware that his helmet is missing, and that he also has a head wound, though it is not nearly as sensitive as the three other injuries. Mild concussion? Likely. However, blood loss is his greatest enemy at the moment. However, if their brothers find them in a timely manner, he should be safe from immediate demise.

He is about to work on locating Echo when the scream practically gives him cardiac arrest...not something clones are prone to, at least at this age in their development. However, so startling in the silent darkness comes the blood curdling cry, that it takes every ounce of resolve to prevent a fear induced verbal reaction.

“No! Let me out!”

Tech has never heard Echo sound so panicked, so utterly terrified. Even during night terrors. Tech calls out to him in a frustratingly unsteady voice, “Echo!”

A beat, a choking breath from just a few meters away. “Tech...” Another gasp, a sob. “Help. Don’t leave me here. Please.”

Tech tries to steady his voice. He needs to keep Echo calm. Who knows what injuries he might have, what he might aggravate if he struggles. “I am not going anywhere, vod. We are going to be okay, Echo, but we must remain calm.”

It takes a few minutes of careful conversation before Tech is confident that he has talked Echo off the ledge of a hypothetical cliff of hysteria.

“What are your injuries?” Echo asks.

Tech responds vaguely but honestly. “Several lacerations on the right side of my person, possible concussion.”

“Are you bleeding badly?”

“It is difficult to tell,” Tech lies.

He knows that Echo is far too intelligent to believe him; however, his older brother does not push the point. After all, what good would it possibly do? Not trapped as they are. All they can do is wait, and hope that they are found before it is too late.

The heat that scorches the planet is deadly, and Hunter is fully aware of this. Which is why he calls for a break again, insisting that Crosshair and Wrecker drink electrolyte mixture added to their canteens.

“We don’t have time for this,” Crosshair says, snatching the packet out of Hunter’s outstretched hand. “They could be dying down there while we just sit here.”

“We aren’t just sitting here, Cross,” Hunter argues. “We won't do them any good if we collapse from heatstroke.”

Wrecker has already downed one canteen and is reaching for another. “Do you think they’re okay?”

Hunter doesn’t answer right away. Honestly, he isn’t even sure at this point if they’re rescuing brothers or recovering bodies. It’s been almost two hours since the blast, and they are still sorting rubble in hopes they won’t cause further collapse. The trackers on Echo and Tech’s comms are pinging a signal, so they know they are digging in the right place. What they don’t know is how they are injured, what will cause further injury, or if they are already dead.

“We’ll find them,” Hunter answers with empty certainty, “and they will be.”

Echo knows something is wrong when he can smell the metallic tang of blood through the dust and ashes of destruction holding him down. He tries to keep his voice as level as possible when he asks, “Tech, how badly are you injured. Really.”

“I have lost a substantial,” Tech pauses breathlessly, “amount of blood…I’m afraid.”

Echo curses under his breath. There is literally nothing he can do except lay here while his brother bleeds to death.

“Echo…” Tech says, “I don’t feel well.”

“I know, vod.” Echo swallows. “The others will be here soon. I know they will.”

“Not in time, I think.” Tech’s voice breaks at the end.

“We’re not going to talk like that,” Echo says firmly. “You said you’d stay with me, remember? I’m going to hold you to it.”

There is a long silence that stretches between Echo’s words and the ones Tech utters in transparent anguish. “I’m sorry, Echo.”

Between dehydration and trying to keep Tech conscious through endless, meaningless words, Echo’s voice scrapes like sand in his throat. He isn’t sure when his brother stops responding except that he doesn’t stop trying, even when it feels like he has to scream to manage an aching whisper.

Something shifts above him, and that’s when he hears familiar voices filtering through the barrier between himself and freedom. “Hunter!” he calls out, but his voice rasps pathetically.

But Hunter hears him. Thank the force for enhancements.

“Echo! Keep talking, we’ll get you out.”

“No, get to Tech first,” Echo says, “He’s to my left several meters. Severe blood loss. He lost consciousness a while ago…”

“Okay,” Hunter says, “we’ll get him. Are you injured?”

“Nah,” Echo tries to say lightly, “just in a tight spot.” The joke falls flat.

“We’ll find him,” Hunter says, voice so much stronger and sure than Echo’s.

Echo takes a breath.

He’s not alone anymore.

“Thought I’d let you off the hook just because you were bleeding out?”

Tech winces awake to the bright, white light of a medical bay. He blinks as comprehension sifts through foggy awareness. “I am alive. That is most fortunate,” he says, voice hoarse from disuse.

Echo scoffs, and Tech turns his head to see the reg sitting next to him. “Yeah. How fortunate.”

“I suppose this is the part where you would like for me to admit that you were right,” Tech returns with a faint smile. “They did get to us in time.”

Echo grins at him, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I was barely right…and besides, you were the one who said they’d get to us soon first, so I suppose we can both take credit for being right.”

“And we completed the mission, I assume? Supposing the data stick was not damaged in the fall.”

“Shockingly, it was one of the only things not damaged in the blast. You should design your armor like you do your pockets.”

“Another successful mission,” Tech says contentedly. He settles back, closing his eyes. “And I’ll keep that armor design in mind for future alterations.”

END

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[evillittlebirdie]

Salvation (Kar'niss/Tav)

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine

No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”

Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”

He was unsuccessful. He was a monster. He shamed his family. 

"Ilhar, Ilhar, please!" Kar'niss had lost all hope at this point. His failure sealed his fate. He failed the test of Lolth. And she punished him. He was wretched now. The childish part of him that thought his mother was even more powerful than Lolth begged for her. "Don't leave me!" Even if he wasn't in agony, his new body was far too large and cumbersome to move. He couldn't run to her. He struggled to coordinate his many legs, but he kept tripping. 

But Ilhar did leave him. She spun on her heels, her attendants one pace behind her. "Let us hope the Neideirra has a decent bard. Otherwise, this day was indeed a waste," She relayed to her patron, Kar'niss' father. 

"I agree, Mistress," Ilharn concurred, not giving his son another thought.

"Matron, would you care to keep the drider as a slave, or would you like us to dispose of him on the outskirts?" A cleric questioned.

"A drider slave? How gauche. No. Dispose of it," Ilhar responded. "Unless...K'yorl..." She turned her attention to her husband, "Do you want it?"

Kar'niss allowed his hope to rise exponentially. "Yes, yes! Please, Ilharen. I can serve the house well, I promise. Whatever you deem-" 

"Oh, that sound, that screeching," Ilharen visibly winced, "I do not want to be anywhere close to it. If you will it, Mistress, I would not take this creature." 

Kar'niss stared at his parents, watching them leave without another word. He began to shake. His legs scrambled up, and he managed to find his balance. "Ilhar! Ilharen! Please! I'll be good! I promise! Don't!" 

Kar'niss felt his body fall with a single step. With each fall, he felt his newly formed body sprain under the weight of his swollen abdomen. All pride abandoned, he sobbed into his hands. He hissed out as his claw accidentally scratched one of his dark eyes. After retracting his hands, Kar'niss attempted to stand up again. But unexpectedly, he felt something tight around his throat. One of the clerics had subdued him with a catchpole around his neck. She pulled, and Kar'niss shuffled to his feet to avoid strangulation. 

"Just kill me," Kar'niss pleaded with one of the cold-faced clerics. "I have failed Lolth. I have failed Ilhar. I have nothing to live for." He was a monster, a freak of nature, an abomination. 

"Silence, drider. You disrespect your house and Lolth by denying your punishment. May you live a long, miserable life," The cleric denounced before leading Kar'niss to a cage. "In," She commanded harshly before loosening the catchpole. Kar'niss whimpered at the sight of the pen. Cages were for slaves or animals. And yet he was worse. He used his hands to poise himself as he walked into the cage. 

Kar'niss woke from his trance, gasping for breath. His eyes blinked awake. "Her Majesty, preserve me," He moaned, his hands traveling to his hair. He began to pull at the greasy locks, whimpering. 

"Her Majesty, thank you for saving me. Days, weeks, months, years, years, years, years, years," Kar'niss squealed out, his last utterance of 'years' sounding almost like a scream. The transformation wounded him, and the isolation broke him. "Hunting, hissing, hiding, howling, hacking, hallucinating, hastening, hoarding," He chanted, climbing down from his alcove. "Haunting until I found you." He released his hold on his hair before he saw something out of place at the mouth of his cave. 

Kar'niss skittered to investigate and was confused to see a basket at the entrance of the cave. "What is this, your Majesty?" He peeked into the basket and frowned. Inside the container was a neatly folded blanket, an unlit lantern, books, and a carafe of water. Even his weapons, polished and clean, were placed in the basket. "Provisions from Her Majesty's Chosen," Kar'niss observed with a tilt of his head. "What a benevolent prophet, Your Majesty. Thank you..." 

Tav, such a simple, humble name for a Chosen. She had already graced him with mercy and care. He felt a warmth in his stomach, a flush on his cheeks. His pedipalps flexed in response. Tav had done so much and yet asked nothing of him. Kar'niss needed to show his gratitude. 

"Long ago, before you, far, far, far, far befre you, Your Majesty, when I worshipped the spider, I knew how to show appreciation. But I can't in this form. But maybe...maybe this wretch could find a way..." Kar'niss thought quickly, before he giggled, entertained by his notion. "No...No...Not that way either..." He ran his tongue over his upper lip. 

He bent over to pick up the basket and retreated into his lair. 

***

"How much blood do you think a drider needs?" 

"Tav, who taught you manners? That's not how you start a conversation. A 'hello, how are you' is how you start a conversation."

"Hello, how are you?"

"I'm well, and you?"

"Great. How much blood do you think a drider needs?"

[serickswrites]

Going Dark

Warnings: blood, broken bones, restraint, gun, gunfire, unclear character status, captivity

Whumpee's chest was heaving as they ran. Their legs ached and their lungs burned, but they had to keep running. They had to get away. Whumper had been careless and left the door unlocked, so today was the day.

Whumpee screamed as the worst pain they had ever felt overwhelmed them. They fell clutching at their leg that was now trapped in a bear trap. Blood flowed from around the teeth of the trap that was now thoroughly embedded in their leg. They were sure their ankle had broken. Between the pain of the wound and the pain in their bones, Whumpee was nauseous.

This couldn't be happening. This was their one chance to escape. They howled their agony into the night, not caring who heard them. They were as good as dead anyway.

"You have my attention, Whumpee." Whumper's cold voice came from the other side of the clearing.

"Please, please," Whumpee begged through their tears.

"Please, what?" Whumper's voice was only loud enough to just hear.

"Please," Whumpee sobbed, "just let me go. I won't tell anyone."

Whumper frowned. "But I'm not done with you yet."

Whumper surveyed Whumpee coldly. There was no emotion or warmth in their gaze. Their eyes held no emotion as they raised their hunting rifle. "No one will find you." And they fired.

[onceuponastory]

defiance - the winter soldier

Plot: The Winter Soldier tries to defy his handlers. Warnings: The Winter Soldier/Bucky being mind wiped, abused, tortured, drugged and having his identity stripped from him. Also has mentions of violence, pain, blood and injury/bruises. Nothing too graphic, but even so. Also Alexander Pierce and HYDRA, because they're warnings all on their own. Please use your own discretion. But as always, if I miss any triggers, please let me know. Notes: This is for @whumptober Day 11: "All The Lights Going Dark and My Hope's Destroyed." I also combined it with the bonus prompt captivity. Someone PLEASE give Bucky a break.

Not beta'd, so any mistakes are my own.

It’s cold. That’s the first thing he thinks, even as they force him back in the chair, the metal chain clamping around his ankles… it's too cold in here, much colder than it usually is. Goosebumps run up his arm, the hairs sticking up. The Winter Soldier watches, slightly intrigued by the sensation. His body feels so new, so different. He practically discovers new things about it every day. Despite having his metal arm for as long as he can remember, he still struggles to get used to it.

Sometimes though, he sees a flash of a memory through his mind. One of a happy and much younger version of himself. But when he tries to recall the rest, there’s only empty space, static where there should be words, voices, people. He glances around the room, watching as the agents continue on with their routine. The man with the clipboard is back, chatting with another agent. The Winter Soldier doesn’t know their names. He doesn't know his own name, or if he even had a name. He’s just The Winter Soldier. Despite being HYDRA’s best weapon, and their pride and joy… he’s still not important enough to know anyone’s name.

“Why is that? How is that fair?” He thinks, the sudden words making his brow furrow. He’s not supposed to challenge them, or dare question their work. The same work that saved him from certain death at the hands of the enemy and made him into HYDRA's prized weapon. He’s stronger and quicker than ever, an extremely skilled marksman who also excels at hand to hand combat. And all because HYDRA saved him and took him under their wing.

Or at least, that’s what they told him happened.

“Bucky! No!” a voice shouts in his mind, so loud it's as if the person is right there with him, and he flinches.

“Who is Bucky? Why is that name so-”

But as he tries to pinpoint who the voice belongs to, or when those words were said... all he finds is empty space.

Suddenly, the man with the clipboard is standing right beside him, his unexpected arrival making him jump. He adjusts his glasses, checking the Winter Soldier’s vitals before the procedure. The same procedure he’s gone through countless other times before. The burn marks on his temples throb in anticipation, a harsh reminder of what’s coming. And he braces himself, ready for the pain.

He fucking hates this procedure.

“So why do you let them do it to you?” The question throws him, and he frowns, brows drawn together in confusion. He’s right. Why does he sit back and let them treat him like this? They keep telling him how grateful to him they are, and how useful his work is to them… but that doesn’t excuse the pain they unleash on him. Surely there's another, better way to do this.

So, when the man with the clipboard comes back for his final check, the Winter Soldier speaks. “No.” His voice is so quiet the man doesn’t hear him, and he frowns.

“Excuse me?��

“No.” He repeats, this time more forcefully. “I don’t want the procedure.”

In response, the man gasps, his face paling. He rifles through his notes, unsure of how to react. After all, their prized soldier has never defied an order before. They trained him to be compliant. To do what they say and not fight back. It’s what he does every time.

But this time, he doesn’t want to. It feels wrong. He doesn’t want to just grit his teeth and survive like he’s used to doing. To wake up each day to new bruises and wounds on his body, ones he can’t remember getting, and just accept them as part of the job, because HYDRA said so. He wants to live and find things out for himself. On his own terms.

So when the man leans in again with a syringe, the Winter Soldier grabs his arm, wrenching it away from him. The man cries out in pain, and others rush up to them, trying to hold the Winter Soldier down. Yet, he keeps fighting, pushing against the men with all his might, showing the full range of strength HYDRA gave to him. After all, they trained him to use it on his enemies, and anyone who would hurt him.

They just never expected him to use it against them.

