#avian whumpee

[whump3000]

Thinking about non-human whumpees being kept in the wrong enclosure.

Whumper who decides to stick the avian in the mer tank, and the werewolf who’s afraid of heights get shoved into the avian’s cage, hanging above Whumper’s staircase.

The avian desperately struggling to keep their head above the water as their wings slowly drag them under, unbearably heavy and water-logged. Mer Whumpee slowly swims around them, curious, but too afraid to help under Whumper’s watchful gaze, trying to ignore the horrible spluttering sounds and cries for help Avian Whumpee is making.

Meanwhile, Werewolf Whumpee is curled up in the fetal position in the center of the cage, trying their best not to move and send the whole thing swinging, thinking anxiously about the full moon later that night. They lay there, wondering if the untamed chaos of their wolf form will send the whole thing crashing down onto the cold marble floor below. Will they wake up tomorrow in a puddle of their own blood, the wreckage of the cage around them and the wrath of Whumper waiting to greet them?

[whumpninja]

W.M.D., Part 1: Living Weapon

Featuring: living weapon whumpee, heavy and literal dehumanization, lab whump, blindfolded whumpee, creepy whumper, brainwashing, memory loss

Taglist: @whumperofworlds

The meeting had been scheduled for 1:00. Mr. Abel showed up at 1:48, drinking something neon pink in a plastic cup and smiling apologetically. “Just chalk me up as ‘fashionably late’,” he quipped, extending his hand for a shake. “Nolan Abel, but you probably knew that, I’m everywhere. You’re Algernon Fowler, right? The scientist?”

Dr. Fowler stared witheringly at Mr. Abel’s extended hand, waiting for the man to realize that the empty right sleeve of Dr. Fowler’s lab coat was pinned up and out of the way. It took an embarrassingly long time for Mr. Abel to withdraw his hand, and even then, Dr. Fowler wasn’t sure whether he noticed or just wanted to end the awkward stare down.

“Is this your lab?” Mr. Abel asked, looking up at the top of the abandoned clock tower. “It’s…nice.”

“It is adequate,” Dr. Fowler replied. The billionaire nearly jumped at the low, whispery sound of his voice, and Dr. Fowler held back a twisted smile. “If I decide to enter into a partnership with you, I will require a more…updated facility.”

“Sure, Doc, no problem. I’ve got one all set up that nobody’s used in awhile. But I was told that I would be getting a…preview?”

Dr. Fowler nodded to the open door of his clock tower-turned-laboratory. “Just through there.”

Mr. Abel finished his drink as he entered, carelsssly tossing the plastic cup aside. It clattered on the pavement. Ignorant buffoon, Dr. Fowler thought, and followed him inside, shutting- and locking- the heavy door behind them.

“Got yourself a fixer-upper, huh?” Mr. Abel glanced around the first floor. “What a mess.”

“The natural consequences of my work. Science is not always clean.” Where Mr. Abel saw old, yellowing papers littering the floor and broken furniture pushed up against the grimy walls, Dr. Fowler saw nothing but promise and potential in the empty space. He’d thrown the papers out because he had advanced beyond their contents. He’d shoved the furniture away because he needed room to work. Even the location was important- in the middle of the most downtrodden, poverty-stricken part of the city. The building itself had been carefully chosen- a modern laboratory would have been inaccessible and drawn too much attention. The clock tower was perfect for his needs. Whatever mess the foolish Mr. Abel saw, Dr. Fowler could overlook in favor of the results that would come out of it.

“So where’s your brilliant masterpiece?” Mr. Abel asked. Dr. Fowler didn’t appreciate his teasing tone. “You said you had something special to show me.”

“I do. Upstairs.” Dr. Fowler led the way up the twisting metal staircase to the next floor of the clock tower- there were five in all. He rarely used the first floor. The second and third were his workspaces, as was the underground floor Mr. Abel did not- and would not- know about. The fifth floor was empty save for the ancient clock.

It was the fourth floor where his masterpiece lived. And it was the fourth floor where he led Mr. Abel.

“So you make weapons,” Mr. Abel said as they ascended. “Living weapons. You brainwash ‘em or something?”

Dr. Fowler scoffed. “Do not insult me. My work is no mere brainwashing or hypnotism. You may as well buy a robot if you merely want something to be commanded.” He shook his head. “The beauty of my work is in its balance. Too much, and you are left with a husk. Too little, and the result is unpredictable. There are many others in the business of making weapons. They all fall short. Their creations are mindless drones, suitable only for simple tasks.”

“And yours are different?”

Dr. Fowler smirked. “The secret of weapon making is not in the mind, but in the will. Unlike those imposters, I leave my subjects’ mind intact. What I remove is their free will. Once I am finished, they can still think for themselves. They can reason, find solutions to problems- they do not stand stupidly waiting for someone to command them. And yet they still obey commands, without question.”

“If it works like you say it does, I’ll definitely want some,” Mr. Abel answered.

“That is only the first step in my process. They must be trained as well. And there is another variable that must be accounted for.”

“What’s that?”

“Humanity. I have learned that the best way to create my weapons is to strip them of their humanity. If you’ve looked into my background, as I’m sure you have, you’ll know that I was a genetic biologist. One can make a man believe that he is less than a person. I take it one step further. I take the lie and make it true.”

They had reached the fourth floor. Dr. Fowler came out into the middle of the room first, waiting for Mr. Abel to catch up.

This floor was bare, nearly completely empty. The only things in the room were the scientist, the investor, and a figure that knelt in the center of the room, their head covered by a hood.

“You asked for proof, Mr. Abel. Here is my proof. My first successful masterpiece. Project Magnum Opus.” Dr. Fowler crossed the room and removed the hood. “Or, as I prefer to call him…Kestrel.”

Mr. Abel’s mouth dropped open as the kneeling form stood.

Dr. Fowler knew what he was seeing. A young man, or what had once been one, dark-haired and pale-skinned, hair tumbling down the neck and over the forehead to conceal the face in shadow. Bare-chested, showing a burn scar on the shoulder and smaller scars scattered over the torso. Slender, but with lean muscle corded through the lines of the body, a body made to be quick, agile and strong.

“He’s impressive. But, if I can ask, why do you call him Kestrel?” Mr. Abel asked.

A smile tugged the corner of Dr. Fowler’s lips. This man was even more oblivious than he had thought- even though the primary reason for that name was still concealed, there were still clues visible if one looked. Mr. Abel seemed to be a man who had to be shown.

Well, let me not disappoint him.

He stepped behind his weapon and unbuckled the harness around the shoulders, allowing Mr. Abel to see the evidence of the other side of his process. The billionaire actually staggered back in shock. “Are- are those real?” he breathed.

The massive black wings slowly unfurled to their full span. Dr. Fowler did not try to hide his smile now. “Of course they are. The talons are real as well.”

Mr. Abel had somehow not noticed that the weapon was barefoot, displaying the vicious curved talons that were so useful in combat, or that the hands too had talons rather than nails. If it weren’t for the blindfold over the face, he would have also seen the piercing golden eyes. The wings and talons were enough, however, and he clung to the staircase railing like he would fall out of pure shock if he didn’t hold on to something.

“You may touch him if you like,” Dr. Fowler offered magnanimously. “He will not attack.”

