#broken bones //

[whumblr]

A bone to pick

"Just can't help yourself, huh?! Always getting in our way!"

Another punch blew them to the floor of the grimy cell. With their hands cuffed behind their back, Whumpee couldn’t do much more than literally roll with the punches, soften the blows, trying to dodge best they could as Henchman went off, releasing his anger on them.

A kick to the stomach made them curl up. Followed up by a stomp on their ribs.

"Not so tough now, hm?" Henchman hissed, grinding his boot against their ribcage as if he were stomping out a cigarette. "What, nothing to say this time?!"

"What is going on here?"

Pressure on their ribs immediate fell away when the Henchman literally jumped a little and stepped back.

Whumper stood in the cell door opening, casually leaning against the metal frame, arms crossed, taking in the scene.

"Teaching them a lesson, sir." Henchman puffed his chest out, boasting his confidence that he was doing nothing wrong. But his voice sounded awfully fragile, the plea for approval ringing clear.

Whumpee glared up at the man in the doorway. They weren't sure why they were looking for mercy there but at this point he was the only one who could stop this. Even just for some stupid reason like, 'Only I am allowed to touch them'. But of course, there was no reprieve.

"I see," Whumper merely said, cold indifference in his eyes as he looked at the figure writhing on the floor. "Nothing wrong with that."

Henchman deflated. As did Whumpee's small hope.

"Did you break anything?" Whumper asked.

"No, sir!" Henchman quickly defended himself. No, no, wouldn't want your boss to think you'd just broken his new toy...

A disappointed hum. "Do it now."

Whumpee stopped breathing and went completely still, as if they were superglued to the floor. Fear started prickling in their stomach. Their heart pounded against the concrete and spread the uncomfortable, heavy sensation all over their body.

"Sir?" Henchman didn't seem as sure about what was about to happen.

"Pick a bone," Whumper said, slowly, eerily calm and he looked straight in Whumpee's eyes as he continued, "And break it."

Whumpee forced themself to maintain eyecontact, to keep breathing calmly through their nose. But they lost to the panic rising in them as Henchman disappeared behind them. They turned to their side to keep an eye on him, eyes wildly flitting about to Whumper and back.

Henchman stalked around Whumpee and they could practically feel his eyes roaming over their limbs, their body, as he was trying to make his choice. A barely noticeable sly smile crept over his lips and his eyes settled on their upper arm.

No... They kept the word firmly behind clenched teeth. Nothing they'd say would make them stop and they'd be damned if they allowed them to hear them beg! Their jaw set, panicked eyes blazed as they shot Whumper a challenging glare.

"I know what you're thinking," Whumper rumbled, unimpressed by the scene in front of him. "You're not going to scream for me." He gave a light shrug. "You re wrong there."

As Henchman shoved them onto their front and pulled their arms into an uncomfortable angle, they did put up a light struggle, pulling fruitlessly at the cuffs, scooting inches away, but a boot landedly heavily in-between their shoulder blades and kept them pinned.

"Don't move," Whumper growled, "Or I'll pick something to break as well."

A broken whimper did slip free this time and only increased in volume despite their wishes when they saw Henchman raise a leg.

An enormous force came down on their arm. A disgusting snap vibrated through their entire body like a tiny explosion, but the explosion of pain was much bigger.

And Whumper had been right; they couldn't hold their scream back. A broken, stuttering shriek that fizzled to sharp, short outbursts as the pain faded, but kept throbbing.

The handcuffs held their arms back mercilessly, and pulled at the broken bone with every twitch and twist. They squeezed their eyes shut. Felt, to the their horror, a cold prick of wetness in the corner of their eyes and they turned face-down to the floor, hiding it, resting their forehead against the cold floor.

"Good," Whumper gave a nod. "Now leave us," he growled at Henchman, and poked a foot under Whumpee, nudging them over, drawing out another scream. "We still have much more to discuss."

-

General whump taglist O7: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink

@painsandconfusion @auroragehenna @chaotic-orphan @lolrpop

[whump-galaxy]

I love characters that would fight and die thousands of times over for their friends and family. I love when they’d throw themselves into danger, knowing they have no chance of winning, just to save their team. I love when they’re crushed, exhausted, and in so much pain, yet they’re still going. Still trying to move, still trying to get to their feet, still trying to do anything.

Even better if they think so little of themselves that they believe this is the only way to “atone” for being alive.

[ericshoney]

Hockey injury ~ Brothers!Sturniolo Triplets

Summary: Your brothers are home in Boston to see you play ice hockey for your school team and also take you to the hospital to get patched up.

Warnings: swearing, shouting, crying, injuries, broken bones, nicknames, fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was a big game for the season. Your school was close to being champions and had to win tonight in order to win. Everyone was anxious about the game and when you saw Nick, Matt and Chris arrive in the stands you couldn't help but smile wide. You rushed over to them, hugging them tightly.

"Hey kiddo." Nick called.

"Hey! You made it!" You cheered.

"Of course, petal, this is a big game for you." Matt said.

"Now go out there and crush the other school!" Chris shouted, getting shhhed by Nick.

"You can't say that about teenage girls!" The eldest responded.

