#foot broken

[socialscreamsauce]

Don't know when my body became so fragile even a spring rain is too much to handle

Welp my foot is broken and so are all my emotions. people acting like they're helping but just being hurtful and condescending. life is one treat at a time sometimes multiple and I'm being spoiled rotten baby!

[crumb-crumblet-s-crumbington]

me, my boyfriend, and the 8 foot hole in the sand i dug for him because i love him

[ohno-the-sun]

Yall should read @muzzlemouths fic (Don’t) Fear the Reaper

It’s so good I love it so much

And it’s interactive y’all it’s so fun

Scene from chapter 3, just sort of what I imagined

[pangur-and-grim]

if you click the readmore, you will see a nasty disgusting foot!! this is a warning!

yoooooooo check my disgusting swollen foot/ankle. normal foot beside for comparison. at night it's hard to sleep because of the nerve pain

[namedr]

broke my foot so i drew this while kinda annoyed

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Content Warnings: tiny whump, faerie whump, recovery, foot injury, broken bones, rescue/caretaking perceived as capture by whumpee, accidental whump

----

The human moves Shae's shoebox bed into the living room, where he sets it on the coffee table. It's warmer in here, a fire going in the fireplace nearly every minute the human is home. Like before, food and water are left out on the table for Shae to access if he needs.

Shae is cold and weak from blood loss, and the pain and stress have not been kind to his thoughts. He can't help worrying about why he is here or what will happen next. Some days he drags himself out of bed to limp down a staircase of stacked books and have some food and water, but more often than not the human comes home to find it untouched, and has to coax the faerie into eating and drinking.

Pain is constant, sometimes sharp, sometimes dull. The worst is when the human cleans and rebandages his foot or checks on his shoulder. But this is always followed by a dropper of medicine mixed with water, and that at least brings some relief. Shae soon learns that any time the pain gets to be too much and he starts groaning, the human will appear with more medicine, more relief. He never turns it away, welcoming the numbing feeling and the sleep that follows so he can escape his fears.

As he heals, though, Shae gets restless. He gets up more often, takes more of the food and water, wanders more of the table. He never tries to get down, doesn't even think about it. Not when he still walks with a limp and can barely use one of his arms. But he takes full advantage of all the moments the human isn't home to learn his surroundings better in case he needs to flee in a hurry.

One morning Shae is sitting on the table eating while the human, who has been home all day today, works outside. Eventually the man returns, removes his boots, coat and hat and makes his way over to check on Shae. "You look better today," he remarks.

Shae's stomach drops; he should have tried harder to look unwell. He avoids the man's gaze by looking down at the piece of fruit in his hands.

"How about a change of scenery?" He holds his hand out. It seems safest to just go along with him. Resisting will only get him hurt. So Shae sits in his hand and allows the man to lift him and carry him from the room.

He brings the faerie into the kitchen and sets him on the windowsill, where he can see outside into the yard and the woods beyond it. Cold seeps in through the glass, but the human offers Shae a large dishcloth to wrap around himself like a blanket. He mumbles thank you, which puts a smile on the human's face. Maybe I'm worth more if I can talk, Shae thinks glumly.

The man gets to work cooking something. Shae watches him, but turns often to look outside again. It even looks cold, the ground dry and cracked, a wind rustling the bare trees. Shae shivers and pulls the towel tighter around himself. At least he isn't out there. If the human hadn't found him that first day, he probably wouldn't have made it long...

By the time the man cooks and eats his meal, Shae is curled up, bundled head to toe in the blanket, dozing off a little. Used to the man's movements by now, he barely notices him enter the kitchen and start doing dishes.

And then, a hand closes around the towel, bunching it up in a fist and in the process, enveloping Shae within it. He feels himself being lifted from the windowsill and moved. Suddenly a surge of water hits his back, thoroughly soaking both the towel and Shae, who coughs and sputters. His shouts are drowned out by the roar of the water and when he tries to struggle, the hand's grip tightens. A finger presses against his shoulder and Shae whines and tries to squirm away from it, with no luck.

From there it only gets worse. The hand gripping the towel with Shae in it plunges into hot, soapy water. Shae barely holds onto consciousness, his body growing heavy, his vision blurring. Then all at once he's pulled back up, squeezed again, pressed into a hard surface and dragged over it in circles...pulled away only to be slammed belly-first onto the edge of the plate. Shae doubles over, gasping for air as the plate turns in the man's hands, cleaned by the soapy towel.

