#broken hand

[katacaviar]

Headlock🔒

Even with a broken hand, you still push yourself to finish the race, because everyone is watching and you don’t want to be seen as the spoiled rich kid who bought his way into the team.

And alonso will always by your side

[peachsequence]

🤕🩹rp prompts for broken hand vs helping someone with a broken hand

🤕 For the one with the broken hand:

Holding their injured hand close, but always letting the other person adjust the sling

Wincing when they move the wrong way

Struggling to tie their hair back, only for it to fall in their face again… and again

Leaning their head on the other’s shoulder, quietly frustrated

Smiling tiredly when their partner kisses the cast

Sitting silently while the other wraps the hand, but never breaking eye contact

Nudging the other with their cast, playfully demanding attention

Trying to button their shirt one-handed, letting out a sigh, then looking up for help with quiet pleading

Angrily tugging at a stuck zipper with one hand

Spilling a drink all over themselves

Trying to open a bag of chips with their good hand and their teeth

Knocking over a bottle, watching it roll away, and dramatically giving up on life for a second

Balancing items precariously in their arms and refusing to admit they need help

🩹 For the one helping:

Gently adjusting the sling, fingers brushing against their collarbone

Writing or drawing something cute on their cast

Helping them put on a jacket, whispering “I’ve got you” as they guide the sleeve

Carefully braiding their hair or tying it up so they don’t have to struggle

Tracing the edge of the cast absentmindedly while they talk

Resting their forehead against theirs while checking the swelling

Unscrewing the cap of their water bottle and handing it back without a word

Holding their toothbrush steady while they apply toothpaste with their good hand

Opening stubborn jars or snack bags

Gently wiping their glasses clean for them, holding them up to the light to check

Carrying their bag/equipment without being asked, just casually slipping it over their own shoulder

Helping them dry off after a shower 😏

[xionandpluto14]

Thinking about a female villain getting really close to the hero (in a flirty way) and linking her fingers with theirs and squeezing their hand until it breaks

So anyway how are you guys doing

[writing-whump]

At your pace

Isaiah with a hurt hand calls Matthew to pick him up.

Matthew was getting frantic.

It was like Isaiah to disappear for the afternoon or the day. But it wasn't like him not to answer his phone, when he was doing it.

After a pile of unseen messages, calls going straight to voicemail, Matthew was on the edge enough to walk in circles in the living room. What was he supposed to do? Go to the uni and track him by scent or what?

He didn't want to worry Seline just yet. Maybe it would be fine. Worst case, they could use her magic to track him down.

Maybe Matthew was overreacting. Isaiah could take care of himself. Better than any of them. He would not be happy that Matthew was doubting that.

Capable or not, Isaiah had been acting weird lately. Since that weird visit from the wolf that wouldn't even come upstairs, he had been absent from home more, packing more meetings in one day, making more calls. Like he was trying to prove something to himself.

It was just this one week, but Matthew wondered if someone shouldn't speak up about it.

And then this happened.

A sound from his tone got his attention. It was't a message, exactly, but it was from Isaiah. Sharing a location.

Matthew was out the door before he even registered where he was going.

A hole in the middle of freaking nowhere, that's where it was. A train stop at a small village, between the tracks and the field, under a hill. That was where he found him.

Isaiah was lying in the grass, like this was a field trip, long coat sprawled around him. He looked surprisingly calm for that position. Like part of vegetation.

Matthew let the car open, not hearing anyone close by to worry about, sprinting to his pack leader.

"Do they have no benches here? What happened?" he asked as he knelt down next to Isaiah with a frown. The black-haired wolf didn't seem injured, but he was pale in the setting sun.

"Ah, well. Got a little thrown out from the train."

"You did what now?" Matthew hovered his hands over him, but he couldn't smell any blood. Why wasn't Isaiah getting up then? He grabbed him by the shoulder, lifting him up carefully.

Isaiah made a sour face, but went with the movement, grinding his teeth together.

"What hurts?" Matthew said with a grunt, nervous he couldn't see the cause, when something was clearly wrong.

"I'm fine. Sorry you had to-"

"Don't give me that crap," Matthew scowled. "What are you doing so far away from the city anyway?"