The fight continues, a bloody blur of fists and pain. And for a while, it seems like the Winter Soldier has the upper hand. Until a door opens and an all too familiar voice speaks. One that strikes fear into the Winter Soldier’s heart.

“What is going on here?” The question stuns the Winter Soldier for a moment, and the agents take the opportunity to grab him, pulling him back into the chair and locking the restraints around his arms. He lashes out, trying to wrench his arm free, but he’s pinned down too tightly.

Must get out.

Must fight back.

He pulls with all his might, straining and pushing his metal arm to the limit. The second he gets out of here, they’re going to pay. A grinding noise fills the air, the sound of metal against metal. Nothing budges. but he keeps going, refusing to let them win. Another agent approaches. "No." He repeats, hissing and growling at them like some sort of caged animal. He contorts his body, twisting and turning as he tries with all his might to get away from them. Unfortunately though, he's tied down too tightly, limiting his movements. Something stabs him in his human arm, and he turns just in time to see a syringe being pulled out. A man steps forward.

“Mister Pierce, sir….” An agent tries to explain, but Pierce shakes his head, a disapproving look on his face.

“Shut up. This shouldn’t have happened again.” He hisses, his voice just loud enough for the soldier to pick up.

“Again? But I’ve never disobeyed orders before… What does he mean, ‘again’? Have I done this before? Why don’t I remember it? What happened to me?”

Pierce steps forward, keeping a steely gaze fixed on the soldier. “What happened?” He asks, bending down so he’s eye level with him now. Yet it still feels like he’s talking to him like he’s a child.

“I didn’t want the procedure.” He murmurs. He hates how quiet and guilty his voice sounds then, like he’s already ashamed for what he’s done. When he should be burning this place to the ground for all they’ve done to him.

“I’m sorry?” Pierce frowns. “You… didn’t want the procedure?” He repeats. “But that procedure helps you do all our great work. It helped you shape the century!” He chuckles, as if he can’t believe why he would ever turn down the chance to make a difference in the world. Those words used to make him feel incredibly guilty, make him stop fighting and do what they asked. But now, they’re not enough.

“It hurts. I don’t want it to hurt.” Pierce rolls his eyes, making the Winter Soldier even angrier. How dare he mock his pain? He grunts under his restraints, trying to wrench his metal arm free. But he can start to feel the effects of whatever they injected him with now... his mind is hazy, and his vision is starting to blur a little. It must be some kind of sedative. He groans, his body feeling like it weighs a hundred pounds.

And he stops fighting.

“Good try by the way, but our restraints are strong enough to withstand you.” Pierce grins.

"Bucky!" The voice speaks again. He still can't register who it is, or who this Bucky even is. His wary gaze is fixed on Pierce, who just keeps staring at him with those beady little eyes. Honestly, he just wants to rip them out of his skull. And then, the horrible realisation that he’s going to be stuck here forever slowly sinks in, seeping through his entire body.

“Please….” He speaks, his voice strained. Tears spring at his eyes, despite his furious attempts to prevent them from seeing his pain. Because then they’ll know they’ve won. “I just don’t want it to hurt anymore.” He murmurs. Pierce steps forward, and for a moment the soldier thinks he might have a chance here. Maybe his attempts have broken through his hard exterior?

The slap that hits him soon erases all thought of that. His cheek burns and stings with the pain, and for a moment a dull buzzing fills his ears. He blinks, gasping. They’ve struck him before. He knows this. But it’s never been with such force, such ferocity… or been left so stunned afterwards.

“Don’t ever disobey me again.” Pierce warns, his voice low and threatening. “Wipe him and start over.” He huffs, walking out of the room. Something burns deep inside the Winter Soldier’s gut, willing him to keep going, to fight back, and tell them that if they ever touch him again, he’s going to make them pay.

But the ferocity of his slap stuns him into silence, and the sedative flowing through his system is preventing him for doing much else. And before he can even react, he’s being strapped in even tighter, and the familiar hum of the machine sounds, reverberating throughout his body. And he’s trapped once more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

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[astaldis]

Chapters: 11/11   Words: 29,779 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach & Fringilla Vigo, Francesca Findabair | Enid an Gleanna & Fringilla Vigo  Additional Tags: Whump, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach Whump, Major Character Injury, Sickfic, Fever, Fever Dreams, Cahir Mawr Dyffryn aep Ceallach Has a Bad Time, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Fringilla has motherly feelings, Friendship, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Cahir is a wet paper towel, Suicidal Thoughts, Mental Breakdown, Guilt, Resurfacing Past, Nightmares, Aftereffects of Torture, Headaches & Migraines, Trauma, Panic Attack, Swooning, Dehydration, Whumptober 2023, Whumptember 2023, August Whump Week

Summary: Cahir is badly injured and missing after his fight with the Scoia'tael on Thanedd island. Fortunately he has a good friend in Fringilla.

Inspired by Whump Week in August (Chapter 1), Whumptember (Chapters 7 and 9-11) and Whumptober prompts (Chapters 7-11)

Whumptober prompts for chapter 11: no. 1, no. 3, no. 7, no. 11, no. 21

[spirit-whump]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Thor (Marvel)/Original Female Character(s) Characters: Original Female Character(s), Thor (Marvel) Additional Tags: Kidnapping, Nyctophobia, Childhood Trauma, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Thor (Marvel), Original Character-centric, Panic Attacks Series: Part 8 of whumptober2023 Summary:

She’d woken up on the floor of the cockpit and found herself bound, on a vessel she didn’t know how to control, in the middle of space in territory she didn’t recognize, with three strange men who were all much bigger and much stronger than she was. Trying to fight them off was simply not an option.

So she didn’t try. Not at first. Not until one of them finally realized she was awake and dragged her down to storage and she found herself being pushed towards a small metal cage in a pitch black room.

Hestia didn’t realize she had dug her heels into the ground until the man had to get in front of her to pull her into the room. Into the room with no windows, no lights, just pitch black darkness.

 whumptober2023 no. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.” | captivity

[seldomscilence16]

Whumptober day 11:

"All the lights going dark, and my hopes destroyed"

Animal trap | captivity | "no one will find you."

Fandom: Ducktales

Prompts used: All

Soooo this combines things with Donald in it, meaning small things were changed here and there. Including the whole Webby being April and May and June being clones etc. If you don't know my military headcanons for Donald, I have a chapter explaining it in the 'Dime a Dozen au'. Brief recap is basically he and his team (including Josés older sister) were held captive on their last mission and experimented on. Donald loses feeling in like half his body, and two members on his team. Any questions, don't be afraid to ask!

…

Donald really needed to just, stop trying to do things. Obviously he just wasn't good at it, wasn't made for this world of doers, was cursed to never be able to complete anything. He thinks the only people that were ever able to work with his bad luck without his detriment, were the Caballeros and co. It feels like every other thing he can think of ended badly for him more often than not. And yeah, sometimes that was okay, 'cause it was saving others, but he's so tired.

He had gone on this little trip, by himself, because it was rumored to have exactly what he wanted. When you have a family like his, it was hard to get them gifts. Donald always hated that he couldn't spoil the boys like he wanted to, but he could do better now. And this time, all he needed was the mineral he could supposedly find here. To make a compass for Huey, a boomerang for Dewey, a shield for Louie-and maybe a piece for him to sell, a dagger for Webby, a new leg piece for Della, a handle for José's cane, a new piece for Panchitos guns, and new glasses frames for Uncle Scrooge.

He had a whole plan, was even hoping he'd find excess for a couple extra gifts for one, but of course, why would anything go his way? 

He feels numb, flat on his back staring up at the sky, one leg is bleeding profusely where iron has punctured skin, something he should definitely take care of, but he can't seem to get the gumstion to rise. He wonders what creatures out here would warrant such a trap, and why it was on a path instead of off it, or he wonders until a shadow falls over him and a face comes into view. 

How many times will he almost die before he does? Especially for being a part of his family, or for the friends he has, he should have kept his emo stage and stayed indoors. 

"Hello Mr. Duck." 

John D. Rockerduck had disappeared after the whole FOWL thing went down, along with several other nemesis' of Scrooge. So why wouldn't Donald find him on his first trip alone? He would have preferred Glomgold, he did not typically use traps such as these- though Donald supposed the hired muscle might of- but as it was, he's got a leg clamped in a foothold trap, an old arm injury acting up, and zero quacks to give. 

"Finally I can hit McDuck where it hurts!" 

"Oh? Is your money bin bigger than his?" Donald knows that he's almost never understood, but he'd burst if he kept all his comments to himself.

"Had to be the noisey one though, no matter. Jeeves!" The lumbering half dead butler muscle comes into view, bending down and slinging Donald under his arm with ease. "It's gonna be over for you, and with Scrooge at his weakest, I will finally show the world who's better!" 

Laughable really. But Rockerduck can think what he wants, Donald can at least envision his face when he realizes he's failed once again at Scrooge's hands, even if he doesnt get to actually see it. 

Panch and Zé had worried about him going alone, worried about his mindset and all that. He can see why now, laying limp in an enemy's arm, leg useless, feeling less than spectacular. He should be angry, fighting, screaming nonsensical barbs… wow, it's a rare state to find him feeling meh without the anger. 

"Say hello to your new home!"

 

Before he can even look up and make a snip about free real estate, he's airborne with an undignified squawk. He sees smooth dirt on all sides for several long moments before he lands with a thump- only years of falling that keeps him from braining himself, though his body would still bite back with a 'hurts like heck'. 

"If you try and get out, I'd keep an eye out for the night beast the locals are all chatting about. Oh and don't worry, no one will find you. Bye Bye!" Donald can hardly make out his silhouette above him, hole so deep the light barely creeps all the way down.

With both his legs, it probably wouldn't be too hard, Donald has gotten out of worse, but with his leg as it is itd take awhile, and he would rather not take his chances if there is a night beast. One could argue it's not laziness if he's avoiding a larger problem. 

Ah, is that where Louie's brain goes? 

Well, if he dies here, his family will surely kill him again for dying so soon after his last almost death with the whole FOWL thing. Maybe Duckworth would let him stay with him? 

Deciding to be semi productive in the meantime, Donald grasps at the two springs on the trap and pushes down as hard as he's able, moving his leg diagonally and hissing as it pulls free. Casually ripping his sleeve off he binds his leg as best he can, grateful it didn't get to the bone breaking part. This is certainly not nearly as bad as his time in the Navy. 

He leans back against the compact dirt wall, cool and damp as the heat of the day fades. But with the fading heat goes the sunlight, and his hole is slowly filling with shadows. He and the moon may not be on the best of terms, but he wouldn't mind its light right about now. 

He jinxed himself, he should know better by now really. Shaking his head, curling closer to himself to keep warm, All the lights going dark, and his hopes destroyed once again. He'd just wanted to make his family some gifts. It was just supposed to be a nice easy trip. 

How long would he wait this time? Would they look for him? Was the effort of getting out even worth it? He scratches absently at the wall, only to catch on something solid. Curiosity piqued and reaching through the bars of his mind, he put more effort into his scratching, revealing exactly what he'd come here for. 

What irony, to be thrown in a hole where his objective was waiting. His laugh is on the edge of hysterics, as he finds his time occupied with digging. Filling a makeshift bag- his undershirt sacrificed for the duty- full of the material, he uses the gouges as hand and foot holds. 'Look at me being productive and stuff, ha!' 

Just as he reaches the ledge, thinking just maybe he could brush all this off and pretend it didn't happen, a growl echoes around him. He groans, dragging his leg over the ledge like the dead weight it is, and lays there for a moment. He ponders staying there vs running- or well hobbling- and ultimately his hard earned loot wins out. He rolls, momentums himself into a standing position, balancing on one foot. He glares at the nature around him and the dumb moon that still evades his vision and leaves his surroundings annoyingly shadowy. 

Before he can get his first embarrassing hop going, the growling is right behind him, echoed by a scottish accented response. He turns an unimpressed head to find Scrooge and Della on a bear of all things.

"Donald!" 

"That's a bear." Donald states it, hoping to remind them of their mortality- however vague it may be. 

"Bah, I speak bear lad, dinnae worry about it." 

"Uh, but maybe worry about your leg, or we'll be twinning from head to toe!" Dellas' flashlight aims right at him and he shields his eyes with a glare.

"Rockerduck is on his way to the mansion." 

"Oh good, Webby's been wanting to test the new defenses. Get on lad, we'll get ye home." 

"I was rescuing myself." Donald says, making his way around the bear cautiously, weird hop not even causing the animal to flinch. 

"We should have been here sooner, we'll do better, no more rescue worthy scenarios!" Della heaves him up, and Donald can see her worry up close. 

A strange thing, what ten years and several life or death scenarios can do to a relationship. Did they care before? Maybe.

He looks at them as they make their way towards the awaiting plane. 

Are they working on it now? 

Yeah… maybe they are.

[hummingbird-of-light]

No. 11 “All the lights going dark and my hope's destroyed.” (captivity)

(Continuation to Prompt 6)

~

He had waited for someone to come and help them for far too long, but apparently no one knew where their captors' hiding place was. And slowly but surely McCoy was losing all of his hope.

His eyes fell onto Chapel who was lying on the old mattress next to his. Her face was pale and there were dark rings beneath her eyes. She had really needed the sleep.

McCoy moved his hand across and gently ran it through his friend's hair. He needed to feel her close, needed to know that she was actually there.

Sometimes he wished for her to be his imagination. If she wasn't real, then at least he'd know that she wasn't in this with him; that she was safe and sound. But then again, he was glad that he wasn't alone in this hell. It was good to have someone at his side to keep his spirits up.

McCoy let out a heavy sigh. What was taking Jim and the others so long? Why couldn't they find the two of them? Why didn't they come and save them?

The sound of footsteps echoing through the hallway made the doctor's heart skip a beat and he quickly sat up.

Who was there? Was it one of their kidnappers who wanted to check on the progress they were making? Or was it maybe - just maybe - the help they had been waiting for for so long?

McCoy's eyes were fixed on the door and when it opened, his heart sank. Of course. Of course it was that bastard of a boss.

"Good evening, doctor. How are you?"

He tried his best not to spit out a spiteful comment when he heard his captor’s playful voice. The man grinned down at him.

"Oh, I'm fine. Everything's just perfect."

He couldn't keep the sarcastic tone from his voice and his counterpart chuckled while he knelt down in front of McCoy.

"Good, good. And..."

The man's eyes fell onto the sleeping nurse and he smirked.

"How's the pretty Miss Chapel?"

Their captor reached out one hand to touch Chapel, but McCoy reacted instantly, grabbing his wrist tightly.

"Don't touch her!"

The doctor's glare said more than a thousand words and slowly his counterpart retracted his hand.

