#amputation tw

[bait-n-switchblade]

commissioned @cupcakeslushie to draw the moment in the apocalypse timeline when leo has to have his arm amputated :)

i always imagined it was an emergency situation and they didn’t have time to prepare, nor did they have any anesthesia (or the training to administer it properly, even if they did have it). so it was a very traumatic moment for him.

[gg-ladybug]

And what if I said that there is a slowly mounting foreshadowing that Alastor might eventually lose an arm? What THEN, fellow clutching-at-imaginary-straws theorists?

Not to mention we JUST watched Emily lose a wing too. It’s not outside the realm of possibility.

Why else is this man’s upper extremities having MULTIPLE close calls in such short notice? If he isn’t two inches away getting something lobbed off with an angelic axe, he’s getting chunks of his extensor muscles ripped out by a shark-dog. SOMETHING is bound to happen one of these days, mark my words.

[noahwhyle]

THE PITT 1.12 (2025) || ER 9.01 (2002)

#90s war flashbacks (requested by anonymous)

[livwifeofkarl]

Our Flag Means Death | Faceless 2.02 | Red Flags

[wolfeyedwitch]

Viaticum, Part 7

The angel has agreed that her wings have to be removed, and the demon has agreed to do it. I'm sure that nothing could possibly go wrong.

The demon and angel both use she/they pronouns.

CW: amputation (not graphic), dubious caretaker, gruff caretaker, miscommunication.

Masterlist

---

The demon turned her attention to the necklaces with the healing charms. She plucked one from the counter, the motion incongruously delicate with the sharp-clawed hand performing it. She held in a closed fist in front of her mouth and sang a wordless note of song. The charm activated with a note of its own, resonating in harmony with the demon's voice. She then looped the cord around the angel's neck and adjusted the pendant so it hung above their left wing. The demon repeated the process with a second charm, placing it above their right wing. She regarded them for a moment, made a face, then activated a third charm.

"I'm using up my good charms on you," she said sourly. Despite the tone, her hands were gentle as she hung the charm around their neck and adjusted it until it lay on their sternum. "These are expensive, you know."

"Mea culpa," they apologized quietly.

The demon snorted. "It's only 'your fault' as far as whatever it is you did to get yourself kicked out, dove. And I suppose this is what healing charms are for, after all. I'll just have to make more."

"You made these?" they asked.

"Try not to sound so surprised there," the demon said dryly.

As rude as it was, they were surprised. Demonic magic and healing weren't things that went hand in hand. That the demon had made such strong healing charms, bending her magic to something it was utterly unsuited for, was impressive.

How powerful was she, to manage such a feat?

The demon sang a few notes; the charms hummed in response.

"Charms are working," she said. "But just to be safe… do you feel this?"

"No," the angel said. The action was an uncomfortable echo of the demon's painfully proven point about the necessity of this operation.

She poked several more spots, asking each time if the angel felt it. They answered truthfully that they didn't.

The demon arranged her tools on a rolling tray. When the angel turned to look, she moved the tray out of their line of sight.

"Keep facing forward," she ordered.

They did, despite how much they wanted to see what was happening.

The demon began to sing as she started her work. The wordless tune was a continuation of the notes she'd sung to activate the charms. It was soft and melancholic, a comfort and a lament at once.

She stopped her song only once, when the angel tried again to turn and see what was happening.

"Turn around," she said. The near-snarl was so different than the soft song that the angel froze instinctively. "Do not look back here."

They obeyed. Having their back to a demon was already frightening. The idea of having their back to an angry demon was terrifying.

"Good," she said, as though praising a hound.

The angel began to weep in fear and frustration as the demon went back to her work. With her song resumed, they couldn't even hear any hints at what might be happening. She could be doing anything to them, and they would have no idea.

Even if they did know, it wasn't as if they would be able to stop her. What did she gain by keeping them unaware? Was it just for her own sick amusement, to see how much she could make them do?

The demon's song ended.

"It's over," she said.

The angel turned slowly, half-expecting another rebuke. None came. Behind them, the demon stood by her rolling tray, now covered with black towels.

