#whumpsprite

[clockworkgalaxies]

quick sketch and paint of @whump-sprite‘s oc Anders Reyan

[friendlylocalocs]

The yelling, the chanting outside presses on as the crowd screams for ‘justice’. They’re gathered around a couple magic users, shoving them to the ground. Beating them. Lux had been one of them. He’d been shoved into the crowd and, scrambling from his bloody hands and knees, ducked through the mass of people to get away. Some men tried to chase him, but the street was too clogged with people.

He’d managed to slip into a rundown building, an abandoned house. With shaking hands he’d closed the door, then stumbled into the dark, musty place.

Now he’s lying on the floor, looking up at the stained ceiling in confusion. He doesn’t remember having fallen. Everything hurts. It’s difficult to breathe, and he’s terrified that if he makes a sound of pain, they’ll find him. He’s bleeding. He’s aching. And he can’t be bothered to move.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

content warning: referenced/implied noncon

alex and taryn are @whump-sprite‘s ocs!

The door slams open, the wood rattling and the handle colliding with the wall to drive right into it. Lux flinches badly, trying to curl up and tuck his face into Emory’s lap as he makes panicked sounds. He’s going to be hurt again, he knows it, the group’s boss is furious and they’re gonna take it out on him, they’re gonna make him sob again, and that makes it so hard to breathe with the tape over his mouth, and he’s gonna hyperventilate…

Something loud is happening. A fight, maybe. Lux pushes himself further into Emory’s lap with a pitchy keen. What if they don’t hurt him this time, what if they’re going to kill him? What if they take Emory away and Lux is left all alone?

The loud sounds, the crashing and scuffing of shoes against the floor, it all stops nearly as soon as it starts. Lux is breathing loudly in his panic, complaining in the only way he can - with animalistic sounds muffled by the duct tape - when Emory’s hands stop combing through his hair and pressing against his back to hold him close.

“Lux, Lux, look, it’s okay,” Emory says, and Lux doesn’t understand. He doesn’t want to look. In four days, he’s gotten used to how this works; if he’s not being held or shoved down into the bed, he doesn’t want any part of it, because new is dangerous.

“He’s scared,” His partner tells someone, and Lux frowns against Emory’s middle. Is he talking to the men who have been hurting Lux? Is he going to ask for mercy, or is he just going to point out that Lux is cowering before being pulled out of the way?

There’s a moment of silence, and then a shifting on the bed as weight settles down at the edge of it. Lux really can’t curl up any tighter, any closer to the only source of comfort he’s had in the past few painful days.

Something moves the zip-tie where it connects Lux’s wrists behind his back, and he tenses - but there’s no new contact with his skin, and suddenly the tie bursts open, his arms no longer being held in their unnatural position. Lux draws a sharp breath in through his nose and slowly, achingly pins one arm under himself, pulls the other one close to his chest with a stream of whines.

A hand presses lightly to the back of his left shoulder, and as soon as he realizes it’s not Emory’s, he nearly tries to twist away - but then blissfully cool numbing magic sinks into the throbbing joint, and Lux’s next sound is a longing moan.

The same magic is pushed into his other shoulder. Lux lets out a shivery breath against Emory’s side.

“Hey Lux,” Says a familiar voice, and the warlock squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to place it. “It’s Alex. Tare’s here, too.”

“Yeah, took out those bastards,” She adds, although her tone is more gentle than her words.

“Emory, how hurt is he? Can he walk?”

Lux doesn’t hear an answer. He wonders if Emory nodded or shook his head in answer. Lux isn’t going to walk, no matter what anyone says. He would pass out with the first step, crumple to the floor.

His arms tingle loudly, sharply, as feeling returns to them; his fingers are pink and feel hot with the return of blood flow. Lux tries to focus on the pins-and-needles instead of the concept of how hurt he is otherwise.

Emory’s fingers return to his hair just long enough to tip his head to the side and expose his face. Lux closes his eyes against the assault of bright light. Emory’s fingers pry gently at the edge of the duct tape, and then peel it away; Lux thought it would hurt, but it’s surprisingly easy to remove, after all the sweat and tears. He gasps, coughs, and pants as soon as he can open his mouth, but he doesn’t venture to speak.

