#dislocated joint

[spooniful-daze]

If dungeons and dragons was real, I would have to roll with disadvantage for every action.

You want to open a jar?

Make a strength check with disadvantage

*Rolls a nat 1 and dislocates wrist”

[callmesteve]

tortured every day (it’s gonna be okay)

Bruce bows his head as his shoulders heave, ropes straining against his wrists. They’re tied up above his head in a way that makes everything from his shoulders up hurt - though that could also be the amount of time he’s been strung up for.

He looks up through his hair. It’s been a long, long few hours - maybe more. There’s no sense of time in this room; no windows, no dripping water, no nothing. There’s him, strung up like a hog, and there’s the captor, lazily walking around the room, and there’s his son.

His son- Damian, curled up on his side, one arm curled around his stomach. His eyes are screwed up and his body tries to shrink in on itself, to give their captor less area to hit. The other arm circles his head as though to protect it.

Or, Bruce and Damian, while out and about, are kidnapped. It’s not a fun time for either of them.

[whump-blog]

Prompt 15

Whumper punishes Whumpee by beating them up. Because of this Whumpee ends up with a dislocated shoulder. But this is no excuse to get lazy and not complete the daily tasks; so now Whumpee has to struggle with the pain and with being able to do everything with only one arm, and making sure everything is perfect if they don't want to be punished again.

[tormentum-ab-intra]

CW: explicit gore, blood, and injury

---------------

“Quit your squirmin'. You’re gonna make it worse.”

Ramses goes still, or as still as he can manage, tearing up fistfuls of grass in an effort to stay grounded. “Fuck you snappin’ at me for?” he asks, voice too strained to carry any real heat. Everything hurts, hurts bad enough to make breathing difficult, but it’s his legs that hurt worst of all. It's almost more than he can handle. And it's taking everything in him to stay this side of sane.

Adrenaline keeps him restless, eyes roving, like the monster that did this to him might still be around. He knows it isn’t, knows it’s dead; he saw Hacksaw kill it. But there’s no telling how quickly another might come along to take its place.

Ramses tries to sit up. He doesn’t get more than an inch off the ground before Cain shoves him back down by the shoulders.

“Hey -- don’t you fuckin’ go anywhere! Gimme your hand,” Cain demands.

Ramses squints up at him. He’s grateful for the way Cain’s blocking out the sun, and mostly grateful for the not-so-gentle offer of comfort.

“Give it here,” Cain repeats. Too tired to argue, Ramses obeys. “Now, you squeeze as hard as you want, break my hand if you gotta, but you hold still. If you move and fuck shit up permanently, I ain’t carrying your damaged ass around.” It’s a lie and they both know it. “Aight?”

The pain becomes unmanageable just as Ramses goes to answer. In the end he can only nod, swallowing down nausea and blinking spots out of his vision.

“Good," Cain says. "Hacks?”

“Yup.” With practiced ease and a quick jerk-shove, Hacksaw puts Ramses’ knee back in its socket. Just as practiced and just as easily, she ignores the strangled cry that comes after.

“There, y’see?” Cain holds his brother’s hand tight, still pinning him by the shoulder. “It’s fixed. You’re good.” It’s about as close to a reassurance as he’s going to give.

“I’m good,” Ramses agrees faintly, trying to convince himself more than them. “‘M good. ‘M fine. I-I’m good. ‘S not that bad.” He squeezes Cain’s hand as hard as he can. Cain squeezes back just as tightly.

“Damn straight! You ain’t a coward. Other leg now, aight?”

Ramses hesitates. “Can you --” He looks at Hacksaw, tries to get his vision to focus enough to tell what she’s thinking. She’s eyeing that badly broken bone, looking none too pleased with the limb’s irregular swollen shape, nor with how it’s pointing in directions it shouldn’t. Ramses follows her gaze and regrets it almost immediately. “Oh shit. Just -- god, fuck, whh -- wait,” he gasps, grabbing for her arm, nearly whimpering. “Hacks, wait, just -- hang on a sec --”

“Hey hey hey, no. Stop it.” Cain leans over so he’s blocking Ramses’ field of vision, cutting off that panicked spiral before it can begin. He’s calm, and scowling the same as ever, and though the sight pisses Ramses off, it’s also somehow reassuring. “Not that bad, remember? You said so, you know so. You wanna sit here with a busted leg forever? Wait for somethin' to swing by and finish the job?”

“Shut up,” Ramses hisses through gritted teeth, but there’s new resolve in the set of his jaw, in the angry tilt of his brow. Before he can lose the nerve, he tells Hacksaw to go ahead.

Problem is, she doesn’t set the bone right away like he’s expecting her to. He thinks the anticipation might be worse than the pain itself. Twice Cain has to remind him to breathe.

