#whumpsprite

[clockworkgalaxies]

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

#luv ya sproo #yea I know this is sloppy #its one of those days #my art #others ocs #whumpsprite

[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.

#rp #whumpsprite

[friendlylocalwhumper]

“N-, no! Nnnnh, ple-ease, Em! No!”

The sound of hands and feet scrabbling against the tiled floor, panicked gasps, water splashing as his fist in those dark curls shoves down… Emory registers all of it, but he can’t quite feel past the wall of numbing cold in his mind. There are hot streams of tears down his own cheeks, he knows that, but he can’t control the crying any more than he can control what he’s doing to Lux.

The room gets eerily quiet, the first time that Lux goes back under. There are bubbles rising to the churning surface of the bath water, and his boyfriend is fumbling desperately along the slippery edge of the tub for something to hold onto, but there’s no more begging, no more panting or coughing up water from the first round.

Emory’s grip slips. Maybe Lux twisted in the right way; maybe Emory’s actually found a weak spot in the mind magic holding him. Lux’s head breaks the surface, his palms pressed to the bottom of the tub as he chokes out the water he just breathed in.

The moment of freedom passes, and Emory’s fingers twist into those curls again. Lux pulls at Emory’s hands fruitlessly, failing to push himself up and unbend himself from over the tub’s tedge.

“Nnh, nnh, n-no, please! I, I, I’ll be g-good, ‘m s-s-sorry, wa-ait!” His head is shoved under - let up into the air again as the mind control is overpowered by Emory’s willpower - then under once more, and Lux stays down. The choppy, ragged gasps that were cut off by the final plunge seem to have only drawn water into his lungs, judging by how desperately he twists this time. The air bubbles coming up are small; his lungs aren’t full of air anymore.

Soon, the bucking warlock stills, black curls floating serenely around his head.

Emory pulls him up and lets him flop to the floor. Rolls him onto his side. The smallest, weakest cough comes, then bigger, hacking ones, as Lux’s body reflexively chokes up the water that forced its way down his throat.

Emory’s fingers slip into those soaked curls, turning Lux’s head to look him in the eyes. The warlock shudders and whines in fear, one chilly, clumsy hand rising to tug on the hand in his hair.

And the mind magic disappears. Ends. Suddenly, Emory can feel the tile under his knees, the hitching of Lux’s chest, the cold fingers around his wrist. He jerks his hands away sharply.

He’s sorry, but saying it won’t help. Staying, bundling Lux up in blankets and making promises, won’t help. His mind could be taken over any second.

Emory clambers to his feet and backs away, staring at his wheezing boyfriend, before he turns on his heel and runs.

Lux’s coughing quiets down enough that he can hear the front door closing, and locking, and the keys sliding back under the door. Emory isn’t going to come back.

~

Breathing should be getting easier, but it’s only gotten more painful, more difficult. His lungs feel like they’re full of something other than air, something heavy. His ribs ache from how they were pressed against the edge of the tub, his knuckles throb from hitting the bottom and sides of the tub in his wild panic.

He’s thirsty. Hot and tired and thirsty.

Lux’s eyes flit noncommittally across the bathroom until he can force his arms to take some of his weight and push it upward. There’s a puddle of cold water taking up the floor around him, his shirt and pants half-soaked. His palms won’t hold steady in one spot on the tiles.

Somehow, he gets to his feet. Sways, fumbles for a grip on the sink, slams back to the floor. Somewhere along the way, the back of his head bounces off something hard.

Lux lies on the floor again, the puddle of cold water under his cheek turning pink, dark red dripping down the edge of the tub. There’s water in the tub, he knows - he could maybe reach that for a sip. Or he could put his lips to the thin layer of water on the floor, if he can’t get up again.

He doesn’t even think he can turn his head without crying from the pain. A cough catches in his chest, pushing his ribs to expand sharply; he simply moans instead of hacking up a few more drops of water. His head hurts, his throat hurts, his chest hurts. And he still, still can’t breathe.

~

Three days, that should be enough. Enough time for Lux to have recovered a bit from the attack, and enough time for Emory to feel sure that his mind won’t suddenly be taken over again.

He can come home. Check on Lux, apologize again, offer to stay away as long as Lux needs.

Lux will be lying in bed, anxious and hiding away, maybe. Or on the couch, knees up to his chest, watching a movie but hardly registering the dialogue past his worries. Or he’ll be out, staying with a warlock friend who can keep him safe.

What he finds instead makes Emory feel faint. One hand wraps around the doorframe and the other goes to his chest.

Lux is still lying on the bathroom floor. Still in the puddle of water he splashed out of the tub as he was drowned. There’s blood, now, in the water and streaked down the side of the tub. Lux must have tried to get up and slipped in the water, fell and hit his head.

If it weren’t for the clogged, faint breaths rattling out of the warlock, Emory would think Lux was dead.

Those breaths sound wrong. Is something wrong with his ribs? Is there still water in his lungs?

Emory steps closer, falls to his knees beside his boyfriend. Lux’s skin is hot to the touch. A fever. He puts a hand on Lux’s back, ready to gently wake him, but Lux’s eyes blink open of their own accord, and the panic starts instantly. His breaths hitch and catch, his body jerking as he chokes out weak coughs. A loose moan that winds down into a whine, and Lux senses the weight of a hand on his back.

“Nnnnh, ple-ease…” Lost blue eyes wander over the pattern of tiles, and Emory pulls his hand away sharply. Lux has told him about a particular terrible memory that was too close to this - waking up on a bathroom floor, head freshly cracked against something, too weak to move.

Lux’s face twists in something like distant horror. “Ple-, -ease, don’t…”

“It’s just me,” Emory blurts, shifting to be in Lux’s line of sight. “It’s Emory. You’re safe, I-“

A sharp whimper and splashing cuts Emory off as Lux tugs his heavy arms up over his head and folds them, hiding against the floor, hands quaking. Ragged breaths send ripples out across the puddle.

“Do-on’t, ‘lease, ‘ll be good… I-I’ll be good, n-no m-m-more, I’m s-so sorry, sorry…”

“Honey, I… I didn’t mean to hurt you, it wasn’t me, I’m not…” Emory frowns when he sees the hitching of Lux’s shoulders, hears the gasping little sobs against the floor. The fear and sadness are understandable, he knew they’d be part of coming back… but this is worse, somehow. Lux is terribly vulnerable. Small and sorry and terrified. It must be the fever, plus the hit to the head, they’ve made it so much worse. Lux wholeheartedly expects to be hauled back up and drowned in the tub a third time.

“No mo-ore,” Insists the fevered, trembling warlock, and Emory nods, swallowing his distress.

“No more.” He’ll make his intentions as clear as possible to avoid scaring Lux worse. “I promise.”

The arms stay folded over Lux’s head, and the breaths keep coming all shallow and pitchy, but Lux doesn’t beg more. He gives a soft, wobbly hum, and then whines.

“You hurting, Curls?”

“Yes,” Lux admits, still sounding small. “H-hurts.”

“Your head?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Would feel better on a pillow, huh?”

There, for the first time, Emory sees those wide, glassy blue eyes. Dizzy and feverish, Lux is trying to gauge whether that’s an offer or a leadup to some kind of deal, some exchange of obedience for a small mercy.

“I can carry you to the bed, get you all warm and dry, your head’ll feel better on a pillow.”

Lux’s shoulders scrunch up tighter. “N-no pl-, than-, -nk you, please don’t.”

“How about just a pillow? I can get you a pillow. You can stay right here.”

Lux hesitates. “O-okay. Please.”

The obedient, nervous answers, the begging, the hiding… Emory can’t handle it. He can’t fix this, can’t subject Lux to being alone with the person who hurt him.

He needs help.

~

Anders arrives with a limp, an annoyed huff at Emory, and focus set entirely on Lux.

“You couldn’t at least get him off the floor?” Grumbles Anders, heading over to the bloodied, coughing warlock cowering under his own arms.

“He doesn’t wanna be t-... he doesn’t want me to touch him.”

“Go figure.” Anders lowers himself painfully to the floor after brushing away the blood-tinged puddle on the bathroom floor with a sweep of magic. “Hey, Lux. Feeling sick?”

There are those blue eyes again, peeking out. Lux lowers his arms and his brows furrow in a dangerously hopeful expression. “‘nders?”

“Yeah, it’s me. I brought someone else you like. Okay if Alex comes in, Lux?”

Lux nods, propping his head up on his forearm. “Can ‘e help... my h-head?” A congested gasp breaks up his speech.

“How about this. I help your head feel less shitty, he’ll help with that breathing. Sound good?” Before Lux can piece together a hazy answer, Anders pulls Lux’s head into his lap and starts the wind magic-cooled fingers into his curls. Lux lets out a shaky sigh.

“Can you take a slow, deep breath for me, Lux?” Alex asks, and his hands hover over Lux’s ribs. The fevered warlock didn’t even see him walk in, he was so swept away by the slight relief of the agony in his head.

Lux takes a quick, faint breath, and looks up at the healer.

“Is that as deep as you can breathe?” Alex asks, frowning. Absurdly, Lux feels scolded, ashamed.

“S-sorry,” He whimpers earnestly. “Mmmh, my chest f-feels a-all wrong.”

“You have pneumonia.” The healer presses against Lux’s ribs and seems relieved not to find any broken bones. His eyes scan quickly over the blood and the tub of water. “How long have you had this fever?”