Mr. Abel looked distinctly nervous and Dr. Fowler reveled in it. “Are- are you sure?”

“He will not attack,” Dr. Fowler repeated. “That is, not unless I tell him to.”

Mr. Abel approached cautiously, stretching out his hand like a small child about to pet a large dog. Kestrel watched him impassively, blinking once or twice. Mr. Abel stroked the edge of the wing, his mouth stretching into a grin. “Wow,” he said. “It feels real. How’d you do it?”

Dr. Fowler smiled, and leaned close to Kestrel’s ear, and whispered, “Corpus et sanguinis. Strike.”

Mr. Abel didn’t hear the exact words, but he certainly saw the effects. Kestrel went rigid for a split second before leaping into motion, knocking Mr. Abel to the floor, the head tilting to the side as the predator found the prey even without the use of sight. The wings were useless in this confined space, but spread out anyway, helping to terrify Mr. Abel even more thoroughly. The man was screaming, horror twisting his face as a sharp talon tore a gash in his sleeve.

“Hold, Kestrel,” Dr. Fowler said. Kestrel froze, still keeping the man pinned to the floor. Dr. Fowler waited a few more moments, savoring the look of fear on Mr. Abel’s face, before he commanded, “Release him.”

Kestrel let go and stepped back, and Mr. Abel staggered to his feet, white-faced. Mr. Abel glanced from one to the other, shaking, panting, his eyes wide. He pointed a trembling finger at Dr. Fowler. “I could sue you for that, Fowler. I could sue you for all you’re worth and have your- your- thing shot.”

“No, you couldn’t,” Dr. Fowler answered. “Not without admitting that you were ever here in the first place, which, Mr. Abel, you cannot do without coming under scrutiny so intense that all your filthy little secrets will be dragged out into the light right beside me. You would lose everything, and you are not the kind of man who would risk that.” The corner of his lips turned up. “Besides, you said you wanted a preview. That is what you were given.”

The anger stayed a moment longer, fury darkening Mr. Abel’s eyes. Dr. Fowler waited, unconcerned.

Finally, Mr. Abel pulled himself to his feet, laughing sheepishly. “I guess I did want a sneak peek, didn’t I?” The anger bled out of him, replaced by intrigue. “Wow. I mean, that’s impressive. I want a dozen of them. You told anyone else about this?”

“No.”

“Don’t. I want you to be my private supplier.”

Dr. Fowler smiled. “What does a rich man need with living weapons?”

“You stick with your business and I’ll stick with mine.” Mr. Abel ran his hands through his hair, his face transitioning into an easy grin. “So how does he work? You said something to him before he jumped me.”

“When I begin the mental reprogramming process, I implement cue words,” Dr. Fowler explained, careful not to give too much away. “In the absence of anything else, the brain latches onto anything it is given. In this case, the trigger words. Once the process is complete, those specific words will place the weapon under the control of whoever speaks them.”

“And his words are…”

“Not for you.” Dr. Fowler folded his arms. “I will make you your own weapons. Kestrel is mine.”

Mr. Abel shrugged. “Sure.”

The man seemed to have gotten over his fear, approaching Kestrel- although, Dr. Fowler noticed, he did not touch the weapon this time. “So what are his limits?” he asked. “I mean, he’s the prototype of mine, right? What can he do?”

“Anything you command.”

“Could I order him to fetch me a vodka with lime?”

“Kestrel is not some sort of personal butler,” Dr. Fowler said, his smile disappearing. “Kestrel is a weapon, perfectly designed for that purpose and that purpose alone. Not a toy for a rich man’s amusement.”

“Could you make one that is?”

Dr. Fowler sighed. “If that is what you would like, I can do it. I suppose you want it to be beautiful, barely clothed, and enamored with you, as well?”

The billionaire grinned. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Self-obsessed fool.

“Do you always make them…animal hybrids?”

“Yes. It tends to be more stable when I do that, and as I said before it helps the reprogramming process. I have tried many kinds, on many candidates. Kestrel has the DNA of a species of vulture.”

“That where the wings came from?” Mr. Abel walked around to look at the weapon’s back, where the wings protruded from the shoulder blades.

“The wings were originally from a California condor,” Dr. Fowler answered. “I grafted them into Kestrel. DNA can do many things, but it cannot give something wings. The talons and the eyes, yes. The wings required help.”

“Huh.” Mr. Abel looked sufficiently impressed. As much as he disliked the billionaire, Dr. Fowler had still hoped to take his breath away with his demonstration, and it seemed as though he had been successful. “So how many of these weapons can you make for me?”

“How much time do you have?” Dr. Fowler asked instead of answering directly.

Mr. Abel frowned. “Why does time matter?”

“Do you think it is an easy thing to create one of my masterpieces? That I can snap my fingers or hold up a swaying pendant and they’ll be ready to do whatever I command? The human will is the most stubborn force on this planet, Mr. Abel. To break it into splinters and scrape it out, to fill the empty mold back up with your desires, to make sure the vessel does not shatter under the pressure- it takes time.”

“How much time?”

“Months.”

“What?”

Dr. Fowler continued as if he hadn’t heard. “And of course, I must have the perfect candidate. I have tried this method again and again. All attempts ended in disaster. Some subjects did not survive the initial operation. Some lasted longer, but the strain of being reprogrammed was too much for them, and they died or became comatose. Some survived reprogramming, but as empty shells that could not move without being commanded, that had to be told to even breathe. It took years, Mr. Abel, years of failure, before I finally succeeded with Kestrel. But I think you’ll agree that the results are worth the effort.”

“Where do you get candidates?”

Dr. Fowler shrugged. “Kestrel is an excellent hunter. I sometimes have him bring them to me, but that tends to draw too much attention. I prefer more subtle methods. Money is a splendid lure. People who have no other option will gladly submit themselves to scientific study for the mere promise of cash in their hand. Though, of course, they stop having a use for money long before I would have to pay them.”

“You’re really committed to this, Doc.”

Dr. Fowler pinned the man with a look. “This is my life’s work, Mr. Abel. I am as devoted to it as a mother to her child. No force on this earth could sway me from this path. No amount of begging or bribery, threats or tears, no amount of opposition can stop me once I begin my work. It is not an easy road to walk, but I walk it, and it does not matter what obstacles are placed in my way. I have set out to create the perfect living weapons. That is what I will do, no matter how many tries takes. No matter how many bodies I have to bury. I will suceed.” Abruptly the smile returned to his face. “I have succeeded, with Kestrel. Though of course there are always improvements that can be made.”

“So how do I do this, when I get mine? What happens if he disobeys?”

“My weapons cannot disobey.”

“Okay, what about when he does something I want?”

“What do you mean?”

Mr. Abel shrugged. “If I tell him to do something and he does it. Do I click a button, or give him a reward or something?”

Dr. Fowler smiled humorlessly. “Yes, he gets a reward.” He trailed his gloved fingers down the side of Kestrel’s face, ghosting over the blindfold. He was always careful to avoid touching Kestrel with his bare hands- skin-to-skin contact could have an adverse affect on the training.

“What kind of reward?” Mr. Abel wanted to know.

“He gets to live.” Dr. Fowler moved his hand lower, wrapping it around Kestrel’s throat. He didn’t squeeze. He didn’t have to. Kestrel knew he could. That was enough.

