#left arm amputation

[amputeewomen]

No hands but super cute and so skillfull with her makeup

[chaikajpeg]

Would you consider drawing chise x joseph?

anon you're not gonna believe what i've been doing the whole day today

[spookyboywhump]

I am of course a big fan of all the scary and violent whump potential that could come from red room whump but whenever I think too much about somebody live-streaming torture I always end up getting ridiculous. Whumper doing give aways if they hit a certain number of views. Telling people to like and subscribe. What platform are they using for this activity. I am making myself laugh.

[invinciblerodent]

[A codex entry reading:

"Elsewhere, around an anatomical sketch:

Reclaimed. Though damaged beyond repair, the Anchor's condition-- used both to mend and destroy-- is fascinating. A detailed study will consume what remains. But it may also yield the final elements that have eluded me."]

Solas stole my fucking hand

[shellysaurus-rex]

about kagura's prosthetic leg

[oopsallmabari]

hm. fully just me musing and it's prob not my place to comment on but i do feel. a way abt so many post-trespasser inquisitors just. having a spirit arm or cool prosthetic or whatever and like yes. it's cool. but like. we all just go to making a new arm? sooooo many ppl just go to making a new arm? what if we just...left it :(

[jessiesjaded]

And now I've condemned myself to a night of fretting by looking up treatment for cat elbow dislocation 🙂

[amputeewomen]

Doing makeup with a hook prosthesis

[a-mythos-series]

|| not valorant stealing my character for a second time lmao

[domitablefocus]

Rhosyn's greatest fear gravestone read, "You can't save them all."

She had meant to disband the Inquisition or hand power over to someone else and go home, but she can't. It has to exist, she has to stand against the tide she knows is coming, she has to save as many as she can.

[keroseneinhalers]

okay good 😭 because this one is insane

so when i was in 9th grade i had this teacher who had memory issues from a head injury shed been given by a student. she often had trouble remembering basic things. THIS WILL BE IMPORTANT LATER. she had this pair of scissors that she'd had for ten years, they were her Favorite Scissors. she loved them.

one day i needed scissors to cut off a hank of my friends hair (long story, they wanted an undercut but their mom was suuuper religious and so. chop) but they wouldnt let me at it until the hallway, id been hyping them up and lowkey pressuring them for the whole class period. i grabbed the closest scissors (teachers Favorite Scissors) and hacked a ponytail of hair off while we walked into the hallway. ponytail went to friend, scissors went in my bag.

the next day, the teacher asks who has the scissors. shes not mad, she just wants to know if anyone took them. she wants them back and won't be upset. i had taken them out at home. they were no longer in my bag. i start sweating. my seatmate, the most perfect and moral girl in the world, middle name "love", turns to me and says, heartbroken, "who would do something like that?" i sweat harder. 'yeah... that's really messed up :(("

this continues for a WEEK. i keep forgetting the moment i get home, then remembering and being wracked by shame the moment i walk into class. my teachers pleas get more and more desperate. shes begging at the start of every class for her scissors. i pretend on multiple occasions to help her look for them. i tell her im sorry someone took them and that it's horrible.

finally, two weeks later, i manage to get them to school. i put them in the corner of the room when no one is looking and wait. after a few minutes, one of my classmates says "hey, are these your scissors?"

my teacher, who has memory issues, looks visibly confused and worried. "i swear i looked there... i must be imagining things, i'm so sorry you guys. i can't believe i didn't see them. im so sorry." THIS IS A 70 YEAR OLD WOMAN WITH MEMORY ISSUES I AM GOING TO HELL. H-E-L-L. i dont speak up. i never came clean about it. she left the school two years later to retire because her father had dementia and she didnt want to get the covid vaccine

this entire story is so greg heffley coded it’s not even funny this could be an entire diary of a whimpy kid b plot but also i want you to know you were 14 and 14 year olds make mistakes much worse than this so give urself so grace it’s okay. u didn’t do it on purpose and even though it went on way longer than it should have you felt bad and returned them and she got her scissors it’s okay. rare nugget of g**kitten love and joy and forgiveness tonight.