"Of course, doctor. As you wish."

McCoy let go of the man's wrist, but his eyes stayed fixed on him. He would watch every movement.

"You see, I only came by to tell you about the deadline."

The doctor felt his chest tightening at the words and his pulse started to race. He should have known it. He should have known that it would come to this sooner or later. So he tried to keep a steady face.

"Deadline?"

The boss got to his feet and walked over to McCoy and Chapel’s working place they had set up. He eyed everything.

"Me and my team, we have a plan to follow. And for that plan to work, we need that virus. So... I want it finished by tomorrow evening."

McCoy's eyes widened and he stumbled to his feet.

"What the- I'm a doctor not a magician! What you want is impossible!"

He didn't manage to keep his voice quiet, yet for some reason Chapel didn't wake up. A strange feeling filled the pit of the doctor's stomach. And it only worsened when he heard his captor's next statement.

"Is it? Well, too bad. Then I guess your friend won't wake up again."

For a moment, McCoy stopped breathing and his eyes rested on Chapel. He shook his head in disbelief.

From the corner of his eye, he saw his counterpart holding up a small flask.

"Poison. She only has 24 hours left. And she only gets the antidote when you finish your job."

The food! They must have poisoned her ration!

McCoy could feel his hands clench to fists and he gritted his teeth in anger.

“You bastard!”

Everything they had done to him. All the torture they had put him through. All the bruises they had inflicted on his body. It was nothing against the psychological pain they were causing him by hurting his friend.

“Tick tock, your time is running, doctor. You better continue your work right away.”

With a malicious smile on his face, their captor left the room, leaving behind a scared and hopeless McCoy.

He needed to work faster. Or else everything was lost.

[basicallyjaywalker]

Whumptober Day 11

Hope

Characters: Lloyd, Misako, Luna, Jackie (woooo multi character whump)

Prompts: "all the lights going dark and my hope's destroyed," capitivity, "no one will find you"

Length: 1,598

So I um. I lost it a little. I'm still not fully satisfied with this but it's 12:30 AM and I need to be up in less than 8 hours for class :/ I don't write a lot of character death bc booooo but it's really fun to wrote

[sometimesraven]

The Cycle

Whumptober No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.” Captivity | “No one will find you.”

Fandom: Dead by Daylight POV Character: Carmina Mora | The Artist Whumpee: Carmina Mora

The line between Carmina Mora and the Artist grows thinner with every waking moment.

AO3 Link

Occasionally, silence would overpower the screaming, violent orders in her mind. In the long stretches of time between games, the Artist would gaze out over her balcony, at the twisted, bloodied sands of her board, and Carmina Mora would surface.

How long had she been here? Carmina's chest squeezed and a squawk of pain found its way from her throat. It could have been years. Days. Decades or seconds. There was no time in this place. How many had she killed? Sacrificed to the accursed God of this place? Even now, she could not bring herself to regret. She could not find it in her soul to cease enjoyement of the slaughter. Why, after all, should she? Her kindness in life had led only to slaughter.

Her gaze lifted to her grows, still circling overhead in search of prey. She loved them dearly. She couldn't help it. How naive, she thought, to have believed they were there to protect her as a girl. How naive to not ralise she was being groomed for a higher purpose. Or was it lower? This purgatory hung constantly between a heaven and hell of her own creation. How much power did the Entity have in crafting these zones, she wondered? Or was it merely a piece of her psyche plucked from somewhere in the shattered recesses of her mind?

That was just it, wasn't it? This was all her fault. A hell of her own creation. Forced to destroy the lives of every human here, over and over again, and there wasn't even anyone who could come for her. The crows had seen to that. Her tormentors and protectors. Her only family and friends. One landed on the twisted barrier of her balcony as she contemplated them, watching her with a kindred, chaotic calm. Yes, this punishment felt right. What purpose was hope, when it had given her new life only to end it once more? Carmina eyed the twisted nubs of her lost hands, willing the ink that swirled above them into twig-like hands to pet her crow with, cooing unintelligably. Her company. Her loves.

Nobody was coming for her. Blackened tears dampened her cheeks at the thought -- nobody had ever come for her. As alone in life as she was in this half-death. Twisted, elongated limbs and a broken voice. Ugly. Monstrous. Her outside finally matched the darkness in her soul. Father had always seen this coming.

With another contemplative squeak, Carmina briefly closed her eyes. Her realm was so quiet and yet so noisy, the crows' cawing filling the emptiness so completely they almost became white noise to her, faded into the background. Now they provided a chorus; a crooked soundtrack to her doom as she slowly made her way on crooked, unsteady legs to the gap in her balcony's fence. Perhaps it would work this time.

A lurch, the violent power of gravity pushing at her insides, then darkness.

She had her hands again. Her fingers curled and flexed at her command. She could not see. Something took hold of her hands, almost tenderly. Then snapped each delicate bone, one by one, responding to her broken screams only with silence. Once they were broken, Carmina felt the sharp edge of a serrated knife tearing at her flesh; her fingers removed one by one, then the stumps of her hands, in a slow torture. A display of power. A warning. The Entity would not let her go. She owed it everything. Why must she fight?

The pain slowly faded, and The Artist opened her eyes once more.

[splendidissimus]

August 2001 - Rowle (excerpt)

((Content warning: beating, Cruciatus torture, sleep deprivation, bondage, captivity, numb whumpee, hair pulling))

((Promptspiration: @whumptober 2023: day 11: All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed. / Captivity / "No one will find you." @whumppromptoftheday this "whumpee doesn't even flinch anymore" prompt ))

((Reminder that Rowle (massive blond guy, violent and reckless enough to kill other Death Eaters with friendly fire) is one of the two Death Eaters whom Voldemort forced Draco to torture for their failures; Harry saw it in a vision in DH. In this universe, Rowle in particular developed a hatred for Draco for it. A bunch of Death Eaters here recently escaped Azkaban and Rowle was sent to bring Draco back to be held prisoner with the others but decided to punish him instead.))

Genre: whump

Romance level: none

Angst level: 5/5

Draco's headspace: numb

((words: ~800))

------------------------------------

Draco woke already in pain. His head was pounding. His neck and back were just aching tightness from being bound in the same position so long. His mouth was rough and thick and dry. His eyes felt like sand when he forced them open; it didn't feel like he'd slept at all. He was lying on the cold dirt floor with a sharp pain running up his side; he supposed he'd been hit or kicked awake.

Rowle must have hit him, but by the time Draco was coherent enough to notice him, he was pacing the short confines of the cellar. He was thumping the side of his fist against the beam Draco had been tied to every time he passed under it, creating a distracted rhythm punctuated by the rare quiet "Fuck." 

Obviously something was wrong. It didn't seem like it was going to help Draco any, though. Nothing that made his captor angry was helpful to him, it just made his life that much less pleasant.

The cellar door was standing open, showing a patch of clear blue sky. It was a few feet of floor and then a short staircase away, and yet it no longer even registered as an escape. It was just nice that, for this moment, there was light. He distantly watched Rowle's silhouette pass in front of it. 

Rowle suddenly threw himself explosively off the beam and kicked him hard in the side, throwing him onto his back with a quiet groan. His tied arms were pinned uncomfortably under him and he twisted to his side to try to relieve the weight from his wrists. 

He saw another kick coming and he just closed his eyes to take the blow. Begging didn't help. Defiance certainly didn't help. It was too hard to even bother; he let noises of pain come as they may, without trying to control them or to give him anything. Maybe when he was done he'd just go away again…

He took a kick to the mouth and the taste of blood followed it with the pain. He coughed into the floor and spat out blood. 

Rowle went back to pacing. Maybe he was satisfied. Maybe he was just worn out enough to calm down. "They're all gone," he said, pacing back across the light of the doorway. He wasn't even really facing him — he wasn't really talking to him, he just had no one else to talk to. "Already caught and locked back up. Already. Those that aren't dead. That was the stupidest motherfucking idea, going after Harry Potter's wife…"

Draco slowly, stiffly pushed himself back to sitting. His back screamed at him for it. It was better than lying in the cold dirt, though.

Moving got Rowle's attention. He should have known better. Rowle whipped back and grabbed his hair, pulling him, staggering, up to his feet but bent backward to look up at him. He could smell rank alcohol oozing from his pores. "This is because of you — if not for you, I'd have been long gone. Out of the country."

He wouldn't have. Even Draco, even now, knew that. He could always tell when people were lying to themselves. He just wanted someone to blame, instead of his own habitually bad choices. 

It didn't seem like a good idea to point that out. 

"I'm not going back." Rowle shoved his wand into his face.

Kill the witness? Was that what he meant to do now? With his parents and Theo already killed, what did it matter? One wayward tear escaped the corner of his eye, and he couldn't move his head to wipe it on his shoulder, so he stared into the distance through Rowle instead. 

Rowle scowled and threw him down by the hair. "Crucio!" 

Draco hit the ground hard, unable to break his fall, and seized under the waves of crashing pain that pulled taut whatever muscles he had left, screaming brokenly. 

When it ended, he was curled up in the dirt, gasping for breath and holding still against the lesser pains that still wracked him. Rowle was on his way up the stairs, climbing out of the pit to leave him alone. In a few seconds he would be gone.

"It's only a matter of time," Draco croaked hoarsely. "They'll find you, too."

"You know what?" Rowle looked down at him with a snarl. "Maybe you're right. Maybe they'll find me and throw my ass back in Azkaban and throw away the key. But they'll never find you." He slammed the cellar door closed, throwing Draco back into utter darkness, and the sound of stones being summoned into place on top of it rumbled through his prison. And then it was silent.

[whumptober]

Whumptober 2023

Welcome to Whumptober 2023 — the sixth year running!

COMPLETIONISTS/PARTICIPANT BADGES CAN BE FOUND HERE

To those of you who participated last year, welcome back! To everyone joining this year, welcome!

Please make sure to read the Event Info carefully, as most of your questions will be answered there already. For everything else, you are welcome to come to our ask box or ask questions in our Discord server here.

This year’s AO3 Collection can be found here.

And this years playlist can be found here.

There are 139 prompt options in total this year - this is including the alternatives list! A special thanks goes out to those who took part in our trope vote back in July. From the 1526 responses to our list of 223 tropes, we looked through the popularity results, as well as your honourable mentions, and were able to produce this years prompts list. Stay tuned, as we will be posting some of the results at a later date!

We’re very excited to see the community come together once more and be a wild, chaotic bunch of creators and consumers of whump. Go wild with the prompts, and support your fellow creators - we wish you all the fun!

Best of luck and happy whumping,

Mods Vanne, Yenn, Kitty and Surro

(All 31 Themes + Prompts, Event Information and FAQs are posted below the cut!)

Whumptober 2023 Prompt List

No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

No. 2: “I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

Thermometer | Delirium | “They don't care about you.”

No. 3: “Like crying out in empty rooms; with no-one there except the moon.”

Journal | Solitary Confinement | “Make it stop.”

No. 4: “I see the danger, It’s written there in your eyes.”

Cattle Prod | Shock | “You in there?”

No. 5: “You better pray I don't get up this time around.”

Debris | Pinned Down | “It's broken.”

No. 6: “Do or die, you’ll never make me; Because the world will never take my heart.”

Recording | Made to Watch | “It should have been me.”

No. 7: " “I paced around for hours on empty; I jumped at the slightest of sounds.”

Alleyway | Radio Silence | “Can you hear me?”

No. 8: “I’ve got soul, but I’m not a soldier.”

Overcrowded ER | Outnumbered | “It’s all for nothing.”

No. 9: “Learning everything ain't what it seems, that's the thing about these days.”

Polaroid | Mistaken Identity | “You're a liar.”

No. 10: “Can’t you see that you’re lost without me?”

Broken Phone | Stranded | “You said you'd never leave.”

No. 11: “All the lights going dark and my hope’s destroyed.”

Animal trap | Captivity | “No one will find you.”

No. 12: “I haven't slept in days but who's counting?”

Red | Insomnia | “I’m up, I’m up.”

No. 13: “It comes and goes like the strength in your bones.”

Cold Compress | Infection | “I don’t feel so good.”

No. 14: “Feed me poison, fill me ‘till I drown.”

Flare | Water Inhalation | “Just hold on.”

No. 15: “I don't need you to help me I can handle things myself.”

Makeshift Bandages | Suppressed Suffering | “I’m fine.”

No. 16: “Would you lie with me and just forget the world?”

Gurney | Flatline | “Don’t go where I can’t follow.”

No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.”

Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”

No. 18: “I tend to deflect when I’m feeling threatened.”

Blindfold | Tortured For Information | “Hit them harder.”

No. 19: “I’ll take one final step, all you have to do is make me.”

Floral Bouquet | Psychological | “I’m not as stupid as you think I am.”

No. 20: “People don’t change people, time does.”

Blanket | Found Family | “You will regret touching them.”

No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.”

Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.”

No. 22: “They never saw us coming, ‘til they hit the floor.”

Glass Shard | Vehicular Accident | “Watch out!”

No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.”

Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?”

No. 24: “I’ve got a head full of chemicals; mouth full of ridicule.”

Goodbye Note | Neglect | “I thought they were with you.”

No. 25: “You’re not delivering a perfect body to the grave.”

Storm | Buried Alive | “They’re not breathing!”

No. 26: “Sometimes I get so tired; I don’t even know myself.”

Seeing Double | Working To Exhaustion | “You look awful.”

No. 27: “You drew stars around my scars; But now I’m bleeding.”

Matches | Scars | “Let me see”

No. 28: “We might not make it to the morning; so go on and tell me now.”

Bloody Knife | Sacrifice | “You'll have to go through me.”

No. 29: “I only sink deeper the deeper I think.”

Scented Candle | Troubled Past Resurfacing | “What happened to me?”

No. 30: “It’s okay, just to say, ‘I’m not okay’.”

Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer...”

No. 31: “I thought that I was getting better.”

Emptiness | Setbacks | “Take it easy.”

Alternatives List:

Betrayal

Aftermath of Failure

Brass Knuckles

Decoy

Body Modification

Playing Cards

Examination

Hunting

Drugging

Shaking

Panic

Broken

Miscommunication

Lab Rat

Reluctant Whumper

Event Info & Rules

~ Please read our extensive event info posts before sending us an ask ~

WHUMPTOBER is a month-long, prompt-based creation challenge (think: Inktober, but whumpier). There are 31 official themes this year - one for each day of the month - which can be used, skipped, or combined in any way you’d like. The 'theme' of each day is the line of lyrics.

The prompts are merely to serve as inspiration without being taken literally (e.g. you don’t have to include the exact wording of prompts into your work). Feel free to run rampant on interpretation. For example, if the prompt is "flame", you could create something with reference to a candle/campfire, your character could have suffered a burn, or the flame could be related to the 'spark' of a relationship. It's truly up to you!