Back under the rushing faucet, squeezed, back into the hot water, squeezed, shoved into whatever the cloth is cleaning. Shae continues crying out for help through his coughs and gasps, but his cries grow weaker every time. Eventually he just curls in on himself and tries to shield his existing injuries from further harm.

Fortunately, there aren't that many dishes, and he is only made to endure this a few more times. The man rinses out the towel, squeezes one final time, and shakes it open over the sink. Shae comes tumbling out and lands on his back with a thud, arms splayed out on either side of him. He stares blearily up at the lights a moment before turning onto his side to cough up more water. A shadow falls over him as the human finally sees him there.

"Oh, shit," he hears the man mutter. "How did you -" he holds up the towel and it dawns on him what happened. "Oh my god...I'm so sorry, I forgot you were there," he says, sounding quite upset about it. "I'm sorry, buddy, I swear it was an accident...come here..." His fingers pluck Shae up from inside the sink. With his other hand he grabs a fresh, dry towel and holds it in his open palm, setting the trembling faerie into it and bundling him up.

Shae doesn't bother struggling. He continues catching his breath while the human brings him back to the living room and sets the towel on the table, opening it back up with Shae lying in the middle of it. "Sorry," he says again, "I hope I didn't hurt you too bad..."

His fingers move over the tiny faerie, carefully examining him for injury. Shae's foot will need rebandaged, his shoulder re-iced, but he thinks he is fine...until he tries to sit up and a pang shoots through his stomach. He drops back with a gasp and a whimpered ow, ow, ow, an arm wrapped around his belly.

"What's this?" The human eases Shae's arm away and draws in a breath. "Oof...you have some bad bruising here..." His fingertip grazes over Shae's skin. "I don't think anything is broken..."

"Don't hurt m-me," is all Shae can think to say, a pointless plea but one he makes all the same.

The man's face saddens. "I'm not going to hurt you. I didn't mean to hurt you...I'll make it right, okay?"

Shae is suddenly so tired, his defenses crumbling. Tears fill his eyes. He wants to believe the human, he wants to feel safe, not in a constant state of fight or flight, pain or numbness, terror or apathy. Everything hurts, his heart won't rest, his breathing won't even. Shae lies back and lets the human go through the now familiar motions of treating him, the routine now including his aching stomach. When he is finished, the man offers him some food, which Shae declines, though he takes some sips of water just to clear the taste of dish soap from his mouth.

"I'm sorry," the man repeats every so often. He occasionally rubs Shae's back or pets his hair with his thumb, attempts to soothe him that do little to help anymore. Eventually he settles Shae back into bed under plenty of soft layers and leaves him alone. The room goes dark except for the fire. Shae curls up on his side and stares at it until his eyes droop.

I'm never getting out of here...

[incorrect-tmnt2012-quotes]

[After the episode A Broken Foot]

Leo: I owed my girl buddies a solid! Isn’t that a redeeming quality? Helping friends with stuff?

April: NOT in TURF WARS that lead to TERRITORIAL GENOCIDE!!!

Leo: Eh, you win some, you lose a few thousand.

[painsandconfusion]

Harmless

Whumping the Whumpers - Part Forty-three

(tw: broken bones, hand whump/gore, foot whump/gore, body horror, strangulation, unconsciousness, genuinely like a lethal amount of bone damage, hammer, buzzy bright lights that make the autism go weh)

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

Ethan’s boots clodded against the stairs as he made his way back down to the workshop. As much as he hated to agree with Nate, there was a spark of fear curling through him now. He’d been that man’s punching bag for far too long. He thought those days were over, but now here he was with a broken nose, black eye, and bruised around the throat from those same hands he thought were long rendered harmless.

To put both his and Nate’s worries to rest, he needed to put an abrupt end to that fear and worry.

Ethan unlocked the workshop door, slapping on the industrial, buzzing lights.

Crawford groaned, curling in on himself like a drunkard who passed out in an alley rather than making his way home - business suit ripped and muddy as he hides from the first rays of morning light.

Ethan moved closer to the broken man who was chained to the ground in the middle of the room. Chained by the neck, too. Nate wasn’t feeling merciful, evidently. Just a short chain ‘round his throat that was padlocked to the floor.

Efficient, Ethan supposed. Full body mobility and absolutely nowhere to go.