[euphorial-docx]

palestinian children are dying of heart attacks and seizures during israeli bombings.

palestinian children have to get their limbs amputated in their homes by their own parents because there are no hospitals left in gaza.

palestinian children and adults are getting infections because of the lack of menstrual products and lack of access to clean water.

palestinian babies are dying before they’re born, or their mothers are dying before they can be delivered.

palestinian babies are being buried under rubble and have to be dug out by civilians.

palestinian children write their own names on their arms so their family will know which dead body is theirs.

these are just the children and babies of gaza. these are the atrocities just for them. there are countless human rights being trampled on by israel and we see it everywhere. i saw all of these things just today.

and yet it’s still a debate on if israel is committing the most heinous of crimes despite being heavily documented. it’s fucking ridiculous.

[ozzgin]

Daitou I love you but I'm going to date your dad

Hah, you have no idea how long I waited for someone to point it out. Although he’s probably for seasoned dilf lovers, given he’s rapidly approaching 50. I still feel like Boss has his own kind of charm, you know?

Yan!Yakuza Boss is the oyabun for one of the biggest Families in Japan. One does not easily reach that kind of prestige, not without a lot of power, charisma, and influence. In his case, it was a combination of raw strength and mad stubbornness that gained him a dedicated following.

You see, there's a particular reason why he adopted Daitou years ago. It wasn't necessarily out of a kind heart, even though he is known for picking up rascals off the streets. The simpler truth is that he saw himself: A misunderstood boy with violent urges and no place to go.

It's easy to see why Boss is loved by everyone. He's less of a leader, and more of a fatherly figure who is ready to fiercely protect his underlings at any moment. His reckless outbursts have turned him into an underground myth of a man who escaped death one too many times. Each scar tells a story.

Despite his tumultuous, bloody past, Boss has always been a cheerful individual. Ridiculously so. When he'd gotten his left arm amputated, he returned to the office the very next day with a smile on his face. "What's with those sad mugs? Told ya I was going to lose some pounds!"

One thing he's never had time for is romance. Hard to juggle a partner when you have a bunch of rowdy criminals under your care. Now he's close to retirement and would prefer to settle down, yet, in his words, "who's gonna care for an ugly old man"? Sure, he'd love a partner to spoil and protect, but he ain't dumb. He sees it everyday, how the civvies cross to the other side of the street, or offer him a deep, fearful bow before scurrying away. No one messes with a yakuza boss.

Except one day, his Daitou shows up with a foreigner youngster behind. The new tenant. He's rather fond of your nonchalance and carelessness. It takes someone mad to casually hang out with the yakuza, and he loves it.

"(Y/N), was it? It's a rough neighborhood you just moved into. You ever get in trouble, just give me a call. I'll personally handle it! Heh, what's the matter? You think an oyabun just sits on his ass all day? My fists will get rusty if I don't throw them around every now and then. Let an old man practice, won't ya?"

[Main Story] | [More Yakuza]

[hivemuthur]

Hello! I hope you’re doing well. I just wanted to say that your writing is absolutely amazing. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d love to make a request. Could u write something super fluffy w vik, just pure, cozy domestic vibes with no work since it’s the weekend—maybe soft morning sex, making and sharing breakfast, taking care of Viktor’s potted plants, grocery shopping, or anything along those lines. And vik realises that taking a break from his work isn’t so bad at all. Thank you so much!

Hi Anon! I guess I shouldn't bother anymore, but sorry for the long wait :v here's some morning sex with Viktor hehe (and they do other things too)

Long Weekend

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! smut + fluff

word count: 2,3K

artist on X

—

Viktor wakes with one arm less than he should have only to realise your head resting in the crease of his elbow acts as a dam holding his blood back from circulating toward his fingers. He wonders, for a moment, what happens there, in his fingertips with all the trapped cells, whether they wither away as his tissues desperately suck out all of the available oxygen or do they squeeze past the press of your cheek, just at a very slow rate.