"Try your best and have fun." Matt replied.

"You sound like mum." You said with a giggle.

"Kick ass but within the rules." Nick said.

You laughed and nodded, heading down to the ice. You got your skates on and warmed up a bit with your teammates. You checked out the other team, seeing they looked determined, but so were you.

The game soon began, the first whistle being blown. You skated quickly, passing the puck with ease and it soon added up as your team was three points to none.

You never celebrated early, knowing it could all change and by the third quarter, both teams were tied. The whistle then went for the end of the third quarter and you skated over to your coach.

"Alright girls, we can do this, it's for the title, to become champions. I want you to give it your all now!" She shouted.

Everyone cheered and you looked over to where Nick, Matt and Chris were. They gave you a wave, making you smile.

The fourth and final quarter now began. You got tackled by another player, crashing into the wall. You groaned as you knew it would bruise, but continued on.

The final seconds were counting down and you had the puck. You hit it hard, it flying across the ice into the goal, the buzzer going at the same time as the whistle but also you crashing to the floor.

You screamed as you felt and heard a loud snap. You looked over and saw a girl from the other team being shouted at by the ref. She clearly had pulled an illegal move. You looked at your arm and knew it was broken instantly.

A couple of your teammates carefully carried you off the ice and helped you take your skates and helmet off, just as your brothers came rushing over. They frowned seeing your teary face.

"Oh kiddo." Chris cooed.

The three came and stood with you as a medic checked you, but as you cried out when they touched your arm, they knew it was broken too. The guys rushed you too the car, Nick helping to hold you as you cried.

Matt broke every speeding limit to get you to the hospital and when you arrived, got you inside quickly. As you were in so much pain and could tell it was visibly broken, you got seen quickly.

After having the x-ray and being assessed, finding out your arm was broken in two places, you got to pick your cast. You picked your favourite colour and eventually returned to Nick, Matt and Chris who were in the waiting room, Nick on the phone.

"Yeah mum, we're coming home soon. Oh wait she's just been let out. I'll pass the phone over." He said.

You took the phone with your non-broken arm and sighed as you heard your mum's voice.

"Oh honey, what happened?" She asked.

"I'll explain everything at home mum, but my arm is broken in two places." You answered

"Okay honey, drive safe." She replied before hanging up.

You passed the phone to Nick as the trio looked at you. They gave you comforting smiles.

"Let's go home, sweetheart." Nick said, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

"The positive thing here, kid, is that your team won." Chris said.

You laughed softly as you all got in the car, you resting your head on Nick's shoulder, feeling tired and in pain as you drove home.

[whumpshaped]

broken bones have to be my favourite injury tbh. they're not usually super gory or bloody but there's something so pleasing about that nice crunch and snap. the way the whole area just explodes with pain and then you just can't even move it. it just keeps throbbing and aching and people have to poke and prod to be able to say whether it's really broken. a bunch of those bones are really painful to wrangle into a good position, if they're not put into that position they'll heal wrong, some of them you can't put in a cast and you just have to wait it out... the bruising, the swelling, the potential blood, FUCK when the bone pierces the skin and it's just sticking out? when a bone pierces the organs? broken legs you can't stand on and potentially can never walk on again, broken fingers that are absolutely useless, broken ribs that hurt with every breath, broken jaw that has to be wired shut... shattered bones that have no chance of ever healing well. ugh. just. broken bones beloved

[digitalfossils]

[linecrosser]

Febwhump 2024 - Day 8 - "Why won't it stop?"

Yue Qi, suffering alone in the Lingxi Caves.

[paingoes]

Rubies - Trial II

hiiii. i have such a headache omg. help meeeee

(Content: living weapon whumpee, past child abuse, conditioning, dehumanization, electrocution, physical abuse, verbal abuse, bruises, broken bones, institutionalized child abuse, institutionalized slavery, (internalized) victim blaming, self hatred, retraumatization, whump aftermath)

He had still felt the chill of the ocean when they had first brought him back to base. They’d had to recast his arm for the final time. They’d spotted the broken ribs that had barely had time to heal, not helped at all with the impact he’d made into the water. The fever dreams crept all around the corners of his eyes. 

After Levon had left, the nurses had made a request of him.

He did not have to stand for it, luckily. He sat up on the bed and let them undo the jacket, folding it back against his waist to reveal his bare torso.

He was so covered in bruises then that it almost looked natural on him.

The marks themselves were not the shape of anything in nature, though. Not unless you counted the handprints. Instead, they showed the imprints of rulers and rings. Whip marks. Chains.

They really tried to be respectful as they aimed the camera at him.

~

Two and a half months later, in the new and sterile room, all the bruises had faded. It was the longest he’d ever gone without them. There was still a tenderness in his ribs, but it felt more like a phantom pain than anything real. The cast had finally come off of his wrist — and he appreciated the new dexterity it afforded him. 

He sat on the white floor and watched Kitty hesitate for a long while with her rook.

He was not allowed outside of his room, but he could have her inside of it. He’d had Apollo there too, but from what he understood, the medic had immediately been thrown back into clinical rotations. Kitty’s role in IT afforded her much more free time. She’d spent most of her absence working too, so there was no real change in their schedule.