“D-dunno,” Lux stammers.

“Two days?” Guesses Emory, and the warlock on the floor tucks his face against Anders’ leg, away from having to see his boyfriend. Emory wilts.

Without further questions, Alex starts pushing magic into Lux’s chest, clearing his lungs slowly but steadily, helping his aching ribcage to expand fully. Tears crawl down Lux’s cheeks with the sheer relief of being able to breathe again.

Anders rubs soothing magic into Lux’s curls, and Alex helps him to breathe, and Emory just scares Lux. Just makes him curl up and cry out of pure panic.

“I’m gonna - just…” Emory steps backward, going unnoticed or ignored by the warlocks. He slips out of the room and opts to pace around the living room, fists shoved in his pockets, heart clenched in worry and guilt. Lux is in there hurting, after having been scared and alone and in pain for days, because Emory didn’t even help him get to bed before bolting. Lux could have died. His trust in Emory probably did.

#mine #whump #drabble #alex #emory #anders #lux #other people's ocs #whumpsprite #drowning #angst #guilty #can't breathe #begging #afraid #blood #vulnerable #stuttering

[friendlylocalwhumper]

anders is @whump-sprite‘s oc! also, content warning for broken bones.

When Anders spins on his heel as if the pain of it doesn’t register, when his fist comes flying to slam into Lux’s gut, it’s a surprise. It makes Lux’s brain fritz and scramble for an explanation. The nausea that comes with the punch to the gut is half shock at the fact that he didn’t expect this in his usual low-grade paranoia type of anxiety. He’s started to think that friends are safe, like he’s learning that his home is safe, and his boyfriend, and even using his magic, sometimes. Being with Anders is supposed to be safe - he knew it was dangerous to come to trust that, but he did it anyway, and now it hurts.

“And-der-,” He stammers, the end of the name caught up in the oof sound made by the air forced out of his lungs. Another punch to the gut. It’s so rapid-fire, so eager, that he registers his head snapping to the side and pain blooming in his head before he understands the fist that was aimed at his face a second ago.

Magic blooms in his hands. Not only did he - does he - trust that he’s safe with his friend, but he wants to fight back, wants to let his magic lash out. He can fight, he’s not a coward, not a victim.

Lux shoves a hand forward, lets his magic protect him, and it sends Anders stumbling back. Emory is watching, frozen, clearly just as shocked as Lux is and even more powerless, without magic. Lux is going to prove to Em that he deserves all those nights spent in his arms shaking and crying only to be told he’s brave, he’s strong, he deserves better. Lux can be those things.

Or so he thinks, in the rush of having used magic against someone stronger, someone who can beat him into a bloody pulp and sneer all the while if he wants to. But Anders recovers from the force that was slammed into him, and storms back over, green eyes glinting with fury, and Lux’s magic disintegrates into nothing. He backs into the wall behind him, palms raised in a flimsy bid for peace - and then the beating begins in earnest. Anders is furious. Emory can’t do anything. Lux shrinks under the fist slamming over and over into his face. The sounds he’s making, small and terrified, are hard to hear under the grunts and growls of pure rage coming from Anders. Just like the Hunter, towering and brutal, so angry he barely seems human.

“So-orry, sor-ry,” Gasps Lux under the bruising force of the knuckles barraging against his cheek - they land there again, and his skull could explode from the pain of it - and again, this time making something crunch, and Lux’s hearing fragments into ear-splitting ringing as he screams, hands flying up from where they were twisted in Anders’ shirt to protect his face. The punches keep coming, aimed at that cheek with bone broken somewhere, and Lux lets out a choked sob as his fingers, too stubborn to leave his cheek unguarded, snap under the force.

Emory’s voice is somewhere, winding through the air in between growls and whimpers. Anders’ suffocating presence is yanked away. Lux can’t see or hear or understand anything past the pain in his cheek, radiating out to consume his head, his whole body. Something is broken. Emory is yelling, and there’s a punch that Lux can’t see, so he just flinches and tries not to think too hard about who just got hit. He doesn’t want either of them to get hurt.

Another surprise, jarring and painful, is when Anders is suddenly close again, and he drives his fist straight into Lux’s broken fingers and cheek again. Lux screams until his voice is gone and then forces out hoarse wheezes, trying to curl forward but shuddering and stopping when each movement makes agony explode in his face. His expression contorts at the pain, which makes it worse, and so it goes on an on, pain bringing pain bringing pain.

This time, when Anders is pulled away, it comes with a crunching sound and a body hitting the ground. Enraged huffing and grunting becomes moaning, hitching gasps, and muttered curses.

Whatever is happening, it seems like it’ll only piss Anders off worse. Terror seizes Lux’s heart. “S-, s-so-sorry, ‘m sorry, don’, don’t - nnnnh, hnn, ‘m sorry, aahhh, plea-, please, ‘m so-, -orry, I, I, hnnn…” Vision blurry, darkness swallowing it up here and there, Lux wishes, just for a second, that he was in the Hunter’s arms being praised for taking that beating, about to be healed.

“Lux… Em…”

Anders’ voice, strained and gravelly, startles a whine out of Lux. No no no please no more, please, no! But he listens like he thinks he should.

“Wasn’t, nnngh, me, was - th’mindfucker…”

Whatever Anders is saying, it sounds like he’s in pain. That’ll make him so much more angry. Shaking like a leaf, Lux pushes himself up to his feet with his good hand then offers it out to where Anders lies, clutching at his bad leg. Emory must have made it go crunch.

“Give me a sec... not gonna... be able to stand.... even if you help me up... you okay, Lux? Fuck, I broke your face.”

A whimper escapes Lux as he lowers his hand. How bad does his broken cheek look even half-obscured by the trembling hand hovering in front of it?

Emory steps closer, trying to peer past that broken hand, tugging on the elbow of that arm to see the damage, muttering assurances. It makes Lux panic. But he can’t defend himself with his magic, it’s pointless, he’s stupid, never works - the warlock just staggers back and makes soft pitchy hnn hnn hnn sounds.

“Em’ry he, needs Alex,” Anders grinds out, his own hand cradled to the chest. Emory spots the motion and feels sick at the thought of Anders breaking his hand against Lux’s face.

“Okay. Yeah. Lux, honey, come on, I’m gonna get you to Alex. Gonna get you healed up.” He takes a step forward, reaching out. Lux flinches.

Anders tries to shift on the ground. “Sorry, f-, Lux, should've, hhh, should've been able to, to get him out.”

The words barely take hold in Lux’s understanding as he replays the night in his mind. He can’t figure out what he did to make this happen, what set Anders off. He doesn’t even really get why Anders stopped. Anders must be in so, so much pain to stop beating him. He was so angry, Lux can’t even, can’t even imagine how bad his leg must hurt for it to have been enough to halt the earth-shattering force behind those punches. Lux quakes at the memory of the blows.

“Em, you didn’t ha-ave to…” A finger twitches to indicate their friend lying on the ground, tense with agony. “...have to do that.”

“No, he had to.”

Every syllable from Anders makes Lux relearn the depths of terror that he can reach. The anticipation of the next bone-snapping blow is going to shatter him. “So-orry,” He whispers, falling to his knees with a swallowed yelp and dragging himself closer to Anders. His unbroken hand reaches out. “I-I, sorry, s-sorry…” Magic glows at his fingertips. Anders reacts.

“No. Hell no, Lux. Heal yourself, don’t - fuck, you don’t have to, to earn anything, don’t -” An unwilling moan escapes him as Lux gives him magic anyway, sinking a numbing spell into that crunched leg. It’s not broken, just easy to make something in that ruined limb give way with any pressure at all. Nothing to be healed, just pain to be eased away. Lux can’t make himself stop. He needs to fix this, needs to do all he can to lessen any anger that might flare back up and be turned on him. Apologies keep spilling out of him as he works tremulously.

Anders, too wrapped up in melting under the flood of relief from crushing agony, isn’t the one that stops it - Emory is. Lux whimpers, his magic flickering out like a light with its batteries knocked loose, when he’s pulled up to his feet and away from his fallen friend.

“Curls, you need healing, and you won’t heal yourself, so I’m bringing you to Alex. Anders wants that.”

“Nnnh, no, wants - he, he needs -” The warlock doesn’t struggle in the least, doesn’t even look back at the torturously half-numbed Anders whose moans have started up again. If he twisted to see, he’d knock his broken hand against his broken cheek, and probably crumple unconscious in Em’s arms. “I-I-I, wanna help, he’s, he’s s-so, so ma-ad, at me.”

“He’s not, honey. That wasn’t him, it was…” Emory’s words falter as he helps Lux to keep walking in the right direction, feeling the warlock tense as he listens, ready to let his understanding of what just happened be overwritten, erased. Emory can’t do that to him. He just has to wait until Lux can piece it together himself. “...Just, come on. We’ll get you feeling better for now. I’ll make sure Anders is okay after that. Healing first, okay?”

“Nnnnh, ‘kay,” Answers Lux, clearly only feeling more faint with each step he takes. “‘kay, s-sory.”

#whump #drabble #lux #emory #anders #other people's ocs #whumpsprite #mine #beaten #broken bones #afraid #magic #mind control #angst #for sproo #caregiver #protective #poor em having to watch this #poor lux #poor anders

[friendlylocalwhumper]

“Right on there, there you go, darling,” The Hunter murmurs, holding Anders up on his feet by the arms bound behind Anders’ back. The scars spanning across those arms, rough and jagged from the blast of a blowtorch damaging skin, make the Hunter smile. Anders will be burning again shortly.

