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#BROKEN BONES
i-eat-worlds · 3 days
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Starcross Chapter 2
Unboxing time!
Content: aftermath of abuse, descriptions of injuries, medical whump, past non-con body mod, broken bones, brief mentions of fictional politics, brief dehumanization, non-sexual nudity, brief mentions of urinary catheters
Free Space, AFS Starcross, 4/5/4763 Ziar peered down into the species containment unit, eyebrows furrowed as she looked at the person confined inside. She turned to her captain. “I’m going to need you to leave, Veya.”
The person was entirely nude, and their body was covered with a seemingly endless number of big, dark bruises. Several tubes protruded from their body, attached to reservoirs of nourishment, fluids, and oxygen, as well as another to remove waste, all responsible for keeping them alive in the tiny chamber. It would be an involved process to get them detached and woken up, and neither of them needed an audience for that.
Behind her, Veya shifted. Ziar could tell she was uncomfortable with the idea of a stranger aboard the ship, but she’d live. The infirmary was her domain, and no one else’s. “I’ll keep you updated. Promise. If there’s some sort of fun new novel parasite, I’ll let it eat me first.”
“Alright.” She chuckled a little bit, turning on her heel to leave. Ziar heard her stop to grab her weapon before thumbing up the stairs to the third level.
“Let’s get you out of there.” Her eyes flicked back over to the display panel, checking their vital signs once more. It gave their species as Human. They were one of the rarer species of the galaxy, and Ziar wasn’t overly familiar with them. However, their vitals seemed to be within normal limits, and the SCU wasn’t screaming loudly at her, so they were probably not awful.
It had been nearly a decade since she had last dealt with stasis units, but waking someone was a hell of a lot easier to manage than induction, so she wasn’t going to complain. She disconnected the feeding and hydration lines, though she left the port connecting device alone. The catheter also stayed in place, though she unattached the collection bag. It was mostly full, and Ziar was glad that they’d gotten to them when they did.
She looked at the panel again, and was surprised to find that Yera had splurged and bought an automatic transfer. All it took was pressing a few buttons to have the levitators float the person from the unit up to a bed. She still had to lug the ventilator around, but that was much preferred to having to carry a person. If Ziar was being honest, though, the person didn’t look like they weighed all that much.
The infirmary’s harsh lighting left nothing hidden as she methodically worked her way down from their head. Their hair had been completely shaved, only a thin layer of fuzz left behind. A dark, bruised ring rimmed their left eye, but the orbit seemed intact. On the right side of their neck, several Yeran letters and numerals were etched into their skin. KM-4682, if she was reading them correctly. Her stomach dropped as she moved on to examining the front side of their chest and abdomen. Their ribs crunched beneath her hands as he felt them, but their chest rose and fell as a single unit and their lungs sounded clear. Shallow cuts and old scars flecked their chest, along with several small bruises. Their left ankle was swollen concerningly, and Ziar was worried it was broken. Blood flow was good, but it should’ve been immobilized before the put into stasis.
On their frontside, that was the most severe injury she could find, but obvious evidence of mistreatment was overwhelming. The skin around their wrists was chapped from over-tight restraints, same as their ankles. And, combined with the electrowhip burns on their thighs, it reminded her of Adaxia in all the wrong ways.
She took a deep breath in, rolling her shoulders back before queueing the bed to roll them onto their side. The electrowhip scars were thicker here, criss-crossing over each other like a knot, but they were much more faded than the ones on their thighs.
Closer inspection soon revealed why.
A thin line of metal protruded from the back of their neck, terminating in some sort of cable port. Further down, on their lower back, was the same device, though a little more robust. They were spinal implants.
What the actual fuck?
Yera was screwing around with some poor soul's nerves. Sure prosthetic technology had advanced, but that had to be absolutely angonzing. What purpose was it even supposed to serve? Had they just done it to see if they could?
Then again, she shouldn’t have expected better from Yera. Or anything Gralla in general.
Furthermore, it was obvious that they hadn’t been taken care of properly. The skin around both was red and puffy, though she didn’t see any discharge. Yet. The implants should’ve been covered with another layer of medical grade, antiseptic dermafibran. It wasn’t like it was too early. She could see where the other incisions had healed completely. Leaving them open like that was unbelievably negligent. She forced herself to take another breath. Anger was not the ally she needed right now.
Just as she laid the person back down at, the intercom beeped. “There's a cruiser approaching us. We need to punch it.” Veya’s voice was steel, despite the stress she had to be under. “You’ve got two minutes while we charge to get stuff tied down.”
Great.
She had just gotten the straps across over their abdomen when the ship’s lightspeed engines revved, and Starcross flung itself off into space.
***
Free Space, YSS Victory, 4/5/4763
Anodyn tisked, hissing at the secretary on the other end of the communicator. “What do you mean it went down?”
