#armor whump

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Armor Whump

Insects stuck in the whumpee’s armor which they can’t get out without exposing themself to attack (bonus points if they are allergic to the bug or have a phobia of them)

Whumpee got struck in the chest which bruised their ribs and left a dent in their breastplate. The dent chafes against their tender, swollen flesh for their entire journey home. When they are finally able to take off the breastplate, their skin has been grated off.

A large creature grabbing the whumpee and forcibly ripping their armor off like a child hastily opening a present on Christmas Day.

Impaled while wearing a suit of armor, which makes the foreign object much more difficult to remove safely.

Enemy whumper welding Whumpee’s armor shut and leaving them outside on a hot day to be cooked alive.

Getting shot in the cracks of their armor, like the knee or elbow joints

Getting put into armor that is slightly too small in the feet because they’re needed urgently on the battlefield. By the end of the fighting, they have stress fractures in their toes.

Some gruff, battle-hardened caretaker gently removing a pacifistic, unwillingly-fighting whumpee’s armor when they’re too exhausted and traumatized to do it themselves.

[redd956]

Whump Potential 2

Armor (I'm back into making knight ocs)

Like armor is protective but also potentially clunky, and can frequently fail at its one job

Like armor can overheat, especially in inproper environments, a fighting whumpee growing sluggish from heat exhaustion

Bad armor is clunky and whumpee couldn't move properly in it

What happens when armor fails

Or caretaker needs to desperately reach a wound of whumpee's and has to go through all that armor

Enchanted or durable armor making whumpee feel so powerful, and even more powerless without it

Whumpee's identity disguised by a helmet or mask, they beg not to reveal it even while injured, but why

Whumper or/and caretaker being just other Armored personnel, or the higher ups (royals, officers, nobles, world leaders)

Whumpee refusing to remove their helmet or armor for an injury

Tired whumpee feeling the weight of their armor, slowly collapsing to the ground

Armor y'know

[letitbehurt]

When a stoic Whumpee is seen fraying at the edges. They ignore the way their hands shake, their breaths are uneven, and only a thin, straining thread of will is keeping them upright.

Maybe they’ve been poisoned. Maybe they’ve worn themself past exhaustion. Maybe Whumper has found a secret to use against them, and they are fighting to remain in control of themself.

And they are failing.

[mischefous]

Hello!! LU requests? 👀 With your outstanding art??

Hmm (I have many ideas, choose one if you want)

1- Someone uses a lightning rod/tool and it somehow hits Sky too. His right hand and arm hurt so much he faints, the others take off his glove and roll up his sleeve and notice how it is gull of lightning scars

2- Twilight gets hit where Dink got him last time. The cut reopens, Time brings him away again but this time Twilight is human and Time can't hold the tears

3- This time it's Time that gets hit and Twilight brings him away

4- Four. Corrupted. :) Bonus if Legend fights him to prevent him from hurting the others

5- Wars gets hit by Dink (hw reference?)

so many choices! I went with #2 hehe. the ANGST

OK I KNOW I said I wasn't gonna do comics for these requests but AGH this one had a hold on me. But at the same time, this took longer than expected T3T . ALSO I LOVE those other ideas too! might come back to one of them later hehe

I hope ya like it @bluesdesk!

CW! blood

sorry yall don't get to see the other boys engaged in the battle around them, I have trouble with drawing too many characters on screen. it looks over-crowded when I do😅

OML i just realised theres a spelling mistake. Bruh

edit: fixed it.

[cyberwhumper]

His nose is bleeding.

That’s the first sign of burnout, Victory had warned him. Magic lives in the blood. And when it gets to be too much, it will leave by any means necessary. He had rested his jeweled fingertips over Rex’s heart, then, warm scales glittering like stars. So if your nose ever starts bleeding, you stop and you wait for me, yeah? You wait for me.

But he can’t wait for his dragon right now. Their enemies are too close, too numerous, and the comforting thrum of his and Victory’s tangled pact-brand is all but imperceptible under the thunder of horse-hooves, the cacophony of clashing steel, and the riot of his own racing pulse.

He automatically swipes his gauntleted hand across his lips, succeeding only in smearing the rotten blood across his face. It smells foul, like rust and mildew, and tastes even worse. He grimaces, but the battle is far from won. He keeps casting.

His blue-white lightning arcs through the blade of his massive zweihänder, allowing it to slice through armor and gristle and bone as easily as butter. Men crumple in front of him, bodies writhing with static even once the life’s bled out of them. The power is, admittedly, intoxicating. It’s easy to force himself to keep going, to draw on Victory’s massive pool of power, like drinking deep from a mug of ale without stopping to breathe, even as it begins to turn his stomach.

The mind-numbing clamor of combat is interrupted, suddenly, by a spike of pain in his thigh, in the gap between cuisse and tasset. It takes Rex a moment to understand what he’s seeing, as addled as he is by magic and exhaustion, but once he does, he curses. An arrow, annoyingly well-crafted, with a glossy shaft thick as his finger and—judging by the bone-scraping agony that quickly makes his knee buckle—barbs along the steel head. He feels a distant flare of panic from Victory across their pact. He doesn’t know where his dragon is; he can’t be too far, and he’s alive, clearly, because Rex still is, but he’s not here, and the attackers have opened fire. And Rex’s nose is bleeding.

