Cw: Slight mention of death being preferable to the situation

His wings are stretched so far apart across the cold metal table Luthas doesn’t know how they haven’t detached from his body altogether. He twists in his restraints, feeling the unforgiving leather tighten around his wrists. 

The pain is unlike anything he has ever experienced before. It wasn’t sharp. He could deal with that. Rather, it was a constant ache, intensified by his discomfort of needing to move but being strapped down to the surface below him. Someone comes into his vision, hovering above him, too close, and Luthas glares at him. “Something you wanna say?” he grumbles, his voice tight. Once his eyes adjust to the flickering lights of the torches around them, Luthas makes out the figure of his captor. 

“Yes,” The man above him replies, moving out of Luthas’s way to grab something from a drawer. Luthas moves his head against the table and shuts his eyes as light glints off of a knife. “You insist on being stubborn.” 

It wasn’t a question, but Luthas answers it anyway, blinking his eyes open. “Sure as fuck I am. How do you think I got this far?”

The man smiles, eyes crinkling. “A lot of good that’s done for you.” 

Luthas hesitates and furrows his brow. The man is so infuriatingly calm. “Wait and see. I bet you won’t be grinning when I use that knife against you.” 

The man doesn’t seem to react at all, merely shaking his head and scoffing, tracing a finger along the flat end of the knife. “You do know I have experience. You’re never getting out of here. Unless, of course, I release you. That might happen someday. It’s not out of the question.” He walks over to the table again, and Luthas hears every footfall. The knife is hovering over his wings now, and Luthas pulls at the straps, willing for something to give, but nothing does. The knife touches on his wing, and Luthas pulls it close instinctively, but there’s nowhere for it to go. He can’t stop this. The man could bring his arm up and back down and his wing would be completely severed, not a part of him anymore. 

The thought makes Luthas want to die. He knew about Reapers, how they tricked and brainwashed their victims, but he never imagined it would be like this. 

The knife begins to move slowly across his wing, sliding deeper across the top of the black feathers. Luthas thrashes instinctively, once, twice, his heart pounding in his ears. If he cuts his wings off, everything that Luthas has worked for will all be for nothing. The pain doesn’t even register at first, muted by Luthas’s blind panic. Ragged gasps tear their way out of his throat as the knife continues to cut into him. Then, all at once, the blade is lifted up and carried away, leaving the blood to bead up around the gash and spill over, dripping onto the floor. “I wasn’t going to cut your wings completely off, you know,” The man started, his voice just as smooth as before. “I’ve seen that doing that doesn’t work. There are some… unintended results.” He wants me alive, Luthas realizes, and the thought makes everything so much worse than just the stinging that makes his wing feel like it’s on fire.

“This will end badly for you, once I get out of here,” Luthas says, a sheen of sweat forming on his face. “You’re sick. All of you are.” 

“It doesn’t matter what you think. You’re never getting out of here,” the man repeats simply, and the knife touches down again. Luthas shudders involuntarily, but the moment his damaged wing pulls against the strap holding it down the stinging turns into a pulsing agony, shooting ice and fire all along his back with every heartbeat. 

Luthas has nothing left to say.

Day 15: Branded

“Hmmm, let’s see. You’re missing something.” The man entered the dusty garage where Maelynn sat in a corner, blinking awake. 

“Do tell.” She would have said something more snarky, but she was too tired. Maelynn wasn’t sure what time it was, but she definitely hadn’t gotten enough sleep. As she shifted around, she felt the new welts and bruises from the day before and suppressed a wince, instead choosing to stare the man in the face.

“Very funny.” Neither of them were even smiling. As she watched, he brought out a iron rod and a blowtorch. Any remnants of sleep were completely whisked away as Maelynn realized what he was going to do. And she was completely helpless to stop him.

The rod hit her forehead and she screamed, banging her the back of her head against the wall. The man didn’t let up, only pressing the brand in further. Tears of pain squeezed out of the corners of Maelynn’s eyes, but she was in too much pain to be embarrassed.

Day 7: Forced to Serve or Perform

Alfie didn’t know what was going on, and that scared him the most. After months of repetitive pain, at least he knew what to expect. He knew what to do. Just hold still under the knife. It would be over soon, one way or another, whether he passed out from the pain or was let down early. 

