#tw: joint dislocation

[emilybeemartin]

[TW: joint dislocation/surgery talk]

Well, I wanted to have one more big finished piece for you, but I think my high expectations have gotten in my way, and now I'm out of time.

This whole Boromir kick started after I dislocated my shoulder for the fourth time back in June, and it was a bad one. My summer of swimming, hiking, and camping with my kids was taken over by wearing a sling, orthopedic referrals, MRIs, and ultimately, the reality that my cartilage is torn and is not going to heal. This Friday I'll be undergoing surgery for it, and I'll be in a bolster sling for weeks afterward. I should be able to type during that time, but I won't be able to draw.

I'm not sure why Boromir snuck up on me this summer, as I sat wearily sketching under an ice pack, trying to keep my arm loose, but it's been a blast. I had no idea that drawing a half-baked comic culminating with a feral raccoon becoming High Warden of Gondor would kick off such an all-encompassing dive back into LotR. I'm really grateful for all the follows, shares, interactions, and lovely comments from the Tolkien community---it really kept my spirits up and fueled a ton of inspiration. I can't remember the last time my art folder was so hyperfocused on a specific character.

Anyway, TLDR, I'll be quiet here for a while. Don't trust anything I might post for about forty-eight hours starting 8/18; general anesthesia makes me extremely stupid. I can only hope this surgery will fix things and I can go back to drawing niche comics and emotional thirst traps.

And send me your fics; not being able to draw is going to drive me OUT OF MY MIND.

[academiccockroach]

it's 1 AM and I have a very specific bone to pick with a very specific thing I consume, enjoy and endorse wholeheartedly

here's the thing about vampire bites. they are depicted as this little unhinged and nasty but mostly sexy thing right. our guy (gender neutral) gets bitten and it's like ah! it hurts but also it hurts good ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). and here im talking about like. proper vampire teeth, non of that twilight bullshit just two to four proper fangs nothing more nothing less

well clearly the person writing the sexy biting smut scene has never been bitten by a cat. I dont mean like 'ah no Scruffy bit me a little' i don't even mean 'oh no Sceuffy bit me a lot' i mean like a fully grown ass feral cat that has never been touched by human in its life and craves the taste of flesh biting thru skin muscle cartilage -even sometimes bone- whatever the fuck you got in your meat sack that tiny needle thin tooth is piercing right through it

and here's the thing. it doesn't hurt at first oh no. okay well it hurts but if doesn't hurt too much ya know what i mean. and it leaves a cute little mark nothing serious at all

but in a day that wound is gonna swell. and it's gunna. hurt like all fuck because it just directly injected about five gazillion bacteria directly into a neat little incubation pouch and then closed it right up. its gona swell its gonna ooze and throb and hurt and if that shits in your neck ur pretty much done for i mean an infection right next to the jugular is just easy mode for the bacteria

so unless your vampire boyfriend gargles with antiseptic beforehand you aint gotta worry about turning or bleeding out or developing a biting kink cus youre gonna be delirious from meningitis with a football sized phlegmone in your neck beggjng for the sweet sweet release of death thank you for coming to my ted talk please ensure your vampire boyfriend employs proper dental hygiene

[surrealist-dreamer]

Just breathed in too deeply and popped a rib out

[kris-mage-fics]

hi I was lurking on tumblr and i just. partly dislocated?? That sounds so Ow??? Are you okay 😭😭😭

Edit: Yeah, I should probably put this under a cut since I'm talking about an injury. It's nothing graphic or really bad, but just to be on the safe side.

Well, I don't know 100% for sure that I partly dislocated one of the joints in my finger, but I strongly suspect that's what happened. I've dislocated joints before, and it does hurt. It hurts more today than it has the past few days because I did quite a bit of typing yesterday and didn't think about the consequences, lol. It's not that bad though, the pain is more annoying than anything. And the few days before today I hardly felt it. It'll eventually get better, I just have to be careful for a little while. I didn't mean to worry you, Aspen. Or anyone else for that matter. I guess I'm a bit numb to this kind of thing since I've had so many injuries over the years. So I forget how awful it sounds to people who don't have joints that decide not to hold together very well. But thank you for checking, that was very sweet!

[fletcherwilbury]

@sicktember Day 6: Sick and Injured

Warning for injury, joint dislocation, mention of broken bones, arguing, physical violence, illness

[paradoxesofgalaxies]

We have, as Bean puts it, the "inside squirmies" this morning. I don't quite know how to describe it. Like a feeling of needing to contort and twist my body. Maybe it has something to do with the impending storms. Hopefully it calms down before therapy

[primowishes]

“ i wouldn’t do that if i were you. ” The Kid @ Asahi? >:3

As if he cared what this brat would or would not do.

