Whumptober Day 1

new bois alert! 

“Good morning.” At first, Calix thought the voice was only a part of his dream, and he sat up in his sleeping pod, tucking a lock of curly purple hair behind his ear. His thoughts were so fuzzy that he didn’t notice the man standing in front of him. 

“Did you sleep well?” The voice was real, and the hollow pit of dread in Calix’s stomach seemed to swallow him whole. His heart pounded in his ears. Why was he here? How did he find him? Here, on the very edge of the city, was the last place Calix expected anyone to look. 

“Grey. I, uh-” Calix couldn’t think of a coherent response, but evidently Grey didn’t need one. 

“That’s right. Miss me?” The lines in his face betrayed no emotion besides forced friendliness, but Calix knew that was far from the truth. Grey casually dragged a gun out of his coat pocket, and Calix recognized it as his own. A lightning fast flash of anger coursed through him, but he stifled it before he did anything he regretted. Now was not the time to fight back, with Grey in his room, holding his weapon. Calix moved to get up, but a tug at his wrist stopped him, and he sat back down on the cushion, fully awake now. Grey had chained him to the pod. Calix yanked at the chain, a red mark forming around the metal of his left wrist. Clenching his fists so Grey wouldn’t see them shake, Calix sat up taller. 

He had imagined them meeting again, but never anything like this. Calix would have liked to be standing over him, Grey’s blood on his hands. Getting revenge for the things he did. Things were nothing like that right now.

“Miss me?” Grey repeated, ignoring Calix’s feeble attempts at escaping. 

“...No.” Calix cleared his throat, letting his mechanical claws slide out of his fingers. Even though one hand was virtually useless, it was still something. He was stronger than he was when Grey had first captured him, even if he still felt like a speck of dust Grey could blow away at any moment. He tugged at the chain again, holding in a hiss of pain as the rough edge cut into raw skin. 

“Funny.” Grey didn’t laugh. “Did you get yourself shiny new toys? Think you’re a match against this?” He held the gun out in front of him. 

“That’s mine,” Calix said, his words clear but quiet. He glanced down. Beads of blood welled up where the cuff was, and when he tried to pull on it a shard of metal dug deep into the cut, sending a wave of pain into his wrist. 

“Why does that matter? Those cuffs are mine, but you’re wearing them.” 

Calix fell silent. His wrist stung, and he was sure it would get infected if Grey left him like this. But Grey wouldn’t leave. Calix wasn’t sure if that was better. 

“You were mine, but you left me.” Grey’s tone didn’t change at all, but the words made Calix’s blood run cold. The silence hung heavy in the room, Calix’s silver eyes boring into Grey as if he could push him out that way. His blood rushing in his ears, Calix imagined tearing off the cuff. He imagined rushing forward and sinking his claws into Grey’s throat. He imagined watching the warm blood pour out from his neck and spread on the floor. 

He needed to get out of the cuff first, but of course Grey wasn’t going to let him do that. He had to settle for just imagining for now. 

From where he was bound to a hook in the wall, Valen couldn’t see the damage done to Alfie’s back. With no way to gauge how bad it was, he could do nothing but helplessly tug at the rope wrapped tight around his wrists, tears gathering in the corner of his eyes as he watched his best friend get flogged. 

With every crack of the whip, Alfie gritted his teeth and bit back a groan. Tied to the ceiling by a rope around his neck, he had to keep standing or else he would suffocate. Arms and feathers drooping lower, he stumbled as the unforgiving whip dug into his back again. With his hair falling over his face, Valen couldn’t catch his eyes, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to. What he would have seen wouldn’t be so different from the scared harpy that the Reaper had kept in captivity. As much as he tried to shove the thought out of his mind, Valen couldn’t deny the likeness. Alfie was being hurt, and he was on the sidelines, watching. Doing nothing, just as he always had.

They both didn’t say a word, Valen because he was scared of what the man would do, and Alfie because of trained instinct.

The man holding the whip grunted as he let it fly out once more, and Alfie choked back a barely-suppressed yelp. He should have been used to the pain by now, but somehow each lash seemed to tear up his back even more. A single tear trailed down his cheek and dripped on the floor, creating a small circle of grey in the dusty ground. Still he made no sound, even as choked sobs threatened to claw their way out of his throat. The harpy could feel warm blood trickling down his back, running over skin that hadn’t been split and into other wounds. Curling his toes into his shoes to brace for the next impact, he desperately sucked in a breath, just wanting it to be over. The coarse rope bit into fresh wounds, and his knees turned to water. There was no slack in the rope holding him up. When he fell forwards, the bristles in the rope cut into his neck and yanked him upright, even as his feet clumsily tried to find solid ground. Listing dangerously to one side, Alfie coughed, hands flying to his neck in a futile attempt to loosen the restraints a little. 

