#amputee story

[stoopid-noah]

So on July 14 of 2020 I lost my left middle finger by trying to fetch a ball from my pal's dog he threw over a fence the day before.

Here is the full story:

It was raining and half way over the fence I decided to ditch the idea, since the fence was fairly slippery and I 'didn't want to get hurt' lmao.

So on my way back down I obviously slipped, my ring got caught on the fence and degloved my left middle finger.

I felt a hard tug, no pain at first, tho I had a feeling what just happened... My first thought was: "Do I look at my hand or do I just go home?" Obviously, I looked down and "fuck." was the first thing I said.

I grabbed the bone and remaining flesh with my unharmed hand, to stop the bleeding and looked at my friend (the one with the dog).

I calmly told him: "[Name], don't panic but my finger is gone, call an ambulance. I will lay down on the ground now, okay?" At first he thought I was fucking with him and didn't believe me. Because I stayed strangely calm since he has severe panic attacks and I didn't want him to get one in this situation, since that would be anything but beneficial for the both of us. He only realized I was for real, when he saw red liquid dripping out my hand.

My friend hastily rung all the doorbells of the Apartment building across the street, to ask someone to call an ambulance. (I didn't have my phone on me he had his phone, but forgot that you can call emergency numbers even without mobile credit.)

At one point a guy rode past us on his bike, Martin tried to flag him down, yelling something along the lines of: "Hey, could you please call an ambulance? He (gesturing at me, lying on the ground, bleeding) lost- had an accident." And I'll never forget this mans answer, after throwing one glance at me, in a cheery sing-sang voice he just said: "Noo, I don't have time, sorryy.~" while riding of with the brightest smile. That is still the funniest thing to me lmao. That guy had a great day and was not willing to care for anything or anyone else. Honestly.. Good for him!

Anyways, back to the ambulance-calling problem..

My friend managed to get an old lady to step out on the balcony, where she could see me and she called an ambulance right away.. Well she actually got a little confused and called the police, but they informed the hospital to send an ambulance.

Another lady also approached me to just be there for me, I think. She just rubbed my back and tried to comfort me, which was really sweet. Especially seeing she was the one crying, overwhelmed by the situation. She also shielded me from the rain by covering me with her umbrella. I hope shes okay, she was an absolut Sweetheart.

I was lucky (I guess?) since a woman who lived across the street I was laying on saw me through the window and came to check out what happened. And wouldn't you know, she was a nurse! She introduced herself to me as such, stating: "Hey, I saw you through my window, are you okay? I might be able to help. I'm a nurse and brought my first aid kit, what happened?" So I detailed the incident to her and showed her my injury. Upon seeing my mangled hand she let out an audible gasp and a whispered: "oh, fuck." At which I couldn't help but laugh, saying: " 'oh, fuck'? As a nurse? It's that bad, huh?". She apologized and tried to back paddle a bit, I think she was trying to not freak me out to much, saying something along the lines of: "No, it's just- I just didn't expect that." To which I replied: "Well, to be fair, I  basically had the same reaction, so it's alright." The kind nurse bandaged me up and waited for the ambulance with us.

At that point the pain was pretty bad but not to much to handle. I mainly focused on my friend, constantly telling him to: "Stay calm and breathe!" since "I can't bleed out, so it's alright."

The ambulance (and police) arrived about 15 minutes after the call (they normally would've been there faster but we had a lot of road work in the area at the time). The officers tried to figure out what happened and kept asking weird questions like: "Did your friend pull you down?", "Did the dog eat the finger?" and "Did the dog pull you down?" Etc.. They also 'searched?' for my finger (they basically just looked in and around the bush where it happened from a distance for like thirty seconds lmao) and said they couldn't find it, so no finger saving for me. The EMT's knocked me out with some seriously good shit and drove me to the hospital. At that point the shock settled, I went in and out of consciousness. At the ER they gave me local anesthesia by shoving a needle in my mangled finger and shooting some thick liquid in there... THAT was the most pain I ever felt in my life so far. But right away, just milliseconds after, no pain at all.

In this moment I actually got to look at it in depth for the first time. It looked gnarly. Most of my skin and flesh was gone but the two bigger bones (wich where astonishingly bright white) of the finger as well as the main tendon where still intact. I could actually move my fucking bone-finger!! So I did just that, opening and closing my hand in awe, observing how exactly 'the strings work'. It was fascinating! 