"Met some troublemakers at the station...worried for what they would do on the train... that's Seline's train, you know-"

"She doesn't take that train anymore," Matthew said with an eye roll, hooking his arm under Isaiah's elbow to get him up.

"Still a bunch of wolves," Isaiah said, hissing as Matthew dragged him up to his feet. "Dangerous group on a trip."

"Great. And you just had to get involved."

Isaiah gave him a sly half-smile. "They are handled enough. Rolled down shadows, smashed faces."

That was when Matthew noticed Isaiah held his right hand carefully against his side, not moving it one bit. It looked limp and useless.

"What's up with your arm? Why is it not healing?"

Isaiah shook his head as if he didn't want to answer that. He made a step forward, swayed, all his weight immediately going on Matthew who threw his left arm around his shoulder.

"You don't have to do that with me," Matthew said quietly as he slowly led him towards the car. Isaiah tensed at weird moments, stopping and gasping before each step.

"Do what?" Isaiah said with a strained smile, lips held tightly together.

"Don't play tough. I'm not one of your little brothers. I can handle it."

Isaiah let out a shaky breath, looking away. If to hide his expression for the pain or another emotion, Matt wasn't sure.

"Hold on," Matthew said, freeing one hand so he could open the passenger door for Isaiah, sliding him in. The sun slowly set, basking the car and the station in bloody red hues.

Isaiah sat down obediently but kept his legs out of the car. He his head against his good palm. His right hand was still pressed to his side uselessly.

Matthew leaned against the door next to him, not sure how to proceed. "Your arm bothering you?" he asked quietly as if it was a secret. Isaiah could be really stubborn when it came to asking for help. How long did he lay there in the grass, not being able to get up on his own, before calling for him?

Isaiah's breathing picked up and he pitched more forward over his knees. Matthew couldn't help planting a hand on his back as if he could hold him in place against whatever he was struggling with.

Matthew was not a patient guy.

He had a short fuse, anger being a comforting emotion to him in its familiarity. While his temper was getting better, he felt a strong urge to shake his best friend to get some answers. Could this be related to his heart again? Was something wrong with his shadow? Was he just being an ass, scaring him?

The red wolf also hated that he couldn't figure out the right thing to say. Isaiah would certainly be able to say just the right thing. Something comforting and coaxing. He always managed to make Matthew voice his concerns and plights, even though Matthew was prideful about them as well.

But there was nothing to do against Isaiah's silence. Matthew felt like, from experience, more prodding would just add more walls, more protests, and more denial. Like with that heart issue that he never managed to convince Isaiah to take seriously.

So Matthew bit his lip, swallowed a growl and tried to be patient. His shadow, however, had different ideas. It sprung up, uninvited, blowing up on the ground around the car. Angry tentacles of shadow.

Isaiah lifted his head to look at him then, something tired and resigned on his face.

"You sure you can't even tell me their names?" Matthew said, pressing his fists together. "I want to kill them so bad for this."

Isaiah made a soft sound. Matthew looked down, realizing only by the expression it was a laugh.

"That's your biggest concern?" Isaiah sounded amused.

"Hey! Of course it is! What else would I-"

Isaiah suddenly pitched forward over his legs with a heave.

Matthew forgot his shadow and his anger that second, grabbing his left arm to steady him as a small gush of watery vomit sprayed from his lips.

"Okay, okay. Wasn't expecting that one," Matthew admitted, taking a fist of Isaiah's coat at his back to hold him upwards as he retched up more liquid. It wasn't much, just two more mouthfuls. Matthew understood now why he didn't want to get into the car. "Did you get concussed or something?"

Isaiah spat on the ground, wincing as he leaned back again. He dragged his left sleeve over his mouth, panting for breath. "No. Sorry. Hurts too much."

Matthew crouched down in front of him, ignoring the small puke puddle. "Can I see that arm now?"

Isaiah's eyebrows pulled together in a pained frown. "Broken. On many spots. It's taking time to heal." He gave Matthew another of those pained smiles, like he was trying to be okay with all his might, when he wasn't. "So many little bones to break in a hand."

Matthew got to his feet so he could put his hand on Isaiah's shoulder. It was still heaving with quick breaths. "Wanna go home to put some ice on it?" Hey, that was an idea of his own that could help. Finally.