Valen was already going through a list of things he would need in an effort to stop himself from crying. Tears were useless from him; he wasn’t the one being fucking flayed alive. He swallowed hard, keeping his gaze on the small pebble a few feet in front of Alfie. They would need bandages, obviously. Maybe stitches, but he couldn’t tell how bad it was yet. Antiseptic, and- 

Yet another swish of the whip hurtled through the air. Alfie let out a gasp that bordered on a high-pitched keen, and Valen flinched as if he were the one being hit, his eyes flitting to the man with the whip. He did nothing but smirk slightly in satisfaction, and switched the whip to his other hand, as if that was what he was waiting for. “Okay, think you’ve learned your lesson there, pal?” His booming voice filled the room, and no one else moved. “Alright,” he said after a terse moment of silence. “I’ll cut you loose now. Remember.” he lifted his chin and stared Valen in the eyes, holding the whip out. “Don’t come after me. That goes for both you and your harpy.” After Valen’s frantic nod, he picked up a dagger that had been conveniently placed on a stool nearby, sawing through the twine that held Alfie up. As soon as it ripped free the harpy collapsed to the floor, a cloud of dust rising up around him. 

Valen could see his back now, a mess of crosshatches, welts, and parts where the skin was just missing. Everything was covered in blood that oozed out of the wounds, and Valen wasn’t completely sure that none of them would get infected. Alfie lay on the floor, his ruined shirt pooled next to him, feathers soaking up the blood that had collected in a puddle. Sometime between when Valen was cut free and when he rushed forward, Alfie started shaking, tremors shooting through his body. 

“Well, I’ll be going now. Good day,” the man gave them a sarcastic salute and strode out the door. 

“Alfie? Alfie! Hey, it’s gonna be okay.” Valen practically fell toward Alfie, dropping to his knees beside the shuddering mass of blood and open wounds. “You’re gonna be okay, we’ll get out of here, we can go home now.” Valen hovered around him, not sure what to do. “Um, are you, uh-” He broke off before he said something stupid. Of course Alfie wasn’t okay. Not by a long shot. And even though he must have been in a tremendous amount of pain, he stayed completely silent. Not good. “You with me?” Valen ventured. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Alfie didn’t respond. The similarities between this and the worst period in his life were too hard to ignore. The effects would probably linger, too. Alfie would probably be even more withdrawn and reticent than he usually was for a while. All because of one afternoon. 

“Hnng-” The groan broke off with a harsh cough, and Alfie curled in on himself while Valen looked on with immense relief, almost shaking himself from the sheer shock. Even when he was with the Reaper, even when his breathing grew ragged and broken from the pain of her knives over and over and over again, he didn’t talk, didn’t make any noise. This, this wasn’t just him not being able to contain it any longer. This was deliberate. Alfie wanted to talk.

“Yeah?” Heartbeat pounding in his ears, Valen lightly put his hand on Alfie’s shoulder, above the damage. A few seconds passed without anything else, but Valen waited. He would wait for hours, if that’s what it took. 

“...Wi...with y-you.” The stuttered response was barely intelligible, and Valen had to strain to catch the meaning, but it was there. Alfie was there, at least somewhat. Now they just had to get home, which was easier said than done, considering it was the middle of the day. Alfie shuddered once more and slowly, painstakingly dragged his arms out from beneath him. His feathers were coated in shades of crimson, and his hands didn’t look much better.

“‘M gonna help you up, okay?” Valen kept his voice low, sliding his arm across Alfie’s shoulders. The harpy didn’t look up, keeping his head down, the tips of his hair touching the dirt on the ground. As careful as Valen tried to be, his sleeve brushed against a welt, and Alfie gasped, shaky arms shoving into the ground and pushing himself up. “Sorry,” Valen muttered, drawing his arm back in a flash and dropping his gaze. He couldn’t do anything right. Not helping Alfie, not getting him out like he was supposed to. He guessed he must have shown it somehow, because Alfie gave a quick shake of his head. It’s okay. Don’t apologize.

They had been here before, Different circumstances, same situation, and from experience Valen knew what the wordless assurance meant. “Um, we probably should go.” He swallowed, trying to push down the growing lump in his throat. Why did he deserve anything? For god’s sake, he wasn’t the one with a ripped up back. Valen swept his gaze over Alfie again, trying to figure out the best way to get him up without hurting him any more than he already had. 