They also took some pictures and I will try to message managed to message the clinic for the photos of the degloved finger because... YES. You can find the link to those photos at the end of this post.

They gave me another local anesthetic, for the operation, this time numbing the whole arm. They couldn't put me under since I've already eaten that day.

Even though my finger couldn't be 'saved' since they 'couldn't find it'. I found the ring three days after the incident tho so that's cool, I guess.

I asked if I was allowed to 'keep' the bones they removed but the doctor said: "That's not allowed, since it's a bio hazard." (Stupid German laws).

They send me home the next day and I got a cute little tattoo after everything healed up nice. (A little pair of scissors on a dashed line, because I'm funny like that.)

When I got home I picked up my dog from my friends apartment (yes, the same friend) and the first thing I said to him was "pew pew" while doing the Spider-Man 'web shooting gesture' with my hand.

I don't really have many long lasting difficulties in regards to the missing finger except for occasional phantom pain or the even worse phantom itch. Both of which mainly occur when the weather switches.

I'm a pretty positive person, so I'm just thankful that it was only one finger and a unessential one, on my non-dominant hand at that.

All in all I'd give the situation a solid 7 /10.

Pos. (+)

The hospital food was good.

The staff was nice.

Neg. (-)

I'm still a little salty about not being able to take my own bones home

I physically cringe every time I think about the incident. (Wich is annoying because I basically live next to the place it happened and have to see that darn fence daily.)

Indiff. (¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

The pain was manageable.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask!

And, as promised: → here ← are pictures of the injury if you're interested!

Unfortunately I don't have any better Pictures or photos, now do I have the digital files of these pictures :(

✧⁠(Sorry for any spelling errors I may have missed, English is not my first language.)✧

[atavist]

Layan Albaz is one of thousands of Palestinian children who had lost limbs in Israeli air strikes since October 7—and one of the very few evacuated to the U.S. for medical care. 

The new Atavist story, COMING TO AMERICA, is now live, and also available in Arabic:

The average U.S. public school has about 550 students. Imagine eight or nine schools in an area roughly the size of Philadelphia where every kid is missing at least one limb. Imagine also that their amputations happened alongside a torrent of other tragedies: the loss of family members, friends, neighbors, schools, houses.

Now imagine that the only hope to reclaim some semblance of physical normalcy required those children to leave home. Gaza’s sole manufacturer of prosthetics and its affiliated rehabilitation center were destroyed in an air strike months ago; as a result, many families of children who have lost limbs are trying to evacuate them so they can receive medical care abroad. Social media is brimming with their desperate pleas, and only a few get what amounts to a lucky ticket for the mortally unlucky: Countries willing to take pediatric amputees from Gaza are doing so in relatively small numbers.

The kids who do find a way out board planes for distant places. In Layan’s case, that place was more than 6,000 miles away from everything and everyone she knew.

[animeandcatholicism]

My biggest hot take

Is that, personally I believe that people should try to avoid body modification unless it's absolutely necessary and to accept themselves as they are.

Ultimately, you don't "fix" yourself by getting cosmetic surgeries and pumping yourself full of hormones or to alter your physical condition in order to achieve some perceived ideal that will "solve" your insecurities. The truth is, you have to accept yourself warts and all and nothing will magically solve that.

The only thing that you can control is how you respond to your own insecurities and often the way you do that is by confronting the reasons for that. Stop going onto social media and looking at people's "perfect lives" or consuming content that tells you what you need in order to be "happy". Talk to your friends and family, join a book club, an in person rpg group,go camping, somewhere that exposes you to the real side of life with as little bs as possible. Heck examine architecture and see how even in its flawed state it's still beautiful.

Understand that despite your flaws, insecurities and misgivings, you too are beautiful.

[yardsards]

concept: grizzled badass action hero with a missing body body part

for a long time it's never explained how they lost that body part. maybe everyone's too intimidated to ask them. or maybe people do ask and they tell different, increasingly outlandish story every time. sword fight. rescuing a baby from a burning building. tortured for information. caught in a bear trap and had to gnaw it off.

eventually it's revealed that nah, there was no accident, it's congenital

[kkkest]

This time it's a horror story, with subtitles. A horror story about a one-legged woman.

[crystal--lungs]

Mania suffers from phantom pains, and Rem tries to help him cope with the pain.

At that moment, Mania realizes that Rem is not insensitive.