In total, there are 4 prompts for each day: there's lyrics, an object, a trope and a line of dialogue to choose from.  We want to give everyone as much creative freedom as possible, as well as increase event accessibility for folks with triggers and squicks.

Creators can PRODUCE work in any media they choose, including but not limited to: writing, visual artwork, photo/video/audio edits, paper crafts and elaborate recommendation lists (not just a list of links). Creators can PARTICIPATE as much or as little as they want (i.e. you don’t have to do ALL the prompts if you don’t want to) and prompts can be used in any order. They are also free to use even after the event ends.

When uploading Whumptober content to your blog, be sure to tag the with:

#whumptober2023 …..(the event tag)

#no.1, #no.2, #no.3, …..(day number)

#lyric, #bruises, #stabbing,  …..(the theme or specific prompt you chose)

#fandom or #OC, … (ironman, originalcontent, oc …)

#medium …..(gifs, fic, podcast, art, etc.)

#teeth, #gore tw, #etc …..(trigger warnings & any additional tags. Add "tw" AFTER the trigger/content warning. )

#nsfwhump …..(only for nsfw content)

#your own tags go here

PLEASE BE DILIGENT WITH YOUR TAGGING. Only properly tagged posts are considered for archiving on the official @whumptober-archive blog. They must be tagged in the order above. An elaborate post about our tagging system can be found [here]

Unfortunately, due to the sheer number of participants in recent years, we cannot guarantee your work will be archived. A random selection of properly tagged posts from all genres will be reblogged each day.

Whumpers who produce content for 31 total theme days are considered event completionists and will be tagged in a masterpost at the end of the month. A form will be published at the beginning of November asking you to tell us if you completed the event. You do not need to post anything you have created, we rely on trust and we will not check this.

Questions not addressed in one of our many event info posts can be directed to this blog. We will not answer any questions that have been answered in the FAQs or rules already.

Frequently Asked Questions

Q. How does this year’s prompt list work? What do I have to choose?

You can create something based on:

The overall theme/lyric of the day

Prompt 1, 2 or 3

One or several of the alternative prompts

A combination of the above

Q. Is [specific anything] allowed?

When in doubt: JUST DO IT!

Q. Do I have to do all 31 days?

Participate as much or little as you like! Just be sure to tag your posts properly (ex. #no.7, #radio silence). If you create works for 31 total theme days you will become a completionist. But apart from that, there are no repercussions if you don’t fill prompts for each day.

Q. Can I post early/late?

Yes, you can post whenever you want. We will only reblog posts during October, but you can use our prompts all year round. The day you post will only affect your probability of being reblogged.

Q. Will you reblog my post?

Due to the sheer number of content posted during Whumptober we can’t promise to reblog every single post. We will make a random selection trying to capture a wide variety of content. The following will increase your chances at being reblogged:

tag your post properly

post within 2-3 days of the theme you want to fill: if you fill the prompt for Day 1 your chances of being reblogged during October 1st to 3rd are highest and will go towards zero afterwards.

Q. What if I don’t understand a prompt/theme?

Send us an ask! We’re happy to help with wild, unhelpful clarifications or brainstorming. That being said, the themes are entirely up for interpretation. Don’t take them too literally. For example: You can be choking on a cherry, someone else can choke you or you could be choked up on emotions, etc.

Q. What kind of content can I make? Can it be NSFW?

This is a MIXED MEDIA event! You can write fic, post meta, doodle or paint, create a gifset or photo edit, link a song, or get crafty with video - anything goes. As for NSFW, make what you like, we just hope that you’ll tag your work accordingly so that others participating in the event can stay safe.

Q. Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges?

Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

Q. Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms?

Of course! You can post your own content wherever you like (or you can opt to not publish it at all). Additionally we’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there. It can be accessed here. The tumblr blog @whumptober-archive is the official archive, so please respect the boundaries of any closeted whumpers in your social circle.

Q. Can I use prompts to write a new chapter for an existing fic?

Yes.

Q. An existing fic I am currently writing contains many of the Whumptober prompts, can I use it?

If you are actively writing this fic at the moment with the Whumptober prompts in mind, yes. If you’ve previously posted something that checks the boxes, we ask that you not include it retroactively for this current year. You can, however, add new chapters relating to one or more of the prompts.

Q. What kind of characters can I write for?

Fandom characters, OC characters, human, furry, alien, cyborg, RPF, whoever you like. You can use the generic “whumpee” character or have specific ones.

Q. Does it have to take place in a specific fandom?

No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want.

Q. Can I use a prompt multiple times?

Yes, but it only counts once towards being a completionist.

Q. If I’m not comfortable with one day’s prompts can I use a prompt of a different day as a substitute and still be a completionist?

No, you can’t exchange prompts for different days. However, if all four prompts of a specific day make you uncomfortable, we have created an alternate prompts list that you can draw from. You can exchange any prompt with these, but please make sure not to use them twice.

Q. Where can I post my work?

Post where and how you want. You don’t have to (cross)post it to Tumblr or at all. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive.

Q. Can I start posting early?

You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? That being said, you can post early, but we won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st.

Q. Do I have to finish a fic I started/can I post WIP’s?

Yes you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish it in October for it to count towards being a completionist.  

Q. Is co-writing allowed?

Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you.

Q. Do I have to create 31 standalone pieces to be considered a completionist or can I write one continuous story?

One continuous story is fine.  The challenge is to write something for 31 prompts. If that’s spread over 31 fics or just one, you are still considered a completionist. (The same goes for every other media you choose.)

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There is no limit.

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No limit and combine as many as you’d like.

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Of course! We are not going to establish a threshold for whumpiness. If you think it’s whumpy enough, then it’s whumpy enough. It can be physical, psychological, emotional, or any combination of the three.

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See this post

Q. What is whump?

Typically the genre includes situations where a fictional character is hurt, be it emotionally, psychologically, or physically. Fanlore provides information here.

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If you don’t think your interpretation is whumpy, then it doesn’t count for Whumptober. Remember that whump comes in many forms, though, and that we don’t have a whump-checker or a threshold for how much whump needs to be included. If you think your interpretation contains enough whump to count, then it does.

Q. Can I start working on the prompts before October?

Absolutely! That’s why we post the prompts a month in advance. We recognise how difficult it can be creating for 31 days in “real time” so feel free to start creating early!

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tw at the end of the word, ex. #gore tw

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Yes

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There are no rules, but please make sure to properly tag your trigger warnings. And keep in mind Tumblr’s policies if you are posting it here (or the policies for whatever site you use).

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Q. My characters are minors, is that ok?

Yes, but as with everything else, use clear and descriptive tags.

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Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable. You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once.

Note: This is a creation challenge, please don’t repost your old work under our tags (unless it’s been changed or edited for the event).

Thanks for reading, and happy whumping!

[springwitch26]

sweet daisy and the violet witch (agatha harkness x fem!reader)

tip jar / masterlist

summary: you are a baby witch in a tough situation. when a mysterious, brooding woman offers to teach you how to control your powers, you can't refuse. but what does she want with you? and... what do you want with her?

warnings: smut (18+), captivity and bondage but reader isn't exactly unwilling, mind-reading, sexy magic, humiliation, praise kink, dirty talk, enchanted strap, squirting, agatha is dark ofc, reader has a shitty sexist ex-boyfriend but he's only there to set up the story

notes: MY FIRST AGATHA FIC! this is set pre-westview and it is just pages upon pages of detailed, heretical, homosexual filth. it's been a long time coming, and i'm really proud of it. hope you guys enjoy 💜

tears streamed down your face as you stormed out of your now ex-boyfriend's house. the relationship had run its course, you knew that. but you never expected the breakup to be so ugly. he called you a "crazy bitch" and threatened to call the cops on you for destroying his living room.

and you didn't even do anything! at least, not on purpose.

the fight lasted an hour. you told him you wanted to break up, and he didn't take the rejection well. he started cursing you out, following you around the house as you frantically gathered your belongings.

now, you could handle the insults to your appearance and the comments about all the other women who supposedly wanted him. but when he started making sexual remarks—talking about how "frigid" you were and lamenting that he never fucked you hard enough to put you in your place—you lost it.

"shut up!" you cried, and the house shook with the impact. a wave of daisy yellow light burst from your chest and wreaked havoc on the living room. every lightbulb in every lamp shattered. the tv fell off the wall. books flew off their shelves and hurtled toward your ex's head. the carpet was singed. a few cracks appeared in the ceiling.

your ex ducked to avoid the flying books, then fell to his knees. he was uninjured despite the destruction, but his pride was wounded. you used his moment of weakness to grab your bag and rush out of the house, running down the street as fast as you could while he shouted obscenities.

you ran for a minute or so before a black car with tinted windows pulled up beside you. you froze in fear, but quickly relaxed when the driver rolled her window down. she was an older woman, and a beautiful one at that.

long, dark waves framed her face, and concern was written in her expression. her left arm extended out toward you, and you could see she was wearing a deep purple blazer.

"hey, hon. i heard some commotion from down the street and then saw you running. are you alright?" the woman's low voice was soothing, and you felt much safer already.

"i'm okay, thank you. i just broke up with my boyfriend and it didn't go over well," you admitted, your shaky voice betraying your anxiety about the whole situation.

"well, i can't let you walk all the way home, sweetheart. how about i give you a ride?"

you considered her offer. it was cold and rainy outside, and your apartment was a good distance away. this woman was a stranger, but she put you at ease for some reason. besides, much worse people than her could be out at this time of night.

"that would be great. thank you so much. i'm y/n," you said, stepping into the passenger seat.

"agatha harkness," the good samaritan replied, offering her hand to you. you took her hand and shook it, noting the delicate veins running up her long fingers. her thumb stroked the back of your palm for a few seconds, and the skin tingled when she stopped. "lovely to meet you, dear."

you told her your address and she put it in the gps, beginning the 15-minute drive to your place. agatha was pleasant and kind as she listened to your story, how your boyfriend had treated you and how you'd reacted—omitting the magical details, naturally.

when the car pulled up in front of your apartment, you thanked agatha and gave her a hug. she smelled like violets and old books, and you hesitated to pull away. when you did reach for the door handle, it didn't budge.

it all happened in a flash: purple smoke obscured every window, your hands and feet were bound by glowing purple ties, and agatha smiled. the smoke cleared, and you were not at your apartment. instead, the car was parked in front of a small black house with gothic accents.

"wha—how—" you stuttered.

"i'm glad you asked. it was a simple illusion spell. couldn't have you getting suspicious, could i?"

"s-spell?"

"yes, darling, a spell. i'm a witch. you are, too, but i'm sure you already knew that."

you looked down at your lap and shook your head.

"oh? that's a surprise. i mean, i knew you weren't the most sophisticated witch, but i figured you'd at least have a grasp on what you are."

your mind reeled at the revelation. although she had basically kidnapped you, you felt a strange pull to the woman in the driver's seat. your gut told you to trust what she was saying: you were a witch.

"tell you what, baby witch," she offered, a mischievous glint in her eye. "if you promise not to run, i'll untie you."

what choice did you have but to obey her? you didn't know how to control your powers, and sooner or later, they were going to get you in trouble. agatha knew more than you did, and she was teasing you with the irresistible chance to understand your magic.

"i won't run," you whispered. you felt agatha lift her magical binds.

"good girl."

---

agatha did what she always did. she promised to teach you how to master your powers, lulled you into a false sense of security. and at night, when you were sleeping soundly in her bed, she would try to take your power.

it only took her a couple of days to realize that she couldn't access your magic. she tried everything, but your bright yellow power was totally incompatible with her mystic purple—a fountain of light, untouchable by other witches.

oddly, agatha accepted this. unlike any of her previous conquests, you inspired a curious fondness in the older woman. you were smart and beautiful, powerful yet unassuming. and you were hers to teach, to touch, to protect and corrupt. with some training, you would be a formidable ally.

as for you? you were neither her victim nor her partner, but something in between. you abandoned your old life and happily crawled into bed with her each night—so she could keep an eye on you, she said.

"women like us will never be safe in this world, y/n," she would whisper into your hair. "that asshole saw what you can do, and he didn't like it. you're too precious for the stake, honey. i have to keep you close."

agatha hated your ex, but she could use him to channel your rage. as you worked through the emotional toll of the breakup, you worked on your telekinesis. as you processed the extent of his manipulation, you learned the basics of mind control.

one day, agatha wanted to see if you could hold your own against her. she was anxious to know if you could protect yourself with the strategies she'd taught you.

"you ready, superstar?" agatha asked, looking you up and down hungrily. you were wearing the outfit she had picked out specifically for this occasion: a black mesh halter top with a little yellow skirt, "ideal" for mobility. "don't worry, i'll go easy on you."

"i think so," you responded, trying to settle your nerves and anticipate her first move. but it was hard to focus when she stared at you with dark eyes, hair pulled back into a ponytail and arms crossed, emphasized by her tight purple t-shirt.

"don't get distracted, now," a sultry voice whispered from behind you. agatha had teleported, and you were too focused on her arms to notice. "that's rule number one."

you shuddered at the feeling of her hot breath in your ear, but kept your guard up. purple strings began to flow from her fingertips and wrap around you. you swiftly floated up and out of her hold, yellow sparks carrying you across the room.

you landed with a flourish and agatha raised her eyebrows, impressed. she didn't let you rest for more than a second, though, as a blow of her magic struck you right in the chest.

you stumbled back, but quickly retaliated. with a snap of your fingers, agatha was knocked off balance by a burst of yellow. she smirked and waved her palm. but this time, you remembered to block, crossing your arms and projecting a white shield in front of you.

"so you have been listening to me," she cooed, flying toward you and pushing you up against the wall with her magic. "you always seem so preoccupied when i'm teaching you, like your pretty little mind is off somewhere else. tell me, do i scare you?"

the answer was complicated. yes, agatha scared you, but not in an unpleasant way. it was a thrilling kind of fear that left you breathing hard and wanting more.

"no, ma'am," you decided, using her momentary surprise to push back against the magic pinning you to the wall. agatha withdrew.

"hmmm, 'ma'am.' i like the sound of that," she drawled as you awaited her next move. "you're doing well, baby witch, but you forgot one thing."

in a split second, you were lying flat on your back, purple threads binding your hands and feet to the carpet. before you could even attempt to react with magic, agatha was on you. she hovered above your restrained form and leaned in.

"rule number two: protect your mind," her voice above you was the last thing you heard before being plunged into darkness.

---

when you came to a few minutes later, agatha was still on top of you. she wore a coy smile as she watched the purple swirls disappear from your eyes.