He nudges the scarcely breathing warlock closer to the wide metal plate on the floor. Square and thick, it hisses gently against the air in its incredible heat.

“Kneel there for me. Only your legs will burn. Don’t you trust me to pull you up when you’ve been punished enough, hmm?”

“No,” Anders chokes out, and his captor grips his arms tighter.

“Then I’ll help you.”

With a shove and a step back, the Hunter is treated to the glory that is Anders Reyan burning. The sizzling of skin precedes the coarse screams by a fraction of a second; Anders falls heavily onto his knees, contorting, wailing wordlessly, wild hair tossing. The Hunter was going to pull him back up after a second - really, he was - but he just can’t bring himself to end the fun so soon.

Anders struggles so fiercely to tear his legs away from the searing source of agony that he drops to his side, and the cracking bellows rise in pitch as he rolls onto his front to escape the burning metal pressed up under his arm. The Hunter frowns as all that writhing spreads burns rapidly across the prisoner’s body. A particularly wretched scream from Anders spurs him into action.

That’s too much.

The Hunter grabs Anders by the arms twisted and cuffed behind his back, hissing in pain as his knuckles burn against the metal, and he hauls the warlock up. In a smooth movement only hindered by the flinging of charred limbs, he pulls Anders up into his arms to be held away from the plate, tucked against his chest.

He smiles once more when he feels the lurching sobs, recognizes the sensation of a grown man, broken and weeping, pressing himself into his captor’s shirt.

“Poor darling,” The Hunter hums and touches Anders’ hot, splotchy cheek. The warlock nearly flinches away from the palm, breath hitching, but one warning step taken toward the hot plate has him curling close again with fresh sobs.

“What a good little warlock, punishing yourself for me. You threw yourself down to burn because you know how I love your pretty sounds.” It’s not true, but it’s fun to watch the Resistance member struggle to swallow humiliation along with the already suffocating rage and agony. With a bit of cool magic summoned to his hand, the Hunter presses his palm to that burnt chest just to make Anders melt. This moaning prisoner with his muscles all taut and trembling in agony will be fun to tease with relief for days. Cool magic, cool wet washcloths, sips of water… oh, the hours he’ll spend allowing Anders mere whispers of mercy. The thought of it alone makes his heart race. The bittersweet mix of incredible pain and fleeting comfort will shatter the warlock beautifully.

#whump #drabble #torture #burned #panic #crying #restrained #screaming #anders #the hunter #for sproo #whumpsprite #other people’s ocs #creepy

[friendlylocalwhumper]

this is non-canon because it’s just too damn sad to even act like i would really do this. happy birthday lux! anders is @whump-sprite oc.

“Please, Lux, please,” Emory pants, pushing down on Lux’s chest rhythmically. He remembers how to administer CPR from his high school health class, but he’s not sure if he’s doing it right, not sure if he’s helping at all - he only ever practiced on a plastic dummy, he’s never felt a ribcage beneath his palms.

That neck will bruise. Lux’s neck will bruise, the marks will get dark in a few days and then fade away, he’s not going to die. He’ll be hurt, and then he’ll recover. Lux is not going to die on the floor in his own house, twenty-two years old and not a husband yet, not a father, just a warlock who dared to let anyone get close to him.

There’s a fight happening in the room. Emory is ignoring it. As soon as the magic holding Kiara back was released, she launched forward and hauled Anders back. Kicked at his leg, and punched him in the face, and slammed magic into him - and he returned the favor full-force. Still is. They’re fighting, and Emory is trying to make Lux’s heart beat again.

“Lux, Lux, honey, please, come back, stay here...” His arms burn, but he keeps pushing, afraid to let up on the rhythm. He’d do this for hours if he could, if it would keep Lux technically alive. He’s not sure how long compressions alone can keep someone alive.

Anders was so angry. Furious, righteous, moving quick and grabbing Lux, shoving him back against the wall. His magic kept Kiara and Emory away, forced them to watch.

“Tired of you taking this for granted,” The older warlock hissed, clamping one hand over Lux’s throat. “You’re weak. You don’t know what pain is. I’ll help you remember, Lux. You don’t know what it is to suffer.”

Lux was trying to pull Anders’ hand away, straining for a gasp of air, making frightened sounds. He mouthed something like “Anders... please...” and it only makes the scarred fingers press harder into his throat.

Anders grabbed one of Lux’s hands and pressed it to Lux’s left leg. “Break it,” He ordered, his tone harsh and commanding. “Break your leg, Lux, so you can start to understand the goddamn pain I live with. The pain you can’t even imagine. Walking around, looking at me with pity. Break your fucking leg.”

“Please... please...” Lux was mouthing the words, shaking where he’d been pinned. He flinched when Anders leaned in closer and glared at him with the full force of utter loathing.

“Do it, or I swear to god, I’ll snap your neck. I will kill you, Lux. You’re weak, you’re a liability, you get people hurt because you’re so used to being saved, protected. Man the fuck up and break your leg. Prove you’re not completely useless.”

Emory nearly fainted when Lux did it, when he obeyed the order and pushed magic into his own leg, a deep thunk followed instantly by a raw, cracking scream - because Anders let up on Lux’s throat for the sound to come out. Lux choked down a few pitchy gasps, and then he was choking again, Anders’ hand shoving hard against his throat to keep any air from passing.

Lux’s sounds could barely escape, catching in his chest and throat, but he was shaking worse, slipping down the wall a few inches as his good leg nearly gave out. He was begging silently again as Anders watched him, glowering, unimpressed.

The inaudible pleading stopped, and then the hands tugging at Anders’ fingers on his throat, and then the shaking, after a final jolt and a whimper caught by Anders’ grip.

Lux crumpled to the floor, too quiet, too still. He fell on that broken leg and didn’t even flinch.

“Please, Lux, it’s okay, it’s okay to come back, I’m here, I’ve got you,” Emory promises desperately, as if Lux needs only reassurances to be able to return, rosy-cheeked and full of life.

Emory shoves harder, pouring all his desperation into his ministrations, and he feels a rib crack under his hands. He freezes for a split-second - is he doing this wrong? That sounded painful, that can’t possibly be a sign that he’s doing this right, that he’s helping at all - fuck, fuck, Lux’s heart isn’t pumping blood. So he continues the CPR with a cry of frustration.

The fight has stopped, but Emory isn’t listening. He doesn’t care if Anders ran, or has collapsed in sudden guilt, or is dead. He just wants Lux to breathe.

There’s a weak, rasping gasp, and Emory stops, palm pressed to Lux’s chest and ready to push down again in case he imagined the sound. Frantic brown eyes flick up to Lux’s face to see that the sound was real, Lux is alive.

Emory’s hands fly off of Lux’s chest and come up to his shoulder, his hair, as he listens to Lux breathe. It sounds painful, jagged and choppy and studded with coughs. He’s amazing, he’s strong, he’s alive.

The tremors set in just as Lux’s eyes start to tear up, just as his brows knit together, and a terrible pitchy sound escapes him. The broken leg, the one Emory pulled out from under him. It’s got to hurt, a kind of hurt that Emory can’t even grasp, somehow big and awful enough to overwrite the terror of nearly being killed by his friend.

Lux doesn’t try to speak. He just registers the agony of the leg he was forced to break, and what feels like an inability to draw in enough air, and knowing that he isn’t safe.

“Lux, honey, I’m - I’m so sorry, I, god, I’m so glad you’re back.” Emory touches the side of Lux’s face, expecting him to lean into it, but the warlock flinches. He looks up at Emory with a fleeting spark of fear in his eyes.

“Sorry, I, oh...” Pressing a hand to his own chest, Emory can feel his heart pounding.

Lux is pale, gritting his teeth, barely holding in his sounds - and it’s so unlike him to keep such a tight hold on his sounds, to guard himself like that. Emory moves, places his hand on the floor to twist and look for Kiara. There, just when he places his hand, Lux flinches, and his leg twitches, and a shaky sob escapes him. After that, he can’t manage to hold in the whimpers.

Emory twists to look anyway. Kiara’s nursing a head wound, clearly dazed; Anders is out cold on the floor.

“Kiara, can you heal?” Emory calls, and she looks up. She stumbles over and falls to her knees beside Lux, looking him over.

“Yeah...” She answers belatedly. “His leg?”

Lux keens in pain. “Nnnh, no, d-don’t, don’t...”

“We’re gonna help you, okay, Lux? Gonna heal this, it won’t hurt anymore,” The witch explains, her hands hovering over the limb.

Lux shoves himself up onto his elbows and drags himself back in one swift, brutal movement, collapsing back to the floor in a half-second with a guttural scream that dissolves into sobs. “N-, n-no, don’t, ple-ease, don’t, I, I can t-take i-it, please, I c-can, I kn-, know wh-, wh-, what p-pain is...” His voice cracks. “Don’t t-touch, please, le-eave me alone, g-go away, please...”

“Lux, we’re not going anywhere, you need help, you need this healed. You don’t deserve - you know what pain is, I know that, you don’t have to -”

Emory’s words are cut off as Lux jerks his hand toward the two of them and casts a wordless spell. Kiara and Emory fall to the floor where they were sitting, both unconscious, unable to touch, or heal, or comfort.