"Don't twist too much, or you'll undo my nice work," she ordered. "If you're trying to see what's there, I can show you in a mirror later, but I can just tell you now: it's a whole lot of nothing."

They swallowed hard against a sudden surge of nausea. Nothing, where there used to be…

"I adjusted the charms, so the numbness will wear off soon. Then all the magic can focus on patching you up."

Patched up, as if they were a piece of cloth to mend.

If only it were that easy.

---

"Mea culpa": Literal translation "my fault", used as an apology

For everyone who tagged me in the WIP ask game: the working title of this was "hey hey ho ho those broken wings have got to go". I think I'm funny.

Taglist:

@newbornwhumperfly @whump-tr0pes @badluck990 @pickleking8 @oldspruceinn

@kim-poce @pigeonwhumps @kivutardreams @elfwhump @hollow-whumps

@i-eat-worlds @daggers-and-dangers

[pittresilience]

continued from here {x}

The blast comes back first. Not the sound, just the aftermath. Ringing, sharp and endless, like it is carved into his skull. The air is thick with smoke, heat pressing in from every direction, and the smell, burnt flesh, fuel, something metallic, sticks in the back of his throat until he cannot breathe around it. The ground is wrong beneath him, uneven, soaked, and when his hand presses down to steady himself it comes away slick.

Blood. Too much of it.

“No, no, no.” The words tear out of him, frantic, disjointed as his other hand clamps down hard over his leg, trying to stop something that will not stop. His fingers slip, tightening again, shaking. “Tourniquet. I need a tourniquet.” His head jerks up, eyes wild.

And locks onto a figure in front of him. For a split second, something flickers. Not recognition. Not safety. Fear. Raw. Immediate. The kind that hits before thought, before logic, before anything else can catch up. His pupils blow wide, breath catching hard in his throat as he stares straight at Robby, but he does not see him. Not really. Whatever he is looking at, it is not the man in front of him.

“Hey, where the hell were you?” Jack snaps, voice rough and urgent, but there is a fracture under it now, something unsteady, like he does not trust what he is seeing. His grip tightens again over his leg, shaking harder. “I am hit, I am hit, I cannot.” His breath stutters violently, eyes darting like the scene will not stay still. “Get it tight, higher, higher, you gotta.”

Something else cuts through.

“Corporal.” It rips out of him, sharper this time, edged with panic. His head turns fast, scanning through smoke that is not there, then back again, back to Robby, with that same fear still sitting in his eyes, like he is trying to place him and cannot. “Where is he bleeding from? Tell me where he is bleeding from.” His voice cracks hard, desperation bleeding straight through. “I cannot see. I cannot.”

He tries to move, body not cooperating, but his gaze keeps snapping back to Robby like he is both the only thing there and something he does not fully trust.

“Do not let him bleed out. Do not just stand there. Please!"

@pittmngr

[powerful-owl]

daniel's obviously understandably angry about the arm cutting off thing max wishes he weren't but it makes sense. less reasonable is how pissed daniel gets when he finds out max kept the arm 🙄 it's pragmatic, they'll need it if science finds a way to reattach it later...

"You kept my fucking arm?" Daniel shouts, spinning in a circle. What's left of his arm tries to lift away from his body with the twirl, some sort of fucked up amputational centrifugal force. The bandages begin to unravel, loose because he refuses to let Max redress them. "What do you do with it, Max? Do you jerk off with it? Did you keep my fucking arm because no one else will touch you?"

Max scoffs. "It's you no one will touch, always with your not bathing--"

"Am I supposed to dunk this gash in the fucking brain-eating worm water?"

"I said I would give you a sponge bath--"

"I've got a hole where my fucking arm should be! Maybe you didn't notice--check your fucking mad scientist jar!"

"It's a water cooler. And why would a brain-eating worm eat what's left of your arm? Do you keep your brain in there, Daniel?"

In Max's arm-preserving liquid, the bite is lurid, bloated.

Daniel stabs his one remaining index finger toward Max. "You should have let me fucking die."

[cripplestein]

there's nothing more romantic than having their blood, and their life, in your hands