He clenched his fists just to stop the shaking. Fear hid behind anger and clenched teeth, and the hateful glare he brandished at the kid made for the only weapon he had in this state. Holding his breath--he didn't need it, though going without grew increasingly uncomfortable, and painful soon after--he strained against the restraints that held him in place.

Dread pooled in his gut. He trembled, remembering well the white-hot path of the blade passing over simulated flesh. But if he could break free, he would snap that brat's neck, and then... and then...?

Disregarding the warning he wrenched at his arm. His wrist stopped dead, held in place by restraints far stronger than him. He clenched his jaw hard, growling through the gag, and continued straining against it.

His elbow popped with a blinding shot of pain through his head. The cry ripped from his throat and his body jerked like an electric current ran through it. Pain. Groaning. Keen and throbbing. And for all of that, the restraint didn't even bunch.

@starlitwishes / @isegmenti

[thethingything]

🍬: would having a dentist almost dislocate your jaw count as a traumatic experience? as in like as he's pushing on the tooth to try and shape the filling he keeps pushing so hard you feel your jaw partly shift out of the socket repeatedly like it does when it's about to dislocate but it just doesn't quite fully pop out of place?

every other alter that's present: ...in what world is that not considered traumatic

[acid-attacc]

//i'm heading to bed.. hip popped out of socket again so gotta deal with that lol (i have floating joints so im not in pain its just annoying) and i have early day in the morning gotta take my puppers to the vet for shots (puppy shots) but ill try to get replies out while im out and about lol

[notquitecanon]

Call Me... // Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: You're the Devil of Hell's Kitchen's favorite late night nurse, but he's been avoiding your fire escape since an unfortunate accident. You both miss each other just enough for some emotions to slip through the cracks. You don't even know his name, but you'll settle just to know he's alright.

TW: blood, canon typical injuries, kind of hurt comfort, Matt's a self sabotaging martyr as usual, kinda sunshine!reader??? maybe if you squint

Bolded line is from a prompts list from several months ago so I lost the link. If it's yours let me know and I'll link it!

"I haven’t seen you in weeks… I’m worried you’re in another dumpster somewhere. Just call me back…please?" You whispered harshly into the phone’s receiver, burner cell jammed between your ear and shoulder as you fumbled with your keys. 

It was true. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen hadn’t graced your apartment in weeks after three months of near nightly visits. At first it was serious stuff, stab wounds and splinted bones. It took two weeks for him to crack a joke. But once that stone cold exterior cracked, it was shattered. He was kind, sweet even. Every few visits, he’d bring by supplies to replenish your kit and, usually, with a bottle of wine in the bag.  Emergencies turned to what he called ‘urgencies’- wounds just barely deep enough to justify stitches and dislocated joints. Which then turned into stopping by at the end of his nights for a ‘check up’, where he took advantage of your central heating, warm beverages, and warmer presence. Then, some Yakuza jackass appeared on your doorstep three weeks ago, fortunately your devil hadn’t been far behind. He took care of him, and you figured the thug, now minus fifteen teeth, would have a hard time telling anyone where to find you. Nevertheless, you found the ‘available apartments’ section of the newspaper taped to your seventh floor window. That had been the last night ’the devil’ had paid you a visit. 

"Anyways… I guess I'm asking for a sign of life? Something? Please? Bye." You pleaded, voice kinder this time as you managed to finally unlock the door and slip inside. Locking the knob, deadbolt, chain, and newly installed jam that had been mysteriously delivered not too long ago. With a huff, you discarded your keys, and bag in the entry way before delving deeper into your dark apartment, flicking lights on as you went. 

"You really need to start locking your windows." A deep voice sounded as you rounded the corned into your living room. Heart jumping to your throat and stomach dropping, you let out a yelp as instinct took over. The familiarity of the voice didn’t register as adrenaline flooded your system. 

"SHIT!" You shrieked, flinching backwards so fast that the hallway runner rug caught under your feet, sending you careening into the wall. Without thinking, you put the Yankee’s starting pitcher to shame as you pitched your phone at light speed towards the voice. Of course, the shadow effortlessly caught it.

"Shit!" The intruder mirrored at your fall, and it was then that you realized who it was. As you collected yourself a slew of curses slipped out, looking into the dim living room to find the Devil of Hell’s kitchen slowly rising off the couch, he was already sans black shirt and mask, "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you." 

"Yeah, well, mission failed." You muttered, pressing a hand to your chest as if that would still your pounding heart. Slowly, you finished your shuffled into the living room, flicking on the overheads as you went. "Shit, you could have called. Sit back down."  

You could have used the heads up, the gash across his chest looked serious, and not in the cute excuse to see each other way ’serious’ had meant last month. He breathed a sarcastic laugh, tossing your phone back to you before producing a shattered burner cell with a… bullet hole?