But Alfie had different ideas. Shifting his weight onto his other arm, he pushed his hand forward, latching onto the threadbare cuff of Valen’s sleeve. Stay?

“Yeah, okay. We don’t need to go yet.” Try as he might, Valen couldn’t keep the tremors out of his voice. Ever since the first snap of the whip, Valen didn’t get a glimpse of Alfie’s face, and it wasn’t until Alfie hauled his limbs into somewhat of a sitting position that their eyes met. Alfie’s eyes were hauntingly hollow with sheer exhaustion. Valen broke the eye contact, shaking his hair over his face to keep Alfie from catching sight of the tears that were chasing each other, one after another, down his cheeks. If Alfie noticed, he didn’t comment, opting instead to slump forward, leaning heavily against Valen, resting his head on his shoulder.

At first, Valen thought Alfie went unconscious. But he felt Alfie’s arms wrap around him, and he instinctively responds in kind, making sure to keep his touch light in case Alfie decided to pull away. He didn’t. 

They stayed like that for a long time, just the two of them, in that abandoned broken-down room. 

Day 27: Loss of Hope

“What do you want from me? Wha-“ Alfie’s question was abruptly cut off as the Reaper yanked on the rope connected to his collar. “How many times have I told you to not talk?”

“I counted. 27.” Undeterred, Alfie placed a hand on the rope, pulling it toward him and standing up, staring into the Reaper’s eyes. “What do you want?” He glanced around at the barren walls and dusty cell floor. “I don’t have information or anything, I don’t— hnng-” The Reaper was apparently not in a good mood. She pulled hard on the rope, slipping it out of Alfie’s grasp and choking him. He fell to the floor, coughing violently. Before he could catch his breath, she dragged him out of the cell, attaching the rope to a hook in the ceiling over the cold metal operating table. “Get up.” Her voice had turned ice cold. Alfie didn’t respond. “Valen?” The Reaper looked at the corner of the room, where he leaned against the wall, stray strands of hair covering his face. He looked up as he heard his name. “Get him on the table.” An order. “Yes ma’am,” he said, automatically coming around and pulling Alfie’s wrists apart. Even though the harpy resisted, the sedatives that he had been kept on had weakened him, and Valen was able to maneuver him onto the table and secure the handcuffs to his wrists with minimal difficulty. 

Spread-eagled and held down, Alfie could do nothing but wait for the pain to begin. 

Day 21: Whipped

The slavemaster raised the whip, and Takoda set his jaw, determined not to do anything embarrassing in front of his audience. He shifted with anticipation where he kneeled on the wood that was probably going to give him splinters, hands chained to a post above him to keep him relatively upright. 

The first stroke of the whip bit into his back, ripping his tattered tunic even further. The sting wasn’t too bad, although that was probably because the cloth absorbed most of it. Okay. The standard punishment for thievery was 20 lashes. One down. He could do this. The second strike came after a moment, and Takoda sucked in a breath, the tiniest of squeaks escaping him. This slavemaster was strong. He could feel welts forming on his back and hunched forward instinctively, but there was nowhere to go. Takoda glanced toward the crowd below him again, but pain was making everything fuzzy. He lost track of the number after that, all the stinging and the coarse whip digging into open wounds making him lightheaded. It didn’t matter. He just needed to not break. It had seemed so easy at first. 

Note: This is old and I have changed parts of the world/characters so it is no longer canon.

Alfie slumped down against the wall as far as he could. His arms still chained high above him, he could only manage to sit upright, with his back against the wall. Some knife wounds were still oozing blood on the walls that would probably stain it, but Alfie was too tired to care. He just wanted to sleep. Just wanted the day to be over.

The door opened, and he flinched, expecting the Reaper to drag him out. Instead, it was Valen. The Reaper mostly kept them apart, but every now and then Alfie caught a glance of her assistant. He never retaliated, and Alfie always wondered why he didn’t just leave. Maybe it was the threat of the Reaper coming after him that he was scared of. That’s why Alfie didn’t try to escape, anyway.

Quiet footsteps sounded, and Valen stepped closer. Under Alfie’s watchful eye, he took out a roll of gauze. “For your back, okay?” Alfie didn’t give any signal to whether he was okay with it, but he was chained up anyhow, so he couldn’t move. Valen started unwrapping the gauze, and placed a hand on Alfie’s shoulder to separate his back from the wall. Alfie flinched, his feathers shaking, not used to such gentle contact. Valen’s purple eyes flitted quickly to Alfie’s silently asking for permission once again. The muscles in Alfie’s jaw tensed before he gave a single nod, and Valen moved his hand to in between Alfie’s shoulders, wrapping the gauze around the worst of the injuries. The contact with the bandages stung, but it was bearable at least. At last, Valen was finished, and he sat against the wall next to Alfie, who briefly wondered why he was sticking around. They sat in silence for a long time.