“M’ sssorry-” the broken man choked out. Pleading for mercy long after the crime he didn’t regret. One he’d gladly do again if he weren’t so afraid of the consequences.

“No you’re not,” Ethan responded coolly. Distracted. Focused on the wall of tools. “Don’t need to pretend you are.”

“B-ut y-”

“It won’t change anything. Just save it.” He wasn’t feeling the sadism. Not today. Not right now. Right now, this was a chore. Incapacitating the bastard so he wouldn’t ever be able to lay a finger on Ethan again.

Ethan selected a simple club hammer. Iron, he assumed. Polished to a shine on the square ends but left router and dark throughout the middle. Attached by a sturdy handle that could shunt the great weight of the tiny thing without buckling or splintering.

He wandered closer, earning a squirm from the man on the ground.

“..pl-leas-”

“Put your hand out on the ground,” Ethan ordered simply, crouching nearby.

A whine muffled out of Crawford’s curled form. His hands tucked in even closer - up against his chest.

Ethan’s teeth grit. “Either you listen, or I break whatever I have to to get to your hands.”

A silence with another whimper followed. The man still didn’t move.

“Alright,” he sighed, shifting forward onto one knee. Without warning, he swing the bludgeon down, cracking through the man’s shoulders. 

Ethan never could get used to the screams in this room. Maybe some day, but not today. There wasn’t enough softness in this room to steal away the sound and muffle it away. Not even a bit. It just echoed and rang, searing at his eardrums and clanging against the walls in an unending refrain.

He didn’t mind too much. Just enough that he made yet another mental note to bring earplugs. He never did, regardless of how many times he swore that the next time he went down he’d use them. He simply enjoyed the little sounds too much to mind the screams. Earplugs did keep the pain back, but they also took away all the little grunts, whispers, and wheezing, strained breath. They kept back the murmurs and minuscule pleas. The scraping rattle of the chain and the squeak of feet kicking against the polished floor.

It wasn’t like Ethan was a stranger to pain. His ears could ring. So what if he was half deaf by the time he was fifty? Plenty of people give up the same just to attend concerts. He was doing this for a far nobler cause and with a much higher satisfaction rate.

Ethan brought the hammer down twice more- on his bicep and elbow. One cracked, though he wasn’t sure which.

Unable to pull back against his grip, Crawford’s ruined arm was easily pried out by Ethan’s grip. He pinned the wrist down to the cold floor with a knee, then started again.

Fingers barely make a sound when they break. They’re so tiny and brittle, it’s a wonder they’re so useful in the body. Why don’t they break every other day? Anatomy was a wonder to him. One day, he’d study properly and learn to truly appreciate the human body. Its limits and its wonders alike.

Seven hits. Thirteen. Nineteen. Twenty-two. He stopped to reach down, gripping the mangled and mushed bit of flesh. Feeling the broken bones scrape against each other.

A quick glance to Crawford’s face told him the man was either dissociated or on the brink of unconsciousness. Maybe both.

He gave the hand one more squeeze before pulling out the other arm. The muscles there only gave vague hints at resisting, so he was able to pin that one down more easily.

Again, the smashing. The screams. The emptiness of the hand.

It reminded Ethan of rubber gloves. When you’re a child and fill it up with water at the sink. Tie it shut and play with the little blob that’s almost a hand. It had much of the same texture. Flopping fingers barely staying in place. Palm able to bend backwards more easily than the wrist. Soft and hot and difficult to keep a grip on.

He let it stay there as he swiveled around to the feet. Bare toes already bruised against the ground from struggles throughout the past three weeks that they’d had him here. He pinned down an ankle, finding no resistance at all. Ethan looked up to Crawford again. Unconscious, though half sentient through it. Breathing ragged and shallow with eyes almost completely closed. Limp.

Fortunately, Ethan wasn’t here today for the sadism. Crawford didn’t need to be awake or responsive for this session. In fact, he wasn’t sure he wanted Crawford much longer at all.

The hammer came down again and again, shattering the feet into bloody globs on the floor. Chipping up the bone to break his ankles and kneecaps as well. Swing and crunch. Swing and crunch. Swing and crunch.

He desperately wished he could get this man under an x-ray. See just how many bones he was breaking.

Ethan didn’t know how long he worked. He kept going up the arms and legs, feeling at the boneless structures for hints of sharpness and any seconds that were too firm. Then he would strike them as he had the rest. Break the something down to nothing again.