He plants his blade in the clay and hauls himself upright, lightning burning fractal paths into the ground from the point of impact as arrows continue to rain around him. But then a second bolt buries itself above his clavicle, under the lip of his gorget, and another punches straight through his cuirass, nicking a rib, and Rex falters. The flow of his cast chokes down to a trickle, then stops, but the sick-smelling blood dripping from his nose intensifies. He goes to wipe it again, automatic, but the motion makes arrowheads grate against bone, and his whole body shudders. He growls, half pain, half wolfish rage, but the blood doesn’t stop spilling over his lips, brackish, soaking his cape and making his grip slacken.

You wait for me, Victory’s voice says in his memory.

He wants to. His body is crying out for his dragon, for power, for the healing salve of his scales and the comfort of proximity, if he could just stop the bleeding, hold on a little longer, wait.

Shame. Rex has never been very good at waiting.

[Fic by the exceptionally talented @bxtterflystxtches , who I have the honor of collaborating with for this event. Please show him some love!]

[OC INDEX]

COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN!

Tag list: @whumpsday // @demondamage // @squidlife-crisis // @whumpedydump // @cyborg0109 // @whumpfish // @astrowhump // @the-scrapegoat // @whatwhumpcomments // @dustbunnywhump // @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question // @dokidokisadness // @moss-tombstone // @lambofmine // @maracujatangerine // @pinkraindropsfell // @writereleaserepeat // @blood-and-regrets // @littlespacecastle // @snakebites-and-ink // @unforgiven235 // @lonesome--hunter // @atomicsandwichprince // @writereleaserepeat // @whatamidoingherehelpme // @skittles-the-whumpee // @the-blind-one-speaks // @i-eat-worlds // @devourerofcheesecake // @theauthorintraining // @otterfrost // @mommymarichatfurever // @whumpifi // @catnykit // @bitchaknso // @softmutt444 // @yet-another-heathen // @blackbirdsinatrenchcoat // @burnticedlatte // @violent-ultraviolet // @limitlesstrash17 // @inspiral-rl // @coyotehusk // @mis-graves // @caffeinatedscorpio // @defire // @badluck990 // @unforgivenn //

If you’re interested in being added to the tag list, please let me know!

[ellekhen]

No Hard Feelings

Chapter 9 - A Father's Will

Chapter Summary: As Duke Ulder Ravengard recovers from his rescue, he reflects upon his tense reunion with his son and how he might make things right — not just with Wyll, but with the surly scarred woman who glares at Ulder from his shadow.

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

Pairing: Wyll x Female Tav Rating: Explicit Length: 34K+ words; Chapters 9/11

Excerpt below:

“You see… as a parent, you often wonder what it will be like to meet the person your child falls in love with. And I must say, you are… not who I expected,” Ulder chuckles. 

“I think you had forsaken him following any expectations of yours when you exiled him from his home,” Irva retorts coldly. And then, because she can’t help herself, “What kind of person did you expect?”

Ulder shrugs.

“He was always a romantic. I thought he might bring home a bard, if I am honest with myself. He always had the spirit for adventure, so I hardly expected a blue-blooded lord or lady. I decided long ago to expect the unexpected. And yet…” His gaze turns steadily to Irva. “...is that an Untheri accent I detect?”

Irva continues to adjust her leg, but Ulder can see how her wary eyes flick up, reflecting the sunlight. 

“It’s rare to hear one around this side of Faerûn,” Ulder remarks conversationally. “You must have traveled far.”

“My parents did,” Irva says stiffly. “They passed the language to me.”

Ulder gives her a tight smile. “Along with their faith, I imagine?”

Irva sits up slowly, planting her foot firmly upon the ground as everything in her leg clicks into place. She doesn’t bother to unroll her trousers back over the mechanisms as she stands back up to full height. Although she is not tall for a human, the furrow in her scarred face could certainly be rather menacing. 

“And your tattoos…” Ulder continues, knowing very well that he’s playing with fire. “They are Thayan… or Mulani? Either way, I have seen the style before — carved into the Wyrmfodders serving Severin Silrajin himself.”

As Irva stares defiantly back at Ulder, her face is hard, her hands clenched at her sides.

“By the Triad,” Ulder intones wearily, massaging at his jaw. “To think my son would become entangled with a dragon cultist…”

“I am no longer one of them,” Irva insists. 

“Is that so? Can one simply decide to no longer be a part of a cult?” Ulder asks blandly.

Irva scowls. “You can ask Lae’zel and Shadowheart, if you need an answer. It often requires a… rude awakening. And friends,” she adds in a mumble. “My loyalty is to my companions; not to my — not to Tiamat.”

Ulder doesn’t miss her fumble.

“I would hope not, if you are pursuing my son,” he smiles grimly. “It was a shock to learn that he thwarted yet another attack on Baldur’s Gate seven years ago. I thought that my efforts to defeat Severin's cult were successful. It’s humbling to know it persisted.”