He’s scared that if he tries, then he’ll seem more okay than he is, and when he breaks down very soon, everyone will be disappointed with him. So he keeps what would probably be croaking, stammered words to himself and presses his face to Emory’s stomach again, relishing in the sheer comfort of it without tape across his face.

“I’ll carry him,” Emory says, and Lux nods his weak agreement, saying yes, please, I want that, without a sound.

“It might be better for me to carry him, if you’ve been stuck here a while,” Taryn says, sounding logical as ever. “You might not be able to.” She pauses, and Lux imagines that Alex gave her a look.

“-but you can do it either way, we can make him lighter with magic,” Alex adds, and probably is gratified by Lux visibly relaxing.

After the spell is cast, and Lux is carefully bundled up in Emory’s arms, they make their way out of the house, Lux hiding so that he doesn’t have to see the bodies of the men that hurt him like this. He doesn’t want to add guilt over their fate to what’s already weighing on his chest.

~

Lux doesn’t feel safe, exactly. Doesn’t feel free of the grimy, sticky horror that’s been buried in his gut for a few days now.

But the cargo pants and big sweatshirt from Alex, they help. Lux doesn’t feel like being bundled up in blankets, even if it would make him feel better to be hidden from sight - he feels like he needs to be able to move away from touch, so he’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, hands in his lap. He’s wary, but at least he’s focused, and not crumpling in on himself making those sounds anymore.

“D’you want some tea?” Alex asks from the kitchen, and Lux nods when Alex glances over. He can speak, he’s done it since they got here yesterday, he just prefers not to right now. Feels like it would make things real.

Alex brings it over, along with a mug of his own, and sits down on the other end of the couch casually. Lux is glad for the distance, although he sort of wishes Emory would sit right next to him instead of in a different chair, looking worried and careful.

Everyone’s being careful. It helps, and it hurts. Lux stares down at his tea in the quiet room for a few minutes before he decides to just do something.

He leans over toward Alex, holds his hand over that mug, and lets some of his magic flow down into it. Alex looks almost offended - surprised? - for a second before he looks at his friend.

“What’s that for?”

“Makes me feel better,” Lux answers, his voice still raspy and quiet, and he sits back, content.

“Makes you feel better to give some of your magic away?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that makes me feel better too. Can I numb your shoulders more, do they-”

“Nope, don’t want that.”

Alex falls silent, then seems to decide that making Lux happy is more important than acting like he isn’t always lacking magic. He shrugs and takes a sip.

“Does that really make you feel better?” The healer asks.

“Uh-huh.” Lux loses a bit of his newfound levity as he adds, “Wanna help someone… be able to do something.”

“That’s fair,” Alex replies, drinking more of the tea now that he knows it really does make Lux feel better just to do something helpful. He can relate to that. He still hasn’t had his offer of more healing accepted yet, and he gets that too, since Lux has already had enough done to him. He probably doesn’t want to feel any touch, even the touch of healing magic, not yet. Lux’s wrists are still bruised, where they rest in his lap, looking knobbly and thin even though he wasn’t trapped for long enough to actually get skinnier.

“You want to watch a movie, maybe?” Emory suggests from his seat, and Lux brightens up a bit, nodding. That sounds like fun, sounds relaxing. Maybe partway through, Lux will ask Emory to come sit with him, and he can try out - try out holding Emory’s hand, or leaning on his shoulder, toward the end. Lux thinks he can do that.

~

By the end of the movie, Lux and Emory are sprawled out on the couch, limbs tangled with Lux on top and slipping over to be wedged against the cushions, arms wrapped around his boyfriend’s middle. He snores lightly against Emory’s shirt, shifting occasionally only to settle down when Emory’s slipping fingers find their place again in his curls.

Taryn grins at the couple, and then shakes her head at the sight of her twin lying on the floor on a pillow and blanket, where he swore he was comfortable but she knows he was just eager to get out of the way when Lux actually asked Emory to be closer.