[publicdomaindisabledcharacters]

Oswald the rabbit is public domain, and now, trans and a cane-user! In the first short film, Oswald has a detachable leg, which I've decided is a prosthetic :)

Here's a link to the HD version of this file on the web archive for you to download and do whatever you want with. Literally anything!

You can also buy this design from my Threadless store!

[ID: A digital drawing of Oswald the rabbit, a black and white cartoon rabbit on a white background. Oswald has black fur, white shorts, and a white face, with round black eyes and nose. In his left hand, which we see on the right, Oswald is holding a sign that reads, "Disabled trans rights". In his right hand, which we see on the left, Oswald holds a cane with a black tip. Oswald's chest has two top surgery scars from a double mastectomy, and his left leg below the knee has a curved line going across it to mark a prosthetic shin and foot. End ID.]

[bambiraptorx]

i think the funny thing about the early days of my art journey is that my equivalent of the "drawing character with hair over one eye so i don't have to draw the other eye" thing was that sometimes i would do stuff like "i don't wanna draw this character's other hand so they're an amputee now :)"

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Surprise!/Name (Post War)

(A/N: uuuuh, I didn't expect this to reach over 1k words so...I guess it's a fic. I wanted to continue on the babby Fírnen train a little, and officially put down in writing why Islanzadí required Arya to be a crown regent until 2-3 years post war {why Arya and Firnen didn't leave with Eragon and Saphira. I think like a year passes between end of the war and them leaving either way, yeah?}. To put it simply, Iz survived Barst's blow, but it destroyed so much of her arm and shoulder that she lost it at the shoulder joint. Working with Glen helped a lot, but it takes Rhunön a good while to develop, fit and test a prosthetic for her, and it takes Iz a longer time to heal physically and mentally, adapting to this new world as well as her new arm.