"welcome back, sweet daisy," agatha husked. "after reading your mind, it seems like you're not as sweet and pure as i thought."

you struggled against her restraints, but they didn't budge. you were definitely losing the fight, but with the way she was looking at you (like she wanted to ravage you), you didn't much care.

"you wanna know what i saw, pretty girl?" she taunted, and you swallowed thickly but did not respond. "i saw myself on top of you just like this, pumping my fingers inside you while you screamed out for mercy."

well, your secret was out. but agatha didn't seem displeased; on the contrary, she was basking in your humiliation like a true sadist. you felt wetness gathering in your panties at the sight.

"i saw myself bending you over," she continued, using her powers to lift you off the ground and maneuver you so you were bent over the couch. "punishing you for forgetting your spells."

she swatted your ass once, hard, and you whined pathetically.

"i saw you kneeling between my legs," she said, once again manipulating your body into that position. "listening to my directions, being my good girl."

on your knees, you nuzzled agatha's leg in embarrassment, and she stroked your hair. you stayed like that for a minute before agatha lifted you into her lap, spreading your legs wide.

"and i saw you grinding in my lap, squirming and whimpering like a needy whore," she concluded, running her hands up and down your inner thighs as you straddled her. "what do you have to say for yourself, honey?"

you were at a loss for words, now incredibly turned on and burying your face in her neck. her fingers twitched and you were pushed out of your hiding place, her magic forcing you to face her.

"your mind is so dirty. how are you feeling? excited?" before you could respond, she slipped her hand between your legs. she lifted up your skirt and traced your slit over your panties, inhaling sharply when she found them soaked. "oh, you are. you just can't control yourself around me, can you? all hot and bothered. do you need me to take care of you?"

"yes, please," you begged, wiggling impatiently in her arms. tendrils of purple magic snaked around you, tickling your skin and preventing you from moving any more.

"much better," agatha hummed as she restrained you. she laughed seeing your helpless face. "don't pout. i'm going to touch you, make you feel so nice. but you need to sit still and take it like a good girl."

you nodded, and she rewarded you by vanishing your top. she took your breasts in her hands and kneaded them, working her way to your nipples. when she rolled them between her fingers, you yelped.

"shhh, i know, you're so sensitive," she cooed as she toyed with you. "you're in for a treat, babygirl. have you ever used your powers to play with yourself?"

she knew the answer. of course you hadn't. you didn't even know how. but she reveled in the way your face scrunched up in wanton embarrassment at the mention of touching yourself.

"allow me to demonstrate," she said, removing her hands from your nipples and whispering a latin word under her breath. you gasped when a purple buzz settled on your buds, replicating agatha's touch without physical contact. "feels good, hm?"

you merely whined and tried to grind against her, frustrated when you couldn't move an inch. she seemed to know what you needed, though, as your skirt then disappeared in a flash of violet.

"as much as i love that little skirt on you, honey, it's in the way of what i really want to see," agatha drawled, and you held your breath with the anticipation. with no warning, she gently lifted your hips up toward her, leaned down, and latched onto your clit through your panties.

"oh my god!" you moaned as she suckled through the fabric, putting delicious pressure on your bundle of nerves. then she sat up again and returned you to your position on her lap, once again whispering the incantation to continue stimulating your clit.

"i'm flattered, but there's no god here. just me," she smirked, watching you writhe in tortured pleasure. "alright, superstar, you with me? watch this."

she held two of her fingers up to your eye level, and your eyes grew wide as her fingertips lit up. with a predatory grin, she thrusted her fingers upwards, and you felt them inside you. you couldn't suppress your sinful moan.

"don't you see how powerful we are? i'm not even touching you, and you can feel me in your pretty little pussy," she mused, drunk on her power over you. "and if i do this," she curled her fingers just right, and you screamed as she stroked your special spot, "i can feel you squeezing me. like a tiny piece of heaven."

while her fingers continued thrusting and curling, her power pumping in and out of you, she used her other hand to explore every inch of your body. she touched you like you were the most precious work of art, a soft and delicate masterpiece in her arms. her touch and her magic were all over you, and you felt yourself getting close to the edge.

"won't be long now. you're so easy, sweetness," she sang proudly. her free thumb found your clit and rubbed tight circles on it, direct touch compounding the pleasure from her magical suction. not even a minute later, your release swept over you. "there you go."

when you came, agatha lifted the restraints so she could watch your legs shake and your core convulse. she kept pumping her fingers until she heard you whimper helplessly, squirming away from her invisible touch. she then withdrew the magical stimulation and ran her palms up and down your sides to comfort you.

"how was that, sunshine?" she smiled as she checked in with you. you gave her a breathless kiss, pouring all of your passion and admiration for the older woman into her mouth. her eyes sparkled with adoration as she looked at you, fucked out and struggling to stay upright in her lap. she inched closer to whisper against your lips. "i want to fuck you."

you weren't entirely sure what she meant, but you knew from your recent mind-blowing orgasm that anything was possible through magic. you started to get antsy in her lap again. you stood up on shaky legs and started toward the bedroom.

"don't be silly, superstar," agatha laughed as she effortlessly raised you into the air until you were hovering bridal-style in her arms.

agatha swiftly brought you up the stairs and into her bedroom. she laid you down on the bed and nudged your legs apart with her magic before retreating to the closet.

"do you know what this is, princess?" agatha asked, emerging from the closet with a large purple strap-on dildo in hand. you swallowed thickly at the sheer size of it and nodded your head.

"it's a strap-on," you replied sheepishly.

"correct, smart girl. this is a very special strap-on, though. do you know why?"

"no, ma'am."

"well, i want you to think of it as my cock. because when i put on the harness," she snapped her fingers and the strap was secured between her legs, "i can feel everything."

she gave the dildo a few rough strokes and groaned to illustrate her point. you trembled in anticipation. agatha was going to take you with the biggest cock you'd ever seen. and she would be able to feel the warmth, the wetness, the fluttering of your most intimate place with her own flesh. you unconsciously spread your legs wider.

"ready for me?" agatha crawled on top of you and dragged the tip of her cock through your messy folds, getting it lubricated. you nodded tentatively. "i'll be gentle. wouldn't want to break my delicate little flower. at least, not yet."

the second her tip breached your entrance, you inhaled sharply. it was going to be a tight fit, even though you were soaked. agatha recognized your discomfort and leaned down to kiss your lips sweetly. with another latin whisper, you felt those soft kisses all over your body, on every part of you all at once—even your clit. this relaxed you, and agatha gave you a few more inches.

"you're so tight," the older woman breathed, marveling at the sensation of feeling your wet warmth around her. "and all mine, little witch. you'd like to be mine, wouldn't you? i'd dress you every day in those mini skirts and no panties, play with this pussy all day long."

agatha's words worked exactly as she intended. you lost yourself in the hazy fantasy of being hers, and she penetrated you all the way. you both cursed as she bottomed out.

"good girl, taking my cock so well, letting me fill you up. let me just..." she trailed off and pulled out before thrusting back in at a new angle, hitting your g-spot and conjuring stars behind your eyes. "there she is."

once she knew you were okay, agatha seemed to lose the last of her restraint. she fucked you fast and rough, slamming her tip into your sweet spot on every thrust. she forced her cock even deeper by pinning your knees to your chest with her powers. then she snapped her fingers and the suction was back on your clit, only three times more powerful than before.

"come on my cock, y/n," agatha commanded, sending you flying into an orgasm. this one felt different from the first one, like a spark in your core spreading into an uncontrollable fire throughout your body. your legs jerked and your face twisted up, and the sight of you sent agatha over the edge too. you felt her hot release coat your walls, satiating you.

agatha pulled out of you and coaxed you to sit up, at which point you noticed the mess. a glowing purple liquid seeped out from between your legs, and agatha's midsection was dripping with clear liquid... wait, was that glowing too? the yellow aura looked unnatural, almost neon.

"rule number three," agatha chuckled, sensing your confusion. "don't be alarmed when things start glowing. comes with the territory, dear."

"how did that...?" you wondered aloud.

"well, for me it was an artistic choice. some women really enjoy the idea of me coming inside them, so i added a special enchantment to make their dreams come true," she explained. then her face broke into a smug grin. "and you, my darling, you squirted. it's not a magical experience on its own, but apparently it was for you."

your eyes followed her hands as she gestured to the glimmering evidence of your climax.

"have you ever done that before?" she asked while waving her hands in the air. before she finished the sentence, you were both suddenly clean and wearing fresh pajamas, warm like they'd just been in the dryer.

"no," you admitted, still a bit shy after losing control so dramatically. agatha hummed and pulled you close, and you grew drowsy while she cuddled you.

"oh, sweet daisy girl. i still have so much to show you."

[euphorianyx]

Bet Beat Keep [Ep 1]

Pairing : Jungkook & Reader (mc) Genre : Smut / Romance / Thrilling / Dark Summary : Jeon Jungkook is a legendary boxer, currently the best around the city. Even the illegal cage fights he takes place become famous… And your rich boyfriend decides to bet on his next game. JungKook must win no matter what because you are on the line. Will Jungkook win for himself, or will another game begin? ⟪A/N: Do not copy or publish my work on other platforms without my permission. All Rights Reserved. Every and each like & reblog are highly appreciated.⟫

The vale in simple yet clean suit opened my door. I stepped out and glanced around. A slum with faded colors of old buildings. We were so out of place with our fancy clothes. I thought so until walking into the building. People like us were following a hallway. A buff guy checked Jae Hwan's invisible mark with a purple light and opened the door. A small laundromat was behind it. Wondering where this will lead I followed quietly. I reached another small door. Peeking inside I could see the cage with locks in the middle. Blood running cold, I stopped on my track. However before I could form any word, another man cut in. His suit and fedora carried no sign of reliance. "I thought big bets like these were not your thing Song. What happened?" His husky voice filled the thin hallway. Jae Hwan chuckled. I did not like it, because I knew it was not a good sign. "Well you got what you expected now. Stop using your words, use your zeros." The man returned the same sort of chuckle, sinisterly. "Still thinking small Song? How about the beauty you brought?" Jae Hwan arched his eyebrows arrogantly. "You are not laying a finger on her." I felt sick to my stomach. They were talking about me as if I was one of their belongings… As if I was an object. Not being able to stand their immature testosterone war, I walked in. Before I took my seat, I looked for the ladies room, hoping there has to be one. Somehow on my way back, I heard the familiar voice of a male. It was the same man who talked to Jae Hwan. His hands were on each side of the young guy before him. "Listen…. You either win this or I will shove this down your throat… Understand?"

I had no idea about cage fights, but one did not need to be a genius to see the problem. He was going to wear a knuckleduster to destroy his opponent. In this case, it was Jae Hwan's bet. I had to do something if I did not want to end up in the hands of another freak.

Jungkook sat by the bench, listening to the deafening cheers of the crowd. Elites were present, so he had to give them what they wanted. They were thirsty for blood… Torture… Violence… Lives of miserable poor like him were meant for the entertainment. He took a deep breath, starting with his mantra. "Right, Left, Right, Left… Focus" Those whispers faded away when a woman suddenly pulled him back to the small room. The door was closed and Jungkook was stuck between the unfamiliar delicate body and the door frame. Eyes wide, he looked down to the unexpected guest.

I took a step back to create some space between me and the tall man. I finally looked up slowly and instantly regretted my decision. The only thing he had on was a cape along with shorts hanging on his hips. He had long and shaped legs and a muscular body. His chiseled chest and abs along with wide shoulders were literally perfect.

He had the face of an angel with captivating big eyes. Jungkook was also caught off guard. The first thing he noticed was the intoxicating perfume. The classy dress wrapped the beautiful woman’s curves and flowed perfectly. When your eyes met the only thing Jung Kook could think was that you were beautiful… From head to toe.

After a long minute of silence, the confusion kicked in. Closing my eyes I tried to put my thoughts together to explain. "Your… uhm… Your opponent is wearing a knuckleduster to the fight." After hearing those words, Jungkook even had more questions than before. He took a step to the delicate figure before him.

“And how do you know that?”

Since I did not have much time, I rushed the words. "It does not matter. I saw it. Its because of the bet." Jungkook raised one eyebrow questioningly. "How much is it?" I shook my head. "Money? I do not know. The real bet.." I stopped in the mid-sentence when my brain caught up with my mouth. However, Jung Kook's expectant gaze urged me to go on. "...is me." After I explained, I heard the footsteps outside the door. Jae Hwan's voice followed. "Find her!"

>>>

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 22}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: With a plan set in motion, it immediately begins to fall apart at the seams. Maldovan is proving to be one of the planets you face some of your most devastating hardships on, and you're not sure you can survive it intact this time.

Word Count: 10.8k (!!)

Warnings: canon typical language, canon typical violence, death, "on screen" death, din raises his voice one (1) time, argumentative language, inner musings of reader, mentions of past heartbreak and pain, reader is being held captive against her will, talk of self-harm, references to past self-harm, mentions of IV ports and shots, glossed over references to surgical procedures, deadly poison, talks of injuring / killing people, ritualistic and religious activities, talk of past manipulation and administration of sedative drugs, reader has a lot of quiet moments in this, sexual content, reader has one (1) absolutely feral moment, those are all the big ones!

A/N: this marks the end of my all original content arc!! i'm so proud of myself and i hope this doesn't emotionally destroy you too much, oops (p.s. special shoutout to @sawymredfox for the lovely moodboard that helped to inspire me this chapter)

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Everything was too bright, even through your closed eyes. It was as if you were underneath a spot light, trained on you, making your entire body feel overheated and almost burning. You tried not to cry out, to hold in the sound as the sensation became too much and your body convulsed, and your eyes flew open.

The memory of killing your intended flooded your mind, the one of you biting into a truffle so strong you could feel the smooth give of the melting chocolate on your lips and tongue. The viscous sensation of the sugary warmth thick on your cotton-like tongue. But it was a bed you woke up in, in the same room as the one your mother had made up for you in the infirmary. She was nowhere to be seen, there was no medic or droid around either. You were alone.

The monitor you were hooked up to wasn’t reading anything, you’re breathing so shallow and the heartrate almost nonexistent. The poison had worked, it allowed for the plan to go through, now all you had to do was knock out the guard, grab your bag and meet up with Din in your room. The escape route was to sneak out under the guise of being a servant, alongside him still in his disguise.

To rush without drawing attention across the city and toward the shipyard, where Cara and ad’ika were waiting. It had been at your insistence that the little one be as far away from your mother once you had regained your sense of self, there was no chance you would take of her getting her hands on him. He had fussed, sensing you so close by when the news was told to him. But even his loud wails and cries couldn’t change your mind, his safety was paramount.