He connects the tips of his thumb and index finger only to make sure he feels absolutely nothing from the elbow down and wonders again if he should wake you or just shake you off gently. His mind lands on the former, sleep still crusting his eyes as he begins to squeeze his feeling palm between the skin on your cheek and the valley of his joint, accidentally coaxing a protest from your mouth.

“Viki, no,” you groan softly, eyes still closed, brows scrunching. Hand bats his fingers away and he chuckles, voice still hoarse, “Baby, we will have to amputate soon if you don’t free me.”

“Noo,” you whine, wrapping yourself around him like a vice, leg pressing on his belly, arm squeezing between his waist and a mattress, free hand coming to rake through his hair. He sighs, flexing his fingers and elbow, blood crushing back forcefully, almost unpleasantly, as the feeling of thousands of prickling pins surges under his skin, soaking into the muscles.

“That will work,” he says, wrapping his thawing fingers into your hair and scratching your scalp.

“Wait.” You open one eye and throw him a suspicious look. “Are you not trying to flee?”

He shakes his head with a soft smile and presses a kiss to your temple, then sighs. “I promised, did I not? I’m an honourable man.”

You only eye him suspiciously, fully prepared for the I’ll only pop to work for an hour trick. Or the other one, the I forgot something one. You hate them both equally, but you did make him promise, with a hand on his chest and eyes drilled into yours as he repeated the vow word for word after you. Such dramatic means to cage your man at home for two days, if somebody asks you, but desperate times called for desperate methods.

So desperate, that when he folded with an exasperated, “Fine,” it was nearly not enough, so you followed him around the apartment asking constantly, “Do you really promise?” to the point of driving him insane. So he seized your nagging mouth with his, wrapped his hands around you and breathed, “I promise, to everything that’s sacred.” Kissed you some more, kicked your legs so you were the force dragging you both to the bedroom, and then he said, “Shut up already,” with all the love poured into it and then fucked you stupid so you had no more questions left in you.

And now you lay here, promise so far being kept, seeping through Viktor’s arms wrapped around you, his foot tickling yours gently and his stomach rising and falling, your thigh with it.

“Alright then,” you give him the benefit, lowering your head back onto his chest and he chuckles and yawns, loud and wide. You play with the hair curling around his ears, press your nose to the crook of his neck and breathe in the scent of sleep on him.

Heartbeat still slow, pumping lazily, Viktor runs his hand over your thigh, fingers spread wide when he gets to your ass and grabs a handful of flesh, kneading and squeezing. He hums, pats one of the cheeks so you snake up a bit to meet his mouth and you share the morning drool with him, heavy and sticky, before your jaw unlocks and your tongue wakes up properly.

“Hmm, what’s this for?” you ask, rolling your weight onto him, your chests now flush together as you tangle all of your fingers into his hair.

“Just exploring the benefits of sleeping in,” says Viktor, lips curving into a smile, and indeed he is exploring, adjusting your ass to rest on his core and he rocks you gently into another kiss. All so slow, sloppy almost, if the two of you weren’t still carrying the sand of sleep within you, hands dry and warm on each other.

“Please explore further, maybe I will convince you to finally take a vacation.” With that you press yourself down onto him and Viktor grunts out something like a warning, keeping you in place when you try to retreat.

“Let’s start with a long weekend, hmm? Baby steps,” he purrs into your mouth and rolls his hips underneath you, holding you still as he licks the quiet moan off your lips. How sweet it tastes on his tongue when you are all warm and pliant and all he has to do is to just shift a little bit to rub himself on you.

He looks so pretty in the morning glow—sun sinking into the room through the cracks in the curtains paints him in golden stains, plays around his eyes and hair as you run your thumbs through the hollows of his cheeks. You sink back into a kiss. His tongue feels soft, and you melt between breaths, first drops of heat slipping out of you onto his cock.

