#broken bones whump

[defire]

Hidden injuries/broken bones

Content: broken bones, sprains

"you'd better set that." Whumper smiles. "Or I'll do it myself."

"Don't touch it. No, please, PLEASE!"

Whumpee writhing on the floor over their arm, which looks perfectly fine, in front of caretaker

Living weapon whumpees having to hide their injuries because they'll be punished for GETTING INJURED in the first place

Said living weapon, bandaging themselves up and their handler comes in. Cue the next few minutes of "I'm fine sir, just cleaning up, no that's not my blood,"

Captured whumpee with a previous injury hiding it so their captors don't take advantage of it

Sweat running down whumpee's temple as whumper's hand tightens around the sprain

Caretaker checking if their ribs are broken and suddenly whumpee flinches away and screams

Whumper pressing, digging a thumb into an existing wound and making whumpee SCREAM. (Bonus: caretaker is forced to watch)

That horror when whumpee realizes this pain is not going to subside for a long time

"maybe you should have thought about that before you disrespected me." "Maybe you shouldn't have been a little bitch about it!" "...You're not getting painkillers."

[whumpprentice]

A character with enhanced healing having their bones broken and forced to heal wrong that's it that's the post

[c0ntr0lledchaos]

art block woooo

inspired by @bones-of-a-rabbit's staff bot reader au

[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.

[comfortingcatharsis]

Broken bones, like a clavicle or scapula, that can't really be splinted or immobilised beyond securing the affected limb in a sling and being very cautious not to move or jar the shoulder of the injured side; no rigid security of an encasing cast or splint like that for a broken wrist- the shoulder-blade or collarbone are reliant on the surrounding bodily structures to guard and support them throughout the gradually-healing pain of being fractured and the injured character moves with the utmost gingerness in the interim.

[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

[linecrosser]

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

Yue Qi, suffering alone in the Lingxi Caves.

[defire]

Broken bone aftermath:

Content: visceral description of injury

Is whumpee embarrassed of having a cast?

Does whumpee GET a cast?

Every time the break is jostled, whumpee flinches.

Being forced to walk on a broken bone, feeling that grinding/pop as it re-breaks

The exhaustion when it has been hurting for what feels like forever and whumpee just wants to SLEEP

The resentful glance at whumper every time whumpee has to figure out how to move around the injury

Forced helplessness because whumpee is not going to be able to do some things for 3 months

[serickswrites]

Breathe Me IV

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Warnings: referenced captivity, referenced torture, referenced physical violence, unconsciousness, broken bones, hospital, breathing tube, intubation, hurt/comfort, hurt/aftermath, hurt/recovery

Team Leader wasn't sure when awareness returned to them. They were just surprised that awareness returned at all. First it was sounds. The soft hushed voices around them. The quiet, but regular beep of a monitor. And the whirring and whooshing of something else.

They weren't in any pain. They were grateful for that. They couldn't feel their body much at all. Perhaps that was a blessing.

As the fog retreated, Team Leader became more and more aware of the voices of their team. And they became more and more aware of their body.

Still, they felt no pain. But they could feel a weight in their chest. Something passed between their lips. The pushing of air in and out of their lungs. What had happened?

They blinked awake. "They're coming around," Teammate Three's excited voice came from Team Leader's right side.

"Hey, Team Leader," Teammate Two said with a smile. Their eyes were strained and red. What had happened?

Team Leader tried to move, but their body was impossibly heavy. Nothing cooperated. What had happened to them?

"You're in a hospital, Team Leader. You're on a ventilator. Just until your lungs heal from the damage your ribs did." Teammate One's fingers brushed Team Leader's hand.

Team Leader dimly registered the touch, but focused more on trying to process Teammate One's words. Ventilator. Hospital. They were in a hospital. Their team had escaped successfully.

"Whumper can't hurt you. Whumper can't hurt anyone anymore, Team Leader."

Team Leader blinked. Their team had been successful. Their team had gotten them to help.

"We're sorry it took us so long to get you out of there. We," Teammate Three's voice broke, "we thought we were too late."