She put the rook down indecisively, but seemed to tire of the game. She glanced back at the door, furrowing her eyebrows at the lock placed upon it. She folded her fingers up beneath her chin.

“This whole thing is a waste of time.”

The anger in her voice caught him off guard.

“I’m sorry,” he said, drawing his hand closer into his lap. 

She looked up in surprise, a bit of guilt seeping into her expression. 

“I’m not mad at you,” she clarified, “You didn’t do anything wrong. That’s the thing. Levon knows you’re innocent. You shouldn’t have to go through all this.”

He didn’t really feel like he had been through anything, but he didn’t argue with her. He processed the words slowly, trying to work around the irritation in them. It still made him antsy.

“Hey,” she spoke gently, trying to draw his attention back, “I’m not mad at you. You’re not in trouble.”

“Okay,” he conceded, “Sorry.”

He moved his bishop to put her in check. She sacrificed the knight in the king’s stead. Before he could capture it, a voice sounded through the buzzer, directly on the other side of the door.

“Maryam Pike. Can I come in?” It crackled through the static.

Kitty gave Delta a concerned look. He blinked, unsure what she was waiting for. 

“Do you want her to? You don’t have to let her into your space,” Kitty said.

He shrugged. She was just doing her job. There was nothing he could really do to avoid questioning, anyway.

Kitty stood up from her spot on the floor, stalking over to the entryway. She opened it up.

“Does it have to be here?” She asked Maryam, “It’s his room.”

The older woman shrugged just the same.

“His choice. I have the office too, if you want to take the hike.” She glanced over Kitty’s shoulder, addressing Delta. “You want to get out for a little bit?”

He did, actually.

~

They were back around the table. Apollo was absent this time, but everyone from the council was still in attendance. Levon leaned against the back wall casually, sorting through the folder he’d been given. His expression was unreadable.

They knew how impossible it was to get Delta to speak in front of people. He had his gaze all the way down even as he sat at the table. It was too difficult to try and have him give testimony. They’d had to resort to other ways.

Maryam slid the cassette player into the center of the table. She looked at Delta, giving him a final chance to amend it. He had nothing to add.

He still cringed to hear his own voice play over the tape.

[

Q: What is your earliest memory?

A: …I was playing with a baby pool, filled up with all these little fish. The staff were asking me if I could move them around, but without using my hands. It took hours, but eventually I could focus enough to push them around just by thinking about it. I made them swim upside down. 

Q: Where did this take place?

A: One of the lower levels of the Institute. It was one of their wet labs.

Q: What were your parents like?

A: I never knew my parents, ma’am.

Q: How did you feel about other children your age?

A: …Indifferent.

Q: What is the primary emotion you associate with your childhood?

A: …I don’t know, ma’am.

Q: What were the rules at the institute you grew up in?

A: No running. No fighting. No talking back. Be respectful when addressing a superior. Wait for explicit permission before using your powers. Take your medicine as prescribed.

Q: When you were a child, did you ever make any attempt to escape or to disobey your handlers?

A: Never to escape. And I never, um. Never intentionally disobeyed. But by accident sometimes, yeah.

Q: By accident? What did you do?

A: …I was getting fussy one day after drills. There are these kind of growing pains you get if you move up a new level — and I was getting them really badly that day, and I guess I was lashing out too much. I wasn’t really listening.

Q: And what happened?

A: Got some warning shocks. When that didn’t work, they. Um. Increased the voltage until I was ready to listen. 

Q: To clarify, are you saying they electrocuted you?

A: Yes, ma’am.

Q: Did this happen with any frequency?

A: Not to me.

Q: Not to you? What does that mean?

A: Not to me, ma’am. It happened to the other students a lot more. I didn’t need as much correction, ma’am.

Q: And you witnessed this “correction” personally?

A: Yes, ma’am.

Q: How frequently did this happen?

A: In the first years, it was multiple times a day. It didn’t happen as often later on. A lot of the problem students had already been eliminated from the program at that point.

Q: I see. And you never once attempted escape?

A: No, ma’am.

Q: Why not?

A: 

Q: What was that?

A: I didn’t have anywhere else to go.

]

The tape clicked off. Delta folded his hands in his lap.

“We also have testimony from other alumni of the Beldam Institute,” Maryam declared, though Delta disagreed. You couldn’t be an alumnus if you didn’t actually graduate. She’d gotten testimony from the drop-outs. It’d been edited into a neat and digestible format, though to him it seemed a bit hokey.

Levon pulled it up onto the projector, his expression still unreadable.

The woman in the video was in her mid-20s, which meant she hadn’t been there from inception, and that she hadn’t stayed long. She said as much in the video. She was a kind of lightworker - lasers, burns, flash bombs. She’d been transferred to the Institute out of foster care.