The secretary tried to respond, but she cut them off. “I don’t care for whatever excuses he told you to give. I want it made very clear to him that if the asset is not returned, he will pay for his mistakes.”
“Yes Ma’am,” They said, discomfort edging its way into their voice despite their attempts to hide it.
She cut the connection without another word, frustration rolling off her in waves. The program was months behind schedule due to technical issues, and now this. While KM-4682’s implants had been a failure, there was still much to learn from its body. She couldn’t afford this, not if she wanted to keep the program up and running.
Her hand slammed into the lightweight metal of her desk, pain radiating up from her knuckles. This was not how her life’s work was going to be remembered, as a failure. She would bring Yera mech technology, and nothing would stop her. Not the imbeciles she was forced to work with, not time, not money, not the incomprehensible distances between the stars. Nothing.
Smiling, she stood up, straightening her uniform jacket. The door to her office wirred as she left, heading towards the bridge. She would hunt down KM-4682 herself.
And she would not fail, no matter the price.
Taglist: @whump-snob @whump-kia @itsoundslikeafury @emmettland @blackberry-bloody
@whumpacabra @cepheusgalaxy @softvampirewhump @my-little-versaille @pigeonwhumps
@whumped-by-glitter @snaillamp @rainydaywhump @platysaurus @whumpy-daydreams
@whiskygoldwings
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whumpshaped · 4 months
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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
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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
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jasmines-library · 7 months
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Oh, Baby.
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WHUMPTOBER DAY 21. Prompt: Vehicular accident.
Fandom: supernatural.
Summary: on the way back from a hunt, an out of control car veers into yours sending it hurtling off of the path and into a tree, leaving you trapped. Too far from the hospital, the Winchesters are left with the task of getting your body from the car as they wait for Cas to arrive.
Warnings: car crash, dislocated shoulder, broken bones/ribs, blood.
Word count: 1.4K
MASTERLIST ⛤ WHUMPTOBER WORKS
🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸
Dean was driving too fast. His foot was pressed all the way down on the pedal as he let the impala fly down the road. He was drumming along to the rhythm of the music as you and Sam sang. The hunt had been successful and spirits were high. The three of you were looking forward to a hot shower and a warm bed, because the night was cold and an eerie chill hung in the air.
The October chill had cast a fog over the road, which obscured everything further than a few metres ahead, but Baby was nearing Kansas and Dean knew the roads well, so he wasn’t too fussed by the narrow roads.
But what happened next came out of nowhere. Another passing car had skidded off of the road and veered into your lane. It smashed into the left passenger side of Baby, sending her sliding off the path. Your side of the car took the brunt of the impact as it collided with a tree. The motion sent your body sliding roughly into the door with a force that was sure to leave bruises. The glass spiderwebbed and then shattered, raining down hundreds and thousands of tiny glass flakes over your head.
Dean groaned when the car stilled, sitting up abruptly. His chest felt tight where the seat belt had flattened against his ribs, so he fumbled to unclip his seatbelt. As he twisted he caught sight of his brother whose head hung low against his chest. There was glass in his hair and a small cut on his temple.
“Sam.” Dean reached over to shake his brother. “Sammy.”
Sam sat up abruptly but immediately regretted the pull in his side. “What..?”
“Are you ok?” Dean took in the caved in metal, pissed that he would have to rebuild it again.
“Fine.” Sam brushed the glass from his hair as he too surveyed the damage. But his eyes widened and he gripped his brother's arm when he suddenly remembered you in the backseat. “Y/n.”
The two of them manoeuvred their bodies in the small space so that they could face you. Some of the roof had caved in, which made it hard to see, but they managed to make out your unconscious body in the darkness. It was crumpled against the doorframe. Your head rested on the window ledge, hair matted with blood from where it had collided with the frame and scraped against the shards of glass. Your arm hung at a concerning angle, and they were almost 100% sure your shoulder was dislocated, but they couldn’t tell from this angle.
Dean reached over the seat, straining his body but you were too far away for him to reach you, so he tried to call your name. You didn’t move.
Dean cursed and pushed hard on his doors to open it. “See if you can get her door open.”
Sam forced the door open and clambered out of the car as his brother made his way round the crushed bonnet. Half of your door was completely obscured by the tree that had made the car stop spiralling out of control, making it impossible to open the door.
Dean rammed his fist into the side of the car in a fit of rage.
“Fuck! Sam help me move the car.”
The Winchesters shuffled round to the back of the car and began to haul the car away from the tree. It took a great amount of effort and their boots leaving dents in the frosty ground of them to move the impala, but when it finally inched far enough away from the tree and your door was visible, they breathed a sigh of relief. But immediately took it back when they tugged in the misshaped handle and the door didn’t budge.
Then Dean tried to rouse you again, reaching through the window and rousing your body. You whined as all of the pain flooded in at once.