“I do not tolerate disobedience, Mr. Abel. If one of my creations fails me, I destroy it, and start again with a new base. There is never a shortage of test subjects in this city.”

It was, at least partially, a bluff. Dr. Fowler did not get attached to his creations, but Kestrel was his first true success. It would take a failure of great magnitude for him to start over. There were other ways to discipline a weapon.

Mr. Abel was grinning. “So far, Doc, I’m seeing no drawbacks.”

Dr. Fowler replaced the hood over Kestrel’s head, gesturing Mr. Abel towards the staircase. This time he let the billionaire go first, all the way back down to the ground floor. “What do you think?” he asked.

Mr. Abel hummed, stroking his chin. “I think this could be the beginning of a beautiful partnership. I’ll have one of my lawyers write up a contract-“ at Dr. Fowler’s warning glance, he held up a hand. “And I’ll leave out any details to keep your secrecy. You can add those in yourself.”

“That is appreciated.”

“But I want one more thing in exchange, Doc. I like what I’ve seen so far, I do. And I love the idea of having my own personal weapon who will do anything I tell it to.” He folded his arms, and suddenly the foolish billionaire seemed slightly less so. “Your Kestrel. I want to see him fly. Tomorrow morning.”

“You- what?” Dr. Fowler was not often taken aback. But this request sent him reeling a little. “Kestrel isn’t used to flight. I don’t send him out often, and then always under cover of darkness.”

“Exactly. I want to see the reaction to him, if there is one. If the government has a conniption fit and comes down on you, I don’t want to be involved.” He spoke bluntly, without shading the truth. Dr. Fowler grudgingly appreciated that. “And I want to see those wings in action. You can send him out early enough that there won’t be many people on the beach. But I want to see what he does when he’s away from you. No offense, but I’m betting he takes off.”

Dr. Fowler pressed his lips into a thin smile. There were still some things this man didn’t know. “All right, Mr. Abel. I will take you up on that bet. Tomorrow morning, I will send Kestrel out. And we’ll see what happens then.”

Mr. Abel returned his smile. “We will, won’t we?”

They shook hands on it.

[mj-iza-writer]

Warning: Forced self cannibalism and cannibalism. Wing mutilation and amputation.

Fresh blood trickled down Whumpee's back as they leaned weakly against a wall.

Moving hurt too much, even breathing felt like they were tearing their back apart more.

Their wings were the only thing Whumpee could think about.

The muscles that worked the wings sent shock waves of pain through Whumpee's back.

"It's like they're crying. They feel empty", Whumpee's breath hitched.

Their feathers scattered the floor around them. They had lost quite a few because of stress.... and nervous preening.

They shook as they reached for one of the feathers. Tears flooded their eyes as they cuddled it close.

Whumper carried a plate in and set it down by Whumpee.

"I thought you'd be hungry after losing that much blood", Whumper smirked, "just some leftovers from my dinner."

Whumpee side glanced the plate, "I'm not interested."

"Oh, come on, they taste really good", Whumper chuckled, "I didn't do anything to them. Those are from my plate. They're fresh to. You need something to eat to regain your strength."

Whumpee cautiously reached for the plate and grabbed a small piece of meat.

"Is this chicken?", Whumpee smelt it before taking a bite.

"Well, kind of", Whumper smirked, "it is wings from a bird like creature."

Whumpee stopped mid chew, "what?", they squealed.

"Your wings are delicious, aren't they?", Whumper laughed.

"I'm going to throw up", Whumpee threw the food away from them and leaned forward to puke.

The movements caused their back to tear open the scab that formed on their back. More blood oozed down.

"Why? Why did you cut them off?", Whumpee yelled.

"I was tired of trimming your feathers, and you fighting me. Plus I was hungry", Whumper picked up the plate, "you eat these or I force feed you. Your choice, my hard work making these won't go to waste."

Whumpee looked at the plate, "I can't eat my own wings. Please, don't make me."

"You didn't even take care of them. Look at all the feathers everywhere. You pulled them off yourself", Whumper yelled, "eat."

"You did this. You did all of this", Whumpee yelled back.

Whumper slapped Whumpee before picking up another piece of the meat and forcing Whumpee's mouth open.

Whumpee sobbed as they were forced to eat their own body.

Blood loss was getting to Whumpee. They thought they saw Caretaker opening the door and running to them.

Everything was blurry.

What was being said? Everything sounded like echoes.

"Who's there?", Whumpee jumped suddenly, "please no more, I'll be good. Don't touch me."

"It's Caretaker. Shh, it's Caretaker", someone held down Whumpee's hands, "don't fight. We are here to save you."

"Car-Caretaker?", Whumpee whispered, "Caretaker... you're here for me?"

"Yes, you are safe now", Caretaker stopped and rubbed Whumpee's head to comfort them.

"M-my wings, they cut off my wings", Whumpee cried and tried to bury their head in Caretaker's body, "they cut them and ate them. They forced me to eat them."

Caretaker sat on the ground to comfort Whumpee. They saw some pieces of bone that had been tossed away. Feathers were everywhere... Whumpee's feathers.

"I'm sorry Whumpee. I am truly sorry", Caretaker frowned as their friend shook, "I wish I could have found you sooner."

Emergency responders worked around them.

"Where is Whumper?", Whumpee looked up fearfully.

"They are being arrested", Caretaker soothed, "you are safe now. I finally found you."

"Could you grab some of my feathers so I can keep them", Whumpee asked as they were loaded onto a gurney.

"Of course I can do that", Caretaker comforted, "these nice people are taking you to the hospital. I will be there soon to help you okay."

"Okay", Whumpee nodded, "please don't forget me."

"I won't Whumpee. I promise."

Caretaker gathered several feathers of different sizes and color patterns.

They were shown the leftovers of Whumpee's wings.

"This is a nightmare", Caretaker sighed as they patted the wings gently, "this person is sick minded. They will pay for this."

Caretaker quietly watched Whumpee sleep.

They had had a busy few hours as the doctors had to carefully take care of Whumpee. Anything done wrong to the avian's back could be disastrous, especially if the wings were able to grow back.

Whumpee winced as their eyes opened.

Their eyes darted around the room. Their field of view was limited due to not wanting to move.

"Caretaker?", Whumpee whispered.

"I'm right here", Caretaker quickly knelt beside them, "right here."

"What's going on?", Whumpee frowned.

"You just got out of surgery, you were under for a few hours. You are resting now", Caretaker knelt beside them, "do you have any pain?"

"Not right now", Whumpee frowned, "is it bad?"

"It's not great", Caretaker sighed, "but the doctor believes if your wings do grow back, you shouldn't have any problems."

"Even if they grow back, it will be years before I have them the way they were", Whumpee felt a tear form in their eye, "do you think they'll grow back?", Whumpee whispered.

"Honestly, I'm not sure. An avian having their wings cut at the base doesn't normally happen", Caretaker sighed, "whatever happens I will help you get through or try my best to help."

Caretaker looked down, "I am so sorry I didn't get to you sooner. You were so hard to find and I know that isn't a good excuse. I'm sorry."

Whumpee weakly held out their hand to Caretaker.

Caretaker gently held it.

"You tried your hardest. I appreciate you saving me", Whumpee smiled weakly.