“-would’ve been unethical to have adults working those hours. 16 hour days — and there were younger kids there than I was, ones that needed like ten hours of sleep, and they never got it. I don’t think I had a single moment of free time while I was there. The amount of-“

“-and of course they hit the kids. Where I went, at every house I’d been to, they hit the kids. That was nothing new to me. But they had the kids hurting each other. And these were untrained psychics who were still learning to use their powers, they didn’t know their own strength. And they were learning to use it on whoever was lower in the hierarchy than they were. Some of them would get messed up bad. One time-“

“-said pack your shit, get out. I didn’t have any more value to them anymore. I had been fucking gifted. And they just burnt me out like I was nothing. Glad they did, though. The only way kids ever left that school was burnt out or in a body bag. I still haven’t-“

There was no footage of the Institute. No cameras had been allowed inside except by licensed professionals. What they did have were the scans of the old photo books. Delta recognized the backgrounds so clearly, even though it’d been years since he had stepped inside. He felt only some dull recognition for the children in the photos — there’d been too many to keep track of. He’d never cared for them much anyway.

He felt the air in the room stiffen as the pictures got progressively gorier. Training accidents. Wrong dosages. The stripes they’d whipped into the backs of the worst kids. He wondered how much of his survival had been pure luck. He hadn’t known just how mismanaged it’d been at the time. Though he did have inklings.

“It’s clear the defendant was raised in an environment in which his every move was controlled under threat of severe physical punishment or death. His surroundings instilled a sense of learned helplessness within him. From an earlier age, he has been made to feel he has no option but to obey. Due to that conditioning, we can reasonably say that any exhibit of his powers has been under duress. It’s absurd that he should be held legally or morally responsible for his actions.” Maryam had a practiced cadence, especially on such short notice. She looked at nobody and nothing in particular when she did it. Levon watched her like a hawk.

She took a deep breath.

“There’s evidence this coercion continued beyond Beldam Institute.”

She switched between files on the computer. A new screen filled the projector.

“Hold,” Levon held a hand up, “Delta, you don’t have to be here for this. You can take recess.”

She couldn’t get him to talk about Paris. It’d been a no-go. His chest tightened up whenever he tried. The questions made him dizzy.

She had other ways, though. She was surprised she’d managed to dig them up. There’d been so few photos or videos of Paris anywhere. By now, the videos of his time on-the-run far outnumbered any from his reign. He couldn’t imagine how much effort it must have taken her to find this one.

He shook his head. He didn’t see any reason to, did not want any reputation for sensitivity. Keyglades didn’t even stand out as one of the bad ones, anyway. 

“I’m okay, sir,” he said softly.

The video began to play.

It had sound.

Paris’s voice cut through the white noise. It was distant, grainy with analog. Still, Delta felt his ears perk up, immediately rapt. Unable to pry his attention away even if he had tried.

He could pick up on the irritation from the first syllable. The tape showed surveillance footage  a hallway within Keyglades’ city hall. It led away from the main conference area and twisted up into the further reaches of the government building. Delta had been pretty sure at the time it was restricted territory, that they shouldn’t have even went that far.

Paris’s speech had risen to the rapid-fire pace it always took when he was pissed. Delta swore he worked himself up just for sport sometimes. Paris didn’t want a solution, he just wanted to be mad. He should’ve known better than to interrupt.

On the tape, Delta’s voice was low enough that the exact words were indistinct. But the sound of the ringed hand coming down hard against his face had been picked up in crisp resolution.

“You think I don’t fucking know that?!”

It had caught him off-guard. It seemed to catch the others in the room off-guard now, some of them visibly flinching at the abruptness. In the tape, he had reeled, though he did not have long to do so. Paris’s hand caught on the loose fabric of his shirt collar and slammed him into the wall. His grip moved upwards, onto his neck. Tight and uncomfortable, but not actually choking. Just meant to hold him there. Make sure he couldn’t avoid it.

“It’s not about the fucking tax, it’s about the principle. That’s all it ever is with these people. Can you stop acting like you know better than me? There’s a reason nobody fucking asks you. Who the fuck even gave you permission to speak?”

Delta frowned, looking down as if he was getting scolded in that same instant. It had the same effect. He tucked his legs further beneath the chair, shielding them. In the tape, Paris pushed him to the floor — not a hard thing to do — and stomped down on his wrist. It was too mild for him to really consider a beating, but some blood had dripped from his mouth while he was on the floor, which is probably why she’d chosen it.

Maryam cleared her throat.

“Would you say there was anything exceptional about this event?” 

It took him too long to realize the question was directed at him. He knew they were all looking at him, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up from the floor.

“No, ma’am.” His hands balled up in his lap.

“And was this an atypical occurrence?”

“No, ma’am.”

“How often would you say you experienced this level of violence?”

That level, specifically? That much was hard to quantify. It depended on how quickly operations were moving, how much the plan was working, how badly he’d fucked up. He’d like to say he had a good track record when it came to his powers. He aimed to please. The worst of it came when he didn’t. He would have answered monthly if he’d been asked how frequently he was actually beaten. Those were the standout ones, the ones that left him sore for days afterward, the ones he most thought of as deserved. Well, justified. He deserved all of it.

But the tape hadn’t shown a severe beating. That kind of pettiness came much more frequently. Weekly, he guessed. Biweekly if things were going well. The other kind of biweekly if things were going poorly. If he counted the smaller things — the shoving, the hair-pulling, the grabbing — he would have said almost daily. But he didn’t count those.