"You have a funny way of saving my skin when I least expect it." He tried a cheeky smile. You rolled your eyes, picking up your pace as you retrieved your first aid kit from under your kitchen sink, "Consider this a sign of life?" 

"A sign of barely alive, more like." You answered, rounding back around the couch to sit across from him. Harshly pulling on a pair of rubber gloves and splaying out an array of supplies both his lap and yours. "You’re unbelievable. Almost a month of no contact and then you just appear and leak blood on my couch." 

"I’m sorry." He breathed, face angled to where your knees now touched. You rolled your eyes, ripping into a packet of gauze and setting to work dabbing the blood. And he sounded sorry, pitiful even, looked it to. His unseeing eyes stared straight past you and yet somehow straight through you at the same time, mouth settled in a puppy like frown. He told you once that he was catholic, and you now wandered if that’s why he was so good at looking guilty.  

"If it wasn’t for the newspapers, I would have thought you were dead." You drove your point home, with a small voice, too angry to be a whisper and yet too concerned to be a hiss. The evidence of his activities was written across his bare torso in older cuts, new and fading bruises, and a couple of bandages that he’d obviously applied himself, "And you’ve obviously been busy." 

"Figured out how the Yakuza found you. Handled it. Didn’t want to lead anyone else back here." His explanation was strained, pushed through gritted teeth as you applied antiseptic to the largest, freshest gash. You cooed small apologies, irritated as you were with the vigilante, you hated being the source of his pain. You picked up a suture kit, quickly threading the needle. 

"Well, as far as excuses go, that’s not the worst." You muttered, half joking and half touched he’d go through this for you. You’d known he was a walking martyr from the moment you’d met him, but still. He’d taken the beatings so you’d sleep safe. 

That was something else, "Lean back, gotta stitch you up." 

He complied as you stood, using your shoulder to nudge the floor lamp so the light was better for you. Even then, you position on the coffee table wasn't cutting it as leaning forward cast a shadow over his chest. Neither was kneeling in front of him, as the gash was too far up his chest for your position to be adequate. You muttered a quick apology as you flitted around him, trying to find the best place to plant yourself. Beside him on the couch might work, but you’d be straining to hold yourself up at that angle and keep your hands steady. 

Bloody-knuckled hands found your waist with amazing precision for a blind man, easily lifting you and placing you over one thigh after he spread his legs a bit wider. He held you steady, angling his eyes to the ceiling to give you the broadest view of his chest. One of your knees pressed into the couch cushion between his legs and the other pressed into the outside of his thigh, caging the his black-clad thigh between your own like a seat. If your weight bothered him, he gave no indication. He did however turn his ear ever so slightly towards you and smirk ever so devilishly, "How’s that?" 

"Very convenient, thanks." You forced your voice to be flat instead of the breathlessness you felt. Stupid charming vigilante. To his credit, it gave you the perfect access without blocking the light. And if you got to feel ever twitch of his insanely muscular thigh between yours? Added benefit. The devil, even bruised and bleeding, was insanely warm and smelled like something out of a terribly sinful romance novel. The manly small of musk and sweat should have been revolting, but the way it mixed with a fading aftershave would have been distracting if you weren’t so focused on the drip of crimson down his toned abdomen. Before your train of thought could derail again, you gave a quiet warning watching your patient steel himself before you began running the needle and thread through the torn skin.  Other than an initial hiss and the clenching of his fists against your waist, he went silent as you worked. 

The two of you sat in an almost tense silence. He could feel how close your face was to his chest, the waves of breaths washing over his skin, the smell of shampoo in your hair faint enough to know you’d put off washing it, the sound of your heartbeat slowing back down after he’d gotten you excited, the slight sound of your teeth worrying the inside of your lip. He knew he shouldn't be here, Claire could have patched him up, probably would have if he asked really nicely. He probably could have if he really tried, but he’d just missed you. Between Fisk and the Hand and the law firm… everything was messy. You were still simple and sweet and far more caring than he thought he deserved, a balm just to be near you. 

"Could you talk to me?" He asked, so quietly you almost missed it in your focus. You tied off another knot, seeing him wince. 

"Hmm?" You hummed, pausing to look up from the half stitched wound. His eyes lowered to your face, his clenched hands at your waist loosening to rub the fabric of your shirt between his fingers. You always wore such soft things, he wondered if you’d be so soft underneath. You took opportunity in the pause to wipe some of the blood from his skin. 

"I’ve missed your voice, even if you want to yell at me or be upset with me, just let me hear it." His voice was like a prayer, so sincere it made you shift on his leg. What was in the holy water at his church? 

"I’m not going to yell at you, honey. I’m not going to kick a man when he’s stabbed." You shook your head, rearranging yourself to get that optimal view again, grazing a gloved finger over a purple bruise on his ribs, "Besides, someone beat me to it." 