She lowers herself onto the floor to wake her brother up quietly, then drags his sleepy ass over to his room, nudging him inside with fingertips pressed to his back. Once he’s in there, and the other two are confirmed to be sound asleep on the couch, she heads to her own room. She can’t believe Lux got away with slipping Alex some extra magic when he wasn’t even draining himself to heal someone. Maybe she can conspire with Lux for him to do it again, once or twice more. It’ll make Lux feel adventurous, more alive, to have a secret plan like that, she thinks. She should know, from having a brother all her life, one who recharges by helping others.

Tomorrow, she’ll talk with Lux, and probably with Emory too, since that guy is just as broken up over what they went through as anyone. She knows what that’s like, watching the pain.

Those two will heal just fine, she knows. They’re strong, and they love each other, and there’s nothing that can break two people when their strength is in each other. Not a damn thing.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

anders and vic are @whump-sprite‘s ocs.

"Hhhhn, hhhn, hnnng..."

As Anders moans, pupils blown wide with agony, jolting and gasping with his head held in Vic's lap, magic is poured into his mangled leg.

"You're doing so well, cariño, stay with me, I've got you." Vic's thumbs stroke the side of those sweaty, pale cheeks, and he dips down to press a kiss to Anders' brow in an attempt to envelop the warlock's focus for just a second. But the pain is too big, too deep, and the moans press on, hitching into whimpers when bones shift, when jagged skin torn open by concrete is mended back together to keep his blood from spilling out.

"Fix him, Lux," Vic begs, orders, repeats. Whatever works - if he has to be patient, or angry, or needy, whatever works, it's all tied in together, all laid out in the thrumming horror of his voice. Whatever it takes to make Anders stop whining for mercy.

"I'm trying," Lux answers, and for once, it's not a miserable, apologetic utterance, but a promise. His magic is working, it's flowing into that leg and snapping it back into something that looks once more like a human limb.

"Anders, Anders, look at me." Those pain-fogged green eyes flick up to Vic's face, nearly losing focus when the next push of magic snaps muscles back together. Vic clutches at the sides of his cariño's head. "I've got you. I've got you. Don't look, just focus on me." If Anders sees what his leg looks like now, messy and crooked, he'll pass out again, and Vic is going to lose his mind with worry.

But then Anders whimpers something that changes his mind on the turn of a dime.

"Please, knock me out." Another jolt, and the pain in his eyes, it's sickening. "Please, please, V."

"Lux," Gasps Vic, reaching out a hand toward the other warlock without looking up, trying to grab his attention. "Stop, come here, help him."

"I'm - I am - what?" The magic stops for a moment, and Anders' breaths nearly shudder to a stop in anticipation of it starting up again.

"Please..." Those green eyes flick over to Lux, now, and Anders Reyan's chin is trembling.

Lux doesn't ask for clarification. He presses two bloody fingers to Anders' temple, and lets him pass out as soon as he goes into that mind and severs the last feeble tie to consciousness. Anders sags into Vic's lap, face going slack, and it's a blessing.

~

The pain is too much. Too much to make Anders wake back up. But Vic refuses to give him morphine (fearing the inevitable thank you, Mistress being murmured in awe), and Lux is still working on that leg, unable to keep Anders unconscious and heal at the same time.

So Anders comes to, a moan building up in his throat as soon as he can feel his own body, with Vic rubbing circles into his temples and Lux weaving numbing magic into that leg as he restores some of the damage done. With every swell of the numbing spell, Anders sinks down and lets out a wavering, deep sound of relief. His fingers twitch restlessly; each time he starts to drift off, his whole body jerks back into awareness, the weight of exhaustion and breaths slowed by drowsiness feeling too similar to being pinned by something inescapable and suffocating on dust.

Lux's fingers press carefully, hesitantly, into the knotted-up muscles of that leg, find the cracks in the bone and mend them. Anders tries to jerk out of the tight grip, sometimes, on instinct. Vic goes shh, shh, and Lux's hands keep that limb from pulling free and getting jostled worse. Anders is lulled back into a kind of restless acceptance of what's happening.