“Weekly, ma’am.” He didn’t let his uncertainty show in his voice. He couldn’t pose it as a question; it wasn’t something they could answer. Weekly was a good enough approximation.

He saw Kitty’s eyes narrow dangerously. Her claws carved lines into the woods of the chair from gripping it so hard.

“This caused significant injury, as evidenced by the condition he was in when he first came to Galatea.”

The screen clicked abruptly to the photographs the nurse has taken just before she’d cast his arm. There were several of them, taken from different perspectives. The broken angle his wrist was held at. The thick, dark bruise against his ribs where they’d been kicked in. There was a whole litany of other bruises along his arms and neck. Handprints, implements. Nobody could argue they were obtained in combat. None of the photographs showed his face.

It was his first time seeing the full mosaic. He’d avoided the mirror whenever he could while it was happening. He remembered how badly he did not want Simon to see them, to have the proof of his failures be written out so clearly on his body. It felt a million times worse for Levon to see him like that. He wanted to apologize. He’d promise to do better, if he was allowed to. His lip bled from how hard he was biting into it.

The bruises were bad. Each of his separate ideologies burned in his brain, building and fighting each other. He’d failed. He’d earned it. Paris was fucking crazy. He’d never be able to please him. He’d deserved it. He was supposed to be better than this. He deserved worse.

Kitty’s hand brushed against his. He flinched, but forced himself not to withdraw it. Too well trained to pull away. She seemed to pick up on this as she drew her own hand back.

“Where are you?” she whispered. He couldn’t answer.

When he looked up again, Levon was staring straight at him, not at the bruises on the screen. As soon as they made eye contact, Levon looked inconspicuously to his watch.

“Think we’re gonna call it for today,” he announced. 

~

He’d expected to return straight back to his room afterwards, but nobody escorted him. Kitty led him through the airy hallways instead. This section of the building was made mostly of glass and white tile. 

“I swear this is their best kept secret,” she said as she pushed open the outer doors.

They entered into the bio-pond. The algae green ambiance contrasted sharply with the tidiness of Galatea’s interior. Despite her claim, a few other people drifted around the edges, absorbed in their own work. They didn’t pay the pair of them any mind.

It was the first time he had stepped outside all week. The damp air was suddenly much easier for him to breathe. She sat him down by the edge of the pond. A row of turtles sat on a log in the center of the water. The grass was soft, slightly damp. It felt cool against his palms.

Kitty leaned forward over the water, pointing out the fish that lived inside of it. He saw her claws poke out like she wanted to snatch them straight from the water, but she held herself back. 

He didn’t speak. Subconsciously, he tried to shield his arms, covering up the bruises from her sight. Of course, they weren’t there anymore. And when they had been, she’d seen them already. 

He didn’t know how long they stayed there, but he saw the sky slowly fading to purple by the end of it. The mosquitos were starting to bite. 

“Why don’t you hit me?” He’d asked when he finally had to return to his room. She went in with him, just for a little while, until she had to go back to her own. His head had drooped a little when he asked in, in its exhausted state.

“Whyyy would I hit you?” She asked instead, hooking one finger around his. This time, he didn’t flinch, felt no urge to withdraw it.

Because he was difficult, more needy than he’d been in years. Because he was evil, because he deserved it. Because she could. Because everyone else always had.

He shrugged.

“Never,” she promised. She brought his hand up to her lips, kissing it gently. 