You look for the file, reading the summary at the end of it pronouncing your passing. That you had perished to the symptoms of the poison administered to you. The orders to burn your body not uncommon for someone of royalty, the culture of Maldovan is to honor those in death by allowing them to untether from their bodies to ascend to the afterlife. The order given in the signature of the king and queen, scrawled into the file directly.

It’s your ticket out of here, to run as you saw fit. To escape from the environment in which you had been sold into.

As quickly as you can manage, you exchange the cream sleeping robes you had been dressed in for the dark ones of a guard. Muscles protest the twisting and movements of dressing, sore from the currents that had raced through your body, the poison that had no doubt affected you more than you anticipated.

Arms protesting as you wrap your hair up to conceal it underneath a cover, a leather band holding it in place, another pin allowing for the remaining fabric to drape over your face. With only your eyes visible, you don’t waste any time before making your way through hallways and to the room you agreed to meet up with Din.

The only thing you intended was to retrieve the bag you had stored in the back of your closet. A small collection of clothing and things you could had come to care about while constricted in the life your mother had tried to trap you in.

It may be questionable, the meaning behind it, but the ring Prince Cala had gifted you was beautiful and made your heart flutter for some reason. It was the perfect embodiment of all that you loved should you be given the choice to pick such a piece of jewelry. All polished sterling silver, delicate pastel emeralds lined up in a small cluster of three. You couldn’t bear to part with it, even with the brand associated with it. The way it allowed for the things that happened on this planet to live brightly in your mind and memory.

Perhaps it was because the only way the Prince would know what you would like…was because your mother had to have told him. A small understanding of who you really were beneath all that she forced you into and to mold to, a true part of yourself she had seen and remembered even in her manipulation.

You recall the discussion of removing it to hide it away in the bag, Din’s confusion at such a notion.

‘His lips are soft against your own despite the slight roughness to them from being chapped, from his earnest attempts at being everything you needed the past few months. His own needs falling by the wayside, his own routines holding little to no meaning if it didn’t have to do with ensuring your comfortability or protection.

Cara indulged in all the servants’ quarters had to offer, something she admitted to you on one of your walks, not only to keep up pretenses now that your memory had returned, but a small bubble of time to allow Din to rest. Ad’ika in your arms and cooing along to the sound of your voice every so often, big, beautiful brown eyes looking up at you with admiration as he holds a hand over the middle of your chest.

“Mesh’la,” His voice is a low groan, igniting a smoldering fire beneath your skin. Despite everything, despite all the damage caused by your mother, your body still reacted to him as it had begun to before your kidnapping. Despite the last encounter you two shared…

“My armor, your armor, your weapon. It’s all aboard the ship, down at the docking yard.”

“No, you’re still wanted. I don’t…I can’t bear the thought of you getting captured, they would execute you, this world doles out punishments quickly.” You tighten the grip you’ve got on his wrists, nudging the bronze braces further down his arms, revealing more of his skin for your eyes should they open. But you keep them closed, not wanting to see him for the first time in such circumstances, in a desperate attempt at connection before all chances of it could be lost to you both.

You don’t jolt when he presses to you as much as the bars allow him, the front of his body hot against yours, just as his lips close in around your bottom one. His fingers dig into your hairline, nails scraping gently as he tilts your head just a fraction, deepening the kiss. You can’t help the small sound that escapes your lungs on an exhale, fed into his parted mouth from your own. He swallows it down, giving you one in return when your tongue touches to his.

You startle slightly, overcome by the forward action. By the heat you could feel coming off of him as he responds to your touches in much the same way you are to his. His fingers pull lightly at your hair, holding you in place to prevent you from moving out of reach, it’s intoxicating the way he’s moving against you. Small traces of his tongue along your bottom lip, a chaste kiss to it, to your upper lip, to the tip of your nose and each cheek. His forehead rests against yours as he simply shares air with you now.

Maker, you wish you could see the needy, open expression he’s surely sporting. The furrow of a strong brow, full lips swollen from exchanging kisses, cheeks flushed from emotion and need. You wanted to see it, with everything in your being, but not this way. Not this setting, not while you were anywhere but aboard his ship. His sanctuary. Your sanctuary.

“Din,” You pant, hands moving to grip at his elbows, practically begging him to hold onto you. Just for another moment, another breath, another lifetime.

“San, I promise you….this will be the last time you’re at the mercy of someone else. I swear to you, you will be free, at any cost. I will spend the rest of my life ensuring your freedom, let me, ner k’arta. Even if I  don’t understand the reasoning behind certain things, you are the most important.”

He lingers, until the sun sets and hour signals the shift he had traded with another coming to an end. He doesn’t leave space until a handmaiden descends the stairs. With her is a tray of dinner covered by a domed lid. The smell of caf wafting from the covered mug beside it.’

You turn at the sound of your door opening, your given term of endearment shaped on your lips but your entire expression steels when you see the form of your mother in the doorway. Or at least, that’s who you see when the figure is too small to be Din, a servant that distorted in your vision. The effects of the poison making themselves known in the blurring of colors and sunlight being too bright.

Shaking your head, you realize its your secondary handmaiden. No doubt instructed to begin cleaning the remnants of you from the room. She gasps, startled by your presence though you’re sure she doesn’t recognize you beneath the cover.

“Apologies, I was unaware another was sent to clear the Princess’s room.”

“Was told to gather the valuables, to return to the Queen for safe keeping. I will be gone in a second.”

She’s quiet as she watches you mentally go through the things you need and what’s in the bag, tossing one of the straps over your shoulders before you bowing to her and departing from the room. You make it down the hall a few paces, mind jumbled as you realize Din is late. There’s no sign of him in the hallway nor those that lead to the one your bedroom is located in. Your answer as to why is found in the form of you someone suddenly grabbing at your robes to pull you into a room as you pass the doorway. There’s a slight prick of a needle in you neck and with a shiver from the cold liquid inside, you know exactly who it is.

“Your Mandalorian didn’t expect me to wake up, that much was obvious.” Your mother laughed bitterly as she fastened the cuffs around you, the chains connected them clinking as she did so. The poison and the sting of the sedative make you move slowly, muscles tired and barely functioning. “Managed to sedate him, though he took a lot more than you typically do. I suppose it makes sense, he’s such a big man.” She scoffs at the thought of him, of downing him as she claims. Your heart seizes, worry clouding your mind as she and the sedative work together to immobilize you.

“Bet you let him defile you, in anyway he chose to, didn’t you, my darling? Probably thought it was love, that it was consensual. But he’s using you, just like the others. The Jedi who took you away, who let you fall victim to an attack that eradicated them. To the Mandalorian you claimed protected you in the aftermath, the one who wouldn’t return you home to me. To the Empire who held you captive, demanded things from you until it corrupted you. Changed you into someone you never would’ve become. He’s using you, just the same. Wants to own you, control you, keep you all to himself. Your body and your power the only thing he sees in you.”

Anger and resentment make the energy around you swirl, feeling it more so than a light twinge but a full force all around you ripe for manipulation. Reaching out your mind, you focus it on the chains being pulled taut as your arms are fastened behind your back. She’s moving to fasten the ones about your ankles together when the first one clicks open, the mechanism inside broken. You shove at her next, tossing her off of you and into the other wall.

The chains wrapped around your body were short, the links of them only a few dozen as you free yourself from the hold of your mother. Her own body weak from the poison and the collision of her back to the wall, allowing you to distance yourself from her. To gain a few feet of space as you begin to careen down the hallway. But she follows, far too quickly for comfort once she manages to find her balance.

Footsteps heavy, you feel the sedative try and take ahold of you, but you fight it off. Focusing inward to try and thwart it, negate in in a small bout of healing. Your mind worries for Din, for his own safety. What if your mother had told the guards of his true identity? Would they already have him held in the dungeons, his sentence being doled out? The entire plan of killing and escaping fallen on his shoulders and the blame placed on him?

No thoughts were running through your head other than to get to her quarters, but as you approach the hall, there’s a fear that he’s not there. The bag in your hand grows heavy as your hunch it proved correct, he’s no where to be seen inside her large room. As she’s rounding the hallway herself, slower than you but no less determined, she sees the end of your robe disappear around the other side of the long hall.

Back to the medical wing, you think as you move as quickly as you can down the stairs, far too many of them for you to move at a faster pace. You didn’t want to risk tripping on your tensing muscles. As soon as your boots make contact with even ground once again, you’re careening down a wide hallway, the servants back rooms and paths the goal to travel across the grounds without drawing any more attention.

A distraction never hurt anyone, you reasoned as you dug a hand into the bag for a small round disk. It feels alive in your palm as you nearly slid into the dining hall, the destruction of it paramount to call for servants and guards alike to the scene, to keep everyone in the main part of the palace. To ensure you time to find Din and make the call to Cara for an emergency escape right from the grounds. You trusted her skills, her ability to get the ship low enough for you to load an unconscious Din and then yourself with minimal firepower. All the focus would surely be on the dining hall, the ruined wedding, the craze of your mother claiming her whatever story she concocts.

The three high-pitched chirps of the grav charge you recognized from Din’s weaponry echoed in your ear as you planted it along the ornate door the second your mother was rushing through it after you. The dining hall had been transformed into an extravagant set up for the ceremony. Rows of chairs lined up, beautiful collections of flowers adorning each column, lanterns set up high and in vast numbers, the candles in them unlit. But it all lays in disarray now, covered in debris.

“San!” You heard Din’s voice through the dust and floating debris, but the ringing in your ears drowned it out much the same way the drugs still in your system convinced you it wasn’t even real. It couldn’t be, your mother, she already ensured his death with nothing but a single word. Hoping to crush the very last bit of your heart and will to fight. The only thing on your mind was survival. He was too far, he was fast and he was skilled beyond many but he was down the hall based on the way his voice echoed to reach you.

You called back, hoping that it wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you, the term of endearment echoing back to let him know your precise whereabout should he really be searching for you. But you were sure it would be too late; your mother was already surging up from the blast. Her body covered in ash, dust billowing off of her as she moved as quickly as she could.

You spied the remote on the ground but instead of rushing toward it, you went for your mother who was still sprawled on the ground from the force of the detonation. She roused slightly but burst into movement when she saw you heading straight for her with anger in your eyes. As soon as she scrambled to her feet, you whipped your hand out to send a piece of broken pipe across the room and into her legs.

“San, please, you’re not angry with me! It’s him! He’s the one whose done all this!” She shouted as she regained her footing and tried to flee out into the hallway, she dove for the remote when she spotted it abandoned on the floor. You were already swinging your chains, gathering momentum and just as she broke the threshold you threw it out. The chains wrapped around her middle and you pulled as hard as you could.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Din’s form burst into the entryway, his entire body moving lethargically. He was fighting the sedative; he was fighting it to search for you. His voice called out again, as his head swayed slightly. The

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself as her body collided with yours just as she pressed the trigger on the remote, she had managed to get in her grip, just standing back up from reaching for it as you closed in. The shock was debilitating, originating at the crown of your head, pulsing in your temples and flying across your body to ignite your very nerves on fire. The chains around your wrists, making it even worse, the electricity feeding off of itself for a long moment. You gripped your mother’s body tight to you, the shock transferring to her as well.

Din shouts out your name, louder than you’d ever heard him speak before. But it barely registered over the scratch of your own voice torn from your throat as you cried out.

You both fell to the ground, your teeth gritting so hard you feared your jaw would break.

As soon as you were able to, you rolled over to pin your mother’s rousing form, the chains clinking around you, the metal heavy where your muscles braced against it. She was blinking up at you, her own body no doubt feeling the dangerous effects of the electrocution. Faintly aware of quick steps thundering in the hall, you didn’t dare look away from the woman beneath you as your hands came up to bunch at the front of her robes.

“You will control me no longer!” Using your shaking limbs, you lift her up by the front of them and slam her back down to the ground. Voice wrecked and trilling.

“S-San, ple-please.” She coughed, voice broken as she tried to reason with you, her breathing labored and her mind still with her.

“No!” You couldn’t help but lift her slightly off the ground only to slam her back down to collide with the lavish and polished floor again and again. “You- have- done- nothing- but- take advantage of me my entire life! You had no right to be that way toward me, to do the things you did to me. Your own flesh and blood! Your only family, your only child! I’ve known more kindness from strangers, from those who don’t even know me!”

“I only did it to protect you!” She cries her own words, sweet voice no longer pitched high in an act but raspy as you recalled it being as a child, the voice that haunted your waking hours just as much as your sleeping ones. Pleading with you, the dynamic completely turned now. But there was no reasoning with you, even if Din were to approach you now, even if your old protector Akiz rose from the dead to ask you to show mercy- you could not.

“You never protected me, you’ve only hurt me. Over and over and over again. Every time you chose to load up the needles, every time you closed the shackles on my wrists and ankles, every time you locked me away in the dark with no way to even know I was alive! You made me want to end my live, mother!”

“I didn’t mean- I only wanted-“

“You made me so unaware of everything, I didn’t even know I was a person!” You were shouting at the top of your lungs now, for all to hear. The small crowd of servants and the people dressed in decorated robes surrounding Din in the doorway. Everyone unsure of what to do, of how to break the scene up. But when Din’s figure tried to, he suddenly halted as if there was an invisible barrier preventing him from entering the room. “You treated me as harshly as those that corrupted me!”

“I sold you to give you a better life, to give us a better life! One I couldn’t give to you on an armor’s earnings. It was for your own good. The things I did were for all for your own good, San, you have to believe me!”

Your knuckles popped as you curled your hands around her throat, the flesh and tendons forming to your tight grip. Her own hands scrabbled at any part of you she could reach but you ignored the dig of her nails into your arms, into the base of your neck, eyes locked with hers as they widened in fear and desperation.

“I won’t let you, I won’t let you, not anymore!” You snarled, teeth bared and emotions raw as you watched her gurgle your name, voice tapering off and turning raspy the longer you held to her. Your own shaking and distorted, hoarse from the power behind your shouted words. The same power you felt flooding your veins was all your own, no influence of the Force. You could feel her, the energy of her very being waver, fade, the light going from her eyes as her hands fell limp to her sides.

Tears sprouted from your eyes, falling onto her slack face as her lips tried to form your name one last time. When her last breath left her chest, your hands loosened thought you didn’t remove them. The fear of her suddenly springing up and turning the tables on you all to real even as you took in the way her slightly parted lips were slack, the spittle and splotchy red patches decorating the skin of her face and neck. Her golden skin tainted and marred, just like that about your wrists, about your ankles, about your heart.

Bowing, you nudged the crown of your head underneath her chin, hands moving down to her shoulders, tears flowing freely, sobs wracking your body as you nuzzle into the body of the woman who was supposed to love you, support you, help you navigate the world. The woman who had failed you in every conceivable way, who had taken what little parts of you had survived the events of your life. All of the power and fight leaves your body, energy drained and muscles slack.