And eventually, with enough magic poured into his leg, with enough time spent registering and biting down on the pain, Anders is able to relax into a kind of doze, guarded against spikes of agony by the ones watching over him.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

alex is @whump-sprite‘s oc.

Lux gives a small, squeaky yelp when his leg buckles and he nearly falls to his knees, catching himself on the back of the couch.

Something twinged wrong in his hip, and now his side, his whole leg too, is burning. The warlock makes a rough sound as he pushes himself back up and tests his weight on that leg. It holds, the problem isn’t the knee, it’s the hip. Remembering the source of lingering aches is hard, sometimes; this one reminds him of when his hip was dislocated, last time he was in the cellar, so he thinks it’s a remnant of that injury.

His perception of the space around him shifts. Instead of idly noticing the plants on the windowsill, the sunlight hitting the wood panels of the floor, he sees every remotely horizontal surface as something he can collapse onto if the pain spikes again. The floor, of course, is the nearest but hardest to lower himself onto. The chair over by the little reading table. The couch, the armchair, the papasan.

That hip twinges again, and the arm propping him up against the back of the couch trembles. The very slight new pressure on his arm makes his shoulder start to ache, too, and a lump catches in his throat. Why can’t his body pick one old pain and let him sort it out before the next builds back up?

Pushing off from where he leans, he tries to walk. He manages something of a stiff shuffling, maybe something reminiscent of how Anders walks on his less-painful mornings.

His hip makes an ominous snapping sound that he can hear, and feel the jolt of, but which brings no new pain - until it builds up, starts burning through his nerves, and with a strained yelp, Lux collapses to the floor.

He doesn’t want to bother anyone. Emory won’t be home for three hours. And as much as he wants to just use his magic to numb the offending joint and get back up, he’s scared that his magic won’t work. As in, he’s scared to even try, even think too much about trying, because he’s scared that one day it’ll just fail to work ever again. Surely, enough fear and pain associated with magic can make it wither up and die. He keeps forcing it when it’s not ready to be used, or when it’s drained or tucked away, and he’s, he’s just scared.

It’s fine though. He’s got a phone. He won’t call anyone for help, the pain’s manageable, it’s something that feels familiar. He doesn’t like being alone, so he’s reaching out for a bit of company while he works up the will to try to move.

hey alex, what’s up?

Seconds after he sends the text, it’s marked as delivered. Lux turned off the “send read receipt” setting because he got so nervous about people knowing when he opened their texts, judging how long he waited to answer, determining whether he was lying about having read what they sent when he just forgot about answering. But Alex hasn’t turned that setting off, so Lux can see that his text is read within two minutes.

    nothing much. grabbing pizza. want me to bring you some?

An invite to hang out. Lux bites his lip. Every time he’s invited to spend time with a friend, he thinks about the cellar. Remembers being alone for weeks, months on end, the only other person in his world bringing only pain. The kind of loneliness that set over him then feels permanent. Like any moment, he might be left behind and forgotten, deemed not worth the effort it takes to interact with him. It’s why he’s texting alex at all - he can handle being driven to lie on the floor as pain comes in constant, inescapable waves, but he can’t handle being alone while it happens.

Alex starts typing again, then stops. He’s considering changing the offer, maybe adding to it, maybe taking it away, since Lux isn’t answering right away. Not impatient, just worried.

sorry, Lux types and sends, apologizing for his delayed response. pizza sounds great! take your time i’m finishing something up you can come over in a bit!

He certainly can’t go out, can’t walk. Can’t even just walk to a car and sit in it. Alex can come here with pizza, though, that sounds like it won’t require moving much.

Lux does need to get up and over to the couch, though, at the very least. And hide the pain. There’s no question in his mind that it’ll be worth it, he wants to hang out with Alex, wants to have company.

Lux gets his arms folded at his sides, propping himself up on his elbows. Home alone as he is, he puts no effort into stifling the whimper that comes with the grinding of his pain-ridden joint; his shoulder, too, is protesting the movement. But he’s pretty good at pushing himself through pain like this, unless some grinding of bone physically stops the movement he’s trying to complete. Knowing Alex is coming over is good motivation not to give up. How could Lux forgive himself for inviting Alex over, making the healer let his guard down to have fun, and then making him heal, use up the little magic that he has burning at his nerves just for an old ache that Lux can handle?