His chest ached.

~~~

tags:

@catnykit @snakebites-and-ink @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @fuckass1000 @fuckcapitalismasshole @defire

@micechomper @writereleaserepeat @aloafofbreadwithanxiety @floral-comet-whump @littlebookworm69

@lordcatwich @human-123-person @paperprinxe @whomeidontknowthem @chiswhumpcorner

@bacillusinfection @dietofwormsofficial @ichortwine @whump-queen @lumpywhump

[kermahillway]

CW: GORE WARNING!!!

Goretober Day 1: Broken Bones

And we are off, this time I am torturing the minionverse

[whump-galaxy]

The whumpee struggling not to laugh with their broken ribs. They hold their chest tight, wheezing and coughing through manic laughter. The caretaker thinks they’ve gone crazy, how could they be laughing after almost dying? But that’s why they’re laughing. They can feel the pain in their ribs. The blood soaking through their fingers. The ringing in their ears.

They’re alive. They lived.

[aceofwhump]

Nate Mann as Robert "Rosie" Rosenthal

Masters of the Air 1x09

[feverdreamsanddelusions]

also thinking about broken ribs and how you just have to ride it out because there's no way to really treat it. just weeks of painful laughter and even breathing. living on painkillers

[whumpsday]

Caught

Whump & Giant/tiny Oneshot - Writing masterlist

find my G/t blog here: @smallsday

content: whump, g/t, tiny whump, trapped under rubble, crushed limbs, begging, fear, broken bones

Whumpmas in July Day 12: Caught GT July Day 13: Betwixt Whumperless Whump Day 12: Trapped under rubble / I can't move my legs

combining three different creation events for this one!! since i'm posting this to both my accounts, for non-g/t people who don't know, borrowers are a species of tiny people who secretly live in humans' houses and survive by stealing bits of food and supplies.

-

It had to be someone, eventually.

Cotton just barely kept himself from crying out as the pile of books he’d been climbing toppled over. He tried to grab at his grappling hook, but it was slack. The lack of resistance sent blood rushing through his ears as he fell.

He hit the ground first, and it wasn’t a good thing. The impact was bad enough from a few feet up, but borrowers were sturdy, and he had enough reserves to make it until his family’s next visit. But he certainly wasn’t sturdy enough for what came next.

The tower fell the same way he did, burying him in literature. A hardcover landed harshly on his legs, pinning him to the floor with a crunch he could no longer keep quiet through. Cotton wailed, but more books kept falling, burying him in a dark tomb he was helpless to escape from.

When the only sound that remained was his own crying, Cotton realized that he was still alive.

He tried to wiggle out, but he was utterly caught between the books and the floor, and he couldn’t move his legs. Every time he even tried to drag himself out by the arms, it sent a new wave of agony through him so bad that he had to stop.

Cotton laid there under the rubble and wept, until the worst of the pain subsided and he couldn’t feel his legs at all.

He tried again now that he could bear to, but it was useless. He wasn’t strong enough. A single book was twice his height, and he was buried under countless.

Which meant the human would find him.

The human would get home, see their books strewn about, and find him as they cleaned up. Whether they realized he was aiming to steal away food from their desk or not, they would find him. And he’d be powerless to stop… whatever they decided to do with him. Even more powerless than usual.

He couldn’t be seen. He couldn’t. Mom and Dad and his little siblings lived in the apartment right next door, and it wouldn’t take a human long to start to question where he came from. Every borrower would be in danger if he was found. But Mom and Dad weren’t visiting until next week, and the human would be home today.

It was hours before he heard footsteps, the telltale click of the front door’s lock. Cotton’s heart hammered in his chest.

“Shit,” the human–Özdal, that was their name–muttered, increasingly-loud steps booming over. “I really need to get another bookshelf.”

This was it. He could either make himself known, or wait to be found.

“H-help.”

Özdal froze. “Who said that?”

Cotton shuddered. “Please help. Under the–the books.”

There was only a moment’s hesitation before he heard shuffling up top, books being lifted. “Yeah! Yeah. Holy shit.”

More and more were lifted, the suffocating darkness giving way to the warm light of the apartment and removing the weight on his legs. An enormous figure loomed above him: he’d never been this close to a human before. He wasn’t supposed to ever be this close to a human.

“Oh my god.” Özdal staggered back, a hand over their mouth.

Cotton whimpered. He tried dragging himself away, slow and agonized against the floor.

“No! Don’t, oh my god, don’t move.” Özdal quickly knelt down before him, blocking his path with a massive hand that just barely missed touching him.

“Sorry!” Cotton cried, squeezing his eyes shut.

Özdal seemed to realize they were scaring him, and the hand was gone when Cotton dared to open his eyes. “I’m the one who’s sorry! Your legs! What happened? What are you? What were you doing here? Are you o–I mean, obviously you’re not okay.” The human had tears in their eyes.

“I was climbing, please don’t hurt me, I’m sorry.” Cotton kept his voice quiet, hoping maybe Özdal wouldn’t hear.

“I won’t hurt you!” Özdal’s hands went up again. Cotton would have flinched if he could really move at all. “You need… a doctor. Like an emergency room. I’m not, uh, I can’t help with this.”

No no no no no. This was all going so wrong. More humans, more eyes on him. He was going to be the one to expose borrowers, an entire existence of safe secrecy down the drain. Who knew how many lives would be uprooted, captured, ended, all because of him?

“No! It’s fine! I’ve been injured before, I can handle it, don’t take me to anyone!” Cotton insisted.

Özdal said nothing for a moment. They pulled a ‘phone’, a device a little taller than him out of their pocket, pointed it at him, then turned it around.

Cotton was there on the screen, like a mirror stalled in time. His top half was mostly normal, if not for some bruising, but everything after that was… wrong. His legs were hardly recognizable, smears of blood and bone that he could hardly believe were attached to him.

“I gotta take you to a doctor,” Özdal said softly.