But this… this was completely new. The Reaper hadn’t taken Valen with them. Alfie was pretty sure she wouldn’t kill him, but he could never be sure. The horse-drawn cart that he was in rolled to a stop, but Alfie stayed where he was, in his musty cage. Looking around wouldn’t do him any good anyway. He had no idea where he was. 

His only reaction to the harsh grating sound of the rusty door opening was a twitch in his shoulders. He knew better than to let himself flinch. He was led in what he could only assume was a large room by the sound of the door opening. 

“You’re doing very good, pretty bird. I’ve trained you well,” The Reaper’s voice came from right in his ear, and he stifled another flinch. “You can look up, you know.” Hesitantly, haltingly, Alfie allowed his eyes to take in the scene before him. 

He was in a circular room, with intricate patterns on the walls and floor. As he looked across, Alfie noticed that there was some sort of mirror down the middle. But as he looked closer, he realized it wasn’t a mirror. There was another reaper, another avian standing across from him.  The other reaper unclasped their avian’s handcuffs, shoving them into the center of the room and whispering something to him. Alfie turned hesitantly toward the Reaper, the beginnings of a question in his mind. But he never got the chance to fully think it through. The Reaper pulled off his handcuffs and leaned in close. “Kill him,” she whispered, pushing Alfie into the middle of the room. 

Day 6: Tortured

Spencer held his hands close to his body, but that was no use. His captor roughly yanked his wrist away, securing it to the table with a pair of cuffs. Spencer had no choice but to splay the fingers of his right hand out on the smooth surface.

“Five fingers.” Evidently not one for exposition, his aforementioned captor got right to the point. “Five chances for you to tell me where that angel of yours is.”

Spencer stared up smoothly at his captor. “Never.”

“Alright, your choice.” Before Spencer could react, a burning agony seared through his index finger, and Spencer let out a choked scream through his teeth. His captor paused for a moment, then grabbed the next finger, relishing in the flicker of fear that ran over Spencer’s face. It was a small crack in his stoic facade, and cracks could always be made bigger.

“Four chances.”

“And if I don’t?” Even though his voice was obviously more hoarse than before, Spencer was not going to let his captor know how scared he really was.

“If you don’t, demon- well, you know. You’ve been to hell, yes?” Spencer felt like the floor was dropping out from under him, and it had nothing to do with the white-hot pain radiating from his finger.

TL:DR Alfie is shown what different versions of himself think of Valen. This one’s not very actually whumpy, more vEry angsty, but there’s mentions of captivity n stuff

It’s a dream, Alfie thinks. It has to be. It’s a dream, probably. He turns and takes one, two, three steps around the circular room with no door. It’s a dream. It has to be. 

Mist forms in the middle of the room. Alfie presses himself against a wall, shielding his eyes from the blinding yellow glow that followed a moment later. As he watches, a figure appears in the mist and jumps out. Alfie reaches for his sword, but it’s not there. He’s defenseless. 

The person sees him after a second, and Alfie realizes he doesn’t need his sword. He sees the wavy brown hair, the yellow eyes, the mouth creased in a frown. The person is him, a younger version of him. 

“Yeah, that’s right, I’m you. Catching on?” Young Alfie stares up at him, a smile growing on his face. Alfie says nothing, staring ahead with what he hoped was a neutral expression. He still wants his sword. “Don’t be so scared, I’m not here to hurt you.” Young Alfie sits down cross-legged in the middle of the room. “Let me ask you one thing, though.” Alfie looks up at that, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

“...Yes?”

“Why the fuck are you dragging that human around with you? He can’t be good. None of them are. He’s making you give up. And besides, when was the last time you had a thought of actually getting what you want? Y’know, freedom and all that? Avians can’t be suppressed forever!” Getting straight to the point, Young Alfie’s grin had been replaced with an indignant frown. 

“You don’t un-understand. Valen’s not the one who m-made me give up. The opposite, actually. A-and…” Alfie takes a step forward, looking into those bright eyes. “Sometimes it’s smart to, to th-think about what’s re-realistic.”

“Realistic? Are you kidding me? Where’s your determination? Where’s your hope? What happened?”

Alfie looks up tiredly. “You know.” 

“Well, yeah. I do. But come on!” Young Alfie sighs in defeat. “Whatever. You got one thing right though.”

“Which is?”