Irva stares at him, eyes narrowed. “Your… efforts?”

“Ah,” Ulder raises an eyebrow. “I see… it seems Wyll did not tell you the role I played in that part of your history. I can imagine why he wouldn’t,” he admits. “I was a delegate at the Council of Waterdeep, after all. It was there that we organized the effort against Severin.”

He eyes her. “You must have been in your teens back then. How much were you aware of what came to pass?”

“I was a child. But I knew enough,” Irva glares. “My mother and brothers fell at Severin’s side.”

Ulder nods into the silence. 

“My condolences…”

“Empty words,” Irva scoffs. “You wanted cultists dead, they wanted you dead. You succeeded. They died. The end.”

Ulder raises an eyebrow. “This begs the question, then. You shared in my son's memory through the tadpoles. It was the night Wyll made his pact, but that wasn’t the only thing I saw through his eyes.”

He stares hard at Irva. “Did I see clearly? Were you the cultist who took my son’s eye?”

“Yes,” Irva says simply.

“Does he know this?”

“Yes.”

Ulder leans forth, his brow furrowed. “And now you presume to take his heart?”

Irva smiles dangerously, all sharp teeth.

“Yes.”

They stare at each other for a tense moment, and then Ulder’s face relaxes and he leans back in his seat, chuckling and shaking his head.

“It almost sounds… fated that the two of you met once more. That the two of you fell in love. My son was always a romantic, and I suppose there’s nothing more romantic than an enemy turned lover,” he concedes. 

“I’m sure the bards will love that one,” Irva mutters.

She eyes Ulder as he lets out a startled, short laugh.

“Do you wish to kill me?” she asks plainly.

“Not at the moment, no,” Ulder replies affably.

“Then… good,” Irva says, her hands relaxing. Still, she scrutinizes him suspiciously. “Wyll warned me that you see the world in black and white. Your past actions demonstrated that. Would you say that you have changed?”

Ulder shrugs. “That was true for much of my life. I held ideals according to the will of Helm, especially. But as you get older, you learn that so much of life cannot be ideal. You can never be a paragon. You will make mistakes. And when it comes to matters of the heart… nothing is ever black and white.”

He regards Irva thoughtfully. “When I deduced that you were a worshiper of Tiamat, I feared for my son. I thought you might be the cult’s spy; meant to exact some elaborate vengeance upon me. I will not lie about that.

“But I can also see that even after all these years, my son can still balance seeing the good in people without naïveté, and without glazing them in rose-colored spectacles. From what I can gather you are indeed a fierce warrior spellcaster, as well as a devoted friend.

"If Wyll believes in you… if he trusts you… then I will trust my son,” he concludes. “He has given you his heart, and from what I have seen… you are well worthy of it.”

“That’s not up to you to decide,” Irva says peevishly.

“No,” Ulder smiles. “As you said, I had forsaken that right long ago when I threw my own son out of his home. But as a father… even a loathsome one…” he sighs. “It makes me happy to see him loved.”

Irva nods, relaxing somewhat. 

“Wyll is the best man I have ever known,” she states softly. “He is kind. Selfless. I believed it was despite you,” she says pointedly. “Yet he claims so much of it was because of how you raised him.”

“I can only take credit for so much,” Ulder smiles. “I doubt that I was the one who taught him to see the good in every person. And to learn my lover was once my enemy and not merely forgive them, but continue to trust them? That is Wyll’s magic. And if it had to be anyone…” he bows his head towards her. “…it had to be someone who would love him as fiercely as you.”

“Irva?”

Wyll is striding across the room, a furrow in his brow as he looks between the two of them.

“...Father," he adds warily. "Is everything alright?”

Despite everything that has transpired these hellish few months, Ulder feels a knot in his heart loosen as he sees the reassuring look exchanged between his concerned son and the tensed cleric. There are so many words in that look that remain unspoken, yet are communicated in a single moment.

“We were simply speaking,” Irva says evenly, although her eyes seem to say so much more. Perhaps they are speaking through their tadpoles as their companions often do.

“Indeed,” Ulder nods, feeling a genuine, pleased smile spread across his face. “We had much to discuss, and it has made this otherwise dull day so much brighter.”

When the two of them depart for their next task, Ulder stands up at last, stretching as he sets aside his book.

There Wyll goes… brave, noble, compassionate… 

And, apparently, loved. 

Ulder smiles to himself. 

Loved?

Good.

[agitowarrioroftheforest]

Origin Spirits of the Past is so fun because it has this short king who goes into battle in a bdsm crop top binder with matching arm cuffs that powerful forest fae put him in. When he stands next to anyone it’s obvious how tiny he is.

This includes basically the whole cast: the tall armored knight/soldier lady, the villain, his best friend’s dad, his town’s mayor, the other main character who he has a crush on who is a girl taller than him.

And then that same twink throws a several-car-sized boulder over his head, rips a tank in half with his bare hands, chases down an armored train, busts out of a jail cell with plant body horror, and deflects a missile shell like 5 times his size. He’s also bulletproof.