“Sweetheart?”
You twisted your head to glance up at him through droopy eyes. “Dean?”
“It’s us.”
You whimpered as you tried to shift, pinned down by your seatbelt. “Hurts.”
“We know sweetheart. We’re gonna get you out of there. Just hold on for us okay?”
You nodded, but made no noise.
Sam tried the handle again but it was stuck down firmly as if someone had welded the pieces together and then encased them in a layer of concrete just to make sure that they were secure.
He then considered the window. They could pull you out from it but that would run the risk of injuring you further, especially with the shards of glass jutting out from the bottom. It was far from Sam’s first choice, but at the moment it was looking like their only option.
“Give me your jacket.” He reached out a hand to his brother.
“What?” Without his jacket the cold air would bite at Dean’s skin. Sam knew this, but Dean’s jacket was thicker than his and would provide you more protection when they moved you.
“Just give it to me.”
Dean shrugged it off after pocketing his phone and placed it in his brother's hands who then laid it across the bottom of the window and leaned forwards to talk to you.
“Okay Kid I need you to unbuckle your seatbelt. Can you do that for me?”
You fumbled blindly for the buckle, wincing at the tug on your arm and ribs, both of which were already forming dark bruises and were more likely than not broken in some places. You relaxed as the pressure lessened, but without the fabric keeping you in place, your body slumped forwards.
Sam hooked his arm under your shoulders ready to guide you out of the window. “This is gonna hurt sweetheart. I’m sorry.”
When Sam tugged upwards you screamed. Every inch of your body burned as he slid you out of the window. The strain on your shoulder was immense, and the brothers were now certain that it was dislocated.
“Stop.” You begged. “Please.”
Sam’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry but I can’t.”
He pulled you out the last stretch of the window without adding too many cuts to your fragile body, only a few nicks here or there. Dean helped ease you down onto the ground.
“Cas is on his way.” He told his brother, who gave him a brief nod of acknowledgment because his full attention was on you. It was too far to get to the hospital in time.
“We have to pop it back in.” Dean told him, gesturing to your shoulder. “If we leave it like that it’s going to get worse.”
Sam bit his lip. “I know.”
“Please… it hurts” you whimpered. “No more. Please.”
“Just a little bit more and then it’ll stop. I promise.” Sam told you, bracing his hands on your shoulders as Dean leaned you against his chest. You cried into his chest, clinging onto his shirt to hide from the cold.
“You’re doing so well, sweetheart.”
“On three.” Sam said. “One. Two-“
He rolled the joint, forcing it back into place before you had time to brace yourself. You cried out sharply, nursing your arm as tears flooded your cheeks.
Shakily he removed his hands.
“All done, y/n. All done.”
Dean rubbed your back gently and cast a worried gaze at his brother who towered above the two of you.
It was fateful waiting for the flutter of wings. Dean held you close to his chest as you shivered. Whether it was from the pain or the cold he didn’t know, but they had to keep forcing you awake when your eyes drifted shut. As Dean held you, Sam made work of trying to salvage anything from the car. He had found a blanket wedged in the backseat and draped it over your shoulders.
At last, Cas finally appeared.
“I am sorry.” He rattled out. “I came as soon as I could.”
“Can you help her?” Sam asked.
He reached out and placed a gentle hand on your forehead from where a blinding light was emitted and then a wave of calm washed over you, soothing all your aches and pains before you fell asleep against Dean’s chest.
“She should be fine now.” Cas instructed “she just needs to rest.”
“Thank you.” Dean pulled your sleeping form and smiled gently into your hair, glad to still have you by his side for a while longer.
🕸 ⋆ ⁶𖤐⁶ ࣪⋆🕸
<- DAY 21 ⛤ DAY 23 ->
Taglist:
@senjoritanana
@deans-spinster-witch
@amaryllis23
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lucitrius · 7 months
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a couple casualties never hurt anyone, right?
here's my piece to go along with @toxicpineapple's incredible fic "Play To Your Strengths" (read it here on ao3!) and to pair with @training-trio-irl's amazing illustration (find it here!) for the Halloween Big Bang event with the @drv3giftexchangeclub!
please please please go check out their work, i had a blast working with both of them!!!
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eepy-whumpee · 20 days
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cw // broken bones
the scream whumpee doesn't even think about suppressing when whumper snaps a bone in one quick movement... the agony washed with disbelief and betrayal... the animal way of saying "what did you do to me?"
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I think he likes it
(full under the cut for gore/broken bones and eye whump)
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art tag: @kira-the-whump-enthusiast , @whumpsday , @regrets-realization-acceptance , @kixngiggles , @randomlifeunit , @darkthingshappen
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whumpypepsigal · 10 months
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The Witcher s03e06: “Make a friend of this pain, Geralt of Rivia. Today you begin your new life, as my warning to the Continent!”
