#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

[moonlightcycle571]

Flash: Holy shit Cap! How did you break your foot???

Marvel: oh you know, villains right?

Superman: wait there’s a villain strong enough to break your bones?

Marvel, shrugs: it happens

WonderWoman: this is a serious concern

Marvel: it’s not like I’m using it, I can fly until it’s good

Batman: *furiously searching security cameras to find out how the foot broke*

So naturally everyone has theories on how it happened, from villain attacks to magical world ending disaster he could have prevented.

Meanwhile, the truth

Freddy: How did it happen?

Billy: so you know how the trash collection truck comes early in the morning?

Freddy: … yeah

Billy: I forgot to take out the trash

Billy: when running with the bins, I hit my foot on the coffee table

Billy: I managed to bring out the bins, but I broke my foot in the process

Billy: when I told the gods what happened, they just laughed at me for half an hour

Billy: Solomon said that if he transferred my injury to my Marvel form, it would cut the healing time :(

[annasofthe11thdimension]

Of Changing

[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

[that-fox-thing]

Human Eklipse!

[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.

[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

[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

[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

[batemanofficial]

the couch im reupholstering is almost done. it's beautiful. it's gold velvet. im installing the back panel, the last step before i sew the cushion covers. i rotate it from standing upright on one armrest to lying flat in its normal position. i get like 70° of the way there and think "eh it's fine i'll just drop it it's not that heavy." i drop it. on my foot. i see stars. i sit on the folding chair in the room, head in hands, shinji style. there i remain.

[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?