Also for fun, it does the opposite of “girl in revealing outfit, guy in street clothes” bit and genuinely I want more of whatever this is:

[origin-spirits-of-the-past]

Agito vs Shunack fight pt 3 (no audio) archived off defunct gif website

The longest clip, and the most whump out of the whole scene. He tries so hard but despite them both having the same powers, Shunack is intimately far stronger.

[just-whump-and-suffering]

@whumpgifathon Day 24: Possession

GARO: Heir to Steel Armor, Ep 04, Shirahane Sōma

[hannibard]

"I'm choking from the taste (but I can't help but swallow)"

Chapter 4: Brutal Punishment

Summary: Jaskier is summoned by Radovid and is served a cruel punishment for his mistake.

click here to read on ao3

When Jaskier was 13, he started getting closer to the stablehand, who was a few years older than him. He used to skip his lessons just to meet up with the boy, and they spent hours chatting about anything and everything, and the more Julian got to know him, the more a strange desire for him grew. He had only ever had crushes on girls before and it took him a while to realize that what he felt for the stable hand wasn’t much different, but when he did, he wasted no time in making a move.

It was late afternoon and they were huddled together in an empty stall in the stables. The hay pressing on young Julian’s back felt softer than the most high quality eiderdown when their lips touched for the first and last time, and the faint sunbeams peaking through the cracks on the hardwood wall lit up the space just enough for him to be able to see the other’s flushed face. It was a magical moment that ended all too soon.

After a servant caught them in the act they hastily informed the Viscount, who came and dragged Julian back to the manor by the hair and proceeded to give him the beating of his life once they were safely behind closed doors.

What under different circumstances would have become a fond memory for Jaskier to look back on ended up becoming lifelong nightmare fuel.

What he was feeling presently wasn’t dissimilar to the all-encompassing dread that once filled him as he stared at his father’s furious face. His breath was coming in short as cold sweat clammed up his entire body.

“Rad- Y-your majesty, this isn’t-“

Radovid raised his hand in a swift motion and Jaskier took the hint and shut up.

The king stared at him for a long moment that felt like it lasted hours when it was probably just a minute or two, his lips pressed in a firm line, before turning his gaze towards Blade, who was looking down at the floor with their hands clasped together behind their back, posture rigid.

“You.” Radovid addressed them at last. “Follow me. Julian, you are to remain in your quarters until you’re summoned.” He said and started walking away towards his office. Blade didn’t spare Jaskier a single glance as they hurried to obey.

Jaskier stayed frozen in place until both of them were out of sight and then didn’t wait a second longer before entering his room and slamming the door shut behind him. He leaned against it as he slowly slid to the floor.

He sat there for a long time, with his eyes pressed shut and his hands pulling at his hair as he tried to calm his hyperventilating with some simple breathing exercises. Despite what his father had said when Jaskier had voiced his ambitions, his chosen profession could be unexpectedly useful. 

How could I have been so stupid?

Things with Radovid were already strained enough as it were, but, maybe due to some lingering sentiment, the king hadn’t subjected him to any actual punishment after the bard’s little show of defiance- save for the forceful nature of their bedroom activities that had lost any pretense of mutual consent. Jaskier doubted that would be the case this time.

The room was dark and he could barely see anything, no matter how much his vision had adjusted since he entered, but he had trouble dealing with fire on a good day so lighting a candle in this situation wasn’t even worth considering. Once he felt stable enough, he got up and made his way to an armchair where he discarded his doublet and vest before throwing himself to the bed face down.

It was big enough that when he turned his face to the side he could pretend Geralt was laying right next to him, sharing a bed like they’d done so many times before while on the Path. But, like mere moments ago in the hallway, when he reached out his hand empty space was the only thing waiting for him. At some point he must have dozed off because he was startled awake early next morning by a few hard consecutive knocks on the door. A guard’s voice followed soon after.

“Lord Pankratz, the king has demanded your presence at once. Please make haste.”

Jaskier tentatively entered the luxurious throne room, whose decoration featured a massive crystal chandelier and intricate tapestries covering the walls, which was uncharacteristically empty save for the king and the two knights that flanked him. Curiously, blankets and cushions of various sizes were strewn across the floor. Blade was nowhere to be seen but Jaskier had suspected as much.

He didn’t dare look Radovid as he went to the middle of the room and kneeled in a show of submission that he hoped would somewhat mollify the king, before steeling himself to take the liberty and talk first.

“Your Majesty, what happened yesterday was but a mere accident! You see, I was heavily inebriated and I didn’t have the mind to think straight. It led me to unfortunately resort to old habits, which are known to be hard to die. I beseech you to show mercy.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he felt pride at the fact that his voice didn’t shake, yet another use of his “waste” of a profession.

There was a long, charged silence before Radovid finally responded.

“Old habits you say. Is it your debaucherous reputation that you’re referring to?”

Jaskier gulped. “Yes your Majesty.”

Radovid hummed. “Interesting. Well, to be honest, while pondering on what your motive could’ve been for such insolence, I arrived at the exact same conclusion.”

Jaskier blinked rapidly and looked up at the king, not expecting that in the slightest. “I-Is that so?”

