bruises are pretty imo

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. 

“You could be beautiful, you know?” Maelynn suppressed a gag as the man that had kept her in his garage for the past three days traced a finger down her jawline. “You could be art. If only you would cooperate.” 

“Never,” Maelynn muttered quietly, but the man heard her anyway. 

“You know I don’t like hurting you. The marks they leave would have to be covered up before anyone saw. But you’re making it very difficult,” the man said, his voice deceptively smooth. Maelynn’s gaze skittered around, looking for any possible escape route. Where she assumed the garage door had been was covered up was a freshly painted wall. She wasn’t getting out that way, then. Distracted, she didn’t notice the punch that the man threw at her until it was too late. 

Her head snapped back, knocking against the back of the chair, and she brought up a hand to press against the red patch on her jaw that would probably bruise. Blinking off the dizziness, she fixed her gaze on the man. “Fuck you.” 

“That was your fault, you know. You shouldn’t blame me.” The anger that only lasted for a moment faded away, and the man composed himself again. 

“Are you gonna continue with your stupid villain monologue or are you gonna tell me what you really want?” Maelynn stared up defiantly at the man, a frown on her face. 

“Haven’t you been paying any attention? Oh well, I guess if you’re this beautiful, you won’t need any brains.”

Maelynn gritted her teeth, trying not to shiver in the uninsulated room. “Don’t call me that.”

“Beautiful? What’s wrong, you don’t believe it? Don’t worry, you will soon enough. Once I get to work on you, that is.” 

Only half-paying attention to the man, Maelynn scanned the room again. Most of the conventional garage things had been removed, leaving only a rusty metal desk with rows of drawers underneath. Some spots on the walls were brighter than others, like someone had hastily painted over them. And then there was the door that the man had dragged her through three days earlier.

It looked like something out of a stereotypical mental asylum, matching the aesthetic of the rest of the transformed garage. Two padlocks were firmly closed around it. Alright then, she would have to convince the man to let her out. Which was quite unfortunate, as he was not one for bargaining, Maelynn was quickly learning. 

Turning her attention back to him, Maelynn interrupted his rambling. “What do you wa-“ Her words were harshly cut off with a slap to the face, somehow striking the same spot he had before. Yep, that would definitely bruise. 

“Now now now, we can’t be having that! When I’m talking, no interruptions. You must understand.” He moved behind her, roughly yanking her wrists back. “As for your question, haven’t you been paying attention? I don’t want to ask again. I’ve already told you. Twice now. And just for that,” he paused, leaving a tense silence. Then all at once, Maelynn felt an agonizing pain in her shoulder. She yelped and twisted around, but the man’s grip was too strong. “Fucking stop!” she hissed. The man did not let up. It seemed like he didn’t even hear her.