“Why pay for something when you can,” Young Alfie shrugs, a mischievous smile on his face, “...not?” The mist forms again, and he stuck his hand in it, pulling out a bread roll. “That’s all from me. Bye!” Waving with his free hand, he slipped back into the mist, the yellow glow flickering and fading. Alfie leans against the wall, tipping his head back. Before long, the light starts up again, and Alfie straightens.  

The figure that emerges looks so harrowing that Alfie almost can't tell that it’s him at first. But then he raises his head, and Alfie sees the oozing gash on his cheek, dripping crimson drops down to his jaw and landing on the floor. He sees the gaunt eyes peeking through the mess of matted hair. Alfie knows who this is. He knows all too well. 

Broken Alfie doesn’t bother looking around or taking in his surroundings. He has a message to convey. As Alfie watches warily from the side of the room, Broken Alfie turns toward him and opens his mouth. 

Nothing happens for a moment, as if he is trying to push past whatever thoughts are going through his head. When he speaks, his voice is rough and crackly. “...L-let ‘im,” he stops, clears his throat, and continues, “let him g-go. B-better for, f-for ‘im.” Alfie pauses to let him finish talking, and shakes his head gently in what he hopes will come across as unthreatening. 

“Valen? N-no, that’s n-not what he wants. He’s willing to, to c-compromise. For me. ” But even as he says it, he feels a twinge of guilt. Broken Alfie seems to sense this. 

“He’s… s-sac-sacraficed,” a hacking cough forces its way out of him, “t-too much al-already. You kno-ow that.”

“He needs me. Said it himself. If he w-wanted to go, he would have left.” 

“...If, if th-that’s what y-you really th-think,” Broken Alfie leans back and falls into the mist. 

Alfie sinks against the wall, doubt clouding his thoughts. He glances up for a second, only to find that another version of him has arrived. The cut on his cheek has mostly healed up, the eyes not as hopeless, the hair washed. But when Alfie takes a step forward, he barely surpresses a flinch. Alfie steps back. The last time he was that jumpy was right after he got out of that cell. 

Escaped Alfie stays silent for a few more seconds, gaze warily trained on Alfie, who patiently waits for him to start speaking. 

“Take… t-take care of Valen.” Escaped Alfie’s voice is gruff but at least it doesn’t sound like it hurts him to talk. 

“I am. I will.” 

“He’s all you have.”

“I-I know.” Finally, someone that agrees with me.

“He’s the only thing that, that matters.”

“I know,” Alfie repeats, flashing a small but reassuring smile at his former self. “I’ll protect him.”

The whole room flickers, once, twice, and Alfie wakes.

A whumpee escapes captivity, but they can’t let their friends see them like this. They push open the door to their house that they haven’t been in for however long they were captured.

Tomorrow they’ll put on a brave face in front of their friends, they’ll smile and pretend nothing happened. But that’s tomorrow. Today they need to tend to their wounds.

They scrub the blood from underneath their fingernails, watching as it drips into the sink and turns the water red. They step into the shower and let the months of dirt and blood and hopelessness wash away.

Tomorrow they’ll pretend like the months of torture didn’t happen. But today, they sink down against the wall of their shower, their tears mixing with the water.

“Finally, you’re awake.” Elijah jerked awake at the sound of a stranger’s voice, shaking his hair out of his eyes. “It took longer than usual.” As his captor continued talking, Elijah tried to bring his arms in front of him, only to realize that they were tied to the back of his hard wooden chair. He gave them a half hearted tug, but ended up slumping down in the chair as far as he could. “Kinky.” He sighed. “Who are you, anyway?”

“I’m surprised. Most people would at least be a little scared by now. Anyways, my name is Tobias. Nice to meet you. I would shake your hand, but it seems like you’re a little tied up right now.” 

“Um, okay. Tobi-”

“Yes, yes, I know, your name is Elijah, you don’t have to tell me.”

Confusion spread across Elijah’s face, a change from the usual boredom. “How did you know?”

“It doesn’t matter. Actually, it does. If you want to know something, there is no reason to not have you know.” Tobias’s face changed from casual to stone cold in an instant, and he canted his head to the side. “I have your phone,” he said, pulling it out of his pocket. “And you know what else I have?” He paused, waiting to hear what Elijah had to say.

“What, a coffin for me? My sister’s head on a stick? You’re not giving me any hints here, how do you expect me to get it right?”