Radovid stood from his golden, jewel encrusted throne and motioned for his knights to stay put as he walked down the carpeted marble stairs. He came to a halt in front of Jaskier, his expression unreadable. He extended a hand towards the bard and helped him up just as a servant appeared, carrying a tray with a silver goblet.

The king took the goblet and handed it to the bard, who had no choice but to take a large sip under Radovid’s expectant gaze. It was some sort of high quality red wine that left a familiar bittersweet aftertaste, though Jaskier couldn’t quite place what that was.

“Indeed. I should have taken better account of your personality before bringing you here. I promised to give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of while neglecting your��infamous disregard for monogamy. It’s no wonder you took matters into your own hands to fullfil such core needs. But worry not my sweet, I’ve taken measures to correct this oversight.” He said and went to sit back on his throne, settling comfortably with his elbow perched on an armrest and the side of his head laying on his fist.

The bard’s mind was reeling, confusion evident on his face that quickly switched to horror as various scantily dressed nobles, some of whom he recognized from banquets, entered the room from the side doors and made their way towards him with hungry expressions. Suddenly it hit him. The aftertaste from the drink was pomegranate, an ingredient frequently used in aphrodisiacs.

He tried taking a few steps back but whatever was used to spike the wine was potent and he was already feeling dizzy, so he stumbled and fell to the floor, landing on a large cushion, whose intended use he just realized. By then a middle-aged couple had reached him and they wasted no time by pawing at his garments.

Jaskier tried to resist, or at least voice his objection, but it was like his limbs had turned to goo and he had little control over his tongue so he could only sit there and make high-pitched keening sounds. With the last of his will he turned to desperately look at Radovid, who was watching him with a perverse sort of excitement and showed no sign of budging despite the bard’s pleading gaze.

His eyes were ripped away from the king as the man from the couple grabbed Jaskier’s face and turned it towards him. He and his wife had succeeded in removing his clothes, with the rest of their brethren having joined them and already touching him all over. Despite his disgust at the situation, Jaskier felt relief from their touches because his body was burning hot and the feeling of need that overtook him was bordering on painful.

The man maintained his grasp of the bard’s face as he used his other hand to untie the front of his breeches and pull himself out. Jaskier sobbed, big fat tears streaming down his cheeks, and closed his eyes as the noble fed him his cock with a quick thrust that made him gag.

Whenever Jaskier found himself in trouble, Geralt was there to save him more often than not, but no matter how much he wished for the witcher to come to his aid at the moment, he knew it was a lost cause. And even though he had stopped believing in any sort of deity a long time ago, when his instructors at temple school first started using corporal punishment on him, he couldn't help but pray with all he had as a last resort for this situation to stop.

Predictably, no one listened.

[sytortuga]

Deafening silence

General summary: Pre-canon. Din goes to the Wild Space on a mission to capture a Kaleesh bounty. He knew it wasn't going to be easy, but he didn't expect the mission to have permanent consequences on his life.

Warnings: poisoning, general violence, animal attack, animal injury, depictions of sickness, hallucinations, permanent nerve damage, permanent consequences on way of life. Some warnings are omitted to avoid spoilers. Proceed with care if any of the above are triggering subjects.

Author's notes: I'm so excited to contribute to this @ailesswhumptober!!! This work wouldn't have never happened without the talented @itzagoodthing, who's been the brainstorming partner in crime: contributed with many ideas, did tons of editing and proof reading. It has been sooooo much fun!!! I'm very grateful 🤩

This will be a 3 chapter fic. Upcoming chapters will come soon! Posted here, but you can also read it in AO3 if you prefer.

Happy whumptober 2023 everybody!

Chapter 1/3: The Bounty

Din woke up with a start. For a second he couldn’t figure out where he was. It was surely not the Crest. He closed his eyes, listening to the noises around him: the Covert, its members surely starting along with their day. The sound of heavy steps up and down the hallway leading to his quarters. That was certainly what had woken him up. He felt tired, but forced his eyes open. With the strong Imperial presence in the sector, the decision of going out one at a time needed to be taken, he knew it, and accepted it. The knowledge of their numbers needed to be concealed, hidden from the enemy to protect their covert’s whereabouts. But under such circumstances, the task of being beroya, the tribe’s provider, was starting to weigh and to take a toll on him.

Physically he felt exhausted. Their numbers were slowly growing, often taking in foundlings, or, more rarely, taking in the remaining members of other tribes that had been destroyed by Imperials in the effort of completing the Mandalorian Purge. They counted on him to gain enough credits to supply for the needs of the Tribe. But the toll was more than physical. Being almost continuously away from the Covert, his nearly complete absence to the daily activities and interactions with the other members of his Tribe, spending almost all his time alone in the Crest, started to take a toll also on his soul. He knew all this, but had promised himself not to dwell on it. Being the Hunter was his mission. He would stand up to his station.

Finding the strength to get himself up from his cot, Din put on his armor and pulled aside the curtain separating his quarters from what was now a busy Covert. He navigated the network of corridors. Sewers. He hated that they had been pushed to hide in the sewers. Everyone hated it but they all implicitly trusted that better times would come.