Was it mind control? Why did Anders do that, why did his anger seem so real? Lux shudders and cries, letting himself make sounds since no one can hear him. It doesn’t matter, it doesn’t matter if Anders meant it. It’s true. Lux is weak, he doesn’t know pain, he expects to be healed and saved and protected all the time. He’s laid in the cellar for days on end with a broken leg - why can’t he do it now? Just because he doesn’t have to?

He wants to. He can take it, he wants to be strong, he wants Anders to care. Anders will care if Lux is in pain. Everyone likes Lux best when he’s in pain. He is, he’s in agony, and he’ll stay like this. He’ll keep them from waking up, and he won’t heal himself, and he’ll learn his lesson.

#whump #angst #death tw #i mean he don't die but it's definitely mentioned a good bit #choking #losing consciousness #cpr #afraid #panic #flinching #lux #emory #anders #kiara #happy birthday lux! #mine #other people's ocs #whumpsprite #broken bone #magic

[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.

#whump #drabble #rescue #comfort #lux #emory #taryn #alex #other people's ocs #whumpsprite #mine #referenced or implied noncon #healing #bruised #magic #recovery #for sproo

[friendlylocalwhumper]

part 1 (writing the letter) | part 2 (reading the letter) | part 3 (the breaking) | part 4 (rescue) | part 5 (aftercare)

anders is @whump-sprite‘s oc.

Pain, and terror, and terror and pain. There’s nothing else, anymore. Even in this car, in Anders’ arms. Just more pain, and terror. Bones shifting, joints grinding all wrong, his head exploding with agony. The fear of punishment for being out of the cellar, and being told to heal - shatter - his shoulder more, and hearing that he’s being brought to Emory.

Emory doesn’t love him, Lux knows, he remembers, he’s been very careful about remembering that one thing. So that when he wakes up on the floor, he doesn’t think stupidly that Emory would care that he’s hurting. The Hunter is all he has now, all he has room for in his mind and heart. Scraps of comfort from him, approval, forgiveness after enough hours of screaming. Has he been good enough, yet? Will he be healed a little bit, soon, if he cries some more, begs sweetly? He hurts, hurts so much, and no one loves him, he knows, he remembers, only the Hunter.

Lux starts crying into Anders’ shoulder, lost in the pain of his broken body being jostled by the car’s movements, desperate for the Hunter to come back and cradle him and press healing magic into his body with murmured praise.

Emory. Emory. Lux still loves him, and it hurts so bad, especially since he’s still being punished for it. The Hunter doesn’t like that Lux can’t let Emory go. He wants Lux to love his captor alone. But he can’t stop hurting himself by imagining Emory holding him, hugging him, kissing his cheek and calling him Curls again.

Now that he’s going to see Emory again, Lux wants to stop, wants to forget, wants to erase the love. He’s scared, he’s scared of being hated, and he’s sorry, so so sorry. There aren’t enough ways to apologize as much as Lux needs to.

He mumbles his incoherent terror into Anders’ shoulder, leans against him and keens, moans, cries out all his stress.

Lux’s focus disintegrates entirely when the car stops and he’s pulled out, carried away inside. His body is a mess of broken bones and grating overloaded nerves, and agony consumes his whole mind.

And then he’s set down on something that’s not the floor, and Lux sees Emory - Anders isn’t letting him come close to Lux yet - so the sobbing returns full-force. He can’t speak for the crying that clogs up his throat, and he can’t even hide his face in his hands because his arms don’t work very well, broken in various places as they are. He broke his shoulder most recently, as soon as he was told to, but no one’s told him he did well yet… maybe, maybe he should break it more, more breaking, it’ll make him happy…

Anders says something to Emory, and Lux watches his brown, freckled, very sad-looking Emory come over to the side of the bed. Lux shakes and shifts one hand to be closer to his stomach, farther from reach.

The mere ten seconds that have passed are too long for Lux, for his broken mind that wants no part of this thinking and waiting and worrying. Pain, please, he wants pain, let him break something, let his mind be cracked open and slammed into, anything but the feeling.

“S-s-sorry,” He whines, eyes going more hazy as he lets the fear consume him. “Sorry, hnnn, ‘m sorry, d-don’t - don’t -” Begging for it to stop, instead of asking for more? Very bad, very very bad, needs to be punished. Lux keeps on pleading in earnest. “Ple-ease d-, please, nnngh, so-orry, I, I…” Emory cups his cheek, and a choked sound escapes Lux as he leans into the touch. “‘m-mory, I… hnnn, ‘m, s-, I’m…” He babbles a bit more, the sobbing welling up and crashing like a wave, leaving him too much of a mess to speak coherently.

~

“What happened? I mean, do we know? Did you see anything? Will he -”

“Had to break his own bones with his magic, know that pretty damn well,” Anders growls, avoiding Emory as best he can on a leg that clearly doesn’t want to hold his weight. “He - fuck - tried to help him heal that shoulder, fucking shattered it instead. And he doesn’t seem to relax at all when you’re close, Emory, so you’d better back off.”

Emory does, right now, giving Anders more space instead of following him further. “I’m not gonna leave him,” He answers, frustrated.

“Good. Better not. But give him some breathing room. Something’s twisted in his head. Give him space, ease into it. Fuck.” Anders grabs his knee and sinks down into his armchair, his anger only growing more visible the longer Emory hovers and bugs him with useless questions. “Just go, hold his hand or something, goddamn.”

~

“Lux, honey, it’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe.”

Lying on top of the comforter that Emory laid out for him, limbs and joints still broken and breaths still ragged with terror, Lux gives only another shuddering sob at the words.

“Please, Curls, I don’t know how to help… why are you so sad?” Emory knows that Lux was hurt badly, scared worse, he knows Lux was lonely, but he doesn’t get why Lux is still crying, still tense and quaking and unable to sink into safety.

Anders said he can’t set Lux’s bones, rebreak the worst ones, splint everything and get it healing. Not yet. If he tries, if he puts his hands on Lux and causes more pain, Lux won’t ever feel safe with them. Lux might break beyond repair with his next guttural scream. Anders came in, put ice on the joints that could take the touch without making Lux pass out, brushed his fingers through Lux’s curls and promised in a low, steady voice that Lux is home, he’s safe, he’s doing a great job.

Emory doesn’t want to imagine how Anders knew to do all that. He doesn’t get how Anders is able to draw Lux’s eyes to him, and ease some of the tension in the bed-ridden warlock, make him nod slightly in weary agreement that yes, he thinks he’s home, he might be safe, he wants Anders’ hand to stay in his curls and he wants to keep being told that he’ll be okay.

“Lux, why… why are you still scared? Why do you look at me like I broke your heart?” He can’t help asking, even if his boyfriend is in too much pain to string together a coherent answer. “What did I do, what can I do?”

Lux looks so deeply sad, even through the tightness in his expression from all the pain. He looks away, up at the ceiling, face scrunching up more with a sob that wants to escape but which would hurt too much.

He doesn’t expect his face to be touched, so he flinches this time from the palm at his cheek, whimpering with the agony reignited by the movement.

“S-sorry,” Lux gasps, and Emory pulls away looking even more miserable.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry I startled you.” There’s a moment of silence, Lux staring up at the ceiling as tears slip down his cheeks, and Emory watching with a sinking feeling in his gut. “Lux, do you still love me?”

Usually a silent cryer, the warlock lets out a choked sound and closes his eyes, hiding as best he can. His chest flutters terribly with jerking, shuddery breaths.

“Y-yes, I - sorry, s-sorry, I c-c-can’t, can’t s-stop… I, still lo-ove… nnnh, love you, ‘m sorry, can’t, can’t…” His hearing fades out for a bit, and opening his eyes doesn’t let him see much as darkness seeps in from the edges of his sight. The pain is too much, and it’s only getting worse the more emotional he becomes.

Emory starts trying to calm him, wiping tears from his cheeks and touching his hair and touching a part of his arm that isn’t broken. Lux forces himself to breathe, to just keep breathing and let the oxygen return his sight and sense of balance.

“Why’s that scare you, Curls, why’re you panicking? It’s okay, I love you too, I’m sorry I doubted you, I know you love me. Not going anywhere, I love…” Lux is just crying harder again. “Honey, I - what’s wrong?”

“Y-y-you don’t ha-, have to l-lie.” Hiccups are coming now, lurching out between the sobs, and those bring keens of agony. “You, I kn-know, I know you, d-don’t, know you do-on’t… l-love, lo-, love m-m-me… hhhnn…” Lux doesn’t struggle in the slightest as Emory holds him carefully, gently, trying to keep him in one piece.

“Lux, Lux, of course I love you, I love you so much, why - honey, you need to breathe, you’re hurting yourself, can you calm down for me? Shh, it’s okay, we have all the time in the world, I’ll listen, take your time.” Emory wants to pull Lux into a hug and never let go, but that’d bring more pain and crying than anything. “I love you, I love you, that hasn’t changed. Breathe, Curls, breathe for me.” Watching Lux’s tear-flooded, pain-fogged eyes stare up at him in unbearable hurt and disbelief, Emory’s heart breaks all over again for him. “Tell me what’s wrong, tell me what he made you believe, I’ll explain. I’ll help you remember. I never stopped loving you, honey, I promise.”

“P-p-promise?” Lux is terrified to believe. “L-, love, love m-m-me - Em, y-you…?”

“Yes, I promise, I swear. Come on, breathe for me, breathe with me, okay? Please believe me, you’re safe, you’re home, I love you.”