Isaiah was quiet again, just panting for breath, looking down. Matthew's skin was crawling from how slow it was going. They could have been on the road a minute after he arrived, could have iced the hand and put Isaiah to bed instead of this awkward eternal little sundown show-

Isaiah suddenly leaned his head forward to press it against Matthew's stomach. His shoulders didn't quite relax, but they were a little less tense. One of his hands went up, hooking two fingers into Matthew's shirt.

Matthew sighed, putting a hand on Isaiah's nape. It was sweaty and over warm, pieces of grass stuck to the collar.

"Can't move my right arm," Isaiah said quietly. That was the most pained his voice sounded until now.

Matthew waited, afraid to move.

"Still- still feel really sick."

Matthew tightened his grip on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I- I'm going to cause a lot more trouble for you."

Matthew rolled his eyes. Jesus Christ, he so didn't care about that. He rubbed his thump up and down Isaiah's neck, a little stunned how vulnerable the position was. How much Isaiah just gave himself over to him.

He wanted to say something sensitive, but he so didn't know what. That it was okay? That it didn't matter to him?

"Hey, Zaya?"

Isaiah took a shuddering breath. "Yeah?" Like he was bracing himself for bad news.

"Take me with you next time."

Isaiah made a little sound at the back of his throat, somewhere between a sigh and a sob. Matthew held him further, figuring that was maybe the right thing to say.

[blenderheadill]

Broken Hand

by my broken hand.

Art is suffering.

[kcowgill]

It’s been a minute, huh? Let’s catch up.

My daughter (blue) and her friend on Halloween. Later that night my wife broke her hand. She’s better now.

We went on a road trip for Thanksgiving. With the dogs. Packed them in the back with our luggage on my roof rack. We brought their crates because the Air BnB’s had that stipulation. On the way back I tried putting their crates UNDER them. It didn’t work very well. I later put one crate back on top.

And Christmastime. The pups got into the spirit.

Next up is Christmastime part 2.

[butwhatifyouwrite]

Molly’s Redemption Chapter 14

Masterlist is here.

cw:  pain, intimate whumper, kidnapping, attempted escape, failed escape, emesis, broken hand, very brief and vague field medicine in the context of tending to wounds, very brief physical violence.

As always if I have missed something please let me know!

Tag list; @whump-tr0pes @whatwhumpcomments @whumpsblog

If anyone would like to be added to or removed from a tag list please just let me know!

Chapter 14: Try to Run

The guard had come in at some point, although how much time had actually passed was a mystery. He had taken his time, almost gently caring for Molly’s wounds. Cleaning. Bandaging. Molly was barely conscious as he worked, hissing in breath occasionally at the sting of antiseptic or the ache of pressure on fresh wounds, then lulling back into a state just between the world of the conscious and living and the dead. Any attempt to lift her head sent a wave of dizziness over Molly that threatened to drown her alive.

The guard didn’t talk as he worked, giving Molly peace. Peace that only existed in the silence. He finished tending to Molly and untied her hands, setting a bottle of water and some food on the floor next to her before grabbing the rest of his supplies and leaving just as quietly as he had come. The door clicked closed softly and Molly is every so faintly aware of his footsteps echoing down the hall, then fading back into silence.

Slowly Molly drifts back to herself. Pain pounds down as she returns to her senses, and threatens to drag her under again. Something nags at her mind floating at the edge of her awareness. 

Finally her thoughts begin to come more clearly again and she is able to lift her head. She tries to straighten some, wincing as it pulls on the marks on her back.  Slowly she leans down and grabs the water in one hand, licking at chapped lips as she works to get the bottle open, then raises it to her lips, letting the cool water wash down her throat slowly. Slow sip after slow sip she drains the bottle, letting it drop to the floor she pauses for a brief second and then reaches for the food. 

It’s simple, just a sandwich and a granola bar but her stomach grumbles. She has no idea how long it has been since she has had something to eat and she scarfs the sandwich down quickly then does the same with the granola bar. Damn, it might have been a good idea to save some of that water. 