He chuckled at the lame joke, leaning his head back against the back of the couch again as you began stitching once more. Instead of scolding him, you caught him up on all the details and minor drama that he’d missed over the last few weeks. The funny things and annoyances from work, things your family had sent you, what your friends had been up to, your opinion on current happenings in the city. He listened to you like it was the most interesting thing he’d heard all year, chiming in with questions and quips of his own. You’d missed his voice too, not that you’d boost his ego by telling him that. 

"There." You finally finished, tying the last stitch and taping a bandage over it. The vigilante under you didn’t make a move to leave, instead his hands kept you still on his lap. You breathed a laugh, moving on to everything else. You removed the old bandages, giving half healed wounds a thorough cleaning. You applied comical Disney bandaids to the more minor cuts on his hands and were even brazen enough to kiss his split knuckles. The vigilante seemed to preen under you attention as you cleaned and applied Vaseline to his busted lip. As if it was too good to be true, his lip twitched downwards as his eye brows furrowed. His face angled away from yours, his unseeing eyes falling on the window he’d come through. 

"You know, the burner phone's been broken for two weeks now. Took the bullet not too long after the yakuza paid you a visit. Couldn't bring myself to throw it away, a little piece of you." He admitted, a pitiful smile twitched up before pulling downward again. He groaned, starting to shift you off his lap, “I shouldn’t be here, it’s not right.”

You allowed yourself to fall to the cushion beside him, but snatched the black shirt away from him before he could make a move for it. He’d been too busy letting his hands linger on your waist. 

“Why not?” You asked sternly, tucking the shirt behind your back as if the vigilante in front of you couldn't probably drop you six ways to Tuesday if he wanted to. Not that he could ever consider raising a hand to you, “You got hurt, I patch you up. Seems right to me.” 

The devil tensed, first leaning away and then leaning really close. His freshly bandaged fingers tapped your knee as if to emphasize his point, “I don’t deserve this kindness. And even if I did, if I could, if I was good, I would stop coming here so you could live in peace.” 

You were a silent for a moment, wanting to make sure your response was exactly how you wanted it to come across.  

“The third time you fell through my window, you told me that if I ever wanted to be left alone, all I’d need to do was change the candle I keep by the window.” You recounted his words. You hadn’t known about his senses at the time, he was still cryptic and mysterious. But you’d never changed the candle, buying new ones of the same scent when it would burn out, “You warned me what might happen. You gave me an out, one that I continuously chose to ignore. You did everything in your power to protect me when that choice had consequences. That was good, because you are good. And good people deserve kindness. You put too much on yourself, honey.”  

As you spoke, you laid your hand over his on your knee, giving it a slight squeeze to convey your own point. The crimefighter listened to your voice, your heartbeat, the quickness of your breath, finding no deceit and even if he didn’t believe you words, it was nice to hear them. Your kindness washed over him, letting him relax for just a second before he shook his head, laughing sarcastically to deflect the dangerously sappy emotions you stirred. You called him honey like it was his name, and part of him wondered that if you knew his name if you would still call him honey. 

“You barely know me, sweetheart.” 

His own nickname slipped out by accident, usually just something he called you in his head when he allowed fantasies about telling you everything, coming home to you as the vigilante and the lawyer, seeing just how far your good grace could take him. His lips quirked up in time with the uptick of your pulse and the way your breath caught for a moment. 

“I know enough to know you deserve some good.” You whispered earnestly, reaching up to graze the Star Wars bandaid you’d stuck across his the cut on his cheekbone. Almost instinctively, he leaned into the touch. You smiled softly, maybe you’d both missed each other a bit. The combined concern for the other and the time between his last visit making you both a little sappy, or at least more honest about it, So, you breathed a laugh, making another lame joke just to earn one of those chuckles you loved so much, “Besides, I know you well enough to have your blood on my hands.” 

But he didn’t laugh, instead, he pulled his face from your palm, his own bandaged hands taking your bloodied gloved hands in his own. Gently, he pressed your hands together, your loose fists creating almost heart like shape as he pressed reverent kisses to each bloody hand. The vigilante was kind always, flirty and joking, occasionally flirtations bordering on something else. But this? This was different, it was new. Intimate. You’d almost feel like a voyeur for watching the scene if it you weren’t playing a starring role. Your mind flashed to those romance novels you’d thought of earlier, this put all of them to shame. So much so that your hands started trembling against his lips. 

He held them tighter, but not in a constrictive, cage like way. More in a ‘let me hold you together’ kind of way before gently peeling the dirty gloves off and, again, kissing your clean hands underneath. His face angled to yours, nothing but sincerity lacing his features. 

"You know my blood better than my own heart does.” 