He gets up onto his feet finally, putting most of his weight on his better leg. He wobbles slightly, arms shooting out to find some semblance of balance in the air, with nothing close enough to lean on.

In a painfully slow, whimpery shuffle, Lux makes his way over to the couch and then lowers himself gingerly onto it. Sitting makes his hip grind in a new way and he moans, jaw clenching so hard that a headache is coming on.

His hands fumble numbly for his phone. There are three new messages, about five minutes apart each, from Alex. Lux took longer to get up and over here than he thought.

    i’ll grab some sodas then too, then.

    okay, heading over, be there in a few.

    lux?

Fifteen minutes. That’s not too long to go without answering, right? Maybe Lux was in the shower, or finishing a chapter of a book, or cooking. It’s a normal amount of time to not look at your phone, if you’re busy. Alex doesn’t suspect anything - there’s nothing to suspect, no secret. Just something that Alex shouldn’t be bothered with. Lux starts typing his response with his left hand, slow and clumsy, since his right arm isn’t cooperating very well.

sorry! got distracted. are you here? you can come in!

He sets his phone down on the seat beside him and sets his expression to one that betrays no pain, eager to successfully hide his aches. He’ll honestly get downright scared if it’s found out. That’s usually how he feels about secrets. So Lux will move carefully, and make some dismissive comment about aches, and hope Alex doesn’t look very close. All Lux wants in the world is to be normal, to not be a hassle, and he’s going to try his very hardest to spend time with his friend, rather than beg someone for help with his pain for the millionth time. As Alex walks in, Lux’s hopes for being normal and relaxed are already dashed by his own mind. Don’t look at me, he thinks defensively, tensing a bit. Don’t hear my sounds, don’t ask questions, don’t figure out where I hurt just by noticing how I move. Please, I don’t want to be in pain, don’t make me think about it more.

Of course, Alex has no plan of digging out something that Lux is nervously hiding. He’s not seeing much past the three two-liter bottles of soda that he’s balancing on top of a box of pizza - clearly, he forgot which flavor is Lux’s favorite, so he just picked a couple different kinds.

“A-Alex, um, does - does your hip still hurt, sometimes?” Lux asks softly, hoping desperately that the question won’t make Alex upset. He knows that what happened to Alex in the cellar left him with some pain on top of the nightmares and fear, like his hip. It bothers Alex sometimes, and he doesn’t mention it. But Lux recognizes the movements of someone whose joints don’t always work how they should, much like Anders does.

Alex frowns and sets everything down on the table between them, taking the armchair and opening the box of pizza. “Uh, yeah. Why? Uh, it’s fine now, though.”

Lux blinks, and then feels guilty. Alex sounds like he finds the question awkward, or like he’s uncomfortable with talking about it. Maybe he thinks Lux noticed something - a limp, a wince, a flinch.

“Sorry, I - was just wondering if, if it still hurt, and if you knew how to make it, make it, hurt less, maybe.” He falters, realizing that he’s backed himself into a corner, here, and the reason behind his question is clear. I’m in pain, and I need help. He doesn’t want help, though.

Before Alex can say anything, Lux tries to add more of an explanation, tries to keep it casual. “I, just, mine is kind of achy today, and I was just wondering. B-but I don’t need healing, or anything, I mean there’s nothing to heal, mmh..” In his eagerness to clarify, he’s gesturing with his hands, but the movement needs to stop now if he doesn’t want to keen pitifully in front of his friend who just wanted to eat pizza and drink soda and talk about dumb fun stuff.

“Is it bad?” Alex asks, direct and quiet. Bad enough to need numbing magic, goes unsaid. Bad enough that I should offer?

“No, I can handle it. I’m okay. But, can you grab me a slice? ‘d rather not move.” He’d only have to lean forward, not even shift his position on the couch, to get his own slice of pizza. But Alex seems to understand that a simple tug anywhere near that throbbing joint will bring a level of pain that will erase thoughts and the ability to speak and any semblance of normalcy.