But this? This is mostly just cuteness imo. Oh and it's like a sentence, but I'm exploring further effects that use of the Name has. It's not a long term effect but Murtagh, Eragon and Arya all feel/have effects from being in proximity/using it. Cheers!)

~~~

Arya stood outside her mother’s room, staring at the door. It wasn’t without some irony that she was the one there, rather than the other way around. She was sure the scene had played out hundreds of times at her own rooms, Islanzadí waiting for her daughter to shake off whatever effects the war and imprisonment had on her psyche.

She didn’t knock. Just pushed her way in. Shredded the wards the former queen had set to prevent just such a thing from happening with a deft trailing of her fingers. The Name still lingered in her blood, pulsing with each heartbeat. Eragon had reported similar effects, the unintentional reworking of magic at barely a thought. It would have to be studied, but for now…it had uses.

“Go away.” 

Islanzadí’s voice was low and raw. Even from where she sat in the wicker chair with her back to her daughter, Arya could tell she had been crying again. Staring out the hazy half drawn curtains, her remaining hand curled limply in her lap. The blanket around her shoulders hid the new slope her right side ended in, the sudden drop at the end of her collarbone. 

Arya closed the door behind her. “That’s my line.” She couldn’t help the wry tilt to her lips. How odd it was to be on this end of things. “And I know you’ve been asking about where I’ve been.” The grin fell. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have disappeared like that. Especially now.”

Silence hung heavy between them. 

“I’ve been staying at the Crags. Cleaning the place up.” Arya shifted on her feet. It wasn’t exactly true, but it wasn’t a lie either. “I want you to come by and see it.”

“I don’t want to.” Islanzadí’s voice was hollow. “Another time.”

Her daughter sighed. “Glen said you haven’t left your rooms for a week.”

“And you would know that if you ever thought me worthy to speak to.” The sharp barb slapped back. Arya took it without complaint.

Instead she tried a gentle prod. “You need to keep moving. It’ll be worse if you don’t.” The former queen snorted. “Look, mum, I am sorry I didn’t come. There was…something happened. And I wanted to share with you, I did. I still do. But I thought…” The words felt dry on her tongue. “I thought you’d come out. I didn’t think you would need me here. And that was wrong.” 

Islanzadí shifted slightly. It was only to curl in on herself even more than before. “There is nothing out there that I wish to see.”

“You’re being stubborn.”

“Go away, Arya.” 

Arya sighed again. “No. I told you, there is something that I need to share.”

“Go. Away.” There was a growl in the voice this time. Finally. Some kind of emotion. “Leave!”

Despite the anger in her mother’s voice, Arya was smiling. She knelt in the moss and carefully lowered her bag to the floor, shutting the curtains with a word. Islanzadí cursed, but the younger elf paid her no mind as she tugged the drawstring open and helped the bag’s occupant disentangle himself.

‘You’re getting a bit big for this bag, hm?’ A soft pulse of pride at his growth, mirth that he was again being transported as he had when he was inside an egg. ‘Be gentle with her. She’s hurting.’ The nearly two week old hatchling stretched his neck out and bumped his snout against his Rider’s nose.

“Don’t scream.” Was the only warning Arya gave before she let the little dragon clamber all four paws onto her clasped together fists and forearms and helped him launch into the air.

He sailed. Up, over, and promptly folded emerald wings and dropped right into the unsuspecting Islanzadí’s lap.

Islanzadí jolted. Her mouth opened, about to yell a scathing retort at her daughter for being so damn infuriating as to throw something at her, especially when she damn well knew she couldn’t catch anything right then, let alone somethin–

Green. Scales. A set of wings flared out for balance as little talons grasped at her covered knees. Amber eyes, bright, inquisitive, eager, proud, meeting her own.

Dragon. 

That. 

That was a dragon. 

There was a dragon in her lap. 

A small one. A small dragon. A small green dragon. Purring. 

There was a baby dragon in Islanzadí’s lap and her brain was no longer thinking of the feeling of her clenched right hand, her aching shoulder, the new ways her body moved and there was a dragon in her fucking lap and it was flicking the tip of its tail and sniffing her remaining arm and now he was looking straight at her.

A wheeze left the former queen’s chest. 

“What the fuck?” 

The hatchling burbled at her, a big, toothy grin that was somehow oh so familiar. Oh, that was not the first time he had heard that word, no ma’am. 

“Wh…” the words came tumbling out. Elation and shock and even a bit of fear. “Who’re…? Who did you…?”

A pair of hands filled her vision. Just as familiar as that silly little pointy smile. Scuffed, scarred, worked, her daughter’s hands. 

The left palm gleamed with an otherworldly silver mark.

The beaming smile was evident in Arya’s voice. “Surprise!” 

And the emerald hatchling clambered up, careful of her right side, and got nose to nose with his Rider’s mother. 

‘Surprise!’ 

Then, with the proudest puff of his chest, the little hatchling sat back on his haunches. He was getting so good at his words!

‘Fuck!’ 

There was a long silence.

Islanzadí blinked. “Well…that settles any doubt, then.”

“String Bean!” Arya sounded exasperated even through her thoughts. “I told you, you can only say that word when I say that word!”

He looked particularly smug. ‘Fuck.’

Arya dropped her face into a hand. “Fuck.”

“String Bean?” The new Rider peeked from between her fingers. “Please tell me–”