Ass still in his grasp, you do little to no movement and just let his mouth travel from the corner of your mouth to your chin and jaw, where he sucks, then leaves a shy nip, teeth barely there. You flex your neck under his lips, your back arches more and more until he slides freely between his lower abdomen and your pussy, and you have to bury your face back in his neck.

He cocks his head so that his lips brush your forehead when he utters, “I want you.”

Wordlessly, you lick your palm and reach it between you, fingers wrapping around his cock in a lazy stroke. You press gently on the base, drag your touch to the top and rub his head on your clit, everything in the rhythm of your hips rocking together.

“Tease,” he smirks, and you hum a chuckle into his throat.

What is feels like to have your man unhurried, to not have to grasp his belt in haste and press your face into his crotch in an attempt to keep him home for ten more minutes, indescribable. You could whine to this feeling only, the realisation that you could be at it for hours and nothing will interrupt you, nothing will take him away from you today.

It swells in your chest as you slide him inside you, slowly, inch filling you by inch and Viktor squeezes your ass tighter, guiding you down on him with a slow, breathy exhale, as if this brings him relief. You leech your mouth onto the spot where his jaw is sharpest, then lick his ear to finally kiss it as reverently as you would kiss his mouth.

He exhales deeply and you can feel the stretch travelling up your core. Once he is hilted, you just breathe, adjust to him, teasing him with gentle flex of your muscles and smile each time a pretty sound falls from his lips. For a while it’s just a twitch for twitch, gasp for gasp, a non-verbal conversation happening between your mouths while your bodies negotiate who will make the first move.

Viktor does, bending his knees and spreading your thighs further apart. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and respond with a small roll of your hips, rocking his cock inside you. “Yes,” a quiet praise falls from him as the bond between his hands and your ass is finally severed and the white imprints of where he touched fade into pink. The same touch travels up, stops around your hip to hook in its crease while his other hand strokes the curve of your spine and rests wrapped around the back of your neck.

His touch is warm, still sleepy, every deep breath and slow beat of a heart translates into a squeeze here and there as his fingers sink back into your skin.

“It seems I’ve been missing a lot, hmm?” he hums, extending his fingers to the base of your skull, drawing dozy purrs from you.

“You have no idea,” you say, your mind half-there, half of it concentrated on milking Viktor’s cock and sliding up and down his torso. The usually raw country of his body is so welcoming now, his navel peppered with dark hair grinding underneath you, stomach bellowing slowly into yours until you are all mixed breaths and hands holding each other through each slow thrust.

The buildup is creeping into your muscles gently, swelling, pulsing in your lower belly each time Viktor grunts or moans against your mouth. “So good,” he whispers, eyes closed, his eyelashes dusting over your cheek. With the lapping subtlety of incoming tide the shape of you becomes the shape of him and you both wax into one through this calm completion reached between breaths, praises shared like a secret between your mouths.

You come wrapped around him tightly, and Viktor follows soon after, spilling himself inside you with a few slow thrusts, his face buried in your neck. He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple, arms still holding you close, his body drenched in bliss.

“I will admit,” he murmurs, cradling your head, “this is better than crawling into the lab at seven in the morning.”

“Well, I’m flattered,” you smirk, already busy kissing his neck as he softens inside you. “I’ll have you know this activity comes with coffee, too.”

“Does it now? I don’t see any. I think I’ll have to speak with your manager,” Viktor teases, rolling you both over so that he’s now lying on top of you. “I’ll make the coffee. You stay here,” he mutters, pressing a soft peck to your lips.

“Why?”

“I want to explore this activity further once I’m properly awake,” he says, scrambling out of bed, fastening his brace, and throwing the nearest jumper over his shoulders. It’s yours.

You stretch out lazily, and indeed, when Viktor returns with the coffee pot, you explore the activity further—this time, faster. Until your stomach betrays your other basic human need, making it clear that you both need to eat.