All you can do is weep.

You didn’t jump when a hand settles on your back, when the warmth of it seeps into the layers of fabric and into your skin. A comforting weight, a familiar weight. Din.

“Vaabir nayc ku'rukar, bic cuyir shi ni.  Ner kar'ta, gedet'ye, vi linibar at ba'slanar.  Ogir cuyir naas olar par mhi payt.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper as he speaks softly to you. As he calls you back to the room, to the time, to him.

Do not startle. My heart, please, we need to leave. There is nothing left for us here.

“Val cuyir dar.” You rasp out, voice strained and small. So much like a child lost in a crowd and searching for someone, anyone to help them get back home.

She’s gone.

“Ni kar'taylir, San.  Vi…vi linibar to-"

I know, San. We…we need to-

“Ni liser't ba'slanar kaysh!” You lift your head, eyes meeting Din’s with a fierce desperation. The meaning of your actions settling in as you feel the body beneath you. “Val may ganar let ni slanar, val may ganar harmed ni, a ni liser't ba'slanar kaysh.  Liser't ba'slanar kaysh baar olar, ogir. Ogir cuyir kebise vi vaabir! Bat K'ath.  Val- val deserve at nari bat.”

I can't leave her! She may have let me go, she may have harmed me, but I can't leave her. Can't leave her body here, there...there are things we do! On K'ath. She- she deserves to move on peacefully.

He’s suddenly turning his back on you, broadsword held up in defense as two figures approach. They’re surrounded by more guards dressed exactly like him, like you. Dark billowing robes, though their hands remain gripped around handles of their own weapons. The steps of so many approaching falling on his ears alone, you are too lost in your grief, too focused on the woman who lays dead before you. Because of you.

“Stand down, we do not wish to harm her. Nor you.” A woman’s strong voice, cadence lilted in the way that conveyed a high standing. Her robes were shining in the sun filtering in from the tall, arching windows in the room. The colored, faceted glass at the top allowing for prisms of color to splash over the room even as dust continues to settle. Highlighting the damage done by the grav charge. Tables and chairs strewn about, petals from flowers littered over everything. Glass glittered about, as did the remnants of stone columns, two of which hadn’t been able to withstand the explosion. The perfect set up for what was supposed to be a joyous union, shattered down to the very details.

“Aliit, the queen commands you. Heed her words.” Another servant tempered, bridging the gap between the man standing guard before you and those that commanded all of the planet.

“The only words I follow are hers and those of my Creed.” He spares a glance back at you over his shoulder. The confidence in his stance and the conviction in his words pulls you to your feet. You gaze around him, eyes landing on the two figures standing before him. The depictions of them cast in oil paint and in holo nets the only time you’ve seen them, but you would recognize them anywhere. The king and queen of Maldovan.

The people who had been set to become your family.

The people whose son you murdered with your bare hands.

And they stand before you and Din, hands up and placating even though they just witnessed you strangle your own flesh and blood.

Instincts of flight light you up from the tips of your toes to the still aching crown of your head. Though you do not move, you simply stand behind Din, who is poised for a fight. Ready to defend you, to protect you, to ensure your freedom now that your mother’s clutches can no longer control you. You stand still and strong behind him, to match his devotion and willingness to face a potential new threat head on.

“San of K’ath.” The man steps forward, the golden jewelry adorned around his neck and the clasps on his ceremonial belt jingling as he bows at the waist toward you behind Din’s large frame. “We want to express our deepest apologies for the tragedies you’ve encountered while here in our home. From the way you were coerced here against your will to the attempt on your life just last night.”

“We want to extend the offer to undo any medical procedures your mother conducted alongside our medic. There are locked files on our system, we can only assume they worked together willingly. As well as offer you the suite in which you’ve occupied for however much time you require to recover. We humbly request peace from this point on, your skills are beyond anything we wish to fight against. Should you wish to leave this moment, we would allow you to. The contents of your room are yours, the gifts given to you for the union ceremony are yours. Should you want for any of it.” The queen bows as well, her headpiece secured over braided hair glinting in the sunlight.

“You are the Mandalorian, the one Lena had requested we put a bounty on.” The king rises from his bow, eyes focusing on the stance Din holds, the way your fingers had wrapped around the back of his robes. A question, his words are not. But a fact that is now out in the open. His fierce protectiveness, the manner in which he had held back guards that followed in his movements about the palace in his attempts to locate you, the way he holds himself, shields most of who he is from all to see.

They can see the was you hold yourself, how you had nearly effortlessly taken out the threat your mother had revealed herself to be. The use of the Force minimal, but still seen by those who had crowded the entrance to the damaged hall, called forth in haste by the grav charge you had deployed. It is obvious now, the strength you possess yourself, the skills you had hidden away in order to play the part of a willing daughter until a moment for your escape made itself known. Two trained and skilled individuals that now have no reason to hold back. The glimpse of freedom right in front of you both, yours to take, to defend with everything you had.

“She had said you were part of the people who had hunted her since her younger days. A threat that always lurked around the corner. But- that is false. From the way you’ve gravitated to her since your arrival, you’re bonded. A pair that cannot be separated. Is this correct?”

“Yes,” Your answer was immediate. “He’s…he’s my-“

“We are to be joined, according to my religion. Should she still want that after this ordeal.” Din fills the silence when your words falter. When the conviction in them at labeling what he is to you in Basic fails you.

“I see,” The queen looks between you both. “Then the proposal to wed you to our son was ill-intentioned. Stolen away from one you love for another of status. The culture of others is so foreign to us, we couldn’t imagine taking the happiness of our child away. Even if he…had incongruities.”

“The poison, it was an attempt on both your lives. We can only assume it was politically motivated. We will not discuss it here in the open.” The queen’s eyes connect with yours and you nod your head to let her know you’re not just listening, but understanding too. The Medic, the one they employed. They place the blame for all that has happened with him, with your mother. She sees the betrayal for what it is, a plan to infiltrate her family.

“We…we need a moment. If that’s...amenable.” Your fingers tighten where they are wrapped in the fabrics flowing from Din’s broad back, falling in layers from his shoulders. There’s…there’s so much to discuss, to decide. It’s not what you had expected, when your mother had all but chained you up one last time and tried to lead you back to the medical wing. There’s no telling what she had planned to do but…the kindness of the two people before you is genuine. You can sense it, there is no underlying scheme to get you to remain here. No game they are playing, simply extending honest hospitality and understanding of what you’ve been through.

“That is perfectly acceptable. We understand that this- it’s a jarring shift from just this morning. We will step into the hall to give you some privacy.”

You can’t help but feel anxious as you follow them to the medical wing, a hushed exchange of words with Din revealing that he too knew your mother had something implanted into your temples. A control device to shock you, should you step out of line or display powers. Your charts easy to hack into with the clearance code he had seen a droid enter during his time trialing after your mother the night before.

Cara is called back to the grounds, both by Din on the comm link he’s got hidden just inside his outer layer and the guards patrolling the docking yard. She and ad’ika are accepted immediately, the two of them escorted to the medical wing where you wait with Din. Plush chairs and a long couch surround a low table, food served to ease your nerves, to show that they will still provide for you despite what has been revealed.

“Everything’s okay, little one.” You let him burrow his face into the crook of your neck, small body barely a weight against your chest as you held him to you. He wasn’t making a sound, but you could tell he was trying to connect with you mentally. It was fuzzy, your body strained and exhausted so you gently shushed him and patted a gentle hand on his small back. “I can feel you trying to, but let’s wait until I’m a little more in control, okay? Don’t want you to stumble across anything bad in my mind.”

He just nuzzles closer, the point of his little nose cold as he presses it to your neck.

“He’s trying to ‘connect’?”

“Yeah, it’s just a lot right now. Those shocks really- they didn’t do any damage but my mind isn’t strong enough to put up walls should he be poking around in there. Don’t want him to stumble into any bad memories or thoughts.”

“Are you…having ‘bad thoughts’?” Din’s tips his voice low, eyes focusing on you as he stands between where you are perched and the door. On the defensive should something happen, even now.

“Yes and no. I’m not…Din, I’m trying to be okay. But it’s going to take some time for me to be.”

“I understand, I just worry. You- you deserve to feel safe and protected. To be at peace.”

“I’ll feel better once these transmitters are removed,” You try not to raise your voice though the emotion flares through you. The anger and hurt and betrayal of your own flesh and blood submitting you to something so controlling. It was already a hard enough reality to accept that she was willing to keep you in chains that would shock you should you move suddenly, but to implant something into your very head to do the same? To control with a remote should she see any sign of defiance in you from the twitch of an eyebrow to the raising of a singular finger?

It’s a vile thought, the things she had been comfortable in doing to control you, to keep tabs on you. To get it removed, the transmitters as well as a blood transfusion to rid your system of the poison and subsequent sedative, it would be a lot to undergo but you were willing to. For your peace of mind as well as a healthy reboot.

The recovery takes a few days, the faint cuts in your temples healing quickly and painlessly with the aid of bacta patches, with the tender and caring hands of a replacement medic. The one who had worked alongside your mother jailed for his corruption and manipulation. It didn’t matter that you were no longer intending to fold yourself into the royal family, you had been a part of it while engaged to Prince Cala. The principle of the matter stood firm, you had been important, of high standing, the princess at the time- there was no forgiving the man’s actions.

Din remains close, during your recovery. The suite you had resided in is where your little group set up for the time being. Din opted to sleep atop the couch across the pair of chairs clustered around the low table opposite the room from the bed. Ad’ika resting with you in the large bed or alone when his tiredness grew into an afternoon nap. Cara was quick to take the fainting couch in the closet, hoping to give you both a bit of privacy but still remain in close quarters.

She didn’t want to part from either of you just yet, to ensure that everything would be okay. That there wouldn’t be any need to transport one of you to another place. Or both back to Nevarro and then you somewhere else, either your home planet or Tatooine where your hideaway was.

The ashes of your mother, are condensed into a small ceramic box, detailed with gold over a black base coat. It’s heavy in your hand as you stare at it, mind blank and eyes losing focus and blurring the longer you stare at it. Din is standing beside the door, Cara having left the room with ad’ika at the arrival of the queen. She had wanted to hand it directly to you, her words quiet as she explained that it is customary to place the remains in gilded boxes and display them alongside photos of the deceased.

You listen solemnly, words failing you when she asks after your own customs. You tell her of the ones you know of Manda’lor. Your own from K’ath lost in your memory, something you don’t recall witnessing during your first years on the oceanic planet. It had never been something discussed or explained by your mother, questions of your father always bubbled up to the surface but had never been voiced. Not when it was as if he never existed in the first place.

She sits with you for a while, asking after how you’re feeling. If you needed anything from her at that moment, that the cooks are ready to prepare whatever you wanted should you ask. You thank her for her kindness, for her generosity, genuine feelings of admiration and appreciation for her the way she’s folded you under her wing. Her eyes shine as she takes your hands in hers and simply holds them. A lamentation for her son missing out on being the same way for her is the only depressive thought she’s voiced over his death. Her and the king both place the blame of it on the medic and your mother, something you did not correct.

It felt…wrong to lie to her. She was obviously conflicted over the actions of her son and the willingness he displayed to go along with the plan to use the lack of your memories to instill false ones into your mind. The influence of your mother strong on him for reasons she wished to know, but never would. Her son was gone, so many questions would remained unanswered, though the compassion she’s shown you a sliver of obvious as she dressed in mourning robes and does not leave the palace. The fact that you did not feel guilt for ending his life spoke volumes of your own thoughts on the matter, but you wouldn’t add to her turmoil nor disturb it.

With a quick dab of a folded cloth underneath her eyes, she’s clears her throat to explain that clearance has already been set for you to depart when you wish to.

You thank her again, standing when she does. Her hands twitch as if she wants to reach out, but she reads the way you tense at the mere suggestion of it. She bows instead, you return the gesture and that’s the last you see of the woman.

The question of where to go hangs in the air. Both parties sure of voicing it lest the answer be something they are unable to agree with. But they would willingly take you to wherever you choose to go, giving you back the freedom you nearly lost once more.

“I would like,” You clear your throat at your voice falters on the words, packing the ship had been a silent affair. The guards stacking three crates of your belongings as well as supplying you with a token of their symbol that would grant you instant access into their air space. The invitation was offered despite the fragility of the connection, born of remorse and a wish to make things right, for you to stay at one of the few seaside homes they keep up should you want to return and enjoy in the offerings of the city. “I would like to go to Tatooine. To retrieve something from my hide away there. If that’s…if that’s amenable.”

“Tatooine it is, then.” Cara treks up the ramp, cracking her knuckles as she goes. Din is silent beside you, eyes ever watching closely. Though there is something hidden behind them you can’t quite make out and refuse to reach further into his mind to figure out, not wanting to impinge on his privacy.

“I want to…I would appreciate the…um…” You trail off, feeling so offput by the way he’s focused solely on you. You know he doesn’t mean to put you on edge by doing it, used to doing so behind the visor of his helmet. He’s well-meaning with his intentions but you feel very much like a specimen under supervision, your every move giving away information on internal workings. “Maker, I’m sorry. I c-can’t think with your eyes boring into me so plainly.”

“I didn’t mean to unnerve you.”

“No, I know. I just…feel vulnerable and like you’re waiting for me to make a run for it or something.”

“You don’t have to leave with us if you don’t want to. You can…take one of the ships they offered you and go on your own. You don’t owe us anything for-“

“I-I don’t…I don’t want to be alone anymore, Din.” You whisper, feeling the thickness of your tongue in your throat as tears prick behind your eyes. You think back to traveling alongside Akiz, how much you felt like it was the right thing to do, like he was the right person to place your faith in. To care about and be cared for in return, a truly selfless person who had done so much to ensure your protection and safety, someone you had tried your best to do in return. The same feeling you had alongside Din, though there was that…additional layer of connection that sprouted warmth in your entire body and made your heart both beat rapidly and calm. “I want- I want to go with you. I want you. If that’s…if you still-“

“I do,” He breaths out, hands reaching for your own fidgeting ones. The heavy pendant revealed as he opens his fist to you, the shining beskar catching both the light and your breath. He had found it, going through the contents of the medical wing, when he had figured out what the medic had done to you at the request of your mother. “I didn’t…I was waiting for a moment alone. But yes, San, I-I do want you, beside me, traveling with me, anything you are comfortable with.”

“I had hoped she kept it,” You reach a hesitant hand out for it but think better of it at the last second, pulling your hand back and flattening in against the center of your chest. “But it’s yours, you…you should keep it. It was stolen from me, I can’t be trusted with it.”

“Mesh’la- San, I want you to have it.” He steps close and offers it once more. “I gifted it to you, it is yours.”