“Hacks --”

“I’m workin’ on it. You don’t want me puttin’ it back wrong." She studies the break a moment more, then nods. "Ready?” she asks.

“No -- yeah -- ffffffuck, okay, yeah. Do it.”

Hacksaw puts her hands on his leg and shoves.

Hard.

The feel of flesh and bone shifting beneath her palms is a bad one, but not one she isn’t used to. She’s done this enough times, and had it done to her enough times, to more than know what to expect. That’s what makes it easy to jump out of the way before Ramses can kick her.

Ramses howls, kept from thrashing about only by Cain’s hand and weight on his shoulders, and Hacksaw’s hold on his wrists a moment later.

“Hey -- knock it off, dumbass!"

"You’re gonna hurt yourself!”

It takes a moment before Ramses can listen, before violent struggling can dwindle into feeble squirming. “Th -- fuck -- that’s it, right?” He tips his head back, panting, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “‘S that it? We -- we done now?”

Cain lets go of Ramses’ shoulder, but keeps hold of his hand. “Yeah, kid," he says. "We done.” He and Hacksaw help Ramses sit up, each clapping him on the back with an almost congratulatory air. You made it, the gesture seems to say. You made it. Well done.

“So...” Ramses scrubs at his face, replacing unwanted tears with blood and grime and whatever else is on his hands. “Back to camp now, right?” He can’t stand the thought of moving, but the idea of staying out here, exposed and in the open, is so much worse.

“Gotta splint your leg first,” Hacksaw says. “And I gotta treat your dumbass brother ‘fore I do that.” Really, she should've seen to Cain's wounds before his, and she would've if Cain hadn't damn near bitten her head off for trying.

“Cain?” Ramses turns sharply to look at him. “I miss somethin’? You good?”

“Yeah,” Cain says, "'m fine," but there’s something off about the way he says it, something unsteady about his posture. He looks like he's going to collapse.

Only then does Ramses notice all the blood that’s pooled around them -- blood that isn’t his own. Only then, as Cain slumps over and Hacksaw darts forward to catch him, does he notice the broad and seeping gashes, made by monstrous claws, gouged across Cain’s stomach.

[thatweirdoshep]

Writing Prompt #186

"You could have done that the whole time, couldn't you?"

"Yeah, it's easy, you just gotta, tch," They click their tongue, as their dislocate their thumb. However, the sound does little to hide the ugly popping noise their bones makes, which causes their guard to winces.

[cassicuterat]

FEBUWHUMP DAY VIII: NO ANAESTHESIA (KIRIL)

Kiril knows there's something badly wrong with his shoulder. He knows that it's most likely dislocated, and he knows that leaving it any longer will only cause more damage. His right hand is numb, but the shoulder still burns with pain at even a hint of pressure.

Logically, he should find Kreso, or someone who might help him, but a larger part of him knows that those bridges have been burnt, and they would be more likely to close the door in his face than listen to a request for help. So rather than finding someone to do it for him, he decides to try and reset it himself.

He can survive it. He survived years without any painkillers or anaesthesia, and he can do it again. He's had worse injuries, deeper wounds, and he's managed all of them. If he's gone soft from the readily available drugs, that's his fault and he deserves the pain just as much as Aeron says.

Starting is the hardest part, and he takes almost five minutes just to prepare himself. His back is against the wall, providing something to push against. It's not the most ideal method, but it's the best one that he can come up with through the haze of exhaustion, pain, and fog that seems to have come over his mind.

Pressing the heel of his palm against his shoulder causes white spots to dance in his vision as the pain erupts, but he keeps pushing nonetheless, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to keep breathing. For a few minutes, it seems that nothing is happening, and the pain builds to a level where he almost taps out.

Then, something shifts and an entirely different pain washes through his body. The first thing he notices is a sharp, searing pain, deep in the joint, one that almost knocks the air out of his lungs. The second is the sensation of pins and needles running up and down his arm, accompanied by a twitch in his hand that wasn't there before.

He closes his eyes, breathing through the pain, and forces himself to stay silent.

[youhavewonme]

Dudes I had my first knee full dislocation today and I managed to get it back in myself (mostly out of stubbornness for not wanting to call an ambo) but omggggg the residual pain I've had all day has been so rubbish. All the way from my knee to my ankle. Usually I sublux and the pain goes away like 10-15 mins after but good golly miss molly full dislos are a bastard.

[superspoonie24]

I swear to god the next time someone tells me "you don't look sick", I will pop out my shoulder and let it dangle till it turns blue. Then make them call an ambulance and pay for my medical bills. And maybe slap them with my dislocated arm.