“Sure,” The healer answers, and grabs Lux a plate, and a cup for his soda, and the biggest slice from the box. No more is said about lingering aches in once-broken joints, or the balance between enduring pain and asking for help.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

A little circle, broken here and there, is darkened from the touch of the coffee-dripping bottom of a mug each time it’s set down. The Hunter leans back on the couch as he idly reads, bored enough to leaf through a magazine.

The next time that he sets down the mug, his forefinger jerks straight in a simple gesture.

From downstairs, the cellar door left open to let out sounds, a cracking groan can be heard. Smiling as he imagines the one lying on the floor down there panting and pleading into the floor for mercy, he makes the gesture again, this time turning his hand.

The groan becomes a rough, guttural scream that fades out into sobbing. Like the magazine, it’s not entertaining enough for him to go watch, but it’s just amusing enough for him to absentmindedly make it happen.

Anders didn’t behave very well today. Hesitated, when the Hunter made him say thank you. Completely failed to ask for more pain after something was snapped in his leg for not leaning into touch. After each disobedience, there’s always a flinch and wide eyes, maybe even a breathless *s-sorry*, but it’s too little too late. The Hunter isn’t in a forgiving mood today.

A third gesture, smoother this time, earns a pitchy keen and scattered gasps. The Hunter smiles and picks his coffee back up, taking a sip and flipping to the next page.

[friendlylocalwhumper]

“Shhh, shhh, shhh.”

Even as he continues to keep Anders’ pain ramped up to the level it’s at, the Hunter sits down beside the prisoner, touching that messy hair and running his fingers through it. Dazed green eyes, crinkled at the corners from agony, watch him helplessly. Anders’ body is tense, trembling, his leg making occasional popping and cracking sounds. There’s magic on his chest, too, to keep his breaths shallow and difficult to draw.

Anders hasn’t been allowed to sleep or fall unconscious. Just a long night of constant, uninterrupted pain.

“Do you want it to stop, darling?” The Hunter asks, his voice soft and warm. He’s amused, he’s proud and dearly fond of the one lying broken in his cellar. “Do you think that I’ve punished you enough?”

Pale lips part to answer, then close again. Anders shudders, eyes wide and glassy. He doesn’t know the right answer. He wants the pain to end, needs it to, but if he asks for mercy and hasn’t earned it yet, he’ll be hurt so much worse.

“W-wanna be good,” The captive answers finally in a small voice. Then a moaned, “Please...”

Grinning, though not unkindly, the Hunter releases the magic all at once, leaves the pain at its normal level. Anders’ body goes limp as he ekes out a sigh of relief. He’s still in wretched condition, still in agony, but it’s not being twisted into something massive and inescapable now. Obediently, having screamed and cried and whimpered out all the pride he’d had left, he leans into the Hunter’s touch when his cheek is cupped with a calloused hand.

“You’re going to be very good so that you don’t upset me again, aren’t you? Hmm?”

Anders nods eagerly, in small movements so as not to jar his broken body. “Yes, yes, I’ll be good, I will, I promise.”

The Hunter, beaming in pride, continues to card through Anders’ hair. He loves making the tough ones shudder and obey whole-heartedly. “That’s good, darling, very good.”

[friendlylocalwhumper]

whumpsprite is leaving??? i wish them the best but are you or anyone else going to write any of their characters anymore? i kind of wanna see anders and vic get back together

here is what sproo has to say on that matter: “As I always intended, Vic and Anders will be reunited and support each other for the rest of their lives.”

i would say that i might write it, you know to kind of give the story closure, but it feels too central to their characters and too important for anyone other than sproo to do. i might write these characters in the future, but they’re not mine by any means; i’m able to feature them in stories with my characters but i don’t have full insight into them, i don’t know how vic and anders would behave alone together or what sproo’s plan was in particular. so we just have to accept that vic and anders ended up okay together, without reading it. i’m okay with that, i always trusted sproo to give them a fantastic ending.