“It’s not permanent.” Arya trailed around the wicker chair and sat with her back braced against the wall below the window. “Actually, it’s part of why we’re here.” She opened her arms slightly in invitation. The dragon dove off her mother’s lap with a chirp and pounced headfirst into the woman’s sternum, eliciting a cough. “He needs a name.”

Islanzadí leaned back and rested her chin on her remaining fist, brows furrowed. “Brom is still here, is he not? Surely he has a wider–”

“We already tried.” Her daughter cut her off. “He didn’t like any of them. The…others. That Eragon left. They didn’t have any he liked either. Ow.” Arya winced at the hatchling’s claws pricking her thigh as he got comfortable. He was certainly growing at a decent pace. 

“Why me, then?” The former queen’s eyes suddenly narrowed. “I cannot allow you to name him after your father.”

“No, no. He’s not got the same…hm, the same presence as he had. He’s different.” Arya rested a hand in the gap of the little one’s spines as he finally settled. “I wanted to ask you before I told him the name of Great Aunt Tenari’s dragon.”

Islanzadí’s eyes brightened at the memory. Her aunt, her father’s sister, had been chosen as a Rider centuries ago. Tenari had been a streak of lightning, a force of nature, in the order’s ranks, driven and more boisterous than many elves dared even during the more freeing time of the golden age’s midpoint. Her dragon had been much the same, a massive teal male with scattered groupings of deep emerald scales that peppered his body like green stars. 

The woman would never forget the feeling of looking into one of his great eyes when she was little. The sunlight that seemed to radiate from their depths, the warmth and booming, rich timbre of his mental voice that felt like laying safe in summer fields of grass and flowers in the Beor mountains, the towering peaks looming above. 

He had been a sight to behold. And even more, he was the perfect companion, the perfect match of energy and light and presence for Tenari. Both so wild and so free, so soaked in the sun and open to the world that they would so eagerly carry on their shoulders if asked.

“I think it would honor them, Tenari and Fírnen both, if this little one wanted to carry on his legacy.” The tilt of Islanzadí’s lips felt almost wistful. If only they could see what had become of their family now, on this very day.

“Fírnen.” Arya tested the name on her tongue, the smile that it brought. How she had yearned to meet him, meet Tenari, after seeing the few fairths that had been saved. She begged Oromis and Glaedr for stories of their adventures and was always disappointed at the meager handful that survived. Tenari and Fírnen, not only Oromis and Glaedr, Brom and his beloved Saphira, had been one of the driving forces for her to take up the fight so young. 

The name felt right. But it was not her decision to make.

“Well?” Arya looked down at the glittering emerald bundle in her lap. “What do you think? Fírnen? As your name?”

The hatchling mulled over it. She could feel him turning the name over in his mind, examining it from different angles. A thread reached out and studied her memories surrounding the name, the fairths she had seen of the teal dragon and her great aunt. 

A soft purr of acceptance vibrated through Arya’s hand draped in the hollow of his spines. The dragon gave a sharp nod, the thoughtful glint still in his eye. ‘Fírnen. Good name. I am Fírnen.’ He nodded again, firm and sure. ‘Good shit.’

“What on earth have you done to him?” Islanzadí’s voice held no anger, just dry amusement.

Arya ignored the comment and lifted Fírnen up, elated. “Fírnen!” She beamed, bright laughter bubbling from her throat. “You have a name now!” Smoke drifted from the sides of her partner’s parted jaws, the same bright beams of sunlight dancing in amber eyes. “Arya and Fírnen! One of the best Dragon and Rider pairs to walk Alagaësia!” Arya laughed again. “No, to Fly! Fírnen, one day we will fly together! That’s incredible! Flying! You and me!” 

Islanzadí couldn’t help her own smile. This. This is what she had wanted to see after so many years. Her daughter, happy. Looking to a future without war. So much had been lost, she had wondered if she would ever see that smile again. 

And even though she could still feel her right hand clenched in an unyielding fist, her elbow bent and shoulder braced against Barst’s blow…Islanzadí knew in that moment, this fleeting piece of time and memory shared with her daughter, her daughter the Rider and the dragon Fírnen. Everything had been gained. 

[babblingfishes]

Tired of seeing this disabled person get harassed for her PSA, so I'm making a separate post:

TW for medical horror/abuse in Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom

In her words: "At the very start of the game, Link is injured, and then wakes up to be told that he has had someone else's dead arm grafted onto him, without consultation or consent, as a 'necessity' to 'save his life'. [The game] lingers on and highlights it and its difference from his body constantly."

(If it is not already obvious why this type of non-consensual medical procedure would be traumatic, it may also benefit you to know that disabled people are sometimes given non-consensual medical procedures in false necessity, and that many real-life upper limb amputees have a higher quality of life one-handed than with a graft.)

[pepawspring]

The Gamble of Flesh

This was a commission! (client wishes to remain anonymous). If you’re interested in commissioning me for a fic/drawing, feel free to reach out —commissions are open!

Wordcount: 2169