“You - on, on the c-couch - I rem-member, you, s-said, said, ‘m an-, annoying, I -” Those weren’t Emory’s exact words - oh, Lux said it all, Emory just watched, listened… “I’m, I, c-cry too m-m-much, an’, and my s-scars - you said - you left, left m-me…”

“That didn’t happen. None of that, nothing like that. It’s not real. Look -” Emory pulls out a carefully folded piece of lined paper from his back pocket and unfolds it, holding it up for Lux to see. “Your letter. Been reading it a lot. You said you love me, and you love being you, and you love what we are.”

Lux’s eyes go wide. He reaches with one shaky hand to take hold of it, staring at the handwriting, the worn edges. “I wro-ote this,” He mutters, stunned.

“Yeah, you did. It gave me hope that you’d come home. You were scared, but you stayed brave, you made it out. No, please don’t argue,” Emory interrupts preemptively as Lux opens his mouth to speak. “You’re not broken, and you’re not dead. It’s okay if healing takes time, and if you think I don’t love you or something, we got time to figure it all out. I just wanted you back.” At Lux’s emotional sound, Emory leans into the last sentiment he expressed. “Wanted you home, safe, wanted to see you smile again. You’re all I want in the world, Lux, it hurt so bad knowing you were all alone, I felt that. I didn’t give up on you for a second.”

Lux’s eyes are glistening with wonder. “Didn’t?”

“I didn’t. Let us help you, please, Lux? Fix your, your arms and legs, help with the pain? You know you’re home, you’re safe, I don’t want you to hurt for a second longer than you have to.”

The panic is back, low and thrumming as Lux’s eyes flutter and his breath catches. “Gotta - h-have to? Gotta br-break… break ‘em more?”

“Just a little bit, to get them healing right. But I’ll stay close and hold your hand, okay? And you know who else is gonna be helping?”

“Mmmh?”

“Anders.”

With a jerky nod, Lux blinks back fresh tears. “...love Anders,” He mutters, thinking.

“Yeah, he’s great.” Lux is scared again; that’s not good. Emory can’t wait longer and see Lux in agony, but now he’s scared that he messed up Lux’s feeble start to recovery. “You know, we can wait, you don’t have to be touched or splinted or anything until you’re ready.”

“I, I w-, want… h-hurts…” Lux moans and takes a minute to gather himself. “Want to be h-healed, was, I was, was v-very good.” A flash of fear. “Tr-, tried, mean I tried… ple-ease, please, wanna, want… want m-magic, t’ get healed, I can, can obey, Em-mory…”

Lux knows where he is, knows who he’s with, but he still doesn’t get that he doesn’t have to be good for anyone now.

“And, and - he’s, nnnh, Em-mory, Anders d-, doesn’t, doesn’t li-ike me an-nymo-ore…” The whimpers are building back up as Lux makes himself sadder by thinking about it. “Doesn’t l-, like me, he’s, mmmh, he’s m-mad…”

“No, no, Curls, he’s not mad - why would he be mad at you? He loves you too, he’s your friend. Why do you think he’s mad?”

Old doubt flickers to life in Lux’s eyes, the kind that comes when he’s told something that doesn’t match his perception at all, but he wants to believe the person speaking to him, wants to accept their truth instantly and forget his own mistaken views. “He - I went - my phone, it… ‘s ignoring me, hates me, I remem-ber, he… w-wouldn’t save me, nev-ver would, n-not again, ‘m, I’m, ju-ust worthless, nobody l-likes me an-nymore.”

Emory looks pensive after hearing that. He takes Lux’s hand, the less broken one, and meets Lux’s eyes. “You’re the only one in the world who thinks that, Curls. Anders did save you. As soon as he knew where you were, he went to get you and bring you home. His voice cracked when you recognized him and asked him if you were safe. Nobody hates you.” Now, it makes sense why Lux was so scared to let Anders set his broken bones. He thought Anders might hurt him worse just out of dislike. Just how much damage has been done to his mind, to make Lux believe that Emory doesn’t love him, and that Anders would hurt him?

Lux’s mind is too mixed up right now for them to try and tend to his injuries. He’s not ready yet for that kind of pain, he can’t understand it yet. “Lux, can I give you a kiss? It’s okay if you say no.”

Those glassy blue eyes get desperate again, and Lux’s fingers twitch in Emory’s hand. “Yes, p-please,” He whispers.

Emory leans down, closer, looking into Lux’s eyes and touching his cheek with his knuckles brushing softly against his boyfriend’s pale skin.

“Thank you for coming home to me, Curls,” He says softly, and then presses a kiss to Lux’s forehead, closing his eyes to try and keep back tears. When he finally pulls away, expression drawn with worry and grief, the look in Lux’s eyes makes him go still and stare. It’s something more peaceful, more present and aware than Lux has shown yet, since he was set down on this bed with his broken body and terrible keens of pain. It’s belief. Lux believes, now, that Emory still loves him. Believes that he’s home, and wanted, and his pain will be eased soon because no one here wants it to go on longer.

Emory smiles, overjoyed, and kisses Lux’s cheek, too excited to hold back. Lux smiles for a second, and tries not to look too pained when the smile dissipates.

“Em?”

“Yeah, Curls?”

“Ca-an you kiss me ag-gain, please?”

“Of course, yes - forehead?”

Lux gives a single, slight shake of the head.

“Cheek?”

Another shake of the head, a bit of a blush coming to his cheeks. Emory smiles again and leans closer. Slowly, carefully, light as a feather so Lux can pull away if he needs to, he gives Lux a real kiss, slipping his fingers into those messy dark curls (without touching near Lux’s temples, he knows well to avoid that). Lux leans up just slightly into the kiss and makes a faint, emotional sound, letting Emory’s hand slip under his head where it’s warm against the pillow and scratch gently against his scalp, not rewarding him but giving long-overdue comfort that Emory wants to give, and Lux needs.

#whump #drabble #caregiver #worry #afraid #panic #crying #flinching #broken bones #conditioning #lux #emory #anders #other people's ocs #whumpsprite #kissing #lux being a SWEET BOY #stuttering #aftercare #mine

[friendlylocalwhumper]

i know i just wrote this exact same scenario yesterday but I can’t help it, i love a whumpee trapped under a collapsed building and panicking. thanks to @whump-sprite for talking out how this scenario would go with me. dev is their oc!

“Well how did you get yourself in here?”

The voice from above draws Lux’s attention from his own hands pushing against rebar and stone, his magic holding the rubble from crushing him, his chest’s frantic failed attempts to expand enough for a full breath. He’s already pale from terror, but something in his stomach twists when he sees the torturer above him.

“D-Dev?” The warlock wheezes, arms trembling where they strain against weight they cannot hold.

“Trying to save someone again?” Dev crouches, looking Lux over without a flicker of sympathy, watching the hitching of his chest, the shape of his lips. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever told you, but you’re damn attractive when you can’t breathe.”

Short, breathy whimpers make their way out from under concrete and metal to make Dev cock a brow in amusement. “So now we’ve got a problem, where you probably want me to help you get out of there, and I just wanna look at you.” Their fingers come to Lux’s head, slipping into his curls to play with his hair. Lux tries to jerk his head away, but it breaks his concentration, and he can’t move more than an inch, and the rubble on top of him crunches down just before he can catch it again with his magic. A startled wheeze hisses out of him, his ribs taking on the weight that would snap them like twigs if his magic wasn’t preventing it. He only registers that the hand is back in his hair, hardly deterred by the slight struggling, once he’s regained his focus. The assassin watches calmly. “How do we solve our problem, Lux?”

“Nnnh, nnh, ple-ease, please Dev, h-help me, don’t wanna die, please…”

“I don’t care about begging. I’ve heard enough of it in my life. What can you offer me that’s better than watching you gasp for air?”

Lux has nothing. He has nothing, he just wants to live, why couldn’t he have been found by someone with empathy? Why couldn’t Anders find him, or Kiara, or Emory? Lux whimpers as he feels his magic drain steadily; it’ll give out soon enough, and then he’ll die choking on his own blood.

The fingers twirling in his hair send a shudder jarring through his pinned body. “I, I, I can - I can g-get you m-money, I can try-”

“Where would you get money? Besides, honestly, you could never scrape together enough cash to make up for missing out on this show.” Dev’s hand shifts - off, away, please, Lux begs silently - but then those strong, nimble, scarred fingers find Lux’s throat, and then each ragged breath he can barely draw with a chest being crushed is turned into a meager, shallow wheeze. The warlock’s head tips back, and he tries to twist away, but he’s pinned, completely unable to struggle, and they both know it.

“Nothing personal,” Dev hums, grinning down at Lux. “It’s just fun.”

Lux is a mess of failing breaths and whimpers now. With a squeeze of Dev’s fingers and a broadening smile above him, Lux’s magic flickers away for another second, and previously unbroken ribs groan with the threat of being about to splinter.

“Please, please,” He rasps desperately. “S-stop - please… magic? I have, I c-can, I’ll use it f-, for you - I’ll owe you - you can c-, call me, when you’re hurt, and I’ll heal you, and s-, summon whatever you want, I have b-big magic, please, whatever you want…” Rambling in growing panic, his voice rising in pitch, Lux quakes. The hand on his throat as loosened so he could beg for his life, but it isn’t gone.

“That could be useful…” The assassin tips their head to the side in thought. “But it’s so tempting to just sit back and watch. You make pretty sounds.”