Ethan didn’t make his way back upstairs until the squid fucking itch at the back of his skull was satisfied that Crawford was utterly and irrevocably harmless.

[Previous | Masterpost | Next]

(tags: @prisonerwhump @whumpawink @wormwriting @distinctlywhumpthing @whump-cafe @jo-doe-seeking-inspo @azayta @batfacedliar-yetagain @there-will-always-be-blood @siren-of-agony @whumpworld @deltaxxk @whumpasaurus101 @pickywhumpreader @whumpberry-cookie @morning-star-whump @nailevislev @throwawaywhumper @the-mourning-star @d-cs @pigeonwhumps @suspicious-whumping-egg @snakebites-and-ink @whumpedydump @whumplr-reader @rainbowsandwhumperflies @starfields08000 @crystallizedme @lumpofsand @taterswhump @starsick1979)

As always, lmk if you want to be added to the tag list!

[shallowseeker]

i refuse to believe that castiel

who canonically describes dean’s driving (and indeed all automobiles) as “slow”

who made hannah the angel nauseated with his driving and promised to take the curves faster

is a granny driver

[mothpawbs]

and here's to you, merci beaucoup but wait 'til i get my hands on you!

the paper chase has had such a complete stranglehold on me it broke my almost 2 year lack of warrior cats fanart, holy wow

[acuar-io]

I think something that should be part of Simblr etiquette is not asking people if they can put up their OCs/Legacy/Founder sims for download. It’s just like….why would you even ask me to put a sim up for download that I am playing with/created with a backstory & post edits of? Like come onnnnnn 😭 also, y’all need to learn how to read people’s FAQ I have all my main links pinned on my pinned post for a reason

I share sims when I feel like it so do not ask me if I can put xyz up for download

[blue-rose-soul]

I wonder where Alastor went after he blew up on Husk. He obviously didn't rejoin Charlie and Lucifer. And he didn't reappear in the parlor until the loan sharks had already done some significant damage to the hotel. Hell, Husk beat him downstairs. After he left Husk shuddering on the ground in absolute terror. But Husk still managed to brush himself off and get himself back downstairs acting like his usual self before Alastor did.

Did he have to hide somewhere private to gather his thoughts? Did he go off to speak with his invisible master?

[captainsparklefingers]

Now, is this one night as in 'one night no matter what', or is it one night as in 'one night because the world might end by tomorrow and nothing is guaranteed and if by tomorrow we're all still here we can reevaluate'?

Because while it's likely the former, knowing the Matron and Vax's devotion, but it could also be the latter because there are world changing events happening, do the rules and status quo matter anymore?

Am I grasping at straws a little bit? Yeah, probably. I either want Kiki to finally have a chance to move on and have proper closure OR I want Vax back with them all for good, because these middle grounds do nobody any good. Who knows where things will stand come tomorrow, it all depends on how things go on the moon now.

But 'one night' without specification of what happens come morning, just implications, could still mean anything.

[sneeb-canons]

Headcanon #475: Soul once accidentally had an unopened can of monster fall on his foot. Mind & Heart still make fun of him for having his foot broken by an energy drink of all things.

[naamahdarling]

.

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Sequel to this!

Content Warnings: tiny whump, faerie whump, broken bones, foot injury, blood, passing out, failed escape attempt, rescue that is seen as captivity by whumpee

Author's Notes: folks seemed to like the first one!

----

Shae is smart. He spends several days lying low, biding his time, allowing the human to feed and care for him. The man continues to be gentle, able to handle Shae incredibly carefully despite the size of his hands. He talks to Shae, but the faerie rarely answers.

After initially patching him up, the human moved him to a shoebox which he padded with flannel shirts into a makeshift bed. He leaves food and water by the bed so it's there even when he's out in his shed working, or in town shopping. If he is concerned about Shae escaping, it doesn't show. More likely, though, he doesn't think the faerie capable of it.

For the first few days he would be right. But as the faerie's shoulder starts to heal, and as he gains strength from food and rest, he spends more time up on his feet, wandering the table - when the human is away, of course. When the human is here, Shae lies in the shoebox and feigns being weaker than he is so the man will continue to underestimate him.

Finally the day comes when Shae decides to make his move. He almost reconsiders. His shoulder is still healing, and hurts quite a bit, and he hesitant to leave behind a steady source of food, care, and a warm home during the cold months, he doesn't know what the human has planned for him. For all Shae knows, he could be getting him healthy enough to be worth selling.