Moving towards the exit, Din crossed several other Mandalorians, who just watched him pass. None greeted him, so he simply acknowledged their presence and continued his stoic walk through the corridors. He was clearly spending too much time away. A deep sensation of being a foreigner in his own Covert made him quicken his pace. He exited behind Nevarro’s market stands, which were just starting to exhibit their goods, and made it to his ship.

Settling himself in the cockpit, he set up the coordinates to Nirauan. He didn’t need to check the three bounty pucks he had picked up from Karga the night before upon delivery of the previous assets. He didn’t think twice about getting the three highest bounties on the table. Unsurprisingly, they were all in the Wild Space Territories. And the high price was not for no reason: those were dangerous and distant worlds on which not much information was available. And on top of that, the fuel was very expensive these days. But desperate times made him take high stake bounties, so Nirauan, and the Kaleesh mercenary who he was after, was set to be his first mission.

As it had become a habit, Din spent his time in hyperspace preparing his gear and tuning his armor. Upon arrival to the Grandilis sector he quickly set course to the second of the worlds composing the Nirauan system. This was the first time he was in Nirauan, and the vibrant green cover of the planet struck him. Even if he risked being detected, he made a couple of passes around the last known location of the asset. Din figured it would be difficult to move through the dense forest and thus needed to pinpoint the best area to look for the asset. He landed several klicks away as the jungle-like environment covered most of the surface of the planet. The puck indicated the bounty was probably hiding in a partially destroyed fortress, where he detected numerous life forms.

“Calvrilhy pirates,” Din thought. If his information was correct, they took over the ruins of the fortress when it was destroyed by Rebels.

After securing the Crest, Din followed the puck's coordinates. Crossing the jungle he arrived at the base of the fortress. He knelt behind a large tree and got out his amban rifle. Through the scope, he scouted the compound. Several pirates were keeping guard at strategic posts, probably alerted by his survey of the planet. He presumed many more should be inside. He couldn't possibly take on all of them.

"This mission is going to be worth every single credit," he thought to himself, and decided to wait for the cover of night to infiltrate and search for his bounty inside.

Din couldn't believe his luck when, upon what looked like a shift change, a Kaleesh took over the easternmost post. The puck confirmed it. It was his asset.

Covertly, he approached the nearest wall and, after firing his grappling hook, started climbing the wall. Din had nearly reached the top when he saw that his asset had turned his back to him. Jumping to the top of the wall, Din’s movements were swift as he put the Kaleesh in a headlocked and pressed his blaster to the alien's forehead.

"Don't make a sound," Din whispered in the man's ear.

Shocked, the bounty remained quiet for a couple of seconds before he started struggling against Din's hold.

"You'll never get into the compound," the bounty said.

"Don't need to; I already have what I want," he whispered back.

"I won't come with you, bounty hunter."

"I can bring you in warm… or I can bring you in cold. Prize won't change. Your choice".

Din pinned the man against a nearby wall, and cuffed his hands to his back. Looking around to make sure his actions had not alerted anyone, he unrolled his whipcord. After securing the hook to the outer wall, he used the other end to tie the man’s ankles together.

"Wait", the man said, "what the hell are you going to…"

He didn't have time to say anything else. With one strong movement the Mandalorian shoved him over the edge of the fortress. The man screamed all the way down. The line stopped the quarry barely a meter above the ground. The Mandalorian quickly climbed down the line. He needed to act fast. The bounty’s screams had alerted the rest of the men guarding the compound. When reaching the ground, he unhooked the man from the line and stored away his gear.

Din pushed the Kaleesh towards the jungle in the direction of the Crest. There was movement starting to build behind them. The beginning of a searching party, he presumed.

Remaining focused, the Mandalorian kept directing the bounty towards his ship when heard a whistling sound coming from the depths of the jungle. His HUD didn’t give any signs of humanoid presence, and he discarded the possibility of a threat. Din increased his pace nevertheless. That was until the bounty gave him a wicked smile before whistling back in the same direction. Picking up on a certain cadence in the man’s whistling put the Mandalorian on high alert. He pressed the end of his blaster to the bounty's back and encouraged the man forward.

"Enough with the noise," Din threatened.

As they continued towards the ship, the bounty suddenly looked into the shadows and whistled once again.

"I said, enough!"

But the Mandalorian barely had the time to finish his word when, from between the trees, stepped out a small globulous green creature. Standing on two long and thin legs, its eight eyes stared directly at Din. It growled menacingly as it slowly approached Din.

In a rush of adrenaline, the Mandalorian shot the creature, which caused no apparent harm, the blasts bouncing off the animal’s skin. Clearly aggravated, it quickenedits approach on Din. Through the corner of his eye, the Mandalorian saw that the Kaleesh was trying to flee using the creature's attack as distraction, but Din shot him in one leg, making him fall with a loud thud to the ground. At the same time, he hit the ground himself, pushed by the blunt force of the animal jumping on him.

Pinned by the green creature, Din managed to turn around and use his vambraces to protect himself from its large teeth. Saliva formed in the mouth of the animal. The instant it hit the Mandalorian’s flight suit, the scent of burned fabric hit him, followed by an intense pain as the acidic fluids reached his skin. The Mandalorian found himself screaming with pain at the same time as the animal sank its large claws in his arm to prevent Din from escaping. Din activated his whistling birds, and half a dozen of projectiles hit the green animal.