Squeezing oranges for juice is your job, yet you barely press on the fruits, too busy ogling Viktor’s hands as he cracks eggs into the frying pan.

“See something you like?” he teases, and you wonder how he knows without even looking at you.

“Shut up,” you snort, putting more effort into dismembering the oranges.

You eat together, and the stupid grin on your face refuses to fade. You don’t even try to hide it. Viktor only smiles knowingly between bites, though he does his best not to look too triumphant about it. His foot nudges yours under the table, and when you glance up at him, he tilts his head, feigning innocence.

"What’s so amusing?" he asks, dabbing at his lips with a napkin.

"Nothing," you hum, still grinning. "I’m just enjoying this."

He chuckles, shaking his head, but doesn't argue.

The two of you part only for the essentials—morning routines and quick trips to grab fresh clothes—but for the rest of the day, you remain practically attached at the hip. You go out for groceries, Viktor's hand settling on the small of your back as you navigate the market together. He huffs in amusement as you haggle for the best produce, muttering something about your ‘ruthless negotiation tactics,’ but in the end, he lets you have your way.

Back home, you cook side by side, shoulders brushing as you move around the kitchen. Viktor insists he’s a very precise sous-chef, but you catch him sneaking a taste of whatever he’s chopping. “Quality control,” he claims, entirely unapologetic.

By the afternoon, you curl up with a book, your head resting on Viktor’s lap as he absentmindedly strokes your hair. You feel him shift beneath you every so often, his fingers twitching like he’s reaching for a pen, but he never gets up. He never moves toward his work. You’re fairly sure you’ve achieved the impossible—his mind is not consumed by research or equations. Just you. Just this moment.

Evening settles in, golden light spilling through the windows, and Viktor all but drags you back toward the bedroom. You laugh, half-protesting, but his grip is firm, his intent undeniable.

“Has the domestic life won you over already?” you tease.

Viktor hums, tilting his head as if considering. “Almost. Perhaps a little more convincing would work in your favour, though.”

You arch a brow, playing along. “And what’s in it for me?”

A smirk tugs at the corner of Viktor’s lips before he leans in, his breath warm against your ear. “I think I’ve warmed up to the idea of a long weekend,” he murmurs, his voice rich with suggestion. His fingers trail feather-light up your spine, teasing, slow. “I just need… one last push.”

You gasp as his hands find their mark, but before you can retaliate, Viktor sweeps you up into another kiss, effectively ending the conversation in favour of much more persuasive arguments.

When sleep finally claims you both, tangled in each other’s warmth, Viktor realises something. The world did not collapse. The lab did not burn down. His work is still there, waiting, but today... today belonged to something else. To something just as important.

And maybe, just maybe, taking a break isn’t so bad after all.

[ccl-c]

i procrastinated on this for months and it didn't even take that long to finish lol things got very bad at work this year and i just didn't have the energy but i'm really happy with how it turned out!

(edit: thank you so much to everyone enjoying this piece! i'm so happy there are more people thinking about his prosthetic leg.)

some of my favourite details and long self-indulgent ramble below the cut.

as much as i love the unicorn leg in the show i really wish they gave izzy an actual post-amputation swordfight scene, which probably would imply a more practical prosthesis because honestly that candle scene looks very painful and pretty difficult to adapt in combat. so basically i wanted him to have a prosthesis that could work.