Lux presses his head back against the hand that’s still in his curls, keening in panic. “Please, please, an-nything, anything you want!” His magic, the building, his ribs… none of it can withstand the crushing weight any longer.

The hands disappear from his hair and throat, and reappear to grip around his shoulders, knocking away the rocks pressing against the joints. “Use your magic to help, or else this won’t work and you’ll die choking. Three, two, one.”

With a scream of effort, Lux uses the last of his magic to shove up against the rubble, lifting it off himself just enough to be pulled out from under it.

The building completes its race to meet the ground by crushing in on the sudden open space where Lux’s body was previously wedged, and the dust that billows out makes him cough, moaning as his damaged rib cage struggles to accommodate the painful reflex.

“Now that’s how you make a business arrangement,” Dev comments cheerfully, ruffling Lux’s hair.

#whump #drabble #pinned #afraid #can’t breathe #choking #hand on throat #hand in hair #lux #dev #other people’s ocs #whumpsprite #mine #collapsed building

[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.

#whump #drabble #broken bones #gore #magic #healing #anders #vic #lux #mine #other people's ocs #whumpsprite #for sproo

[friendlylocalwhumper]

part 1 (writing the letter) | part 2 (reading the letter) | part 3 (the breaking) | part 4 (rescue) | part 5 (aftercare) | part 6 (aftercare cont.)

anders is @whump-sprite‘s oc.

“Do you want me to knock you out for this?” The older warlock sitting in the chair beside the bed leans forward, meeting Lux’s eyes and giving him the choice to forego this agony. Lux knows how much Anders hates mind magic, and he also knows that Anders wouldn’t offer it if he wasn’t willing to go through with it. If he didn’t think that the alternative was worse.

The worst reaction - a flinch, and whimpers, and pleading - it doesn’t happen, so Anders relaxes a fraction.

“N-no, tha-anks,” Lux answers, his voice small. He’s biting his lip, twisting a few unbroken fingers in the covers; he knows how much pain he’s claiming that he can handle. But he can’t stomach the thought of another invasion, someone else forcing their way into his mind, even if it’s a friend, even if it’s to spare him further pain.

“Okay. That’s fine. Emory will be in here, he’ll help. You’ll stay with me, stay here, right?”

Stay here. Not get confused, not suddenly see Anders as the Hunter, and the breaking of bones as a punishment. Lux nods once.

Anders isn’t getting up at that answer, seeming to be putting off standing up in general. Lux licks his lips and shifts one arm slightly, trying to get more comfortable and instantly giving up when it sends a lightning bolt of pain from the nearest broken bone and down his spine.

“‘m gonna be okay,” Lux says softly, figuring that Anders is doubting his grip on reality. “Trust you.”

~

“We’re gonna take a break every time, I’ll take my hands off you as soon as the splint’s done and give you a breather,” Anders explains, still looking over the first limb that he needs to rebreak: the right leg.

“No one’s angry at you, you’re doing good, Lux, being really brave.” Emory catches Lux’s eyes as he repeats the assurances, and Lux’s renewed terror settles down a bit.

“Gonna s-scream,” Lux says breathlessly, staring at Anders’ hands. “I, I - ‘m scared, I - w-, wait, tell, tell m-me, the plan, again?”

“The longer you wait, the worse it’s gonna hurt. You trust me to do it quick, get it over with, right?” Anders asks, very obviously holding his hands up away from the broken leg, and Lux nods. He does, he trusts Anders.

“But, but, please, count, count do-own, d-do it on th-three?”

“‘Course. Promise.” Anders gives a short wave and then says, “Emory’s got to hold you down for this one so you don’t hurt yourself. You okay with that?”

“Y-yes.”

Emory sits next to him, leans down and presses his forearms over Lux’s better shoulder and his chest, and then meet Lux’s eyes. Lux doesn’t like being held down, or being unable to see what’s going to happen, but he is instantly less panicked when he sees Emory above him, warm brown eyes full of calm like he knows everything will be fine.

“Look at me, Curls, just focus on me,” He encourages in a steady tone, and Lux does, trusting him entirely.

When there’s a crack and Lux’s body jolts as his leg is forcefully snapped back into place, Lux’s head jerks back against the pillow and he screams loud and long, the wail cracking and fading into whimpers as the splint is put in place and firmly secured to both sides of the set bone. He tries to see past Emory, whining when he can’t get free of the weight on his chest, but then a hand starts rubbing circles against his sternum and he goes limp, exhausted and regaining his focus. Those wild blue eyes find the brown ones above him, and the quiet assurances soothe him further.

“Gotta do two more, Curls, can you do that? Two more and then you don’t have to be afraid of it coming anymore. Can you be brave?”

“Th-think so,” Lux answers, even though he really, really wants to beg for it to stop. Emory kisses his forehead quick and then gets ready to hold Lux down again.

This time, Anders is trying to splint Lux’s arm, so Lux can see about half of what’s going on. With the thud of this second bone being yanked into place, he only manages to give a pitchy, choking whine before a single shudder tears through his body and he falls still, eyes fallen closed.

“Passed out,” States Emory redundantly. Anders grunts out a “yeah” and moves to splint the last bone before Lux can come to and scream more.

The rest of the work, splinting and making sure Lux’s arms and legs are laid straight and checking almost nervously for the steady thrum of Lux’s pulse, passes in relative quiet. Then, Anders speaks, his voice terse.

“Gonna get him flowers. From the garden. He loves those.”

Emory is still sitting with Lux, brushing back his curls gingerly and watching his expression that’s more neutral and relaxed than he’s seen it since he was rescued - and then he hears a series of sounds that goes thump-thud-groan.

Did Anders Reyan just trip and fall? Emory stands up, walking over to the doorway and then staring, dumbstruck, at Anders. The man who just crumpled to the floor, that leg that makes him limp bent under him awkwardly.

There is a quick, hushed gasp of pain, and then Anders is fully guarded, shifting with a bitten-back sound to get in a less humiliating position, one that it looks like he might stand up from on his own. But he doesn’t. He makes an impatient gesture and then growls, “I’m fine. Help me up.”

“Uh - okay. Yeah, you got it.” Emory hurries forward and offers both hands: Anders takes one and gruffly pulls himself back up onto his feet, standing stiffly with new lines of agony at the corners of his eyes. His fists are clenched so tight, his knuckles have gone white, the scars along his fingers and the backs of his hands an even more obvious pearly color.

Emory decides to leave him to it before Anders threatens his life, so he goes to the kitchen to refill one of the glasses of water that Lux drained after being told three times that it’s okay, he can have all the water he wants, it’s not a reward to be earned.

He pretends not to hear the moan from outside, pretends he didn’t lean to look out the window and see Anders stiffly bending to pick some of Lux’s favorite flowers from the garden. He’s trying not to bend that leg, but it has to be done to accomplish what he set out to do, so he bites back further sounds and then heads back into the house, somehow limping without bending his leg at all. It looks slow, and frustrating, and incredibly painful.

What does it take to make Anders Reyan scream? Emory wonders in mild horror. If Anders is used to pain, how much does it take for him to make a sound like he just did? How much pain must Lux have been in to pass out, if he’s taken torture like that for a year before? How do such scarred, hurting people live to be Anders’ age, or dare to be as gentle and kind as Lux is? He can’t imagine what it’s like living in fear of being dragged back to that, to a cellar where there is only pain and fear.

Anders comes back inside, and Emory fumbles to be useful in any way. Clumsily, he holds out the glass of water that he just filled up, looking to the flowers. Anders grabs it, puts the flowers in, and then starts the painstakingly slow ambling into Lux’s room to set those flowers silently on the nightstand and then sit next to the bed, grimacing and pushing down all his sounds to let Lux rest.

~

“You did amazing, Lux,” Anders murmurs, and Lux blinks, trying to stop drifting. Anders sounds so, so proud, and Emory’s holding his hand, and these painkillers are really good.

“Didn’t cry,” He informs dizzily, and he can see Emory nodding out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah! I was so proud of you for that. I mean, if that was me, I would’ve been crying the whole time.”

Lux is silent for a moment, thinking about how much he cried before the bone-setting stuff. It’s not really worth mentioning, worth trying to criticize himself, because Anders and Emory believe so firmly that he’s strong and good and brave that they’d make their case so well that they’d change Lux’s mind in the end anyway.

“C-can I try…” He falters, looking between his friend and boyfriend before looking down at one splinted leg. “D’you think… m-, my, my m-magic… think I ca-an use it, to, to m-maybe, to…” His voice cracks and fades rapidly as he decides to abandon the question, the idea, after how badly it went last time it was suggested. How Anders tried to help him use his magic to heal, and Lux used it to make himself scream instead. Stupid.

“I think that’s a good idea!” Emory answers cheerfully, ignoring the look that Anders tries to give him. It’s always been hard convincing Lux to use his magic casually, comfortably, around the house. If he’s willing to try it so soon after being hurt for it, he’s eager to let Lux try. “But, I don’t think you should try on yourself first.”

Lux blinks, confused. The confusion melts away, only to be replaced with distress, when Emory holds his arm out without a moment’s hesitation.

“Try it on me.”

“No!” Lux squeaks. “N-, what if, wha-at if I mess up?”

