Jett | 32 | 🏳️⚧️ writer | bi/ace | he/him whumperless whump is my fave but really if it’s got hurt/comfort i’m in! everything i write starts with whump and grows from there, but sometimes the whump is the plot & that’s okay 💕 (this goes without saying but just in case: i love whump in FICTION not real life. all prompts/tropes/ideas are 100% fictional) finnpoerebelscum on AO3
i feel like a shy kid sharing the macaroni art i made at school, but if anyone in the whump community enjoys star wars, i wrote a little au where poe crosses paths with mando. heavy on the hurt/comfort of course ✨
Ao3: Bid the Ghost
fandoms: star wars sequel trilogy, the mandalorian & grogu
summary: 23 ABY, fourteen years after rotta the hut’s rescue. an older, lonelier din djarin closes in on his final bounty. a twenty-one-year-old poe dameron bleeds out in the razor crest’s cargo hold.
content: hurt/comfort, angst, blood, violence, no pairings
Caretaker with a cool cloth on a sleeping feverish Whumpee, and Whumpee kinda half wakes up, Caretaker shushes them back to sleep “It’s okay, I’m just trying to get your fever down. You can go back to sleep”
anyway shoutout to "small" whump moments. minor bruises and scars, limping, everyday vulnerability and exhaustion, headaches, training fights with teammates that leave them a bit sore, punched/slapped outside of a torture/captivity context <3<3
I always see the whump community hating on healing magic but GUYS
Everyone can survive more injuries. Go nuts.
Healing magic that exhausts the user, leading to an entire team of whumpees when the healer faints after saving their wounded friends.
Healers in pain tearing out pieces of their own life force to save the life of a friend.
Healing magic that works best with contact and close proximity: holding the whumpee’s hand, stroking their hair, forehead kisses, whumpees being held and cuddled...
Very sore and weak whumpees who just recovered from something too quickly.
Healing magic that hurts...
Healing magic that feels good and warm, soothing the whumpee’s consciousness away into a deep sleep in the healer’s arms.
Characters with a healing factor putting themselves between their friends and the threat, taking bullets for teammates because they can heal.
Characters with healing factors being tortured or cruelly experimented on.
Healing stasis: limp, broken, very unconscious whumpees behind glass or floating or laid out on an altar.
The whumpee coming out of stasis taking quite a while to fully regain consciousness.
Healers saving everyone else but passing out before they can heal themselves.
the hottest thing a guy can be is barely conscious on the floor while someone lifts his head up by the hair so that you can see his glazed out eyes and the blood running down his face
A character holding another all through a painful or distressing wound tending, not so much restraining or holding them down as embracing them and soothing them through the procedure, the hold supportive but more tenderly personal than merely positioning them for access to their injuries.
Look forward to: Team whump, leader whumpee, whumperless whump, whump/angst with a happy ending
CW: broken bones, blood, punctured lungs, some naughty words, disassociation
I NEVER intended to make Team Alphabet a thing. But they keep showing up again and again.
Practice Run: Part 1 ▸ Part 2 (soon) ▸ Part 3 (soon) /// More Team Alphabet: Rabid ▸ Endurance ▸ Accelerated Healing Factor /// Masterlist
Practice Run pt. 1
It's just a practice run. He knows that. But he's still annoyed by the way B has been chattering over the comms.
The man, the kid... the MAN-CHILD has left his comms channel open, giving a running commentary about what he's doing and about to do. "So, I'm taking cover by the door, see. Before I enter a room, I make sure I do a couple of scans first. We don't have drones for this practice run, so no LIDAR. We're only required to do enhanced sound and visual scans, but I like to run an additional scan for... "
A shakes his head. All this posturing is for C's benefit. The new team member. He glances at her, where she's ducked down behind a crate.
She's diminutive. Cute. B stands up straighter around her.
A sighs. He can tell this is going to be a problem.
Command said she was the best in her cohort. Nobody else operated the exo-suit like she did. He'd seen videos of her graduating test, where she walked up walls with barely any incline, like one of those fucking mountain goats. The clip that made the news was the one where she bounced off surfaces like she was-- as if she--
He can’t even describe it. It barely looked human.
A squints at her. He can hardly tell she's wearing it. It doesn't change her silhouette at all. If not for the stirrups that run around her boots, the gloves that show up under her sleeves, and the shoulder straps that peek through when her collar shifts, he wouldn't know she had it on.
Crouched behind the crate, she looks nothing like the steely-eyed exo-suit operator he'd seen on the news. He doesn't know how she ended up on his team. He's barely middling as a team lead.
It probably has something to do with B's last name.
A really doesn't think he has the leadership capability to handle such a high profile asset. He can barely handle B, who was the bottom of his graduating cohort.
A feels a vicious stab of resentment at being suspended in the middle of the shining top and the grotty bottom.
Speaking of which. B is still going on and on.