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll… handle it somehow.” Even if he died, he couldn’t go. It would mean the end of life as they know it for every borrower. “Remove that image. Please.”

“Okay.” They still used that gentle, soft voice, like they were talking to some kind of scared, infant animal. Cotton didn’t like it. Özdal showed him as they tapped a little icon shaped like a trash bin, and the image disappeared. “But I still have to take you to the doctor.”

“No. You don’t understand,” Cotton pleaded.

Özdal looked down at him in all-too-obvious pity, then left the room. Cotton tried to drag himself, but he could barely make it a couple inches before Özdal returned. They carried a rubber spatula in one hand, and a woven basket emblazoned with HAPPY EASTER! and lined with a washcloth in the other.

“Listen. I dunno what you are or why you’re here, but I’m not gonna just sit here and watch you die because I was too lazy to clean my room, okay? I’m sorry. I, uh, really hope this doesn’t hurt.”

“No!” Cotton protested, but he could do nothing as Özdal carefully slid the spatula under him. He screamed as it jostled the only part of his legs he could feel, his upper thighs, eliciting a frantic sorry, sorry! from Özdal.

And then he was lifted.

Cotton clung to the spatula for dear life, gasping as the floor fell out from under him and he plunged up into the open air. Just as fast, he was deposited into the basket.

“Here.” Özdal reached in and folded the washcloth over him, enveloping him in softness. “Just try and, um, rest, okay? We’ll be there soon.”

“No,” Cotton repeated, but it was hollow. He knew it was hopeless at this point. Nothing he said made any difference, and there was nothing he could do to make the human just listen to him. Not without telling them about borrowers, about his family, and that would only put everyone else in even more danger.

Özdal carried him out to their car. Cotton had only seen them from a distance before, terrifying, monstrous things. He never thought he’d end up inside one. It stank of oil and shook like thunder, but Özdal wasn’t deterred.

When the shaking finally stopped, they picked up the basket again. Cotton pulled the washcloth over his head as soon as he saw: humans were everywhere. They would all see him.

He felt the basket being placed down on something.

“Hi, I’m here with an emergency!” Özdal shouted.

They lifted the folded portion of the washcloth.

Cotton stared up, wide-eyed, at the bright-white room. There were more humans than he’d ever seen, and before he could even try to hide, several were already staring right back.

A couple of them pointed their phones at him, just like Özdal had.

Dread solidified in his gut.

“Oh no,” he whispered, finally passing out.

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[lonesome--hunter]

What if they're marched through the forest barefoot?

Their captor ensuring that any escape attempts would be painful and ill advised.

Sticks sticking up out of the ground. Sharp rocks. Roots.

What happens when they decide to just run the second their back is turned? How far do they get?

Are they found bleeding at the bottom of the sloping wooded thicket of trees? Maybe they almost make it to freedom and they get injured?

[befuddled-calico-whump]

He can no longer sit up on his own.

(art from this drabble)

[jump-in-the-whump]

I was wondering what happens when a person recovering from rib fractures sneezes or coughs or suddenly has a violent coughing fit?

Hey! This is such a great condition to put your whumpee in!

Well first, it is not easy to deal with a broken rib and a cold! So you have to imagine a whumpee, who is already very debilitated and tired, and as soon as they sneeze or cough suddenly feel a very strong pain in the chest, like a sharp stabbing pang.

There will be two probable consequences of this great pain: first our whumpee has difficulty breathing: heavy breaths, they won't even be able to talk because of the pain, so they would only grunt, and moan in pain… You can have all of that!

Plus, the rib would move because of the cough and this will delay healing, forcing whumpee in bed for far longer they actually planned. They will grow frustrated, sad, always depending on somebody else... not at all an ideal situation.

Then there can also happen some major serious problems, such as pneumonia, that will inevitably bring high fever, worse coughs and more fatigue; but also pneumothorax (one of my personal favorites!), aka a collapsed lung, that occurs when the broken rib punctures the lung, bringing air into the space between the lung and chest wall. Pneumothorax is really dangerous, the whumpee would be barely able to breathe, debilitating even further and with fewer chances to survive if this isn't treated quickly.

I hope you find this useful! Thanks for the ask <3

[jasmines-library]

Oh, Baby.

WHUMPTOBER DAY 21. Prompt: Vehicular accident.

Fandom: supernatural.

Summary: on the way back from a hunt, an out of control car veers into yours sending it hurtling off of the path and into a tree, leaving you trapped. Too far from the hospital, the Winchesters are left with the task of getting your body from the car as they wait for Cas to arrive.

Warnings: car crash, dislocated shoulder, broken bones/ribs, blood.

Word count: 1.4K

MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

Dean was driving too fast. His foot was pressed all the way down on the pedal as he let the impala fly down the road. He was drumming along to the rhythm of the music as you and Sam sang. The hunt had been successful and spirits were high. The three of you were looking forward to a hot shower and a warm bed, because the night was cold and an eerie chill hung in the air.

The October chill had cast a fog over the road, which obscured everything further than a few metres ahead, but Baby was nearing Kansas and Dean knew the roads well, so he wasn’t too fussed by the narrow roads.

But what happened next came out of nowhere. Another passing car had skidded off of the road and veered into your lane. It smashed into the left passenger side of Baby, sending her sliding off the path. Your side of the car took the brunt of the impact as it collided with a tree. The motion sent your body sliding roughly into the door with a force that was sure to leave bruises. The glass spiderwebbed and then shattered, raining down hundreds and thousands of tiny glass flakes over your head.