"Here is, uh", Caretaker quickly wiped a tear away, "your feathers you requested, I hope the ones I grabbed are okay."

"Thankyou", Whumpee reached for a feather.

"The leftover parts of your wings and the rest of your feathers are being taken care of by the Avian Society. I didn't know what was best for your wings and feathers, I hope it's okay I trusted them to the leaders", Caretaker sighed.

"That's okay, they will probably destroy them", Whumpee frowned, "I'll receive the cremated remains."

"Are you okay with that?", Caretaker made a concerned look.

"That's normal, because of what we are, most of our bodies are cremated.... unless it's an honored person. Some avians believe those people are gods and follow them", Whumpee sadly rubbed their feather across their face, "we don't want the bodies of our people to be dug up and studied in years to come."

Caretaker nodded, "I guess that makes sense", Caretaker glanced at Whumpee's back, "you should get some more rest."

"I feel like I've been hit by a bus... do you think I can eat yet? My last meal was my wings, and I don't want that to be the only thing in my stomach."

"Let me ask your nurse, and I'll go get you something if they allow it", Caretaker stood.

Caretaker came back into Whumpee's room, but was startled to see a few winged people in Whumpee's room. They figured it was part of the Avain Council.

They all glanced at Caretaker.

"Sorry, I'll come back when you are...", Caretaker knew they weren't exactly welcomed, they put up with Caretaker because of Whumpee.

"Wait, you are Caretaker right. You saved Whumpee?", someone stepped closer.

"Y-yes sir, I was able to find them. I wish I could have found them sooner though", Caretaker frowned as they looked at Whumpee.

"Please come in, you're a hero for saving them. Please eat", another invited.

"Oh this is for Whumpee, they were hungry", Caretaker started to walk to the bed.

"Ah yes, thankyou for feeding them", they stepped back to allow room for Caretaker.

Caretaker knelt beside the bed, after a second of Whumpee struggling Caretaker started to help them eat.

"Thankyou", Whumpee smiled after swallowing a mouthful.

"You're welcome Whumpee. I'd do anything for you", Caretaker smiled.

"The council will leave now and allow you to eat and rest. Please let us know if you need anything. We will happily provide you with anything you need", they started to leave, "we will also return the remains of your wings to you when you return to your home."

Whumpee nodded, "thankyou for visiting me."

Caretaker sighed as they got up and sat down.

"I hope that was okay. I wasn't exactly sure what to say to them", Caretaker frowned, "I get nervous around them."

"You did good, I think they will be showing you a lot more respect after this", Whumpee smiled weakly, "I wish I had my wings to cover me up, I'm a little chilly."

"Though your wings are softer, I hope this will suffice", Caretaker pulled up a blanket and covered Whumpee.

"Yes thankyou, and thank...you", Whumpee yawned, "for the food."

"Your welcome Whumpee, get some rest. I won't leave you", Caretaker smiled as Whumpee's eyes slowly closed, "I promise."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109 @idontreallyexistyet @thebejeweledwatercat @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee @expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems @lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas

[dokidokisadness]

going to try to finish it tomorrow for whumptober

[whitecoatwhump]

Avian whumpee who belongs to a very social species of bird gets captured and separated from their flock. The unfamiliar environment they find themselves in is unnerving enough, but it's nothing compared to the whumpee trying to call for their family and only hearing their own voice echoing back

Self harm mention under the cut

A specific image that keeps popping into my head is the whumpee trying to deal with the stress by ripping their feathers out

[cuteangsty]

Whump prompt 4#

[tw: self harm]

Whumpee is already with caretaker, but they can't understand the fact they don't have to be punished anymore, so they start to think it's a test and begin to punish themselves.

Whumpee

They usually use anything in their environment to "punish themselves", especially human whumpees, they are quite adaptable.

Avian whumpees mostly scratch their thighs, wrists and wings, pulls feathers.

Vampire whumpees bite themselves or try to eat chunks of their own skin.

Werewolf whumpees also try to eat their own skin or scratch themselves.

Caretaker

Caretaker is horrified when they witness it. They had been noticing the new bruises/ cuts/ bites, but they never would have expected this.

They try to explain once again that punishment is not needed, that whumper won't punish them.

Caretaker tries to help whumpee get clean from self harming, little by little. Telling them to not cut/ bite/ etc... Only 10 times, then only 5... Until they can be clean.

Whumper

If Whumper ever gets to see this happen, they are initially interested in such reaction.

Whumper asks whumpee what kind of punishment do they think they deserve and then tell them to do it.

They make whumpee count the wounds made by themselves and even turn it into a competition.

Later he starts to get bored of it and yells at whumpee that "only they can hurt whumpee" or "they can't even do that right"

[whumper-whimsy]

i need to know >:)

[andithewhumper]

Experimentations Chapter 4: The Water

Content: Avian whump, human whumper, scientist whumper, threat of drowning

Dr. Vaughn knew that there would be no calming him down from this, but she didn't mind. She pulled out the dart gun from earlier and knocked him out. Then she untied him and put him back on the stretcher. It seemed that they would be doing the next experiment sooner than later. She pushed him back into the flight room. She restrained his hands behind his back and attached a collar to his neck with yet another electric lock. Then she attacked his collar to a notch in the floor. After he was secured she started preparing the room. She went into the control room and pressed a few buttons. The perches previously on the walls started retracting back, leaving the walls bare. Then He pressed a few more buttons and the room started to fill with water. She had situated him on a small platform that rose above the level of the water and then she pressed the last button and the heat kicked on. Now she just had to wait for the water to boil and the avian to wake up.

Streak didn't let on when he woke. He kept his head bowed, his hands limp behind him. His wings were draped around his body, defensively. He thought she was there, in front of him someplace. He assumed she was. But he was unwilling to look up to see. He took stock of his body. Hands behind him, a leash connecting his neck to the floor. Great. Love that. She was playing mind games. But his legs were not restrained, and neither were his wings.

The water started to boil. Dr. Vaughn couldn't see whether the avian was awake yet but he was sure going to wake up once he felt the hot water start to jump and burn him. And once he got up he was in for a long night. She leaned back in her chair and watched through the glass, waiting for the avian to show signs of consciousness. She knew it would be soon.

Streak reacted fast and suddenly. His wings spread wide and he took off with a leap, suddenly as far into the air as the leash allowed. He had to restrain his wing beats, to keep from dipping his feathers into the water. He cried out, in anger, in confusion. He tried to find her, but he couldn't see anything besides the wall of the room he'd been in earlier. 

"What is wrong with you?" He shouted into the echo chamber. "You're insane!" The collar dug into his neck with each beat of his wings. He was made for soaring, not hovering, and he couldn't even do hovering well, when he was tethered over water. What she didn't know, though, was that the boiling water was simply an additional threat. It didn't need to be boiling to kill him. His wings were not made for water. The oils on his feathers protected from dirt, insulated him from the wind, fended off the sun, and even the rain. But submerged in the water, water coming between each feather... it would waterlog him. He would sink, and his heavy wings would drag him down no matter how he tried to swim. He would die in water, of any temperature.

Dr. Vaughn beamed as she watched the avian spur to life. She leaned forward and pressed a button on the microphone. 