“Very funny.” Tobias’s face was unamused. “I have here, a small collection of tools that will cause you much pain,” Tobias rolled a cart in clear view of Elijah. “So? What are you going to do? Scream? Cry? Don’t worry, I’ve seen it all before.” Shoving his face uncomfortably into Elijah’s personal space, Tobias grinned lopsidedly. Elijah didn’t struggle.

“Honestly? I don’t really care. You really have no use for me anyway.” As much as his body was scared of the pain, Elijah couldn’t find it in himself to care. So what if he died? No one would notice. “Do whatever you want.” He stared up at his captor, desolation evident in his eyes.

Holding eye contact, Tobias picked up a blowtorch. “It’s okay, everyone screams in the end. You don’t have to hold back.” He huffed. “Hey, how about this. The faster you struggle, the faster I let you go.” He fiddled with the torch for a moment, making sure it worked. “Well? Aren’t you going to fight? Cuss me out? I bet your family would be disappointed to know that you just gave up without a fight.”

“You bet? I know. Dude, kill me, if that’s easier for you.” Elijah looked up tiredly. 

“Well, alright then, if that’s what you really want.” The sound of the blowtorch drowned out his voice, and Elijah tipped his head back, closing his eyes. Maybe the pain would finally kill him this time.

(Not so) Happy birthday Alfie! This is set in a modern au, unless I find some way to add shock collars to a medieval-ish world somehow

Alfie’s eyes slid open, his body just as tired and battered as the day before. He knew the routine by now. His body adjusted to wake up a couple minutes before she came in. Right on cue, the woman stepped into view, pulling open the cell door. 

“Good morning, little bird,” she said, her voice full of false cheeriness. Alfie stared up at her for a moment before answering. “Don’t- fuck, don’t call me that,” he replied, the statement cut off in the middle by the shock collar around his neck. He was a harpy, not someone’s pet. She didn’t own him, as much as she said she did. The Reaper sighed, unhooking his handcuffs from above him and letting his arms fall to the floor, grabbing hold of the chain attached to his collar instead. “Don’t talk,” she muttered curtly. “Animals don’t get a voice.” 

Alfie’s heart sank as he practically was dragged out of the cell, bracing himself on the wall with his shaky arms. From experience, he knew what was coming, but it didn’t make it any easier. He caught a glance of the calendar on the wall, and his eyes narrowed. 

“Pr- ah, pretty shitty birthday this is,” he said, hands flying to his neck as the shock collar zapped him once more. Valen, who was standing in the corner, hands clasped in front of him, forced himself to stay where he was. He settled for frowning instead, glancing away from the struggling harpy.

 “Well? What do you want me to do? Sing to you?” Her grip on the chain not faltering, she led him to the table in the middle of the room, pushing him up against the side. 

“Let, hnng, letting me out would be good.” Alfie leaned forward, struggling against the pressure and static that was still coming from his collar. 

“I’ll do no such thing. Valen, a little help?”

“Yes ma’am.” He moved from his spot in the corner, walking quickly around the table to Alfie. Together, they lifted the harpy up from the ground and pushed him down on the table, where Valen secured his wrists to straps on the edge. 

Alfie went still. He knew there was no point in resisting anymore.

When a whumpee is in captivity, sometimes it feels like a different world. There are different rules that they have to learn. A strict schedule, or none at all. No free will. Just them and the whumper and the pain and the fear.

What happens when two worlds collide? 

- Whumpee 1 is conditioned by Whumper 1, but not by Whumper 2. Are they defiant towards Whumper 2? Does Whumper 2 ask for Whumper 1′s trigger words so they can get Whumpee 1 to beg like Whumper 1 does?

- Do the whumpees protect each other? Does Whumpee 2 ask to get hurt by Whumper 1 because anything, even agonizing pain, is better than mindless conditioning?

- Do they keep to themselves, because they would rather just go catonic and numb?

A whumpee is faced with a situation that reminds me of their trauma that happened with the caretaker(captivity together? getting lost together? tortured in front of each other?), and their heart starts pounding. They know how to deal with it, though, they’ve gotten worse reminders. As the caretaker leads them away, they insist that they're okay and the caretaker can go back to whatever they were doing. The caretaker pulls them into a hug. "I'm okay, I'm okay, I promise. It's not so bad this time. I'm fine." The caretaker pulls away, glances up at the whumpee, and smiles sadly. "I'm not."