She sits for a time, rolling her wrists and stretching lightly, trying to find a position that does not provoke pain. A thought solidifies in her brain as it whirls through thoughts and memories. I have to get out of here. Elliot may know I’m alive but he has no clue where I am. I have to get out of here. 

Her eyes dart to the door, expecting Allegra to come marching through it at any moment as if summoned by her thoughts of escape. She sits as still as possible for a moment, listening for any sounds outside the door. Footsteps, voices, anything that might tell her Allegra is back. All she hears is her own heart beating in the silence of the room. Molly reaches down slowly to begin working on the knots still tying her to the chair. She winces again, each movement sends pain sparking through her body like fireworks in a Fourth of July sky. Suck it up. You have to get out of here. 

Molly’s eyes dart back and forth from her fingers which are frantically scrabbling at the expertly tied knots to the door, praying to a god she stopped believing in years ago that no one comes through the door. One rope falls loose and she shifts to work on the next one, groaning as she slowly stretches a knee that has been bent for hours.  Another few moments in which she hardly dares to breathe and the rope around her other leg falls free. 

She stretches that leg as well before trusting her legs to hold her. Slowly she pushes herself to a standing position. The room spins around her and she grabs the back of the chair to steady herself. Pulling in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, only too aware of each second ticking by. With each breath she is seconds closer to Allegra coming back and discovering her. She pushes another slow breath out between pursed lips, willing herself to steady. Willing the room to stop spinning. I have to get out of here. I have to. Finally the room comes back into focus. Nausea hits and she doubles over the chair, vomiting up her recent meal. Dammit I really should have saved some of that water.

Molly stays there for a moment, letting the nausea pass. When it finally does she straightens up slowly, her nose curling at the smell and sour taste in her mouth. She takes small hesitant steps towards the door, trying to make her footsteps as quiet as possible and willing the world around her to stay still. Finally, she reaches the door, grabbing quietly for the handle. She tries the door, turning the handle slowly and lets out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding when the door handle turns freely and quietly in her hand. The thought that had been floating at the edges of her mind earlier comes back to her now. He didn’t lock the door.

She pulls the door open the tiniest amount, then pauses to listen, peering through the tiny crack in the door. Precious seconds tick by and her heart speeds up in her chest. There is no one outside the door and she can’t hear anyone beyond that. She pushes the door open slowly until it is open just enough for her to slip out. Once she is in the hall she closes the door as quietly as possible and looks around. She is standing in a hallway lit by fluorescent lights with a door on either end. She pauses for a moment. Which way? Which way? Which way? I have to get out of here. Her thoughts chase each other, tumbling clumsily in her brain, making decisions difficult.

Molly makes a decision and heads towards the door on the right. Moving hurts and any movement that is even slightly too fast makes the world start to spin again. Words pound through her foggy brain like a chant, or a chorus. I have to get out of here.

Cautiously she makes her way to the door and opens it. The hinges squeak slightly and she winces at the sound, nearly dropping the door. She slides through and finds herself in a large open room. It may once have been a large warehouse. Now, it’s cold and empty with no where to hide. She shrinks back agains the door as much as she can, and looks around taking in her surroundings. On the opposite side of the large empty room is a door. Above it, and barely visible is a long burnt out exit sign. A rush of emotion floods through her and for the first time she lets herself hope. I’m gonna get out of here. Molly glances around one more time, making sure her surrounding are clear. She takes a deep breath, and begins to make her way towards the door that promises her freedom.

Fifty feet… then thirty… then twenty… then ten. She swears she can see sunlight under the door, eyes focused on her target. I’m gonna get out of here.

She doesn’t even have time to process the sound of approaching footsteps behind her before she feels a cold hand grab her shoulder and she is spun around roughly. A hand connects with her face, whipping her head sideways and knocking her off balance. Another blow sends her sprawling on her back. She reaches a hand out to steady herself, to try and push herself back to her feet. A high heeled boot comes down hard on her hand and she cries out. Her cry is cut off by a hand in her hair and a hand around her throat.

“Now darling, where exactly do you think you’re going?” Allegra croons, eye shards of ice peering down between long lashes. “You should know better than to try to run.”

[incorrect-blue-bloods]

Teacher: if you have ten cookies, and someone takes half of them away, what do they have?

Seven year old Danny: a broken hand