"I told you that you needed my permission to use your wings and you disobeyed me. Now you will learn what happens when you choose to break the rules. The water below you is only a few inches deep but I imagine that the temperature of the water won't let you land. You will stay here until you learn your lesson, and believe me I can leave you here all night." She turned off the microphone with a click and watched him flap through the glass. She would wait until he was absolutely exhausted before letting him down. Maybe then he will think twice before using his wings without permission.

He pulled at the collar, but with his bound he couldn't do anything more. 

"Well, you lost your credibility!" He smart-mouthed at her. She'd taken the muzzle off. He assumed it had not been a day. So she was willing to change her punishment if he pissed her off enough. That was good to know. If he could cause enough problems in any given scenario, she would reset to something new. Not that this was better. His wings were all wrong for this activity. 

Dr. Vaughn hummed. Perhaps she had lost her credibility temporarily, but she would make certain to put the muzzle back on once he had exhausted himself. She didn't respond to the lip. She just watched him struggle with the bonds. Soon enough he would start to tire and then the fun would begin. The real reason you had let him out of the muzzle.

"If you want to see me fly, take the collar off!" He yelled at the glass. He was pretty horizontal, his legs straight and stiff in his usual flight position, but each beat of his wings was unnatural and forced. He needed more space than he was allowed, and it was making this test a lot harder for him.

He repeated himself a few more times, fighting with the collar. His wings were stronger than they seemed, and when he really put his effort into it, it seemed for a moment like the leash would come free of the sunken platform. He changed positioning a few times, but he could only really fly when horizontal. His wings got too close for comfort, if he was upright.

Dr. Vaughn hummed, watching the avian struggle. She wouldn't let him free until he was exhausted and begging her for a chance to rest. She noted the way he was flying in her journal and took note of the amount of time he had been flying. Perhaps he would go longer than her hypothesis.

His mind was full of ifs. If he was free, he could fly for hours and hours without stopping, though it would be in dizzying circles. If the water wasn't boiling, he could land safely, he knew that now. If Loe were here, If she left him here, If he fell in- He wanted to kill her. He knew he was better than this test would make him seem. He was a long distance flier. He soared for hours, hitching rides on air currents. He wasn't a hummingbird. He didn't stay in one place. The force his wings created, flapping just once, was enough to rocket him halfway up the room. This restrained version, he was pulling the collar against his neck, trying not to snap his spine.

Dr. Vaughn noticed that the avian was starting to tire. She took notes of this in her journal and slowly turned the temperature of the water down a small amount. She wouldn't completely stop it from boiling but she wanted to prepare for dropping the temperature significantly when the avian finally collapsed.

"Please let me down," he whispered to himself. He didn't want to admit defeat, but this wasn't a game he could win. He was going to hurt himself- no, he was going to get hurt. It was her fault, not his. He'd done nothing wrong, he needed to remember that. He was sweating, still shirtless, and his hands twisted and struggled in their binds behind him. "I'm failing," he called to her. "I'm not gonna- I gotta stop."

Dr. Vaughn felt a wave of satisfaction through her when the avian started calling to her. She knew he wasn't yet tired enough to beg her, but he was getting there. The effort was obvious in his straining muscles. His wings were not flapping as strongly as they were before.

He groaned, his wings straining. The problem was self control. He just wasn't able to do this. His body wasn't able to sustain this. 

"Help-" he groaned, his arms trembling. His legs were locked in place, he was in long term flight mode, and he was struggling to go back to being a person and not an eagle. 

"Let me come down!" He insisted, more urgently now. But it was not a request, and it wasn't polite, it was a demand.

Dr. Vaughn raised an eyebrow at the avian's demand. He was close, but the desperation hadn't quite translated into begging yet. She wasn't worried. Soon enough he wouldn't be able to hold himself up and then the begging would come tenfold.

Streak grit his teeth. He was making a bad choice, he was being very stupid, and it was going to hurt a lot. But he wasn't willing to beg her. He wasn't willing to submit. He dramaticized it well. It looked like he collapsed rather than gave up, but he was definitely prepared. His boots were good, she'd said it was only a few inches, and he believed her. He knew how far down the platform was. He could fly better with damaged wings than he could walk with damaged feet. His wings rotated, and he landed hard.

Dr. Vaughn watched the avian with interest. He certainly was getting tired if he was willing to risk burning his feet to give his wings a rest. Well two could play this game. She reached over and turned the water pumps back on and the water level began to rise again. The temperature might go down, but the avian wouldn't be able to swim, certainly not without the use of his hands.

He sort of hopped around. The water was much too hot to bear even though his boots, though he didn't think he was actually burned. So he swapped from foot to foot for a moment and then took off again. His neck was badly bruised from his jerking again and again against the collar and leash, and he winced as it dug in again. Then his feather got wet. He cringed, drawing his wings further up, but he couldn't limit his radius any further while staying in the air. He scowled deeply, but kept it up, the tips of his longest feathers dipping into the warm but no longer hot water.

She reached forward and turned on the microphone. "There are no loopholes here, avian. You will fly until I decide you have learned your lesson."

She turned the microphone off and checked the water level. It was at about six feet by now. She had gradually lengthened the amount of chain that came out of the floor so he wouldn't suffocate himself.

He had to fly now. The chain was longer, but the water was higher. He was still in the same position, needing restrained wing beats to keep from dipping his feathers into the water. He was scared now, he was really scared. He could die in the water before she could get him out. Of course, he wasn't thinking about her draining the water. He wasn't thinking rationally at all. He pulled harder at the leash, his legs kicking.

Dr. Vaughn noted his panic, pleased that he did indeed have energy left in him. She noted the amount of time that it had been and she checked the water level again, making sure that it hadn't gone above six feet. She even drained it a small amount five feet would be enough water that the avian would have trouble keeping his head above with the weight of his waterlogged wings. And it was safer for when she pushed the platform back up and drained the water.

He wasn't aware of the water level anymore, only the water that had touched his wings. It wasn't nearly enough to do anything at all, but it had shaken his confidence and he was spiraling. 

"I'm gonna drown," he was whispering to himself, "I'm gonna drown, god, I'm gonna drown-" And then he faltered, his wing dipped, and he over-corrected. He rolled sideways to get it out of the water, but it dunked the other one in, and in that exact moment, he was dead. He was as good as dead. The water seeped between each feather and dragged him down, he let out a terrified shout before his head went under. He was tall enough to stand, but he wasn't strong enough. His wings, each one longer than he was tall, dragged him down, and his legs weren't strong enough to hold up the weight. He crumpled under the water, the wings completely waterlogged. He was able to push his head above the water after a few seconds, gasping for air. He never exactly learned how to hold his breath, that wasn't something avians had to know. His hands still bound behind him, he shook his head to be rid of the water on his face. He was crying openly now, he'd never been so afraid in his life.

Dr. Vaughn watched the avian dip under the water. Quickly she pushed the platform up to drain the water and he sank with it, his wings laying on the wet floor. They were probably a hundred pounds each, sopping wet, and he didn't have enough back muscle to move them. They just lay limp where they'd landed, water streaming from them toward the drain.

She stood from her chair and walked out of the viewing room. She walked over to the avian and crouched down in front of him. The avian before her was magnificent. He was soaking wet and sobbing, so defeated that he was perfectly malleable. This is what she wanted. Now he would learn some respect and the lesson would stick. He would be much better behaved in the morning. Dr. Vaughn brushed a strand of wet hair out of the avian's face. She lifted his chin gently with a single finger. 