“God…” You whispered, letting your head fall against his shoulder, your nose nudging his collarbone and your eye lashes fluttering against his neck. His stubbled cheek fell to the crown of your head.  You cleared your throat again, "I know your blood, but not your name. For someone I care so much about, that’s kind of sad.” 

It was the first time you’d ever admitted it out loud in such certain words. The vigilante ran gentle hands up and down your arms, silent as a million thoughts went through his head. You heart was racing, not from lying, but in anticipation. Despite your racing pulse, you seemed almost totally at ease with you skin against his, one of your hands pressed to a bandage on his ribs and the other holding purchase at the waistline of his black pants. Nothing sexual, just the perfect place for your soft hand to land.   

Despite the million thoughts, he really had two options. Keep his secret, and keep you at an arms length, to keep things sweet and simple and not too deep. Or. Let you in a little deeper, he'd swim oceans to keep you afloat. Enjoy your sweetness, even if things were complicated. He kept still, holding you as gently as you had touched him, a promise to himself that he could be gentle and soft, just as he could be lethal and ruthless.  Two sides of a balanced scale.  

Your heart had slowed down again, the soothing motion of his hands on your arm lulling you. You had been worried about his response. You’re confession had gotten too real, you were worried he’d jump out the window and disappear again. And you’d be left with nothing but bloody gloves and the thought that maybe you’d just imagined the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. 

"Matt.” His voice was quiet, just barely above a whisper, “You can call me Matt. Just don’t stop calling me."

[yanderestarangel]

Hii, would you write some soft smut about a Lin Kuei brother/s (could be any brother or all of them, I wouldn't complain, I love them all) something like you having to take care of them because they are injured (like them with an arm cast) and you having to help them with things like bathing, dressing, etc. It could be slow or soft since they're injured, but just giving ideas, love your works 🩷

HEADKANONS MK1 | TAKING CARE OF THE LIN KUEI TRIO | SOFT SMUT EDITION

TW: smut, v!sex, blowjob, afab anatomy, mk1 spoilers about the canon story, mention of fractures, care, slow sex, no pronouns used other than 'you', nsfw text, whining.

A/N: thanks anon, sorry if it strayed a little from what you wanted, i hope you like it.

♡ TOMAS VRBADA ♡ He accidentally broke his arm when he went to do the mission with his brothers, because of Nitara he had one of his joints dislocated when he tried to hold on to the steep wall of Shang Tsung's castles, however, due to the seriousness of the task he had to endure the pain until I got home - It was a horrible scene to see Tomas staggering with his arm hurting and tears in his eyes, and one of the words you can describe him at that moment was: extremely vulnerable.

He asked for your help to find a doctor, but unknown to his brothers, he didn't want to be a burden or appear weak, he just needed you with him. After the doctor carried out the process and immobilized his arm, forcing him to have only one of his useful arms.

Smoke loved being spoiled by you, but in those conditions they made him feel like a burden but you didn't mind taking care of him, after all, he was your husband.

He would ask for help with everything, be it putting on clothes, eating or taking a shower, some things he can do alone but he is a spoiled big boy who loved your hands on him.

And this applies in bed too.

A broken arm won't stop Tomas from wanting to fuck you, he has a high libido, which means being at home and seeing you 24/7 will mess with his head.

As he will be vulnerable, you will have to be careful where he touches.

Bath sex would be the best, with Tomas sitting in the bathtub facing you, his muscular body completely naked and wet from the hot water, while you watched him get hard while you rubbed his body with relaxing massage oils, especially when your fingers touched his abdomen. His erection can be seen by you a short time later, with Vrbada's blue eyes staring at you, he would moan rubbing his body against you - a mixture of physical pain from the injury and also the primordial need to be satisfied by you - There's no way to tell not him pouting and moaning needily for you. Which leads you to have to ride him, in cowgirl position, however, being careful not to force his body too much.

Even if he was in pain, he wasn't going to talk, the heat of your pussy makes him forget any physical pain and even his broken arm, the sight of your body on top of him, breasts bouncing copiously as you ran your hands over his face, ensuring of asking if he's okay with every rhythm of your hips - it was something priceless to him, any pain was literally nothing if he had that feeling forever, being cared for by you, being loved by you.

You would be able to see his face beneath you, eyes slowly closing, the sound of the water entering your ears as you saw Tomas practically sleeping while moaning still inside your wetness, he will babble some things, but unheard of, cut off by the hoarse moans that came out of his throat, he would weakly move his hips upwards, while moaning louder, which wasn't much, after all he was in that state but you could hear an "-I love you" between the lustful whispers, proof that he He wanted you there forever and admired the effort you were making for him, you would see that even though he was "sick" he would make an effort to make you come. "-I want you to cum too my little angel."

Tomas would moan feeling the familiar heat in his balls, cumming a while later with a long, tired groan, emptying his seed inside you. "-I promise that when I'm better, I'll reward you, okay?" He whispers, leaning on your body, taking one of your breasts to his lips, while the two of you hugged each other in the heat of your sweaty and wet bodies.