“I…I like the thought of carrying around something that once belonged to you,” You admit almost shyly, he feels warmth bloom in his chest at the admittance, at the willingness to share such a thing with him, even no, especially now. He feels the fabric covering his mouth shift as his lips twitch when you look up at him with wide eyes, your hand uncurling to accept it.

“Everything I have, is yours as well. I make that promise to you.”

The ship is an blend of quiet beeps and the low hum of the engines as they power the craft to move through hyperspace. You don’t let go from where you gripped tight to Din’s hand as he sits beside you, nor the hold you have on ad’ika as the child sits securely in your lap. Everything is still in the control room as the glowing blues and greens move over the glass paneling of the vantage deck. Cara is staring down at the controls, her head hung slightly.

“I reset the security protocols when I left,” Din speaks into the silence, hoping to put his own mind at ease. Everything is okay….you’re onboard the ship with him, wanting to travel with him, wanting to be at his side. Though he doesn’t know in what capacity just yet. But he could…he had to be patient. You endured so much the last few months, the last year since he had first stumbled upon you chained up in that compound. He could wait for you to approach him, to speak with him about the things you both agreed needed to be discussed. To open your mind and hear to him even if his is beating rapidly each time you suck in a deep breath or stutter our a question you wouldn’t have asked before.

He really…dislikes the idea of thinking of things and before and after. But the reality is that you both went through something, you more so than him. Way worse than him, your own autonomy stolen from you along with the very memories that make you who you are. The death of your mother, even knowing it was the only true way to be free, was going to weigh heavily on you. Greif and loss were not linear, you would feel it for the rest of your life. The levels of it waning and cresting much like the waves you admire every time the ocean is near. And he would stand by your side through it all, as long as you let him. As long as you wanted him to.

“I’ll be catching a ride back to Nevarro, once we land.” Cara announces, taking the quiet moment for herself. “I’m truly glad I could help to get you back, San. But there’s a lot that needs to be tended to, I hope that’s okay with you.”

“Yes, of course. You have responsibilities and things that require your attention.”

“That’s not to say I regret how long it took to find you,” she turns to pin you with a somewhat pinched expression. Her eyes giving away her trepidation, even if her smile is small on her lips. “I just feel like there’s a whole lot you two need to hash out and I don’t want to intrude on that.”

The jump would take only a few hours, Cara further explaining her choice to return to Nevarro and her responsibilities. With the assurance that she would eradicate any other calls for your capture, dispute them herself if need be and that there would be a plot of land with each of your names on it should you choose to lay low. That you both have a place to return to, should you want for one.

You thank her for everything as you share an embrace with her, her own arms tight around you. She’ presses a kiss to your cheek, a smirk on her lips as she pulls back.

“He’s an alright guy, that one.” She nods to where Din is standing beside Pelli, ad’ika’s small body between the two of them as he inspects a droid no bigger than him. “He just got confused it all, I hope you two can work it out.”

“Be safe, please leave contact of your return. I’m sure we’ll be back at some point.”

Travel to home planet of K’ath is mapped out and set into the panel, a quick jump to light speed signals the journey has begun. Din had yet to put his armor back on, sensing you need to see him for who he is, not the wall of armor he typically is. His soft edges exposed to you in your low moment, someone to reach for and find a hand or a shoulder unobstructed by protective leather and hard beskar.

It’s quiet, but you could hear the faint sounds of Din’s rumbling voice as he lulled ad’ika to sleep in the hammock strung up in the small hold space. You’re laying in the moderate bunk space

The second he steps through the door, before it can shut behind him completely, you’re surging forward from where you’re perched on the very edge of the bed. Your hands reaching for his face, fingers curling into the cowl and mask, pulling the fabric down and pressing your lips to his in a desperate kiss.

His reaction is instant, his own hands coming up to cup your face and flatten on the small of your back, his head tilting just so to deepen the kiss as he pulls you flush against him. His stubble is a scratching tickle against your face, but you don’t care. His bottom lip is between yours and you pull back to catch your breath, realizing that you can’t see even a twinkle of light reflected in his eyes as the bunk is in total darkness, the door shut behind him.

He whispers your name as he takes a breath of his own, pressing his lips to yours firmly. They’re so soft, so plush, they feel like nothing you’ve ever had against your skin. All fond softness and genuine intention, a true kiss in the very definition of the word. Your hands move up to shove the band of fabric keeping his head cover in place. Both the leather and soft cotton fall to the floor, his curls exposed for you to dig your fingers into.

“I-I want to see, but, Din. I can’t…I can’t make the vows to you.” You part from him for a moment, wanting to be honest, wanting to voice your thoughts.

He’s loosening his hold on you, beginning to pull away and your heart stutters. You rush to explain it further to him, the feelings tangled up inside you.

“I can’t make the vows to you right now, I….I want to. Someday. Everything is too fresh, it’s all- jumbled in my head. I want to be yours, I want you to be mine. Maker, I want that more than anything, but the idea of reciting vows right now…it-it- Din, it’s too much.” You hiccup, grasping at his shoulders so tight your nails dug into the shoulders of his robes.

He pulls you back into him, closing the small gap that had formed as he loosened his hold on you. He clings to you just as you do to him, noses touching and sharing breath. You know he wouldn’t demand anything of you, whether you voice concern or trepidation or not.

“I want you to see, even if you don’t have intentions to make the vows. I…want to be seen by you, even if it means breaking my Creed.” He pressed closed lips to yours, simply feeling you. “You are what is important.”

“I wish to see you, more than anything.” You whisper, the feel of his facial hair sending sparks to flare low in your stomach. Your fingers are still in his hair, though now they are running through the thick tresses to calm you both. “I just- can’t right now. It’s- too much, Din. I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize, I will never force you to do anything. I promise that to you. But please, mesh’la, let me feel you, let me hold you. I’ve- I’ve-“

“I’ve missed you too,” You read his thoughts and repeat them to him, they are the same you’ve been having. The kisses slow down, become openmouthed as desire flourishes and heat sparks in both your bodies. He’s running his hands down either side of your neck, your shoulders. Down your back to grip you tight around the waist, fingers digging into the fabric at your hips. The robes still in place that you hadn’t yet removed, too anxious to speak with him once the little one went down for the night.

He tugs you closer, letting you feel the swell of him between his legs. The sensation dizzies you, the weight of it against your hip, though he doesn’t move against you, simply holds you close. You lower your arms to wrap around his shoulders as he bends his knees and grips you behind the thighs, lifting you without a second thought. The weight of his becomes trapped between your legs wrapped around his waist, pressed right over the softness that had developed in your lower middle. It’s a heady sensation, pulling a soft sigh from you.

He groans into the kiss, at the feel of you clinging to him. Taking slow steps toward the cot so as to not jostle you. But it all simmers when he leans down to rest you atop the covers. The stifling mood bubbles as his eyes adjust to see the faintest outline of you caressing your hands down his arms and to the fastened front of his robes. The air is warm on his skin as he lets you undress him, soft fingers pushing the fabric from his body with great care not to poke or prod any sore spots. He hadn’t been doing any of the fighting but the care and sensitivity you showed made his heart soften and a sigh escape his chest.

Your hands still at his waist, the belt and harness for his broadsword cool to the exploring tips of your fingers. The blade isn’t in place, removed for him to pilot the ship and safe in the control room. The clink of the clasps being undone causes him to twitch and you barely manage to stifle a huff of laughter before you’re tugging his trousers down his slim hips. The front of them catches but he doesn’t move to or breathe a word of argument as you drag the fabric down until it falls to collect at his feet, completely mesmerized by your slow actions. Leaving him in just his undercover.

The mood tempers even more when you lean forward and press your face to his middle, feeling the softness of the hair that adorns his middle, cheek to his warm skin as you loosely wrap your arms around him. He no doubt feels the heavy breathes you take in and exhale, centering yourself and focusing on the feel of him, the very real man in front of you. The one who had come looking for you, to rescue from those who had stolen you away…the one who had caused you to run in the first place.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Din’s hands cup the back of your head and along the back of one of your shoulders.

“Mesh’la,” He heaves a deep breath, unsure of how to voice the incessant thoughts since the moment you had stormed out of the bunk back on the Crest. He says your name, voice giving way the emotions he’s consumed by as his voice falters. You lean back, pulling him along with you. After a few moments of shifting and moving together, you’re both on your sides. Facing each other while wrapped up in each other’s arms. One of your legs thrown over his hip to keep him close, one of his wide palms cupping your cheek, heads resting on the pillows.

He whispers his apologies to you, over and over again, his lips brushing over your face to pepper kisses along every spot he can reach. He whispers his thoughts to you as best as he can explain, how he felt in that moment, how he was unsure of how to navigate such a delicate matter, how he was more than willing to make it up to you until everything was right once again. You whisper back assurances that everything is okay, that you’ve both made mistakes in that moment. That he is okay, and you are okay, that you are okay together.

“I will wait, until you are ready. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” His forehead connects with yours, his nose brushing yours as he confesses to you in a moment not born of panic or on the brink of death as he had done before. You return the words in a moment of full clarity, not on the cusp of sleep as you had done before. Both of you professing for the other to hear, to take to heart, to carry with you a better memory of the words.

I love you.

The land is disturbed before you, dug into deep and the ceramic box placed into the well wrapped up in delicate chainmail, covered back up with a few words spoken softly. A language not recognized by those beside you. Who had helped you to make the thought a reality. Allowed you the closure you so desperately sought after.

Crashing waves fill the crisp, salted air all around you. Enveloping you and transporting you to a moment in time you would much rather be in. The time of standing at the shore and watching the waves rush to kiss the sand, whitewash foaming up and making mesmerizing shapes as the bubbles fizzle out.

A small hand of your own dug into the damp sand to feel each little grain, the air filling your lungs and your back warm as you sit in the lap of your mother. Her arms around you, nothing separating you from her as she holds you steadfast to watch the sun dip below the horizon.

You knock your head back to look up at her with a gummy smile, some teeth missing while others wiggle, wile others slowly grow into place. Hair a mess of dark waves and curls as the evening breeze whips through the tresses. She smiles beautifully back down at you, her features soft and rosy. A giggle bursts from you as she ducks down to press a firm kiss to the middle of your forehead. Once, twice, three times.

She can’t hold in the soft laughter as she gazes into your eyes, seeing the world through them in how wide and bright they are. The call of gulls doing nothing to divert her attention as you purse your lips and mimic the kiss before giggling again and looking back to the vast ocean before you both. The water so close to tall reeds of grass your home is surrounded by, the smell of dinner simmering on the stove wafting in the air as it nears readiness.

“I love you, my darling. I will always love you.”

Closing your eyes as they begin to sting, you feel the memory slip away from you as you stand amidst the same tall reeds of grass now, overgrown and wild. The sand still just as pale and shimmery as it had always been. It all hushes around you as you move about, your skin feeling the energy in everything around you, the whispers of it as you feel the long-lost attachment to the woman in your memory flare up.

You weren’t sure what happened to her, what altered her so resolutely. What drove her to do the things she did, what things festered inside of her and turned her into a stranger who bore the look and face of your mother. But you promised yourself that you would never treat someone born of your own body the same way, should you ever find your identity shifting and taking on the facet of ‘mother’. Even with the all too familiar clutches of corruption you could recall as clearly as the sight of the ocean before you, the chilled breeze whipping around the ends of your dark robes, you wouldn’t succumb to it again. You would use your powers to protect, to ensure a long life, to ensure a happy life.

The sand dipped beside you as Din settled down at your side. His robes matched yours, his armor and helmet still aboard the ship. Eyes watching you closely, he turned to face the ocean when you didn’t meet his gaze.  All he could do in that moment was reach his left hand out in search of yours and pull you to rest between his propped-up legs. Willingly, you moved with him, leaning to rest your back into his warm and sturdy chest. The painful thoughts of how life had once been so simple quieted as you felt ease flow through you at his touch.

Little chirps and huffs of exertion announced ad’ika as he climbed out of the bag resting in the sand at Din’s hip. The small child shuffling and climbing over limbs to settle in your lap like you were in Din’s.

Ad’ika knocked his head back to gaze up at you with his wide, brown eyes. He coos as you look down at him with a soft smile. Bowing over him slightly, you touch your forehead gently to his own, feeling the velvety texture of his soft skin and fair hairs there. His giggle ignites something in you, a devotion springing to life deep inside of you. A shared past, shared experiences and struggles bonding you to the older being in your lap. He’s got so much more time than you do, but you vow to ensure that as long as you’re breathing, he will know love and peace.

“You will know love, ad’ika. I swear it to you.” You murmur into his soft skin, earning another giggle that flows into the air to mingle with the sound of gulls overhead.

His little face ducks out from underneath you, gaze going back to the ocean. Before you know it, he’s pushing up and away, running as best his little legs can manage over the sand until it smooths out on the shoreline. The waves reach for him but he stands just out of their touch, turning to hold out a claw to you with a question in his eyes.

“Gar aalar guuror yaim, ner kar'ta.  Nayc vaii has ru'aalar guuror yaim par a munit ca'nara ni sheber olar sa adiik.  Ni'm glad at aalar bic tug'yc, ti gar bintar.” You whisper as you lean back a little further, prompting a huff from the child watching you closely. Din’s arms wrap around you securely, making sure to not irritate your sore muscles. He’s gazing down at you with eyes so soft it makes your stomach swoop and your breath leave you quickly. Craning up slightly, you press your lips to the bump of his nose, hidden beneath his cowl and mask. His eyes are closed when you open your own back up.

You feel like home, my heart. Nowhere has felt like home since I sat in this very spot as a child. I’m glad to feel it again.

“Gar cuyir ner yaim, shi sa ni cuy' at gar. Sa munit sa gar vercopaanir par, mesh’la.” His words are soft, barely audible over the cresting waves. But you hear them, and they settle into your heart. Another kiss is pressed to his hidden face before you disentangle yourself from him with an airy laugh. Your robes bounce and flow all around you as you approach the child, feigning looking out at the water until the last moment, and you’ve closed the distance. Your sudden scoop of his small body startles laughter from him and you’re twirling effortlessly in the shallows as you hold him up in the air.

You are my home, just as I am to you. For as long as you wish, mesh’la.

Din watches from where the sand begins to slope, far enough from the water’s edge to not get sprinkled as the waves meet the shore but enough so to step in should something happen. You know he can see the small smile on your lips and hear the ringing of your combined laughter as you splash about in the cool water, never going in past your calves. Ad’ika is enjoying the way you dip him just at the waves receive, pulling him up to your chest when they flow toward you, little claws reaching for it below him.

His happiness infectious as you soon begin to commit the moment to your memory, tumbling the edges of old ones so they aren’t so sharp anymore.

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