"Have you learned your lesson, Streak?"

He nodded, his face lifting but his eyes looking down. He was trembling, his shoulders shaking from sobs, and he was coughing a bit. He hadn't been underwater long enough to be at risk of drowning, or even inhaling a dangerous amount of water. He'd just never been submerged like that before. 

"Don't," he pleaded, his tears mixed in with the rest of the water dripping down his face. "Don't ever- I won't be- Bad, I'll do what you want, please- please, don't ever put me in water again-" He began to sob anew. He was a wreck.

Dr. Vaughn brushed a tear off his cheek with her thumb. She listened to his pleas with satisfaction. She lifted his head up with both of her hands, cupping his face. 

"Look at me Streak. You don't ever have to go in the water again if you just behave yourself and follow the rules, okay. Can you behave yourself?"

He nodded into her hands, sniffing. He coughed again, turning away from her.

"I wanna go home," he whispered, his golden brown eyes still glittery with tears. "If I'm good... If I do all your tests and, and let you touch my wings, and all of that... will you let me go home after?"

Dr. Vaughn ran her fingers through his hair again, pleased that the avian was letting her touch him.

"If you are good and you let me do all of my tests I will see about letting you go home. Unfortunately, it's not up to me. My boss is the one who makes the decision, but if you're very very good I will let her know and maybe then we can take you home. Does that sound good?"

He hung his head.

"No."

But he couldn't do anything about it. He was drained. He didn't ask for his hands to be freed, or the collar to be removed. He was a lab rat now, and she would kill him if he was a bad one. He needed to be good, not because she deserved it, not because he wanted to, but so he could survive. He just needed to keep his head down and survive. Maybe she would let him send a letter home, or even call. What he wouldn't give to hear Loe's soft voice right now.

Dr. Vaughn wondered what the avian was thinking. He was obviously tired, having spent all of his energy with the flight and the panic. She knew he had earned a break. She needed him to remember why he was punished first, though. 

"Alright. What do you have to say?"

It took a long minute for him to answer. He had to think of the right answer, the answer a crazy person would expect to that question. And even when he got it, he was unwilling to say it, because he was too damn proud. But he remembered the feeling of water in his mouth, his nose, his ears-

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

taglist: @blood-and-regrets

lmk if you want to be added :)

[abhainnwhump]

Whumper chopping off an avian/angel Whumpee's wings, breading them, and sizzling them in hot oil to make chicken wings.

Or maybe they leave the wings on and sizzle them while they're still attached. Whumpee suffers either way.

[vespertineneon]

This would be a shelter whump story. It would involve my 3 whumpee avians, and my Whumper oc.

[abhainnwhump]

The wings add too much weight to Whumpee's back so they have back and balance issues. Whumper keeps telling them they have to fly or they will be punished, but the wings are just giant weights and they can't fly.

Or if they're actual wings, Whumper keeps hurting themself trying to fly with them.

Can they call Whumpee "little bird" and "angel" as pet names too-

we’re all familiar with the trope where whumper cut off nonhuman whumpee’s wings, but hear me out, a human whumpee who got wings stitched into their back (or impaled into their skin) by whumper who wanted to make whumpee their pet bird

[whumpninja]

W. M. D, Part 1.5: Icarus

(I’m not counting this as a full chapter because it’s tiny, but it’s also important so I didn’t want to lump it in with the next full chapter!)

Featuring: living weapon, heavy dehumanization, winged whumpee, falling

Taglist: @whumperofworlds @mysticalburntpaper @scoundrelwithboba @paperprinxe @fruitypineapple00 @silly-scroimblo-scrunkl @lancedoncrimsonwings @1seaweedbrain1 @whumppsychology @ziptiesnfries @maracujatangerine @whumpsoda

The light was too bright. It hurt the eyes. Kestrel squinted in the sun as the blindfold came off, blinking in the glare.

The Doctor was there. Kestrel was not glad to see him- weapons didn’t feel things like glad- but the Doctor was familiar, and familiar things were better than unfamiliar ones. Kestrel stood very still while the Doctor unbuckled the harness around the wings, waiting for the command to stretch them out fully. The breeze ruffled the feathers.

They stood on the edge of a little cliff overlooking the ocean- Kestrel, the Doctor, and another man Kestrel didn’t know very well. The Doctor called him “Mr. Abel.” Kestrel had been ordered to hunt him the day before, but the Doctor had stopped the attack before Kestrel could kill him, or even do any real damage. Kestrel did not understand why the Doctor had done that, but a weapon did not need to understand why it was being used.

“Good day for flying,” the Mr. Abel said, grinning. He grinned too wide- it felt like a predator’s grin, and Kestrel shifted the feet with something that would have been nervousness if a weapon could feel such a thing.

The Doctor toyed with the harness. Kestrel knew that the Doctor did not like the harness being off. It made him nervous for some reason, as if Kestrel would fly away. Kestrel stood very still and tried to look like flying away was impossible to even think of.

“Is he going to just stand there?” the Mr. Abel asked. He shifted his feet in a way that meant he was upset. Kestrel watched his hands carefully in case he struck out.

The Doctor scoffed. “I do not send him out often. He is not accustomed to it.” He stepped close to Kestrel, his gloved hand wrapping around the shoulder. “Go, Kestrel,” he commanded.

Kestrel froze, blinking in confusion. Go? Go where?

The Doctor put his lips next to Kestrel’s ear and whispered the words, the secret words that meant obey. Kestrel's mind stopped, the words obey and go the only things left in it. The wings rose of their own accord, the feathers rustling and arranging themselves in preparation for flight. The eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused and glassy. The legs ran, pounding the grass beneath the feet until suddenly there wasn’t any ground beneath them anymore. And the wings were pumping and Kestrel was flying.

The eyes came back into focus as the influence of the secret words faded. Kestrel glanced down at the ocean, breathing in and out hard. Flying was a lot of work, especially for one not used to it. And there had been no instructions. Just go. Kestrel was always given very specific instructions- attack, pounce, kill. Be still, don't fight, don't resist. Follow orders. This kind of ambiguity was new. And, if weapons were allowed to feel fear, it would have been frightening.

Kestrel wheeled into the wind, letting it lift the wings up, up, up, heading further out to sea. Weapons did not feel things like joy- but Kestrel had never had any difficulty obeying on the rare occasions when the Doctor said fly. Most of the time it was shorter than this- circle around the clock tower twice, then come back to me. This- getting to fly for apparently however long it took for the Doctor to call him back- was new. So much today was new.

Kestrel flapped the wings once, twice, propelling the body higher and higher. The wings were powerful, lifting Kestrel easily. Weapons were supposed to be strong, and the wings were the strongest part of all. A seabird flew past, squawking at what it might have thought was an unusually large bird. Kestrel smiled at it before realizing the mistake, and quickly pulled the face back into a neutral expression. The Doctor would have been very angry if he had seen that...but the Doctor was not here.

It was hard, trying not to feel. Kestrel liked flying, as much as a weapon could like something. The wind under the wings, the sea mist in the hair, the sun in the eyes. Freedom, or as close as Kestrel would ever get to it.

But there was a drawback.