♡ BI HAN ♡ The cut caused by kung lao in the fight rehearsed by Liu Kang in Mrs. Bo's bar left him with a deeper injury than he initially imagined. However, as was to be expected from the feared grandmaster, he didn't mention it to anyone - anyone other than you - He tried to pretend that the bleeding from his arm wasn't hurting, and that you were being "dramatic" for worrying about it. he.

Bi Han tried to pretend that the pain wasn't affecting him, but late that night you woke up to him literally crying in pain in your shared bed. He was fragile, something that disturbed you, the grand master and your husband were crying like a baby - and soon you realized that he really needed your help.

You quickly called a lin kuei doctor - according to Bi Han he would keep it all a secret so that the dreaded sub zero wouldn't look like a weakling who was crying over a bruise caused by a simple farmer.

Bi Han would have to rest for a few days and this gave him a face you had never known, a vulnerable, sweet and fragile man. He didn't demand anything else, he didn't order or be cocky with you, he simply spoke quietly - "Can you please help me?" "My arm hurts, can you help me eat?" "Can you help me tie up my hair?" - and so on, he let himself be himself, a man who needed and wanted to be taken care of by someone and that someone was you.

It was a new experience, even endearing, he felt slightly strange being at home so much - being so comfortable and without any underlying worries about the clan, just you and him. He would look at you in the reflection of the dressing table mirror, as he watched you comb his long, silky, black hair, even though he had said that he didn't need it - an understatement, obviously he needed it, but not just in a physical sense but in the soul, the His eyes said "please take care of me" even though the spoken words said the opposite. You just said you needed to take care of him, while preventing future protests.

He felt your warm fingers on his cold skin, your eyes full of care and love for him, as your body moved to take something he asked for, for the first time the feeling of lust came along with the voluntary desire to give himself to you, he wasn’t going to dominate you that night, but rather be dominated and taken care of.

And that's how he stopped beneath you, your pussy swallowed every inch of his hard and needy shaft, his arm that was still useful rested on your waist, his lips met yours, he whimpered and whispered sweet things, between messy and raw kisses, the sound of the bed creaking and the wetness of their bodies was loud but low, like a bedtime song from the ancient gods.

Bi Han broke the kiss, looking deep into his eyes, moaning needily with each lustful kiss that his cunt's lips placed on his cock, making him throw his head back and grab the sheets.

"-I love you so much Mmmh-" the grand master moaned as he opened his lips, he didn't even try to push his body for more friction, he just wanted to be there and say all the things he wouldn't normally say because because of his inflated ego, things like:

"-Please never leave my side, always take care of me, I'm nothing without you."

"-I would never leave you dear please, just let me cum and satisfy you."

"-Ah- Fuck... I'm close p-please." - Among other phrases inaudible through the decibels of his hoarse voice, so, he just wanted you to stay riding all night on top of him, beneath the low orange light reflected by the wood, the pain and everything Bi Han felt was forgotten in a box of time, at that moment, he was just a man ready to be loved by you.

♡ KUAI LIANG ♡ The fight with Bi Han left a scar on Kuai's face, but not just that, but several external and internal bruises. Unlike his brothers, he will ask for your help immediately, he will be fragile inside and out - In addition to the insecurity he will have because of the bruise on his face, thinking that you won't find him prettier because of that, so you.

You'll need to comfort him mentally too.

He would need your help to wash the dried blood from his sweaty skin, as he spoke of what happened, with a voice of disappointment and a soul that cried out for contact and love, something that only you could offer him - the first nights after that he he will have a fever, his body is already hot naturally, however, you could see the steam that came out with each contact with the cold water that fell on his body, with each bath, an indication that he was sick, he would stay in your arms , just enjoying your scent while you gave him a bath, he would whisper smiling in your ear how good you made him feel, how special the pyromancer felt with your hands on him.

"-You make me feel like a prince, you know?" Kuai Liang smiled as he brought both calloused hands to your face, taking in every feature he could see, as if you were going to disappear - and he was really afraid of that happening - Liang would smile even more when he saw you join the bath with him, He could already feel his erection pulsing, all the blood that was rushing to his head had already gone to his dick, making him moan.

He would guide his strong, warm arms against your waist, kissing your neck as he moaned softly, pressing his hard length against your ass. "-Please... Take care of me honey, I just need to feel you even more my love." and with that, you understood the message, to take care of him in several different environments, whether sexual or not, since the heat in his body was not just from an inopportune fever but a passion as strong as the fire of hell.