A thing with Lucian is in the works but I haven’t written for like a week because of writer’s block so I forced myself to write something and here it is

@robinshouseofwhump asked about Alfie being plucked a while ago and I finally wrote it yay

The barred door opened with a clang, startling Alfie awake and making his heart pound in his ribcage. “Good morning, pretty bird!” Alfie didn’t look up. He didn’t move at all. “Did you sleep well?” The Reaper didn’t expect an answer, but she stepped through the doorway, approaching the harpy with a smile. Alfie’s breaths stuttered in his chest in spite of all his efforts to control it. A touch on his chin made him shudder, but he kept his gaze down. That’s what she wants. She’s told me. Eye contact will get me injured.

After several agonizing seconds had passed, the Reaper unhooked his cuffs, leading him out into the main room. The achy joints and bruises that hadn’t had time to heal hurt even more when Alfie moved, but he persisted, knowing that he would be hurt more if he stopped. 

“Come on then, get up there.” Just like every other day, Alfie was thrown onto the metal table, the blinding lights flickering on above him and forcing him to squint. The Reaper unlocked his cuffs, handing them to Valen, who neatly placed them on the counter. Alfie didn’t struggle as his wrists slid into loops at either end of the table. Splayed out and vulnerable, Alfie could do nothing to stop the Reaper from causing him harm. 

But today was different. Instead of the gentle creaking of drawers opening, Alfie heard nothing. “Confused, little bird?” Alfie stayed still, forcing himself to focus on her voice. “No knives today, isn’t that good? Aren’t you grateful?” Alfie listened with a detached apathy. He knew nothing he said or did would change her mind. She would do whatever she wanted, and he would receive it. He had no say. He had never had any say. 

The woman circled the table as she talked, eyeing the brown and white wings that lay flat against the cold surface. Slowly, deliberately, she reached a hand over one of the feathers, sliding her fingers under it, separating it from the rest. “S-s...stop, stop, don’t touch, th-they’re mine-” His frantic attempts at changing her mind were cut off as she tugged hard at the feather, sending a pinprick of pain into Alfie’s wing and making him gasp. Moments later, a lone feather was dangling in front of Alfie’s eyes, filtering out the light overhead somewhat. Alfie shut his eyes, but not before horror flooded through his face. My wings. She fucking plucked me. He yanked at the restraints, but the leather cuffs held stubbornly in place, biting into his wrists and rubbing against old sores. 

“It’s very soft,” the Reaper cooed, not paying any attention to the struggling harpy below her. She ran her fingers through the soft down one more time, and set the feather aside, returning once more to Alfie side. A headache was beginning to form behind his eyes, and the dull pain from his wing didn’t make it any better. Alfie wanted nothing more than to be released to spend the rest of the day in his cell. The Reaper wasn’t done, however. She circled back to the other side, found a similar feather, and pulled. Alfie gritted his teeth and looked away.

By the time she was satisfied, an orderly pile of feathers had gathered. Alfie lay on the table, blood seeping from a few places on his wings. He had long stopped screaming, his breaths coming in wheezes instead. His head throbbed with every heartbeat, and his wings burned with pain. 

He just wanted it to be over. 

@castielamigos wanted more of Lucian, so here you go! Hope you like it!

How many days had it been? Lucian didn’t know. The “few days” that Jules had mentioned seemed to last a lifetime. The tank hadn’t gotten any larger, the water no less unbearable. Jules was the only one who seemed interested in him anymore. The rest were probably just waiting to sell him. Lucian tried to make himself look alert as Jules slowly walked over once more. 

“We’re almost there. They just told me.” His voice carried easily through the glass now, and Lucian could understand more of what he said.

“Will I be let out?” And can I go home? 

“Yeah. Out of this tank, anyway.” Jules seemed sincere, but Lucian didn’t trust him. If he actually cared, why not just dump him out now? Jules was met with a stare that didn’t disappear until he looked away. “Promise. It’ll be better.”

“Don’t lie. If it’s not me, it will come back to you someday.” Lucian’s voice was low but audible. 

Jules smiled a little too easily. “I’m not, I’m not.”

~~~

Lucian opened his eyes, shifting around in the small space. The cramps in his tail and back weren’t going to go away anytime soon, but something else was different. They had stopped moving. He blinked, assessing his situation. No one had come for him yet. Everything still looked the same, the deck just as barren, what little sea he could see still just as far away. He refocused his eyes as a human, no, Jules, came into view. His smile never leaving his face, he put his hands up to the glass.

“We’re here.”