Kestrel had not been told where to go, only to go. When orders were unclear, the usual course of action was to follow the orders until a new one was given. In this case, that meant fly until Kestrel was told to stop flying.

Kestrel couldn't fly forever. The muscles were strong from training, but unused to flying for so long and so far. It was becoming harder to keep the wings pumping, and the wind could only lift Kestrel so high. But there had been no order to land, no order to turn around.

The wetness in the hair was sweat now, rather than just salt. The lungs heaved harder than before. Soaring high was no longer an option; Kestrel skimmed the surface of the sea. The salt stung the eyes, and the weight of the spray was starting to settle more heavily on the wings. Kestrel reached up to brush the damp hair back.

The head ached. Kestrel had never gone so long under one single order. The mind hurt, it wanted the Doctor to call his weapon back. But the Doctor was silent. Kestrel strained to hear a whistle, a call, anything.

There was nothing. Perfect silence. Kestrel couldn't stop flying without an order, but the body couldn't keep flying without a rest. An impossibility. The Doctor liked that word. He liked to do impossible things.

But Kestrel cannot do impossible things. Kestrel can only obey.

That was the last thought in Kestrel's mind before it happened. The wings ran out of strength. They stopped pumping, fluttering limp in the air. Kestrel fell.

Kestrel did not cry out, because Kestrel had not been told to. The weapon fell in perfect silence, plunging into the ocean below.

[mj-iza-writer]

"Master Cain, would you like me to accompany you to your doctor appointment today", Maurie excitedly served breakfast.

"I don't need you to necessarily", Cain watched Maurie look down sadly, "but if you would like to come with me, you can."

"Really?", Maurie smiled.

"Ymhmm", Cain nodded as they took a bite, "I'll have you wait in the waiting room though. It's a more indebt visit, which you don't need to be part of. After that we can go for a walk or fly if you like."

"A walk would be nice.... I don't really want to fly", Maurie poked their fingers together shyly.

"You don't trust me... I won't drop you", Cain chuckled.

"I-I trust you.... I just don't like being up there. Being off the ground isnt really my thing", Maurie looked at Cain's strong wings, "you should, you know, save them if there is a war."

"A war?", Cain smiled.

"Yes, you are a general of the Avian Fleets for the kingdom. I'd hate for you to be tired", Maurie giggled awkwardly.

"Well, I guess you have a point, but let me know if you change your mind", Cain grinned.

"Okay", Maurie nodded.

Maurie sat in the waiting room while Cain was seen.

"Slave girl", someone called, "you belong to General Cain right?"

"Yes your honor", Maurie quickly stood and walked to the window where the person had asked for them.

"Has General Cain ever taught you how to preen his wings", a nurse questioned.

"Yes, that is one of my duties to help him with his wings. I always carry my two preening combs with me", Maurie pulled them out, "does Master need me?"

"No, we actually have an avian soldier here who was wounded recently. Our normal preener isn't here, and no one knows how to do it. The soldier is not happy right now, and says they are highly stressed. A preen will help them relax", the nurse explained, "would you be okay with helping them for us? We would really appreciate it."

Maurie heard screaming.

The nurse's shoulders sagged.

"I would be happy to help, but I need permission from my master. He told me to stay out here", Maurie frowned.

"Come here, we will go ask together", the nurse walked them behind the door.

The nurse knocked on the door, then opened it.

Maurie stood away from the door, remembering Cain didn't want them around for his appointment.

"General Cain, forgive me for bothering you. We have a soldier who was injured in a recent accident during training. They are highly stressed and say a preen would help them. Our normal preener isn't here today. Your slave says they would help as long as you gave permission. Would you please allow them to help us?"

"Yes of course. I didn't know someone was still hospitalized. I would like to visit them after this if I could", Cain nodded, "Maurie right there?"

"Yes."

"Maurie take good care of that soldier's wings", Cain ordered.

"Yes Master", Maurie smiled.

The nurse led Maurie into the room.

"Who is that?", the soldier groaned, "I don't want visitors.... plus they look like a slave. Are you joking with me?"

"I'm Ge....", Maurie started to introduce themself.

"Hush and go away. What a dishonor to have a slave brought to me", the soldier stuck up their nose.

Maurie quickly turned.

"I'm sorry, they have been very mean lately", the nurse sighed, "I feel bad that you just..."

"No its okay, uhm", Maurie shook, "can I go back to Master Cain.. please?"

Maurie lightly knocked on the door.

"Come in", Cain called.

Maurie quickly opened the door and went in. They sobbed as they slammed the door.

"Maurie what happened?", Cain frowned, I thought you were helping preen those wings."

"The soldier was insulted that a slave was brought to them. They thought I was trying to visit", Maurie shook more, "they uhm, yelled at me Master."

"Ah I see", Cain sat up, "I'm thinking it is one of newer soldiers then, they all don't know you yet. Come here."

Maurie inched close until Cain was able to pick them up and hug them close.

"That wasn't fair for them to yell at you, and it is not insulting to be visited by a slave", Cain wrapped their wings around them fully, "especially a slave like you."

After a few minutes, Maurie was calmed enough to climb down from Cain.

"Would you like me to leave", Maurie saw the doctor come back in.

"No I'm actually getting finished up", Cain smiled, "take a seat over there."

Cain knocked at the door of the soldier's room.

"General Cain", the soldier sat up, "what brings you here."

"I had an appointment of my own, I wasn't aware you were here", Cain stepped in, "I thought I come and check on you."

"Oh thankyou sir", the soldier smiled, "I'm okay mostly, I've been a little stressed lately."

"Yes I heard you would like to have your wings preened", Cain grinned.

"Yes sir, they haven't been done since my injury" the soldier frowned.

"You know the nurses asked if my slave could do it. I of course said yes, but was disturbed to hear that you yelled at them. They said you were insulted to have a slave brought to you", Cain sat down, "you know I've never been insulted by any visitors who came to see me."

"Th-that was your slave?", the soldier sadly realized.

"Yes Maurie is mine. They were part of the spoil we took several years ago from the enemy village Capstonel. I was gifted them for my successful siege", Cain grinned, "they were very young at that time... easy to train. I put in a lot of time making them the perfect servant for me. One task they do very well with is wing preening."

"I-I'm sorry, I've been on edge. I didn't mean to", the soldier looked at Cain.

"Well I appreciate the apology, but I'm not the one you should apologize to", Cain looked toward the door, "I understand being on edge, especially when you haven't been able to care for your wings. But, you did make my slave cry, and I do not like seeing them cry. Though they are merely human and a slave, they are still near to my heart, and I've put a lot of time and effort into them."

"I-I understand", the soldier nodded.

"Maurie would you come here please", Cain called.

After a few seconds Maurie appeared halfway in the doorway, shyly hiding from them, "yes Master?"

"If this soldier apologized to you, would you be willing to preen their wings?", Cain turned to look at Maurie.

"Yes of course Master. I'd be honored to help one of the soldiers", Maurie nodded.

Cain turned back to the soldier, "it's up to you. I won't force an apology, but you will have to wait until the on staff preener comes back to care for your wings."

The soldier nodded, "I am so sorry for being mean to you. I don't honestly even deserve for you to preen my wings though. I was a jerk."