At first, the animal seemed to reduce his pressure on him, and Din used the opportunity to roll away from the creature. Seeing it was still alive, with no apparent intention of retreating, the Mandalorian attacked it again, now with his vibroblade in hand, and stabbed it repeatedly. But breaking the creature’s skin caused it to release a gas that took Din by surprise.

Having an extremely strong smell to it, Din instinctively activated the seal in his helmet, not before breathing a small amount of the gas. With the creature now immobile on the ground, Din got back on his feet, panting. He allowed himself a few seconds to evaluate his status, what hurt, and if any injury required immediate attention. He got distracted by the noise of other people in the jungle. The search party was getting near. They needed to move.

He went back to the Kaleesh, who was lying on his back and smiling cockily.

"You got a good dose of my Divvik's gas back there. How are you feeling?" the Kaleesh asked.

"Stand up and move," was Din's only response, but the man didn't make any effort to stand.

The Mandalorian's patience now clearly exhausted, Din bent and grabbed the man's flighsuit collar forcing him to stand and, despite the man’s limp, pushed him again in the direction of the Crest. Din felt his limbs getting heavier, pain and exhaustion suddenly invading. He thought that to be weird, since normally adrenaline should be keeping him in working condition for some time longer. But he knew they needed to get off-world, and fast. His mission was close to being completed, but Din felt like he could fall asleep right there on his feet. By the time he could see the Crest between the trees, his vision started getting blurry. Having his goal in sight motivated him to push harder despite feeling weaker with each step. The Kaleesh noticed how he was struggling and was now outwardly laughing.

"You won't make it out of this planet alive," the bounty said.

The Mandalorian stopped for a minute and searched in his belt. Bringing out a stimshot, he thrusted the syringe into his thigh and emptied its contents, hoping that it would help him with the last dozens of meters and the take-off. Without waiting for the effect of the shot to set in, he immediately pocketed the syringe and restarted the painful task of pushing his asset to the Crest.

After what seemed like an eternity to Din, they reached the ship. He pushed the bounty into the hold, making him hit the ground. With the asset’s hands still bound behind his back, the Mandalorian quickly bound his feet as well before he tumbled to reach the ladder leading to the cockpit. It took a lot of his remaining strength to climb up but he made it and dropped himself into the pilot's chair. He could notice himself starting to feel confused. He needed to start the take-off sequence, a process which he had internalized so deeply with his years of service to the point of it being automatic. But at that very moment he realized he couldn’t remember if the ion flux stabilizers needed to be activated before the main engine pre-heating and ignition command. Panicking, he started to hyperventilate. He recognized he was losing control, there was no way he'd ever forget the take off sequence which was simply muscle memory to him by that point. There was something really going on.

"Keep it together, Djarin," he whispered to himself.

Din closed his eyes and breathed calmly and deeply. He needed to regain control of his emotions. Focusing, he went through the sequence again, the engines came online as he saw the pirate search party coming out of the woods on his starboard side. Blaster fire rebounded off the Crest's hull as Din pulled the ship up, engaged the thrusters, and set course towards the atmosphere.

He felt himself dozing off. His head was pounding, and his ears rang to the point of almost not being capable of hearing the usual and reassuring humming of his ships engines. The biosensors integrated in his armor told him he was starting to be bradycardic and hypotensive. He input the coordinates back to Nevarro on his navicomputer. There was one thing he clearly knew at this point: unless the effects of whatever product he inhaled back on Nirauan miraculously got out of his system, he wouldn’t be able to work the other two bounties he was set to capture in the Wild Space Territories.

Once he hit hyperspace, he dragged himself down to the cargo hold. The Bounty was now sitting against one of the walls. He looked at Din as he stumbled down the ladder.

"How are you feeling?" the Bounty asked with a grin. "I'll admit that I'm impressed. With the amount of toxin you got, I would have bet you'd be dead by now and I would be the happy owner of a… Razor Crest is it?" He said, looking around as if admiring a new acquisition.

"Get up," the Mandalorian ordered.

Grinning, the Kaleesh looked slowly up to Din with a defiant look, with no intention of moving.

"I said, UP!" Din was screaming now. He was tired, needed to tend to himself, and this bounty was just determined to test the limits of his patience.

Upon seeing no reaction from his bounty, he grabbed him by the collar of his flight suit and forced him once more to stand up. Making the Kaleesh take a couple of steps backwards, he set the man in the carbon-freezing chamber.

"No! NO! WAIT! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?" The man screamed, realizing what was about to happen.

The man, despite being bound from hands and feet, fought as hard as he could to get out of the Mandalorian's hold. Din continued to shuffle through the chamber’s controls as he pushed the man against the block. He was barely doing this by touch, his sight was getting blurrier, he could barely discern the buttons if it weren't for the colors flashing.

The man continued fighting, trying to get away from the carbonite chamber. Seeing the little effect this was having, he violently headbutted the Mandalorian. Despite being protected by the Beskar, the action didn't help the Mandalorian's pounding headache.