A sighs. Triggers his own comms. "Less talking, more doing, B."
A sees C purse her lips. Like she's suppressing a smile.
"Right right right," B says. "I'm going in now." He slips into the room.
A is really going to have to tighten up the language they use over the comms.
He rocks up on his feet, looking to C. She's already up, sim weapon at the ready, eyes on him and waiting for his sign to move.
Top of her cohort.
They move, taking the position B had occupied by the door before.
B has moved ahead too quickly. He's supposed to be taking cover behind the crates conveniently placed in the room for such a purpose.
Instead, A watches him round the corner, moving into the corridor.
"B, you're moving too fast, you're supposed to--"
B's comm channel is still open, so A hears the sharp intake of breath. And then a soft, "--the fuck?"
A's annoyance rises. He wonders if C will write a report on what a terrible team she's been assigned to, and ask to be transferred. If the team lead can't even handle a practice run without--
"Shit--" B's voice cracks through the comms. "There's-- fuck!" The last word sounds like he's a squeaky toy and someone has stepped on him.
They hear him stumbling and knocking things over through the comms.
That clown. A has seen B trip over his own laces before. The pinwheeling arms. The leg kicked up into the air. A real-time comedy.
That idiot. That fucker.
B voice cracks and pitches up hysterically. "Run run run!"
His footsteps clatter, echoing through the corridor.
C throws a look at A across the doorway. Gentle puzzlement. Mild consternation.
A grits his teeth. It's one thing to be saddled with the dregs of the academy, but to fail in front of someone who...
Okay, maybe if he resets the entire practice run, he'll have a chance to win back some of his reputation.
He stands up, steps into the doorway so B can see his disapproval.
"Enough," he sighs. "Mission reset--"
B skids around the corner, and A sees his face, white and terrorised.
"No!" he gasps, "A, get down! Take cov--"
+++++++++++++++++++++
A can't breathe. He can't bring his chest to rise. There's something over his face. There's a ringing in his ears.
He thrashes under the thing weighing down, and only then it occurs to him to open his eyes.
Someone's hand is over his face. He tugs it off, and it flops off without resistance.
A body is over his. He blinks hard, taking in the dusty hair, the torn collar, the bloody jawline.
It's B. B's body is on him.
Fuck. FUCK.
He coughs hard, and then finally takes in a big, gasping inhale.
He grasps B's uniform with both hands, tugging at the weight as he rolls himself up into a sitting position.
The entire warehouse they use for practice missions is in shambles. The crates are shattered around them, one of the walls of the room they had been about to enter blown completely open.
And B--
B is face up on his lap. He's coughing up blood, his mouth opening and closing, trying to breathe. His eyes are rolling, terrified.
"Bomb," he wheezes. "Numbers, red-- bomb!"
His panicked words send blood spray onto A's face.
A can feel the crackle of B's broken ribs under his hand.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-- where is C?
He snaps his head up, and finds her, knees drawn up to her chest, seated against the wall that was still intact. Her eyes are huge and blank, her weapon clutched against her chest.
He tries to get up, but he feels agony stab through him, in several places. His leg. And... his chest. Collarbone? And ribs, all down his left side.
He rolls B's body as gently as he can, to look at his leg, and-- it's broken. He can feel the edges of his broken shin bone grating against each other. Yup. Definitely broken.
B makes an awful sputtering sound in his lap.
He smacks the insensate face. "B, you gotta stay awake, come on B."
Nothing.
A coughs. Smoke is filling the warehouse. He hadn't noticed that the room was on fire.
Stupid. Stupid.
He was going to get all of them killed.
C. C can get them up. With her suit.
"C," he calls urgently, as loud as he can. "C! Hey C!!"
Her eyes remain wide and unblinking, fixed in the middle-distance. Her mouth is moving silently, like she is praying. Or chanting. The smoke is getting so thick he can hardly see her.
A puts his hand to his ear, to manually trigger his comms. But the ear bud is missing. Oh wait, no, it's shattered. There are pieces of it embedded in his ear and the side of his face.
He checks for B's ear bud. It's gone, blown off him in the blast.
Without comms to radio back to HQ, and with them off campus at the practice warehouse... nobody will find them in time before the smoke overwhelms them. And they aren't wearing their combat vests with the beacon triggers on them. Why would they, this was just supposed to be a practice run.
They are well and truly fucked.
Practice Run: Part 1 ▸ Part 2 (soon) ▸ Part 3 (soon) /// More Team Alphabet: Rabid ▸ Endurance ▸ Accelerated Healing Factor /// Masterlist
medic grumbles while mc blinks slowly back awake in their arms. he didn't make it very far, but bff (who let him out of their sight for all of 2 seconds) is feeling very sorry and guilty indeed. in those 2 seconds, mc managed to haul himself off the cot again and about two feet from the medical tent before his legs gave out and he fainted face-first into the dirt.