"It's okay", Maurie stepped further into the doorway, "I know it's not fun being in that bed. Especially for your wings."

The soldier nodded with a weak smile.

"May I get started?", Maurie pulled out their preening combs.

"Yes please", the soldier sighed in relief.

Maurie listened as Cain and the soldier talked. Cain told stories, shared advice, taught different in flight maneuvers for the soldier to try to lesson injuries.

Maurie carefully and meticulously combed through each feather. They plucked out any dead feathers and moved the newer feathers around.

"My, it's been a while since you've molted", Maurie dropped a few more feathers to the floor, "a lot of feathers are popping out into my fingers without me even trying."

"Yes, I was supposed to molt a few days ago, but this injury kept me from getting to do it", the soldier sighed, "I really appreciate you doing this. My wings already feel so much better. I also don't feel as stressed."

"I'm glad", Maurie smiled.

Cain also smiled as they watched Maurie.

"Okay I think that is about as good as I'll get it right now", Maurie slid their fingers through the wings, "I've checked every part of your wings."

"I feel so much better", the soldier laid back, "this means so much to me. I'm sorry it took so long, I'm sure you had more important things to do then sit with me all morning and into the afternoon."

"No I didn't. I chose to stay here with you and talk. I've been in these hospital beds plenty of times to know how lonely it gets", Cain stood, "I could have left Maurie here if I wanted, she would have come right back to me when she was done."

"Thankyou so much", the soldier's lip quivered, "it means so much to know that a general wanted to stay with me."

"Your welcome", Cain looked at Maurie, "are you ready to go. We can grab something to eat in the cafeteria, then take a walk. I'm sure you don't feel like cooking lunch after preening those wings."

Maurie nodded, then looked at the feathers.

"Do you want me to ask?", Cain grinned when they watched Maurie nod.

"Ask what?", the soldier frowned.

"Maurie likes to collect feathers from the avians she has preened. Would you be okay if they took one of your feathers for their collection?" Cain looked at the feather covered floor.

"Yes of course they can", the soldier nodded, "I can imagine that is quite the collection."

"You have no idea", Cain shook their head, "one more story while they pick their feather.

The soldier excitedly listened.

"There was battle probably three years ago now. The Avian fleet had been trapped in the mountains for a month straight. We had plenty of supplies, everything we needed.... except a preener", Cain talked, "I decided late at night to sneak out and fly here. I grabbed Maurie and flew back before dawn."

"Please make note. Maurie hates flying with a passion, but I got her there. That entire day Maurie and I preened every soldiers wings. Then Maurie preened mine", Cain chuckled, "I can't tell you how many times we said ow because we were poked. Maurie has a feather from every one of those soldiers."

"You yourself preened soldiers wings? You waited until everyone was done before you had yours done?", the soldier gaped in shock.

"Yes, I wasn't made a general because of my good looks... shocking, I'm sure", Cain smiled, "my troops come first. We were able to boost moral and the entire fleet was relieved. The next day we were attacked. Of course, I had Maurie there, so I was a little stressed with her being so close, but it all worked out. That was the last battle. The war was won.

The soldier nodded.

"I think the moral boost helped everyone there", Cain smiled, "a happy soldier is more aware than a stressed one. I never want to see my avian comrades stressed."

Maurie reached down for a feather, then looked at Cain.

"That's the one?", Cain chuckled.

"Yes Master", Maurie nodded, then showed the soldier, "is it okay if I take this one?"

"Yes of course, thankyou so much for taking care of my wings", the soldier smiled.

"You're welcome, thankyou for the honor of doing it", Maurie smiled.

A nurse came in with a lunch tray.

"Well, we will head out. Enjoy your meal", Cain started toward the door, "hope to see you at training soon."

Cain stopped at the counter to schedule another appointment.

The nurse from earlier came by.

"Thankyou so much for allowing them to do that", the nurse smiled, "they seem so much happier now."

"You're welcome", Cain smiled down at Maurie, who was examining the feather.

"Thankyou slave girl.... sorry, Maurie for doing that as well. We all appreciate you."

"You're welcome", Maurie looked up, smiling, "I was happy to help."

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all.

@villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst

@generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13 @notpeppermint @cyborg0109

@idontreallyexistyet @painfulplots @whumpbump @everythingsscary @skittles-the-whumpee

@expressionless-fr @theforeverdyingperson @legendarydelusiongoatee @candleshopmenace @whumpanthems

@lavndvrr @ivymyers @starfields08000 @a-living-canvas @lumpofsand

@watermeezer @indigoviolet311 @whumpy-mountains @3-2-whump @risk606

@electrons2006 @paperprinxe @whumprince @kaz-of-crows

[cuteangsty]

Avian headcanons [fighting]

It's important to note that Avians don't usually fight, they are mostly pretty calm with the exception of some subspecies or closed off groups. However, even those don't usually attack, unless threatened or bothered.

Despite their peaceful demeanor they may get into arguments and fights in the following situations:

Stuck/ trapped with only one/ very few peers in extremely closed evoirment.

To protect their mate/friends/family from someone or something - might even be another avian(more explanation below)

Mental health issues

Explanation:

1: This is usually due to a terrible practice among some people who don't believe the avians have intelligence.

Some groups from different races enjoy making them fight and betting on them. They capture and stress and frustrate avians ok purpose to get them angry for a good fight. Many times leaving them in very small cages with their opponent and start the process, with both of them constantly annoyed they instigate them to blame each other for their suffering.

2: this rarely occurs between avians, most likely to happen between the avian and some other creature.

They are loyal and very protective. Not much more to say.

3: Avians who become paranoid or delusional might become violent, usually towards specific individuals who they think have something to do with their delusion or ones trying to help them.

Avians who become too violent might get thrown out of their village/ group... Avians usually try to help and nurse their peers back to health, but they tend to give up after some time if they see no signs of them getting better... Especially if they are violent.

Obs: avians who are living on their own, outside of their usual villages or other types of civilization within the species, might be more keen to violence and prone to attack other creatures since they don't benefit from the safety of a community. although, that is very uncommon.

Some avians have been reported to becoming more defensive, violent and even starting to enjoy violence when practicing violence constantly.

[featherlovesrobots]

Or they don't drop them but they do lose altitude!! And they switch from flying to gliding to practically falling and they barely have enough time to change position so they're protecting the others with their body and there's a crash landing and the other characters start panicking over how much they're bleeding and and

Avian whumpee carrying like 1-3 other characters and getting shot midair. that is all

yesss i imagined them getting shot and dropping the other(s), then having to get themselves together and save them just before they hit the ground and die!!

[whumper-whimsy]

For human, I've been playing with the idea of a human in a predominantly non-human world (someone else mentioned this, and it got my mind going), which would work great with the setting i have going of a modern fantasy type world (think D&D). Maybe humans have been mostly wiped out, and now they're high-ticket items.

I'm a big fan of avians, but I've been debating choosing it bc the Whumper is already an avian. Also, i would need to re-work a scene or two to fit it (but hey, i need more excuses for writing LMAO). On the plus side, wing whump is one of my all-time faves! Wing clipping, broken wings, bound wings, escape attempts via flying— all amazing!

The demihuman idea would need some more thought + another poll, but there are so many directions to go with demihumans! Whether they're natural-born or manmade hybrids, demihumans are so versatile for writing!