for the poses i mostly just took basic right-handed cavalry sabre movements that would need lots of force and/or mobility from the left leg (actually all of them do otherwise he'd lose stability which is a big no but well i did not consider the basic steps nor special ones such as the balestra because they're not very clear to draw. i included a flèche though because i just really, really want to see him do flèches (no more modern rules aha!!); i doubt he'd like it since it's very risky but it would be so fucking awesome. imagine him just darting full-speed at the opponent and passing through them sliding the sabre right between their ribs. the sabre isn't a pointy weapon especially since his is quite curved which makes piercing trickier than slashing (it would be a lot easier with a rapier or an épée; i like to imagine that stede prefers the rapier and makes every opponent who believes rapiers aren't fit for combat reconsider it) but hell that would just look amazing. although looking at it again i probably drew the footwork more like a pass forward …). now thinking about it i should have included a salute because he'd absolutely do that and make everyone do it in unison at the start of training sessions and it's just a cool series of gestures (i haven't gone through the historical documents yet but the salute our historical fencing club do consists of two appels (striking the ground with the forward foot which in izzy's case is the right foot), then raising the sword to the sky, then pulling the guard of the sword near the jaw with the tip pointing upwards, then pointing the sword down forward, usually a bit to the exterior for single-handed swords. this is the short version; we did the complete version of that salute precisely once and i seriously cannot remember either the year it was formalised or how it was done exactly. i think it was somewhere near the end of the 18th century and there was half a step forward and maybe a step on the spot at the beginning. if i ever find it or we ever do it again i'll update here we did it again! the complete version from the 1877 regulation under napoleon iii for the french army, as our master remembers, includes a process of going from standing to a tierce stance in the beginning and it's like this: start from a standing position with heels kept together and the sword to the front pointing downwards, then slowly raise the sword with the arm extended until that the point is about at eye level, bend the arm to finish on the tierce or sixte hand position depending on the sword (sabre and rapier typically use the tierce while épée typically uses the sixte although tierce works too; longsword would also use the sixte unless you're doing the more dramatic guards like porta di ferro or posta della donna and then i guess that's a high seconde if you squint hard? but it's not used in the army lol imagine that. and bayonet has a whole different salute), then start folding the legs while keeping the heels together and when you can't go any lower, move the front foot forward to the en garde feet position. and then tap twice on the ground etc.). also i feel like the dagger doesn't really look right ever since i saw the daggers and little swords at the exhibition about knights in nantes … anyway.

the prosthesis is loosely based on those 16th-century moveable leg prostheses by ambroise paré (on a side note, he made hand prostheses too and i think they're good references for spanish jackie's hand), douglas bly's above-knee prosthesis in the 19th century and modern running prosthetic legs (for the need of explosive force typical in lunges) as well as historical fencing and buhurt (full-armour medieval combat) gears. although i'm horrible at physics and have forgotten what little ergonomics i learned at university so it probably won't work in reality lol.

the text is in french simply because i learned fencing in french and didn't want to make mistakes in the vocabulary. the small words from left to right top to bottom are: motion (movement?), knee (front), knee (back), ankle & foot, locked, flèche (as in fencing; the word itself means “arrow”), unlocked (middle french spelling because i like it and it's not completely anachronistic i guess), lunge, en garde position in tierce (i somehow can't find any fixed way to say this in english; it's just the basic stance with the third hand position). the text on the left is probably quite awkward honestly but i can't not put it there because it's fun lol it reads “leg and foot prosthesis designed for first mate hands, by doctor roach with the assistance of frenchie, realised (built? made? constructed? manufactured?) by black pete and wee john feeney and the entirety of the crew of the revenge under co-captains stede bonnet and edward teach, illustrated by lucius spriggs”. so yes any mistake in there is theirs and not mine lmao (no). the font is very loosely based on my memory of jean jannon's regular and italic typefaces. i adore his italics; it's the prettiest, most delicate italics i've ever seen.

i still have other drawing ideas for ofmd but i'm also into a lot of other things now … i'll probably get to them a few months later.

[thriftyshark530]

For writers that like hurting their characters

(you know who you are)

Any semi serious injury to the arms or legs can be fatal. If an artery is struck the person can bleed out in 2-5 minutes. If an artery is struck then blood will be violently spraying out of the body, as opposed to regular bleeding where the blood just leaks.