Team Leader blinked their gratitude. They weren't too late. The team had saved them. They were ok. They were all ok. That was all that mattered.

"You're going to be here a while. But don't worry, we'll all keep you company. You'll never be alone, Team Leader."

Team Leader blinked again. The next time they opened their eyes, Teammate Two was sitting with them but the other two were gone. "It's ok, Team Leader. I'm here. You're ok."

Team Leader didn't realize they had fallen asleep. But they recognized the familiar tug of darkness as they felt the urge to blink again. Maybe it was ok to sleep a little longer. Maybe it was ok to rest. Their team was here. They were safe. That was all that mattered. Team Leader let themself sink into unconsciousness once more knowing that one, if not all, of their team would be there when they next woke. And that was a beautiful thing.

Tags: @gala1981 @whumpthisway @whumpberry-cookie @yet-another-heathen @painsthegame

@soheavyaburden @pigeonwhumps @st0rmm @whumpitywhumpwhump @bloodywhumpinggood

@corbytheking @itsjessiegirl1 @the-most-handsome-ginger @hurt-comfort @beomsstudio

@artisticdemon @alluringleopards @orangeduckweed @st0rmm @acer-whumpstuff

[hold-on-a-little-longer-whump]

screaming crying and sobbing over characters having hushed conversations over their injured/sick teammate.

Why are they whispering? Is there danger nearby? Do they want to avoid disturbing their teammate? Are they about to do something unpleasant but necessary for their teammate's survival - like setting a bone or flushing out an infected wound?

Or are they talking normally and the injured party just can't understand everything that's being said? Are they delirious with pain or fever? A head injury is affecting their hearing? Are they having difficulty staying conscious, and that one teammate keeps patting their face or shaking them, doing anything they can to keep them awake? Why are there so many hands on them? Why do they keep pushing on their stomach? Why does everyone sound so serious/nervous/angry/sad?

+ bonus points for manhandling their friend bc it's for their own good

[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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@whumperless-whump-event

[whumpshaped]

tw broken bones, sadistic whumper

Crack.

Whumper laughed, giddy and delighted, but the sound was almost entirely drowned out by Whumpee's blood-curdling scream. Whumper raised the sledgehammer again, and their victim raised their arms in a weak protest, eyes fixed on the tool that weighed enough to shatter their kneecap even if they were to simply drop it.

But they didn't. They swung with both arms, bringing it down so hard that it stole Whumpee's breath when it connected.

Crack.

Then came another strangled scream.

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Slow Burn

CW: Vampire whump, mild gore (depends how vivid your imagination), burning alive, cruel whumper, impaled, broken bones, ambiguous ending

Hazy light diffused by sheer curtains catches on the dust-filled air of the warm, stuffy room. Once the bedroom of a stately home, now the gate is rusted and the wallpaper crumbles.

Decades have passed since the home's owner disappeared without a trace - or so people thought. In reality he had been there all along, hiding in the shadows whenever someone came to investigate. Unseen, unheard, and eventually...forgotten.

It was by chance that a vampire hunter happened upon the place, seeking shelter from the downpour outside. Then it was only a matter of time before he found the creature. Weakened after days of rain prevented him from hunting, the vampire doesn't stand a chance. With resignation and, perhaps, relief, he leans back against the wall and bares his chest willingly for the stake.

With three swift strikes of a mallet the wooden spike plunges deeper into his chest - tearing through flesh and muscle, shattering his sternum on its way in and two vertebrae on its way out.

Missing his heart.

No merciful darkness follows. The hunter is long gone but his victim remains, parched and half-conscious but alive, rasping and groaning while his skin sizzles.

It is just after noon, and the window faces west. Hours remain before sunset. Hours to spend burning and blistering, withering away in agony. Even if he had the strength to move the stake keeps him pinned to the wall. Unable to stand anymore, his weight sags around it, his limbs and head limp and heavy.

Downstairs a door slams. Floorboards creak.

The vampire, lost in his own suffering, can't begin to think of who it could be, but some part of him knows this:

He is no longer dying alone.

----

Part 2 ->