In the heart of the crumbling metropolis of Perditia, life revolved around two things: survival and risk. The city had long abandoned any semblance of law and order, and its people had turned to the one constant they could control- luck. From back-alley dice games to extravagant underground casinos, gambling had become the heartbeat of this dystopian society. The stakes had grown so high that money had become obsolete in certain circles. People were betting things far more valuable- time, loyalty, and even pieces of themselves.

Sera leaned back in a worn leather chair, the dim glow of neon signs from the casino's walls casting faint shadows across their sharp features. They had been here for hours, sitting at the most exclusive table in the room- a space reserved for those who had the audacity to wager their very existence. Tonight's game was the highest of all stakes, and for Sera, it was just another night.

Across the table sat their opponent, an older man with a hawk-like face and eyes that glistened with the kind of hunger that came from years of greed and thrill-seeking. The man smirked, pushing his pile of chips forward with slow deliberation.

"Raise," he said, his voice as gravelly as the streets outside. "I think we both know what's on the line here."

Sera studied the cards in their hand- a decent set, but not unbeatable. They looked at the pot on the table, filled not with mere currency but markers representing each player's most valuable assets. Time, freedom, secrets, body parts—all things considered tradable in Perditia's world. The air around the table was thick with tension as the other players, spectators in this brutal game, watched in eerie silence.

With a nonchalant shrug, Sera tossed in their final chip, pushing the pot even higher. The glint in their opponent's eyes grew more vicious. He licked his lips, sensing victory.

"Well, well, Sera. Do you even know what you're playing for anymore?" the man asked, leaning forward. "You've already bet your money, your secrets. Now all that's left is something more... personal."

Without missing a beat, Sera gave a half-smile. "I bet my left leg."

The crowd that had gathered around the table stirred, murmurs rippling through the room. Betting a limb wasn't unheard of, but it was rare, even in a city like this. The man across from Sera raised an eyebrow, as if surprised by the casualness of the offer. He leaned back, crossing his arms.

"Your leg, huh? I wonder how you'll get around without it." he chuckled darkly. "But fine. Accepted."

The cards were revealed. Sera's heart didn't even race when they saw their hand- three of a kind. Not bad, but the old man had a full house. A resounding sigh passed through the crowd as they realized Sera had lost. The man gave a slow, malicious grin, collecting the winnings.

Sera simply leaned back in their chair, exhaling through their nose. There wasn't even a hint of hesitation in their expression.

"You really are something, Sera," the man said, shaking his head in mock admiration. "Losing a limb over a card game, and you barely bat an eye."

Sera's smirk deepened. "What's life without a little excitement?"

And right before they decided to cut off Sera's leg, a memory flashed in their mind, vivid and searing.

Sera had been nine years old, hiding behind a crumbling brick wall in a narrow alley, the sharp scent of damp trash clinging to the air. They'd been out on the streets, scavenging scraps of food like any other day in Perditia, when they heard it- raised voices, the unmistakable tension of a gamble gone wrong.

Curiosity had always been one of Sera's weaknesses, even back then, before they learned how deadly it could be. They peered around the corner, eyes wide, barely breathing, as the scene unfolded.

There were four of them, hunched over a makeshift table with cards strewn across it. Two were thugs, the kind that looked like they lived for violence, their hands twitching toward the pistols at their hips. The third was the dealer, calm and unflinching, flipping the cards with the ease of someone who had watched too many people lose too much. But it was the fourth man- sweating, frantic, and desperate, who held Sera's attention.

The man had gambled something important. His clothes were tattered, and his hands trembled as he laid down his final cards. The thugs laughed, low and cruel, as they threw their winning hands onto the table. The man's face drained of color. He didn't even have a chance to beg for his life before the guns were out.

The gunshot rang out like a hammer falling, the sharp crack echoing off the alley walls. Sera flinched but didn't move from their hiding spot. They watched, frozen, as the man's body slumped to the ground, his blood pooling beneath him, soaking into the dirt.

The thugs didn't care. They stood, their boots crunching on the gravel, and one of them spat on the ground next to the man's lifeless body. The dealer pocketed the winnings, a stack of blood-soaked bills and a rusted keychain, and the three of them walked away like nothing had happened.

Sera stayed hidden, crouched behind that wall for what felt like hours, their heart pounding in their chest. They had always known that gambling was a way of life in Perditia, that it could turn deadly in an instant. But this- this was the first time Sera had seen death dealt so casually, a life extinguished over a hand of cards. It was a lesson burned into their memory, a moment that would define them in the years to come.

When the coast was clear, Sera had crept forward, their small frame tense as they approached the body. The man's eyes were still open, staring up at the darkening sky, empty. Sera stared back, not daring to touch him, but unable to look away. This could be anyone, they thought. This could be me.

The memory faded, but the lingering weight of it stayed with Sera as they blinked back to the present, seated in a dimly lit underground room where the stakes had escalated far beyond money. They had gambled much since that day, but never forgotten the grim reality of what a lost bet could cost.