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cyberwhumper · 8 months
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He could hear them even before they unlocked the heavy chains that protected the gates to the abandoned warehouse. Loud music playing from car speakers, raucous partygoers, and copious amounts of drugs and booze for everyone to enjoy to their heart's content. He listens to them pouring into the building and the noise grows exponentially louder, bouncing off the empty walls and throwing off his ability to perceive sound direction entirely.
As the hours pass and the party shows no sign of dying down, Whiskey almost feels a sense of relief that they would be way too busy with it to harass him instead. He allows himself to relax a little, tries to make his body as comfortable as possible so he can finally get some rest. Before he is even able to close his eyes, the door to his makeshift cell opens and a dozen curious eyes land squarely on him.
Fuck. I'm gonna be the entertainment, aren't I?
Before he could finish that thought or protest, pain overwhelms his senses as Baxter yanks his chain so harshly his ankle starts to bleed again. Everything feels distant and quickly fading away from his vision until he's brought back by a couple of rough slaps across the face.
"You better cut this shit out and stand up, fucker. My guests want to take a look at you!"
"Go.. fu..ck.. yours…–"
His captor kicks him unceremoniously on the bleeding ankle, quickly curbing his typical defiant act. A wave of nausea hits him, and he dry heaves and gags and struggles to not appear like he's completely defeated. Two of Baxter's gang members pull him up by his armpits and drag him out of the cell and across the rugged floors, parading him around like some sort of circus animal. His good foot is scraped and bruised as he desperately tries to push back against them and free himself, but the more he struggles the more exhausted he gets.
"Hey people, gather round!" Baxter pipes up, waving his hands in the air to beckon them closer. "We gonna play a little game!"
He winds up in a dramatic gesture to amp up the crowd and punches Whiskey straight on his broken ribs. He screams in agony, body contorting in involuntary spasms as if trying to protect his wounds was at all possible with his hands tied up above him. Baxter smiles at the excited partygoers.
"First one to make this prick piss himself in pain gets drinks on me for a week. Good luck ladies and gentlemen!"
When morning finally breaks, he's long since stopped screaming.
Tag list: @whumpsday // @demondamage //
If you’re interested in being added to the tag list, please let me know!
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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 ->
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whump3000 · 4 months
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whumpshaped · 4 months
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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.
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green-eyedfirework · 8 days
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vault of death
The Titans Gym gets a new student, which would be fine if she wasn’t the daughter of mob boss Slade Wilson.
Slade threatens Dick when he enrolls Rose that if anything happens to her, he'll talk it out on Dick. Dick refuses to be intimidated. Rose is a delightful little girl and Dick realizes she's lonely in her first class and encourages her to make friends.
Sometime later, Slade stops by one of the classes, is pleased that Rose seems happy. Interrogates Dick, but Dick holds his own. The kids have their first show, the whole Wilson family shows up, Rose is delighted, Slade is happy, everything's good.
In a following class, Rose sprains her wrist. Dick makes sure to wrap it and tells Joey, who picks her up. He agrees to get it checked out.
That night, Dick is attacked after he locks up the gym by a group of goons headed by Grant. They break his arm because "he didn't keep Rose safe" and Dick is taken to Slade.
Dick ends up kneeling in front of a very angry Slade Wilson, clutching his broken arm to his chest, trying not to cry or panic.  Before anyone can say anything, Rose appears and launches herself at Dick, tearfully begging Slade not to hurt her teacher.  Grant tries to pry her away, but she refuses to leave Dick.
Slade finally tells her that no one’s in trouble and Dick will be fine.  Rose is ushered away and Dick waits for the bullet to his head.  Or to his spine, Slade made a promise that Dick would never do gymnastics again if he hurt Rose. Slade instead tells Dick to come with him and Dick thinks he's going to be taken to the docks.
Instead, they end up at the hospital.
When Dick gets home, he finds that his bills have been taken care of and there's a get-well card from Rose on the table along with an unsigned, vaguely threatening note:
Get better soon. Rose misses her favorite teacher.
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aceofwhump · 7 months
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Whumptober 2023
Day 31: Alternate - Broken
Once Upon A Time 2x12
@whumptober @whumptober-archive
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lonesome--hunter · 4 months
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What if they're marched through the forest barefoot?
Their captor ensuring that any escape attempts would be painful and ill advised.
Sticks sticking up out of the ground. Sharp rocks. Roots.
What happens when they decide to just run the second their back is turned? How far do they get?
Are they found bleeding at the bottom of the sloping wooded thicket of trees? Maybe they almost make it to freedom and they get injured?
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the-three-whumpeteers · 10 months
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The whumpee can’t cry, not only because the whumper would torture them mercilessly again, but because any deep breath they take hurt. Broken ribs just made everything worse, and the agony of every other injury just left them miserable on the floor of their cold, merciless cell.
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