“You doing okay in here?” Alfie turned his head, confused. Okay? How could I possibly be okay with this? “Yeah, I know, it kinda sucks here. But, relatively.” Valen continued. Sucks is an understatement. Alfie continued to stare at him. “You can talk, you know. She’s not here right now.” No. You’re wrong. She’s always watching. That’s what she told me, and she’s right. “It’s okay.” No. It’s not okay. It’ll never be okay. Valen shifted so he was facing Alfie. “I know your vocal chords work.” Alfie ducked his head in embarrassment. He’s heard me screaming. “If you don’t want to talk, can you listen?” Alfie glanced back up at Valen suspiciously. Valen seemed to take that as a yes, so he went on. “Most people, she just hurts for a little while, and throws them out on the streets. She’s never kept someone as long as you.” Yep, I knew that already. Got anything new to say? “But then again, you’re not most people. I’m… really sorry. That she’s doing this to you, I mean. You don’t get a choice in being a harpy, why should she hurt you for it?” Alfie’s head snapped up, and he glared into Valen’s eyes. Because I deserve it. Because I can’t even be good enough for her. Because without her, I’m nothing. The thoughts whirled around in his head, bouncing around the walls and echoing in the emptiness.

“I just… I wish I could do something. But I can’t. She’s said multiple times that she would hunt me, and I… my whole life is here.” Okay. I don’t need your sob story. You can kindly fuck off. Valen stared back at Alfie again. “Don’t you think it’s unfair?” Unfair. I used to think that. God, I was so naive back then. “Because it is.” Alfie’s brow furrowed. There was a small part of him that rejoiced at hearing that someone else thought the same way he did, and he hated it. “I mean, you didn’t really do anything to hurt her.” Nonono he’s wrong he’s so wrong you deserve it you deserve everything you disgusting piece of shit. He swallowed thickly, his throat blocked by… what? Anger? Relief? Sadness? Alfie couldn’t tell. “So, I just wanted to apologize. For not doing anything. And… I know you’re going to get out someday.” Alfie continued to stare at him silently as Valen got up and left him alone once more.

“You just passed out for a bit. Can you hear me?” Alfie blinked wearily up at Valen, who was hovering over him. “...wha… yeah?” He mumbled. As the room stopped going fuzzy around him, he was uncomfortably aware of Valen’s hand supporting his neck. “Do-don’t t-t-t…” he gave up on the word and scrambled away to a corner of the room. Valen held his hands up in a placating gesture. “Okay, I won’t. As she likes to be known, the Reaper doesn’t like infected wounds. So I need to patch you up. So… I need you to come over here.” Alfie continued to stare at him blankly from across the room. Valen hesitated. “If you don’t want to clean your wound there, I can just go.” Alfie briefly nodded once, and Valen stood up and left the cell, taking his bandages with him. The harpy wrapped his wings around his legs, resting his forehead on his knees.

It was all becoming too much for him. His capture was only a couple of weeks ago, and since then he had been transferred to multiple people, all of them only wanting to hurt him. He hadn’t even bothered to remember their names; he would only be shipped off somewhere else later. Even though he hadn’t had the best life before, at least it wasn’t this. Trapped in a small room, with nothing to occupy him but pain and dread.

The dull shine of light through the bars told him it was still daytime. His captor turned off the lights and left for a period of time every day, so he assumed that was night. He didn’t really have any idea. She could have been nocturnal, for all he knew.

He shifted his gaze to the barred door, where the Reaper was barely visible behind a corner. She neatly wiped the bloody blade and slid it into its drawer with a clink. She turned, and must have noticed him looking at her, because she slowly walked over. “How’s my little bird doing? Is that induction healing up okay?” Her voice held a hint of sarcasm. Allie didn’t answer. Silence was becoming a new norm for him, as he was learning that she didn’t like that. He was learning lots of new things here. Don’t talk without permission, don’t struggle, don’t fight back. Escape had crossed his mind once or twice, but he figured he would be caught in his weakened state anyway.