You knelt in front of him, knees aching slightly from the contact with the cold and wet ceramic, he looked at you with expectation and need, while with one hand he weakly guided your head to his pulsing shaft, the oral ministrations would leave him a shaking mess in a short time - due to the sensitivity of his condition, he would whine more than usual -

"-Good job... Yes... Just like that, keep it up please..." he moaned, practically a sentence that could easily be read as an attempt to beg, beg you not to stop.

"-You'll never leave me right? Mmm- I'm just yours, and you're just mine..." He continued as he pushed his hips lightly against your lips, he could stay there forever, looking at you deep down from his eyes while he was fully in your mouth, but he knew it wouldn't last long, hoarse moans and sweet phrases would come out of his throat, while hot and salty jets fell on your tongue, with Kuai Liang breathing heavily in the process. He would look at you again, with a tired and sleepy smile, leaning against the wall.

"-I love being taken care of by you..." was the only thing he said, before pulling you into another hug.

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

[fizzyvitals]

TW/CW: the reality of being disabled

You know I never talk about how much I grieve over my old body. I used to be able to walk up hills, run, stand up without getting dizzy (possible POTS), play tag/chase, and generally be the athletic type until my disability has taken over my body, and it's excruciating to know how much has changed in the last 3-4 years. It's like when COVID hit, my disability hit.

I always had trouble with being "double jointed" but nobody took me serious, and neither did it do anything debilitating at the time. My knee's just popped every time I squatted, my neck would pop, my fingers started to appear "double jointed" but eventually my index finger bones are able to move out of place, and my shoulder shortly started to sublux/dislocate at 11. I got so used to "that's normal" to where it's became my normal, but a painful normal.

I've worked plenty of long shifts without a complaint in the world. I've done it with a knee brace on during plenty of shifts, because if not I wasn't the best worker.

But hey, guess I'll walk until my knees dislocate their last time.

Ciao,

Azhtynn E. Myllo

[justwhumptypethings]

tw: heavy objectification, conditioning, torture, mention of limb death

art piece whumpee.

strung up and injured and hurt to look pretty and literally exist as an art piece in a gallery.

their arms are folded, intertwined with their legs so that their bony arm is twisted around their left leg, the other under the right, the right leg splayed out and upwards farther. their knuckles go red and their body suffers long term damage for being kept in a stress position like that for so long.

they lost feeling a long time ago. When they eat, they get spoonfed by one of the employees at the gallery. People gather around to watch and it becomes part of the art because the employee has to wear something that evokes whatever morbid image they think it’s displaying.

they get let out twice a day- before and after opening and closing- to use the bathroom, and otherwise they’re constantly strung up. their body is in a constant stress position, and both of their shoulders have been dislocated to achieve it for a long, long time. their vocal cords were also cut. whumper would have just cut their tongue, except they thought that had value to add to the piece, in whumpee licking their scabbed chapped lips, or getting their jaw pulled open. they decided to cut their vocal cords instead.

before they got strung up, they had to be turned into an art piece. Whumper scarred them to all hell, not trying to hurt them, but trying to evoke a certain image. their clothes aren’t normal clothes, obviously, they’re the type of thing you’d imagine on a statue. That type of revealing, robe-ish thing.

there’s a little plaque that sits on a stand next to them, with whumper’s name and credits to them, and the name of their website if any viewers want to buy one of their own to keep, and the title of the piece. not their given name, not the name their mother gave them- the title of the piece.

they’ve stopped being able to feel things a long time ago. They almost dislike when they’re let down, because it gives their body just enough time to recoordinate to normal gravity and walking before getting strung back up. they have to start the process of the initial blood rush, followed by the asleep feeling, followed by pain and then numbness. they haven’t been able to feel their feet or their fingers since training. if they do get rescued, they won’t be able to use either- their toes and fingers both look purple, almost black, from the blood- almost like bad hypothermia. it adds to the look. they think their fingers and toes might be dead.

whumper was looking for the type of look you see sometimes in old rennesiance oil paintings, but more tangible. whumpee’s body wasn’t the only thing they worked on- they looked through different types of bonds- ropes, chains, before finally landing on strings. whumpee is a proper art piece to whumper- they spent hours styling and changing whumpee’s clothes, if you could call it that. Whumper spent days sketching and thinking about ways to string up whumpee- which arm and leg should go where to achieve the most pain and blood flow block up, making their knuckles and every one of their bony joints red and swollen.

alternatively, art piece whumpee who’s heavily conditioned. they’re an art piece. that’s all they are. there’s nothing wrong with the way the viewers look at them or touch them or the mocking way they talk to them. they want to be a good art piece. that’s all they are.

human speech sounds garbled in their mind. somehow, whumper’s training managed to make whumpee unlearn language, all human language coming out strange and gibberish to them. they can’t communicate, can’t understand.

the strings are light and clear, and they give enough for whumpee to be able to move and change their position slightly, but they can’t get out. the strings are wrapped too tight around them, further affecting their circulation and biting into their flesh, leaving permeanant scars. the strings don’t give, despite how thin they are, they’re sturdy.