"YOU CAN'T PUT ME IN CARBONITE!"

With all the ringing in Din's ears he wouldn't have heard the Bounty if it wasn't for how loud he was screaming. Finally losing patience, Din grabbed the man by his neck, and looking straight into the man's eyes from behind his visor, he whispered coldly, "Watch me".

"YOU'RE GOING TO FUCKING DIE AND I WILL BE TRAPPED IN HERE, IN A SHIP ADRIFT IN SPACE, FOREVER."

Din punched the final button that activated the chamber and the bounty was finally frozen.

Once the Carbonite cloud started clearing and the chamber stopped its hissing, the gravity of the situation hit Din full force. He stumbled backwards until hitting the wall of the cargo hold and let himself slide down to a sitting position. His ears were ringing so hard it made him dizzy and nauseous. His left arm and leg started to feel numb. Letting his head rest on his knees he forced his foggy mind to reason and evaluate his situation: the bounty mentioned the name of the creature that had attacked him, but feeling increasingly confused, made it difficult to recall the name. One thing he was sure of, is that he hadn't seen or heard of it before. He also recalled the bounty talking about a toxic gas. Nerve toxin, Din reasoned based on his symptoms. He knew he could treat nerve toxins. But how?

The task of concentrating was getting harder. Growling in frustration, Din told himself to think. He knew his trade often worked with a neurotoxic species. What was it? He knew he carried treatment against their stings. Nasty little bugs. What was their name? He couldn't recall.

Not important, Din thought. Now, treatment. He knew he carried something against their stings when he worked the Outer Rim and the Wild Space. Where would he keep the shots? Time was important now, he knew this in the back of his head. Where. Concentrate on the where. The bunk. He kept his med kit in his bunk.

Get to the bunk. The idea turned around in his head, over and over again. Medkit, that was his goal. It was getting increasingly difficult to think. Was this toxin affecting him that fast? Or how long had he actually been sitting there? He tried to make his body move, get up from the ground. His left side wouldn't cooperate enough for him to stand up. Rolling himself onto his right side, he managed getting to his knees and then achieved a resemblance of verticality. Dragging his left side he aimed at getting to his bunk, supporting himself on the crates stowed on the side of the hold.

Din was now sweating profusely. The stimshot's effects were wearing out, he felt the backlash of the effects of whatever he had inhaled. Fumbling with his bunk's control panel, he opened the door and reached for his medkit, emptying its contents on the cot. For a moment, he couldn't recall what he was looking for. He continued ruffling the contents of his medkit. Shots. He was looking for a shot. Of what? He found a couple of stimshots. No, that wasn't it. He wasn't sure he knew anymore what he was looking for. He kept looking through the contents of the kit until he found a small box with vials labeled "Atropine - Kouhuns".

Kouhuns, yes. That's what the neurotoxic bugs were called. If he had a chance at surviving whatever he had inhaled, this was it. He fumbled to load a syringe with the contents of one of the vials, struggling to help himself with his barely working left hand. Din clumsily removed his left vambrace. He expected a loud noise to come from when it hit the ground, but never heard it with the overwhelming ringing of his ears. He rolled up the sleeve of his flight suit and tried injecting the counteragent intravenously without any success.

Frustrated, Din sat back and took a deep breath. He blinked hard several times, trying to clear his vision and then tried one more time. Sure that he had gotten it right that time, he injected the atropine. He never saw the syringe fall from his hand. He never felt it when he hit the ground.

[finchmarie]

Oops, my hand slipped and I got just a dash of whump. Just a tiny bit as a treat. His hand on her face makes me feral.

His armor based on this: x. I love it, it's a staple for me now.

[whumpster-dumpster]

Love your blog! Here's a recently discovered whump love of mine: Whumpee wore armor (like plate mail) but it wasn't enough and now the shrapnel/twisted metal is actively making their wounds worse.

Like the "cutting whumpee out of their armor" trope but with extra spice!

Oooo, I haven't given much thought to that before, I like it!

[bettylovespeter]

Iron Man Armored Adventures FanFic- Whumptober 2024

Hello Everyone, So for Whumptober I'm posting an Iron Man: Armored Adventures Fic. I really like the original storytelling so the writing is definitely following closer to actual events but focusing more on the whump potential. One chapter at a time on Ao3 Iron Heart by IrrelevantAmethyst <3 Iron Heart - Chapter 1 - IrrelevantAmethyst - Iron Man: The Animated Series [Archive of Our Own]

[takiki16]

I will wait for dinner to settle BEFORE I watch the keelhauling episode

[befuddled-calico-whump]

anyways guess who had ✨another✨ whump dream

(it was me btw)

Pretty vague but a kingdom was overthrown by a more corrupt faction, leading to five or so years of misery

During the initial power struggle, the OG rulers sent a champion to fight one of the leaders of the faction, but the champion was never heard from again and assumed dead

Fast forward, a rebel group sent someone to infiltrate the new court, but when they got there, they saw the champion was still alive, and basically being kept like a trophy by the new ruler (and barely recognizable in the state he was in)