“It’s okay, I’ll understand! Hold on, here.” Emory pulls his arm back a bit and offers his hand instead. “Try it on one of my fingers. It’ll be really small, and if something goes wrong, it won’t be a big deal. Really, it’s okay, try it. I know you can do it, Curls.”

Lux glances fervently at Anders, then back at Emory, and then down at his hand. He lifts his own and, shaking visibly, he takes hold of Emory’s pointer finger, his hold loose.

“Won’t g-get mad?” He whispers.

“I won’t get mad. No matter what, I promise I won’t. Just let your magic do what it used to, what it normally does. When you’re safe and not afraid. You can do it.”

Fighting to get his nerves under control, Lux focuses hard, starting the chant with a bit of a stutter. It smoothes out soon enough as he rolls through the memorized syllables.

A faint, flickering gold light glows from his hand, and he stops the spell instantly. “Did that hurt?” He asks, looking up at Emory’s face for a frown or tears. “Did that h-hurt, d-d-did I hurt y-you?”

Emory tears his eyes away from the magic that just glowed, soft and warm, against his skin. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt Lux’s magic directly before. “Not even a little. Try again, it felt nice. I like your magic.”

Lux is taken aback, nearly blushing in surprise. Less uncertain this time, he starts the spell again, and the healing magic presses gently against Emory’s skin, slips around to his palm in search of an injury to mend. It melts away after a few seconds, and the spell ends.

“That was wonderful,” Emory comments, beaming. “Hey, you did it, Lux! Your magic’s working!”

“Good job, Lux, that’s damn good work,” Anders adds with a smirk that says knew you could, you’re amazing.

“You wanna try on yourself now?”

“Yeah, can - is, is it a good idea to - m-my shoulder, ‘s the worst, can I do that one?” He knows he messed up last time, he knows he did, but he desperately needs it to be back in one piece, to be fixed, it scares him how badly it hurts even with the painkillers.

“You can start with whatever you want, it’s your body, Curls. Don’t need anyone’s permission.”

“A-Anders, can you - would you ma-aybe, hold my hand there, please? ‘s okay if you don’t wanna, just, helps when, when you tell me it’s okay…”

“‘Course, Lux.” Anders shifts slightly to reach and then takes Lux’s hand, pulling it up and holding it above that shattered shoulder.

Lux closes his eyes, and thinks of Emory’s joy at his magic working, and casts the spell.

#whump #drabble #broken bones #caregiver #lux #emory #anders #other people's ocs #whumpsprite #mine #magic #afraid #stuttering #losing consciousness #collapse #strong #anders is SO fucking good

[friendlylocalwhumper]

anders is @whump-sprite‘s oc.

“Lux... L-Lux, I... please...”

Anders licks his cracked lips, clearing his throat with a wince, and then a whine. Lux strokes his messy hair in an attempt to soothe him, where Anders’ head is nestled in his lap to keep it off the concrete floor.

“I know, I know, there’s - there’s no water down here, I’m sorry, you—you just gotta wait a little bit longer.”

“Nnnh... ‘kay... Lux, don’t let ‘im fuckin’... nnnnh, no more, no more...”

“No more, okay, I promise, no more,” Lux confirms quickly, desperate to comfort his friend. The burns spanning across Anders’ chest and leg are gruesome, the resulting fever alarming, and there’s nothing he can do but watch as Anders gets more and more delirious, out of it enough to share how he feels.

It’ll only get worse, without water.

~

“Please—nnh, mistress—may I please earn—a glass of, of water—nnnh, ahhhh, I’m sorry—”

Lux pales, clutching two fists into Anders’ tattered shirt, as the Hunter smiles down on them, enjoying the show of delirious pleading from the stronger of the two prisoners.

“He is so sweet like this, don’t you think, my light?”

“Let me heal him,” Lux demands, with a tone like he’s begging. “Let me—earn it, I’ll do anything—”

“No,” The Hunter answers. He sounds perfectly content, happy. “I like him like this. Don’t test my patience, little one, you won’t change my mind.”

Anders probably can’t tell what’s being said, but he keens at the Hunter’s voice filling up the dead space of the cellar. He remembers the last time the man was down here, how he used his fire magic to burn Anders, to make the smell of singed skin fill the room until Anders choked on his screams and passed out.

“Water,” Lux blurts out, after watching Anders’ unfocused eyes scrunch up in fear. “Let me give him water. Please, just one bottle, to give to him slowly, and then—I’ll leave him right here, and you can hurt me, I—anything you want, however you want to, I’ll take it.”

The Hunter steps closer only to crouch down, far too close to Anders for Lux’s comfort. “And what makes you think that would be more fun than this?” He puts his broad hand on Anders’ chest, over a mass of burns, and presses down firmly. Cracking, wobbling wails are squeezed out of the pinned, burnt warlock. Lux can’t stop it, he can’t, there’s nothing he can do. He has to wait, holding onto his shuddering friend, feeling his body rock with the spasms of unbearable pain, until the hand on his chest peels up and lets Anders wheeze and cry to himself.

“Been... been a l-long time since you...” Something catches in Lux’s throat. “Since you b-broke one of my bones, or—or—my joints, messed them up, it’s, it’s been o-over a year, I think.”

His captor grins at that suggestion. “You won’t be able to walk, you know. Won’t be able to hold him.”

Lux gives a jerking nod, feeling queasy. “I know.”

“I’ll start with your hip,” The Hunter informs, taking as much pleasure in watching Lux for reactions as he will in actually doing the damage. “A knee. An elbow, a shoulder—no, both shoulders. I want to see you sprawled out and sobbing for mercy.”

Lux trembles and squeaks out, “Th-, tha-at... s-s-sounds like a deal.”

The Hunter hums in thought, looking down at Anders. Lux’s skin crawls.

“...You can give him a bottle of water and numb his pain so that he can sleep while I hurt you, if you’re willing to get your joints snapped, and healed, and snapped again, as long as it entertains me.”

To save Anders from the type of pain that he fears the most? “Yes, y-yes, please.”

“...Alright. I’ll bring your water down, you have one hour before I start having fun with you. Have him all done by the time I come back, little one.”

Nodding in agreement, Lux leans over Anders and waits to be left alone for a moment with his friend.

“It’s okay, Anders,” He mutters, carding through that messy hair again and frowning at Anders’ eyes squeezed shut tight against unrelenting agony. “Got water for you. Thirsty?”

“Mmmmnh, yes, please...”

“It’s coming, I promise. Then you can sleep. No more pain.”

Anders doesn’t answer, but that’s okay. It’s really better if he fades out of awareness, with what’s coming. 

#mine #whump #drabble #burned #afraid #delirious #fever #caregiver #worry #captivity #protective #begging #lux #anders #the hunter #other people's ocs #whumpsprite #for sproo #torture #sacrifice

[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.

#whump #drabble #collapse #past trauma #lux #chronic pain #alex #other people's ocs #whumpsprite #mine #texting

[friendlylocalwhumper]

anders and vic are @whump-sprite‘s ocs! this is set before the anders/vic breakup, and isn’t canon, since these aren’t my ocs.

content warning: gore

Clogged with choking ash and dust, screams smack dully against shards of concrete around him. He can hear fingers scrabbling against debris, the groaning of the collapsed structure as it pins bodies and punches wails out of people that only ten minutes ago were chattering and doing dumb shit like taking selfies and complaining about too much sugar in their coffee.

Anders isn't exactly a people person, he's no optimist or fan of mankind in general, but there's a wrenching, deep pain in his heart, hearing those cries of pain, unheard yells for help, futile struggling. No amount of horror over scores of people dying slowly will ever be numbed in him, no matter how much pointless suffering he sees.

Hands trembling, eyes wide and frantic, breaths quick and hitching, the warlock starts to feel the condition of his body. Hasn't set in yet. But his attempts to move, to dig his way out of here and catch just one breath of fresh air that isn’t heavy with pulverized building, are entirely fruitless. He doesn't move an inch. Which means he's pinned, he's stuck, and the first physical sensation from anywhere past his waist is something hot and wet pooling against his right leg.

Which means his left leg, if it still exists, is ruined.

With that realization, the dawning awareness of just how fucked he is, an unwilling moan wells up in the back of his throat. With each shudder of his body, his leg is jostled. By raising his head, he can just barely make out the massive pillar that's trying to turn his leg into a thin, flat mess of blood and muscle and bone. When he tries to move, to test his ability to escape whatever might come crushing down on him next, the movements become waves of shudders and jolting twitches, and the sounds that come out of him are so embarrassing that he's glad he's trapped here alone.

The pillar shifts, and the world dissolves into white nothingness for a few horrific moments as the agony shoots up to an unbearable level.

Anders isn’t going to cry for help like the others. He doesn’t need to deal with hearing his own voice cracking, or having his hope get crushed by the silence that falls after his yells go unheard. He’s still processing, he’s got time, just a minute, maybe he can pull himself free… but then the pillar is shoved closer to the ground by the debris weighing down on it, and a scream is punched out of Anders’ chest as all logical thought evaporates. He is in pain, and he wants it to end, and that’s all that he can process. He wants out, he wants to get out, he wants to live.

And have someone, he realizes, despair making his next bellow of pain crack like a sob. He wants his someone. Wants his leg to somehow be intact, enough that it’s only consumed by the everyday sort of pain he’s used to; he wants to prop his leg up on the couch, or the bed, in Vic’s lap. He wants patient, gentle fingers to press at the spasming muscles there, he wants soft words tinged with understanding because no one knows Anders better, no one cares more.