if whumpee does manage to get out of them, somehow, they’ll be decommissioned. A new living art piece will be up a couple months from now. they’ll hand in a heap on the floor, much too dizzy to get away from the security guards.

they’ve long stopped trying to fight it. They’re a touchable exhibit, and so people are allowed to pinch their cheeks and laugh when their eyes widen or touch them however they want as long as they don’t break their strings. People poke them in the sides and laugh when they flinch, looking over at them with terror.

they’re surrounded by objects- paintings and cloth and clay. Beautiful objects, human expression, but objects nonetheless. they’re left there after lights out, just like all the other art pieces, sitting in the dark for 15 hours surrounded by objects just like them until the next employee comes in to open at seven.

they’re the pride and joy of their exhibit.

[jelly-fish-wishes]

Super Mario Bros Content Masterpost

Luigi's Escape Plan

TW // Anxiety attack, Panic Attack, Scopophobia, Eyestrain, Torture, Self Harm, amputation, impalement, suicidal ideation, character death(s)

Comic based on the non existent subplot in the Mario Movie for Luigi's escape with Lumalee and King Penguin.

ACT 1 has 11 posts

ACT 2 has 46 posts

ACT 3 22 posts so far

ONGOING

Dimenchant and Viola

TW // hurt/comfort, [major] character deaths(s), joint dislocation, torture, panic attack, ✨French UwU✨ / BLOOD

An AU where Super Dimentio won and is only keeping Luigi to replace someone he lost a long time ago.

ONGOING

Prologue

Ch 1 - 4 posts so far

Ch 2 - TBA

Ch 3 - TBA

Ch 4 - TBA

ON BREAK

True Power

TW // Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Death

Amphibia inspired Mario Movie comic

Has two endings

FINISHED

The Tears Won't Stop

TW // Major Character Death

Super Paper Mario comic inspired by ep. 9 of Kaiba.

Has two endings

FINISHED

SMB Shenanigans and other random stuff

Peach borrows Luigi’s Phone

A Really Dumb Bowser Animation

Mario and Mr. L

Dimentio and Mr. L

The Beansprout Post (best part about this post are the tags)

Kiss Meme

Luigi X Peasley

Bleck X Tippi

Animation for a @lethalhedgehogs-archive comic

TBA

[fletcherwilbury]

@whumptober Day 5: "It's broken."

Warning for Broken bones, blood, physical abuse, verbal abuse, joint dislocation

[songclangen]

info

hi! this is songclan, a clangen account where i post event updates about my pixel kitty cats. right now i’m updating daily because i’m hyperfocused on this clan and have enough free time to do so but that’s subject to change

see bottom of post for tw tags. anyway, i am not used being super organized with tags so i will definitely fail at being consistent, but the general idea is this:

#songclangen - literally all posts surrounding songclan. other people are allowed to use this as well if they want to post fanart or anything like that! but yeah all events, extra art, memes about songclan etc are in there.

#songclan events - these are the moon event updates based on the game!

(here they are in chronological order, though this works best on desktop!)

#songclan sprites - sprites for characters in songclan. i usually add sprites of new characters than join directly on the event post, but feel free to ask for any sprite you’d like to see anytime, and it will also be under this tag

#songclan lore - i haven’t added much in this tag yet, but it’s basically just canon or headcanons that i write, potentially stories about songclan’s past or present. if anyone sends in an elaborate theory, fanfic or anything of the sort, i might remember to put it here

#songclan allegiances - will add to this one when the time is right (when we get to moon 50)

#songclan polls - i like polls

#songclan art - art of songclan characters that i or someone else makes that isn't an event post

#songclan fic - little stories i write.....and if anyone wants to send some in it'll be here!

#not songclan art - art that i make that isn't of songclan characters

#songclan memes - that sort of thing

#asks - yep. asks. 

HERE is a link to the big prongsloe family tree!

clangen is a game with occasionally quite gruesome events surrounding animal death, sickness, abuse and injury. i assume that most people following my account are familiar with warrior cats and are relatively comfortable with how dark those books can get, so i usually don’t tw tag unless it’s like…pretty darn bad. 

TW tags:

#animal injury - if it’s a relatively gnarly injury with blood and such i’ll most likely tag it, but scratches, dislocated joints and stuff like that most likely won’t be tagged

#animal death - any post where a cat character dies, or if there’s a drawing of a dead fox for example (haven’t drawn anything like that yet but maybe at some point), it will be here. dead prey will not be under this tag

#animal abuse - sometimes there are events where humans hurt cats, posts mentioning that will be under here

if i forget to tag something you definitely think should be under one of these let me know, but yeah warrior cats is occasionally dark. so...expect some occasional darkness.