The dining room table is in the middle of the room, which provides some obstacles as far as getting down. Then, on one of his wanders, he notices a yardstick leaning against the table's edge, the other end of it on the ground. That is how he gets down - carefully straddling it and sliding to the floor. It works perfectly, and Shae is pleased with himself.

Now there is the matter of getting out. The easiest thing to do will be to wait by the front door and make a run for it when the human gets home. But since it will be some time before then, he decides to explore a little. He explores so long that he grows tired. He needs to lie down...even just for a few minutes...

Shae finds a spot beneath the living room couch, where warm air drifts in from a nearby vent. He settles on the rug, which is not nearly as comfortable as his shoebox bed, but it'll do. Just for a bit, he tells himself. He has plenty of time until the human returns home.

But Shae dozes off, and stays that way for hours. His still-healing body needs this, badly. But when he wakes and emerges from beneath the couch, he can tell from the light through the window that it is late in the day, and the human will be home soon.

Panicked, Shae starts to run back towards the front of the house...or, he thinks he is. It's all so big and new, and Shae is groggy, and his shoulder is aching. He can't seem to find his way back, at least, not in time. Outside, gravel crunches beneath the human's car pulling in. Shae's run slows to a stagger. As footsteps approach the front door and keys jingle, Shae follows the sound, though he knows he can't make it in time.

He turns the corner into the front entranceway just as the door opens. Shae takes a hard turn, hurrying into a dark room that he hasn't been in yet and staying close to the wall so that if the man turns the light on, he won't be out in the open. He starts to run again, grateful for the carpeted ground to muffle his footsteps.

Like a bolt of lightning, sudden and bright, pain shoots up Shae's foot. He throws his hands over his mouth to muffle a scream as his legs give out and he crumples to the ground. His body spasms from the pain, wave after wave of it radiating from his tiny foot, though in the darkness he can't make out why. All he can think as tears soak his face is, why me?

It takes a long time to regain his breath and his senses. When he feels like he can move again, Shae shifts around, careful not to jostle his unseen injury. He feels down his ankle and over his foot, shuddering when his fingers touch blood. Taking a deep breath, he continues until he finds the source of the blood and pain - a carpet tack that has skewered clear through the bottom of his foot.

Shae thinks he might be sick. He feels so stupid, for falling asleep, for even trying to escape at all. Falling jostled his shoulder and it throbs fiercely, so much worse than before, and now his foot...he breaks down crying again, and cries until he is completely spent, though he doesn't fall asleep. He knows exactly what he has to do now, and it terrifies him.

He tries to control his breathing as he starts to ease his foot off of the sharp metal tack. As soon as he moves it the pain swells anew. Shae cries out, grips his hair, trembles, but doesn't stop until he pulls his foot free with a ragged gasp. He scrambles to remove his shirt and tie it around his foot and ankle before he can lose any more blood. Panting, Shae flops back down and gives himself a moment to breathe.

Unlike before, though, he doesn't allow himself to be lulled into sleep. He has no choice now but to allow the human to find him and hope that he will care for him. There is the chance the man will decide he's too damaged to keep...and then what, Shae is afraid to even consider. The faerie forces himself to his feet, putting most of his weight on his uninjured one. Holding his broken shoulder, Shae limps forward, out into the center of the dark room, towards the light of the hallway. Blood seeps through his makeshift bandage, leaving a trail of spots on the carpet behind him. Shae whimpers with each painful step. He knows he won't last long, but he has to try.

By now the human has realized he's missing. Shae can hear him moving about the house, searching. Search in here, he silently pleads. And then, like magic, the man appears in the doorway, his silhouette blocking out the light from the hall.

"Did you come in here?" the man says aloud to himself. He does that a lot, Shae has noticed. The light flicks on and Shae gasps and shields his eyes.

It only takes a few steps into the room for the human to spot the red trail snaking along the carpeted floor, uneven from Shae's stumbling steps. His eyes follow it until they land on the faerie. "Oh no," the man mutters, and Shae can't help but take it as another sign he will be discarded.

The man kneels on the floor and leans forward, placing his hand out palm up a few inches away. "C'mere...I'm not going to hurt you..."

There is no other way. Shae goes to him, swaying on his feet, barely standing. As soon as his toes bump up against the man's fingertips, his eyes roll back and he collapses onto the human's open hand, out cold.