“Anyways, I think you should be grateful that you’re not in more pain. Hm? I think you should thank me.” It wasn’t a suggestion. The Reaper’s voice brought Alfie to the present, but he continued to stare at her silently. She entered his cell and stepped towards the small corner he had shoved himself into. With a hand on his forehead, she tipped his head up to force eye contact. “Thank me.” She paused, her face becoming stern. “I won’t ask again. What are your greatest fears hm? Waterboarding? Drowning? Being burned alive? What about,” she reached her other hand to his wings. “Having those pretty things cut off?” Alfie’s glare turned defensive, and he shifted under her heavy hand. “So thank me. Thank me for not doing any of that.” Alfie kept his mouth shut and his eyes down. “Very well.” A hint of anger crept into the Reaper’s voice, and she shoved him away. “See you in the morning.”

Weighed down by the chains, Alfie could only flutter his wings uselessly. “Hold on, don’t move them. They need to be pretty.” his captor reminded him. Placing his hands over the newly formed bruises, Alfie gave his wings one final flap before daring to open his mouth. “If I r-r… ruin them, will y-you let me… go?” His captor smiled. “Well, I do have a lot more tests and experiments to do with you. But some of them… let’s just say you won’t need your wings for. So, no.” He reached for Alfie’s chin. The harpy was exhausted and in pain, and barely had enough energy to shift his head to the left a couple of inches. His captor chuckled. “You’ll learn. For now, why don’t you call me Doctor? I will be running tests on you, after all.” Alfie’s breathing picked up. “N… not g-gonna call you… anything…” he panted out. The Doctor’s smile disappeared. “All right, it was cute the first few times you did it, but now you need to obey me.” A pair of shiny handcuffs were tied to his wrists. The Doctor gave them a rough tug to make sure no feathers got stuck in it, then hooked them to a metal ring in the wall.

Alfie jerked his wrists, once, twice, and a third time, trying to keep the whimpers balling up in his throat from surfacing. The Doctor got up to leave, his hand in the doorway. “Don’t… do that to yourself. It’s only going to get worse.” Alfie gasped violently, suddenly feeling the pain from the cuffs. The Doctor paused and turned back, his piercing blue eyes fixed on Alfie. “I would have asked you to thank me, but it looks like you’re tired out already.” The harpy glared at the Doctor’s retreating back as he shut and locked the door behind him.

Left to deal with his own thoughts, Alfie tipped his head back and tried to shift himself into a comfortable position. The metal ring he was hooked to was wide enough that he could stand or sit with his arms and wings held above him. He gingerly lowered himself to the ground, trying not to strain his sore shoulders. He didn’t know what he was in there for, but he would be getting out at his first chance.

A light, feathery hand brushes over Alfie’s wings. “It’s good that they’re still intact, huh little bird?” He glared at his captor, and opened his mouth to let out a swift retort, but was cut off by a swift punch to the jaw. What little strength he had left in him ebbed away and he crumpled to the ground. “Still haven’t learned? You obey me. You are mine, pretty bird.” Alfie raised his head, still reeling from the punch. “N-never.” His captor grinned. “Hey, you’re getting better. No one but me will want anyone with a stutter.” He continued on, reaching a hand toward the harpy’s neck. “And you’ve only been here for a few days. See how much progress you’ll make when you’ve been here for longer.”

The hand reached his neck and grasped it, getting tighter by the second. Alfie coughed, black spots clouding his vision. His wings fluttered weakly, and his lungs ached. His captor tilted his head, and suddenly let go of the harpy’s throat. Alfie inhaled sharply, hands flying to his throat. “Hold on, I almost forgot something. You’ll be good and stay here while I go get it, won’t you?” his captor said. Alfie’s arms burned, and as much as he wanted to run across the room and kill his captor, he still couldn’t get enough air. He was reduced to a coughing, gasping brown and white mass on the floor.

His captor came back in through the barred door a few moments later. Alfie didn’t look up. “Look what I have for you, pretty bird!” He held out two metal weights and a length of chain. “We need to stop you from using your wings so they don’t get damaged. You wouldn’t want that, would you? No, I need your wings to be in tip-top shape!” His captor chattered to himself as he made the two lengthy strides across the small room. At the last moment, Alfie brought his chin up, and stared his captor in the eyes. He raised his fist, arm burning.

He wasn’t fast enough. In a flash, he was kicked in the head and ribs, again and again, bruises spreading on his skin. “Ngghh, stop, st… going t… to fucking k-kill y… you…” Alfie gasped, the boot opening up old wounds. His captor’s cheeriness quickly turned to anger. “You little shit! I captured you for a reason, don’t make me ruin those wings! Once they’re ruined, you’re worthless. Without your wings, your nothing. You hear me? Nothing.” With a hand on his back, his captor tied the weights around his wings, and tightly wrapped the chains around it. “You see? You’ve lost the privilege of freedom. You’re mine.”