The man standing before them now, the one with the blade poised to take Sera's leg, was no different from the thugs in that alley. He had no emotion, no remorse. This was just another part of the game for him.

Sera met his gaze, a cold smirk tugging at their lips. They wouldn't beg. They wouldn't flinch. Losing a leg was nothing compared to what they had seen, what they had survived. This was the cost of playing, and Sera had long ago accepted that everything had a price.

The aftermath was handled swiftly. Perditia wasn't a place for mercy or second chances. They had seen this sort of thing before- losing was part of the game, and the consequences were non-negotiable.

Sera stood, offering their left leg with the same grace they showed at the table. No one spoke as a medic was called over, equipped with tools designed for the grim task. The room was eerily quiet as the procedure was set up, and yet Sera remained as calm as if they were getting a tooth pulled.

The old man watched with interest, his cruel smile still etched into his face. "You know, Sera, most people would beg for their life right now."

"I'm not most people," Sera replied coolly.

The medic made quick work of the amputation, their tools sharp and efficient. Sera barely winced as the blade met skin and bone, severing their leg just below the knee. Blood was staunched immediately, and a high-tech bandage was wrapped around the stump to prevent infection. The whole thing was over in minutes.

When it was done, Sera looked down at where their leg had been, a blank expression on their face. They tested their balance for a moment, then gave a wry smile as if nothing had changed.

"Well, that's one way to lose weight," they quipped, their voice dripping with dark humor.

The old man let out a barking laugh. "Unbelievable. You really don't care, do you?"

Sera shrugged, hopping slightly as they adjusted to their new reality. "It's just a leg. I'll manage."

The crowd, stunned by the casualness of the whole affair, slowly began to disperse. The casino went back to its usual hum of games and chatter, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. In Perditia, this was just another night.

———

Days passed, and life in the city continued as usual. Sera navigated the streets with a crutch, moving through the bustling crowds with practiced ease. They had already scheduled an appointment with a back-alley mechanic to craft a prosthetic, one that would suit their lifestyle- something durable, lightweight, and, most importantly, easy to use in a fight.

The loss of their leg hadn't slowed them down much, but there were, of course, adjustments. Sera couldn't chase down leads or run through alleyways with the same speed as before, and the constant phantom pain gnawing at where their leg used to be was an annoying reminder of the cost of their gamble.

But did they regret it? Not for a second.

Sera had always believed that survival in Perditia required more than just luck or skill, it required the ability to accept loss, to embrace it even. They had grown up watching people fall apart when they lost something important, whether it was money, power, or a piece of themselves. Sera refused to be one of those people. To them, life was a game, and losing was just part of it.

One evening, Sera met up with an old friend, a fellow gambler named Lila, who had been out of town during the infamous bet. They met at a rooftop bar, the neon lights of the city flickering below them as they shared drinks and conversation.

"I heard about what happened," Lila said, her tone a mix of concern and curiosity. "You lost your leg in a card game?"

Sera sipped their drink, nodding. "Yep. Got outplayed. Happens."

Lila stared at them for a moment, her brow furrowed. "You don't seem too bothered by it."

Sera shrugged, a smirk tugging at their lips. "It's just a leg, Lila. It's not like I was using it to win any races."

Lila blinked, then chuckled despite herself. "You're serious?"

"Absolutely," Sera leaned back in their chair "Worst part is, I can't even blame it on a bad hand. I knew the odds and still went all in. Guess my leg's got better survival instincts than I do."

"You're insane," Lila shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. "Most people would be devastated."

Sera grinned. "Most people don't know how to lose. Besides, I always wanted a leg up in the game. Just didn't think it'd be this literal."

Lila groaned. "Please stop."

Sera's grin widened. "You walked right into that one. Well, I didn't."

Lila covered her face with her hands, laughing now. "God, you're impossible."

Sera leaned forward, their expression softening slightly. "But seriously, the way I see it, the only way to survive in this city is to roll with the punches. If you get too attached to anything- money, power, limbs- you're setting yourself up for failure. I lost a leg, sure, but I'm still in the game. That's what counts."

Lila considered that for a moment, then raised her glass. "To surviving."

Sera clinked their glass against hers. "To surviving."

———

Weeks passed, and Sera's prosthetic was ready- a sleek, metal limb that hummed softly with every step. It wasn't perfect, but it worked. More importantly, it didn't slow them down. They were back to their old routines, navigating the city's underworld, placing bets, trading information, and occasionally pulling off a heist or two.

The people of Perditia quickly learned that Sera was just as dangerous as ever, if not more so. The loss of their leg hadn't weakened them- it had made them sharper, more focused. Sera wore the prosthetic like a badge of honor, a reminder that they had risked everything and come out the other side.