A way to stop severe bleeding is with a tourniquet. A proper tourniquet that you would expect to find in any trauma response kit, as using a shirt or anything in your environment as a tourniquet won't be very effective. The tourniquet should be placed a few inches above the wound, and tightened. The tightening process is going to be extremely painful, as it's clamping down hard enough to cut off the blood circulation. Important to note that a limb won't be at risk of being amputated unless the tourniquet has been applied for hours.

Another way to stop severe bleeding is wound packing. This is where you take gauze and fill up a wound with it. The point is to cover the area that's bleeding, so that you can apply pressure to the specific part of the body that's bleeding heavily. Applying pressure directly on top of where the blood is coming from should get it to stop, however this will again be painful for the victim.

Losing blood makes it harder to regulate your body temperature, so it's extremely dangerous to be losing blood in a cold environment. However, a victim can still get cold in warm areas from blood loss, so most trauma response kits will have specific blankets that will help the victim regulate their temperature.

Any wound that punctures the chest area is extremely dangerous. Air will begin filling into the chest cavity, which will leave the lungs with less room to expand. Eventually the lung or lungs will collapse from the lack of room, this is extremely painful. And this will all be even worse if the attack pierced a lung, which will be filling with blood. All of this will make it extremely hard to breathe. There are pads in a trauma response kit that you place over a chest wound, and they're designed to vent air out of the chest cavity while not letting any more air in. However lungs filling up with body fluids is not something you can treat on the field, and will require proper medical attention.

Getting clapped on the ears hurts and can disorient you.

Any impact to the nose will make the sinuses flare up and the eyes water, making a fight more difficult.

Any impact to the back of the skull can be fatal, or cause severe brain damage.

It's extremely easy to rip off a human ear.

The liver is located on the lower right side of the rib cage, it would be on your left side if you were looking at someone else's liver. Any impact there can put any person on the ground, as it's extremely painful to be hit there. Punches to the liver drop many professional boxers.

Kidneys are mostly the same, except they aren't protected by anything at all. Located in the lower back, the kidneys are completely unprotected from any attack. Any impact here can drop someone just like a liver punch. (I was in the gym one time and hit my kidney pretty hard on a bar and almost collapsed from the pain)

A proper punch is thrown in a way to where the knuckles are the only thing that make contact. This is so that all the force is being spread out across a much smaller area, increasing the damage to the victim.

Any impact to the neck can be fatal, and will make a person immediately start choking, making them completely open in a fight.

Removing anything that's impaled into a person will only make them bleed out faster.

Your body will force you to inhale right before drowning, which we all know it burns like hell to have water in your lungs. Plenty of people that have almost drowned have said that their body forced them to take a breath, even if there was no air to breathe.

The brain inhibits your full strength, as we're strong enough to completely rip our muscles. In times of need, the brain will let go of this limitation, basically granting you super strength. There's plenty of cases where someone was able to lift something off of someone, such as a lawn mower or car, but wasn't able to move it at all later on.

While you can live without water for a few days, maybe even longer than 3 depending on a bunch of factors, that is specifically "living". You can expect to see severe side effects of dehydration long before the person dies. Extreme kidney pain, headaches, hallucinations, dry skin, some organ failure ect.

paradoxical sensation is where you're so cold that you actually feel hot. Plenty of people have been in extremely cold environments and started removing their clothes, as they were so cold that they felt like they were burning.

The body will begin to eat itself if it's gone long enough with no food.

You have an extreme lack of depth perception with only 1 eye. You can test this out by walking around and doing tasks with only 1 eye open.

When blood and dirt and anything else gets in the hair, untangling the hair and straightening it out is extremely painful. It may even result in pulling some hair out, it might be better to shave it off if it's bad enough.

Any recent wounds sting when exposed to water, which makes taking a shower a nightmare when you have multiple of these on your body at once.

As popular as the trope is, consciousness has no effect on your survival. The "don't go to sleep" while a character is bleeding out doesn't really help, meaning you can let your character pass out or fall asleep while they're dying. This can lead to a character thinking they won't wake up while they're fighting off sleep, only to wake up in a hospital bed.