#painful prosthetic
A story! A story!
Tagging:@just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi (cuz I know u like winged whumpees) @unicornscotty@cowboy-anon@sideblogformindtrash
TW: wing whump, amputee whumpee, painful prosthetic, kinda medical whump, technician whumper, blood tw
Winged Atrocity
A string of curses poured from his mouth as he brushed dirt and torn up grass off his chest. Looking up to the sky where he’d just been flying above the trees and now, now his stupid wing had broken on him again. He hated it, hated the faulty technology and shit design that allowed him to fly again. He stretched out his real wing to inspect it for damages, the webbing and bones seemed to be fine.
Next he turned his attention to the fake one, a prototype and technical marvel in its own right. He stretched it out too, the webbing between the metal ‘bones’ was ripped again and the main support seemed to be frozen up again. His hands wrapped around the metal and fabric, shoving it away from his body in frustration and immediately regretted it. The mechanical wing pulled at his muscles and skin, with it being broken it was dead weight hanging from his back.
His sharp canines dug into his lip until the foul taste of metal reached his taste buds. Finally the pain seemed to dull, if only from a sharp pain to a throbbing one to give him a chance at folding the faulty tech up. A few straps from his bag and the piece of junk that could barely be called a wing was folded safely against his back. He looked skyward, toward where he’d come from and started walking. It’d be a long few miles.
————–
“Ah you’re back, Myr. I was beginning to think you got lost.” A voice said with a laugh as he opened the front door.
“Don’t act all friendly Bjorn, you fucked up my wing again. Now fix it.” He snapped.
“Polite today, aren’t we?… fine, on the bench with you.” The man said and patted a steel table he’d been working at.
Myr winced as he manually moved his false wing behind him to sit, the sharp pain returning in full force. His fingers gripped the table, squeezing what ounce of life it may have had out of it as Bjorn undid the straps holding it closed.
“Must you be so rough?!” Myr snapped.
“I haven’t even started, relax.” Bjorn bit back and purposely jostled the defective wing.
His sharp teeth grit from the pain, it made his muscles strain and pull. Every little movement, adjustment, and touch only brought more discomfort as the man behind him fixed his wing.
“Looks like you shredded the hinges and snapped a cable…. Again. You do realize this thing isn’t easy to fix and you go around breaking it every chance you get.”
“If you made it sturdy, like I’ve asked you to… multiple times, it wouldn’t be a problem. It’s not like a piece of art, Bjorn. It’s meant to be a part of my body.”
“I can rip it off, leave you completely vulnerable and useless. Is that what you’d rather, Myr?!” He snapped back and to prove his point, yanked on the tender base of the wing.
Myr muffled his scream, biting deep into his fist until he tasted blood. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision until they became heavy and rolled down his cheeks. Everything hurt, he almost wished he had never asked for the wing to be made. It would’ve saved him hours upon hours of ache had he just lived without a wing.