Dean groaned when the car stilled, sitting up abruptly. His chest felt tight where the seat belt had flattened against his ribs, so he fumbled to unclip his seatbelt. As he twisted he caught sight of his brother whose head hung low against his chest. There was glass in his hair and a small cut on his temple.

“Sam.” Dean reached over to shake his brother. “Sammy.”

Sam sat up abruptly but immediately regretted the pull in his side. “What..?”

“Are you ok?” Dean took in the caved in metal, pissed that he would have to rebuild it again.

“Fine.” Sam brushed the glass from his hair as he too surveyed the damage. But his eyes widened and he gripped his brother's arm when he suddenly remembered you in the backseat. “Y/n.”

The two of them manoeuvred their bodies in the small space so that they could face you. Some of the roof had caved in, which made it hard to see, but they managed to make out your unconscious body in the darkness. It was crumpled against the doorframe. Your head rested on the window ledge, hair matted with blood from where it had collided with the frame and scraped against the shards of glass. Your arm hung at a concerning angle, and they were almost 100% sure your shoulder was dislocated, but they couldn’t tell from this angle.

Dean reached over the seat, straining his body but you were too far away for him to reach you, so he tried to call your name. You didn’t move.

Dean cursed and pushed hard on his doors to open it. “See if you can get her door open.”

Sam forced the door open and clambered out of the car as his brother made his way round the crushed bonnet. Half of your door was completely obscured by the tree that had made the car stop spiralling out of control, making it impossible to open the door.

Dean rammed his fist into the side of the car in a fit of rage.

“Fuck! Sam help me move the car.”

The Winchesters shuffled round to the back of the car and began to haul the car away from the tree. It took a great amount of effort and their boots leaving dents in the frosty ground of them to move the impala, but when it finally inched far enough away from the tree and your door was visible, they breathed a sigh of relief. But immediately took it back when they tugged in the misshaped handle and the door didn’t budge.

Then Dean tried to rouse you again, reaching through the window and rousing your body. You whined as all of the pain flooded in at once.

“Sweetheart?”

You twisted your head to glance up at him through droopy eyes. “Dean?”

“It’s us.”

You whimpered as you tried to shift, pinned down by your seatbelt. “Hurts.”

“We know sweetheart. We’re gonna get you out of there. Just hold on for us okay?”

You nodded, but made no noise.

Sam tried the handle again but it was stuck down firmly as if someone had welded the pieces together and then encased them in a layer of concrete just to make sure that they were secure.

He then considered the window. They could pull you out from it but that would run the risk of injuring you further, especially with the shards of glass jutting out from the bottom. It was far from Sam’s first choice, but at the moment it was looking like their only option.

“Give me your jacket.” He reached out a hand to his brother.

“What?” Without his jacket the cold air would bite at Dean’s skin. Sam knew this, but Dean’s jacket was thicker than his and would provide you more protection when they moved you.

“Just give it to me.”

Dean shrugged it off after pocketing his phone and placed it in his brother's hands who then laid it across the bottom of the window and leaned forwards to talk to you.

“Okay Kid I need you to unbuckle your seatbelt. Can you do that for me?”

You fumbled blindly for the buckle, wincing at the tug on your arm and ribs, both of which were already forming dark bruises and were more likely than not broken in some places. You relaxed as the pressure lessened, but without the fabric keeping you in place, your body slumped forwards.

Sam hooked his arm under your shoulders ready to guide you out of the window. “This is gonna hurt sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

When Sam tugged upwards you screamed. Every inch of your body burned as he slid you out of the window. The strain on your shoulder was immense, and the brothers were now certain that it was dislocated.

“Stop.” You begged. “Please.”

Sam’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry but I can’t.”

He pulled you out the last stretch of the window without adding too many cuts to your fragile body, only a few nicks here or there. Dean helped ease you down onto the ground.

“Cas is on his way.” He told his brother, who gave him a brief nod of acknowledgment because his full attention was on you. It was too far to get to the hospital in time.

“We have to pop it back in.” Dean told him, gesturing to your shoulder. “If we leave it like that it’s going to get worse.”

Sam bit his lip. “I know.”

“Please… it hurts” you whimpered. “No more. Please.”

“Just a little bit more and then it’ll stop. I promise.” Sam told you, bracing his hands on your shoulders as Dean leaned you against his chest. You cried into his chest, clinging onto his shirt to hide from the cold.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart.”

“On three.” Sam said. “One. Two-“

He rolled the joint, forcing it back into place before you had time to brace yourself. You cried out sharply, nursing your arm as tears flooded your cheeks.

Shakily he removed his hands.

“All done, y/n. All done.”

Dean rubbed your back gently and cast a worried gaze at his brother who towered above the two of you.

It was fateful waiting for the flutter of wings. Dean held you close to his chest as you shivered. Whether it was from the pain or the cold he didn’t know, but they had to keep forcing you awake when your eyes drifted shut. As Dean held you, Sam made work of trying to salvage anything from the car. He had found a blanket wedged in the backseat and draped it over your shoulders.

At last, Cas finally appeared.

“I am sorry.” He rattled out. “I came as soon as I could.”

“Can you help her?” Sam asked.

He reached out and placed a gentle hand on your forehead from where a blinding light was emitted and then a wave of calm washed over you, soothing all your aches and pains before you fell asleep against Dean’s chest.

“She should be fine now.” Cas instructed “she just needs to rest.”

“Thank you.” Dean pulled your sleeping form and smiled gently into your hair, glad to still have you by his side for a while longer.

🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸

<- DAY 21 ⛤ DAY 23 ->

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