In the end, Sera's life hadn't changed much. They still gambled, still took risks, still lived on the edge. But now, when people looked at them, they saw someone who had stared down loss and shrugged it off with a smirk. Sera had become a living legend in Perditia- a testament to what it meant to survive in a world that demanded everything.

Because in Perditia, it wasn't about what you had. It was about what you were willing to lose.

And Sera had already proven that they were willing to lose everything.

[confusedwriter404]

> [I'll just fix this when I get home...]

> [Guess my other leg doesn't regenerate anymore. I still need that mechanical one then. Where it it, anyway...?]

> [Oh, there it is.]

> [This is a lot harder to put on without a skin.]

CONTEXT HERE

[dahlia-3199]

Once had a kid in my high school who was born missing an arm, and he was the class clown so this was only an advantage for this kid’s lifestyle. The guy consistently said unexpected things but one of the best stories he told was that when he was younger his mom (the school nurse) had to hide his prosthetic because he would chase his older brother around the house and hit him with it.

He did it so often that he had “arm time” taken away and it was hidden on the top shelf of a closet so he couldn’t reach it.

[afterartist]

My character design skills have not improved in the slightest-

But I spent 6 hours on this rough sketch of the JailBird cast cause I decided that I am gonna rewrite the story (they actually (kinda) look closer to the actual 19-20 collage kid ages they are and not edgy 14 yr old high schoolers now so that’s kinda a win (the uniform doesn’t help but that’s there for lore reasons))

Nyway they have superpowers but have, in turn, been cursed with my same face syndrome big rip

Also here are their og designs from 2017 I hate them never mention these to me again

[internutter]

Challenge #04331-K313: Confidence Boost

The child was missing half their leg, they were lucky to have their life. They no longer smiled, no longer wanted to play, until a kind wizard and hir friends brought a puppy, that only had three legs, that day a child regained hir smile.

Healers can only do so much, when resources are thin and talent is off Adventuring. They do their best, but that is not always ideal. Tobi was doing their absolute level best to try to understand that, but it was very hard.

It was especially hard to be five and a half with only one and a half legs.

The other kids were being mean about it, too. Calling them "Hoppy" or "Peggy" as if in anticipation of Tobi's so-far nonexistent peg leg. So they were more inclined to sit around, lie around, and sulk. Until the arrival of the Hellkin, the Elf, and the Kobold.

[Check the source for the rest of the story]

[cepheusgalaxy]

happy STS! Do you have any little world building details you’d like to share?

oh i DO

from my sci fi story that im not currently working on but >//< i love it

ok, so, *i* call it a cyberpunk story, even though im not sure its actually cyberpunk. it's got a revolution plot, and the protagonist is this girl called Amani.

The country she lives in is called New Ubiracipe (ubiracipe means--checks notes--no, actually, i didnt note what ubiracipe means oops. i remember its somethin related to trees with strong wood. anyhow), and everybody that lives in it is divided in three classes:

The High

The Citizens

The Servants

The high are the burguoise and the governants: They are the powerful rulers, the everything, the owners of the place. The citizens are below the high, and their job is to basically obey. They are my slightly brainwashed middle class. They are taught from elementary school that the society is exactly as it should be, and that the high should be exalted. They have a couple rights and aren't doing very bad in general.

The servants are the poor: the workers, the slaves. They are always subordinated to the high and the citizens, and officialy they have a few laws defending their rights. Not like anybody cares about those but they are there.

There is also an "extra" category, the Pariah, that are the exiled. Rebels, criminals, etc.

By rule, all the Pariah are considered criminals, but most aren't really chased after. The ones who do cause big problems, though, are called Capitálios and have bounties on their heads. They usually lead revolts.

The Law also draws clear distinctions between High, Citizens and Servants. There are very little crimes a High can commit, especially if they are about harming lower class people, but there are a few things that are so harmful to the Nation that not even a high can get away with.

Punishment for the Servants that break the laws for them are pretty severe. The crimes that a Servant can commit include: stealing, assassinating a High or a Citizen, insubordination, harming someone of higher class, rebelling, expressing harmful views about their superiors, work negligence, etc. Depending on the crime, they can be exiled and become Pariahs, beaten, locked away or killed.

For the Citizens, their crimes are classified as either "accidental" or "proposital" and the penalty will vary depending on that. Light or accidental crimes are usually met with fines or confiscation, and more serious crimes with prision, turning them into a Servant or exiling them. Citizens also have a "criminal file" that if they commit a lot of crimes, even if those are judged accidental, they become a Potential Problem and are less likely to be forgiven in the future.

I also have different names for "continents" and "countries", and there are also different social movements that want to overthrow the current system, all with different goals and methods, and a few notes on their fashion code (like in the middle ages, depending on your class, you can't wear certain things). Actually, the worldbuilding document on this wip is sixteen pages long :) idk what i was on back then but i cooked a lot lol.