Lost in the agony coming from the direction of what was once his leg, Anders’ next scream is twisted into something that almost sounds like Vic’s name.

Soon enough, he’s begging. The kind of begging that proves just how mindless his panic is, because there’s no one here to beg. When he moans, please, stop, make it stop, the words hit only concrete. When the pain grows, deep and inescapable, and he whines no, no, please, no more, no one answers. It’s like he’s delirious with fever, or caught up in the throes of a nightmare, but he’s lucid, all too aware, too conscious.

The rubble above him shifts, crumbles down to kick dust into his face, and he can only tilt his head away until his forehead is pressed against a jagged clump of metal, and something shifts into the space his head was previously occupying with a thud.

Each breath comes quicker, increasingly more shallow and labored, as debris settles heavily onto his chest.

The shifting is growing louder, smaller chunks of the building trying to slip into the spaces left around Anders’ body, and he’s sure that it’s all about to give way, to steal his air and all the space left where he can make his ribcage expand, where he can tip his head to avoid it getting crushed.

There is some kind of warbled, muted sound coming from above him. In the musty dark of the small space he’s trapped in, Anders’s eyes open as he searches for some clue of what’s happening. More sounds, and more shifting concrete, and another unwilling cry is pulled from him as something presses down on his right leg. No, no, not that one too, please…

The sounds morph gradually into audible words. “...’im out of there, got to - hey, hey, I see him!”

A tiny speck of light hits the metal right next to Anders’ face, making him flinch and knock the back of his head lightly against stone. It grows, the light spreading, and air rushes into the space, filling his lungs only to make him cough out dust.

Rough fingers touch his head, the only part of him that’s visible right now, but he can’t pull away from the contact. More rubble moves, and a nearly inhuman wail escapes him as the pillar on his leg crunches down.

“Stop, stop! He’s under there. Sir, what’s your na-”

“Anders,” Someone gasps, just a bit farther away, but familiar. “That’s Anders, that’s - cariño, can you hear me?”

A mangled hhhhn leaves Anders before he’s able to make a word sound instead of a pain sound. “V?”

The rubble shifts quicker, only the chunks lodged into the pile by his head, and more light pools in, more air. His shoulder is revealed, the top of his chest, his arm. As soon as Anders can free one of his hands, he does, pushing it against the stone above him just to have some flimsy chance of protecting himself from being crushed. Wide green eyes, wild with panic, find Vic’s above him, and when the stone under his head and the metal pushing against his face is replaced with familiar hands, Anders leans into them, desperate to feel something other than the cold, solid threat of a painful death.

“My leg, V, my leg,” Anders pants, his arm trembling while the other, still pinned, flexes in a vain effort to escape.

“We’re getting you out, you’re gonna be okay, just hold on.” Vic turns to the rescue worker beside him and tells him, and what Anders can only assume are the others working out of his line of sight, to hurry.

As they work on freeing Anders, as more of his chest becomes visible, his dress shirt somehow turned from white to dark grey by the layers of dust, Vic’s hands become his focus. They brush away debris, pull metal off of him, pull hard on slabs of concrete. Those usually clean, steady hands are bloody and trembling with adrenaline. Anders didn’t know Vic was as strong as he must be, to be lifting as much as he is. He gives a dull, aching chuckle at the thought of how a mother can allegedly lift a car off her baby if she has to. No, this debris must not be as heavy as it feels when you’re pinned under it.

When they finally make enough progress to get to that pillar on top of Anders’ leg, his breaths are harsh and pitchy. Five pairs of gloved hands grab onto the edges of the pillar, and one pair of bloody ones, and Vic is saying something about counting down, about breathing and staying with him - and then the pillar shifts, and Anders’ throat aches with a scream bubbling up, and his vision blacks out as he goes completely limp.

#whump #drabble #trapped #afraid #panic #can't move #anders #other people's ocs #whumpsprite #vic #worry #blood #gore #collapsed building #for sproo #mine #live write stuff

[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.

#mine #whump #drabble #torture #captivity #for sproo #the hunter #anders #screaming #magic #punished #obedience #control #other people's ocs #whumpsprite #tiny tiny drabble for fun #i love sweet terrified anders #and i love when the hunter casually tortures someone just because he's used to it #just part of his day!

[friendlylocalwhumper]

alex is @whump-sprite’s oc; whump-sprite helped me with this drabble, wrote parts of it, and made it much better in my opinion!

“Hey, Curls, somebody’s here to see you,” Emory murmurs, kissing Lux on his mess of curls and rubbing his shoulder. “Can you see Alex, there?”

Lux makes a surprised sound and tries to sit up more, tries to focus again. Emory helps him shift to lie propped up on the pillows behind him. He doesn’t want to hover, to block the help from getting to Lux, so he moves away after kissing the fevered warlock’s knuckles. He can’t help watching Alex as he walks into the room, a little skeptical of how this is going to go, how it’ll make Lux better.

He likes Alex, he does. The guy’s a good friend to Lux, and from what he’s been told, no less brave. But right now Alex isn’t a friend, he’s a healer, and the reason that he’s here is to make Lux better.

Alex moves toward the bed, careful but offering Lux something like a smile. “Hey, Lux. How you feeling?”

There’s no answer. Lux’s eyes are sort of dull, confusion seeming to set in. Emory tries to help. “You hear that, Curls? Alex is here, he wants to know how you’re feeling. With your fever.”

Lux blinks and glances between them, sinking down a little more into the covers. “S-sorry, got... forgot to answer. Uh, c-, cold, feel cold.”

Alex sits on the edge of the bed, touches Lux’s shoulder before going to feel his forehead with the back of his hand. Emory takes note of that, considers that people who know Lux well touch his shoulders first, like they’re making him more steady, preparing him for more painless touch. Those shoulders that ache so much, that get sore and stiff and need to be massaged, stretched every day. They bring Lux pain, but he must be okay with being touched there from times when that pain was the least of his worries.

Alex takes in the scene, the dazed but wary look in Lux’s eyes, the unnatural red tinge of his cheeks, with a sharp inhale of trepidation. Presses the back of his hand to Lux’s forehead with even more fear. Doesn’t need to take Lux’s temperature to know this is bad, this is the kind of fever that creeps into the mind and damages, this is the kind of fever that could easily be magical in origin.

But Lux, with his hesitant words and fearful shivers, has more reason to be afraid than Alex, so the healer keeps his voice calm.

“You seem really focused right now, Lux, got to be hard with this fever,” Alex says, lowering his hand and looking at the three water bottles on the nightstand, two of them empty. “Been drinking water, too, that’s really good.”

Some of the shine comes back to Lux’s eyes at the words that sound to him like praise, like he’s being stunningly well-behaved, and Alex’s heart catches in his throat at the sight of it. “T-tryin’,” He responds, voice meek. “...Please, ca-an I, can I have more blankets? Co-old...” The shivers running through him make it seem like he’s stuck out in a blizzard, but the sheets are soaked with sweat and his skin is uncomfortably hot every time Alex brushes his fingers against it.

“Can you bring in a bowl of cold water and washcloths, Emory?” Alex asks, turning away for a second and then looking back at Lux. “I’m sorry, Lux, but we need to bring down your fever. I know you feel cold, but, here, feel this?” He puts his hand on Lux’s forearm, eliciting a violent shudder. “Feel how that’s cold? It’s ‘cause you’re too hot.”

Lux cringes visibly, tries to make himself smaller, and Alex frowns. It looks like his sick friend stopped following the words at some point and only registered that he was being made colder, being watched. Emory returns to the room with the bowl and cloths, and Alex starts to soak them and place them along Lux’s wrists, his forehead, his chest. Lux shakes and stops responding, eyes glassy with resigned terror at what he thinks is a punishment.

“I need to know if this is was caused by magic,” Alex says, quietly, to Emory.

“Caused - magic?” Emory asks, backing away not out of fear, but in an attempt to stay out of the way of things he doesn’t understand. “You think someone did this to him?”

“Possible,” Alex answers vaguely, not eager to bring up the mindfucker in front of a delirious, already frightened Lux. When he looks back down at his friend, though, he finds that Lux was listening, and he focused hard enough to be able to understand.

“Nnnnh, nnh, no, please, ‘m sorry, I... n-no more...” One of Lux’s arms slips out from under the covers, his hand coming up to hover by his temple in an attempt to protect himself from mind magic, from the Hunter’s touch. Holding his hand there is too much of an effort, it seems, because he lowers his hand to rest over his temple, fingers over his own curls, eyes on Alex. “He, he’s not... he didn’t, ‘s not him, is - is it? It is magic? Wa-as I...” He can’t, can’t bring himself to say the word bad, it’s too scary.

“I’m going to figure that out, Lux, and I’m going to make you feel better,” Alex promises, his face drawn in concern. If the Hunter is in Lux’s head, if he did cast a spell on Lux from afar to make him this sick, it could be a trap. It could latch onto a healer’s magic and make it rot from the inside out. Alex isn’t too weak to admit to himself that he’s afraid. Lux doesn’t need to know that, though.

Lux simply needs to feel safe.

“We’re right here, Curls. You’re not alone,” Emory says, clearly thinking the same.

Lux doesn’t answer Emory, but he nods slightly, biting his lip. As Alex holds his hand a few inches over Lux’s chest and promises that he’s only using a light, undetectable bit of magic to check out the cause of this fever, Lux tries not to squirm.

His magic slips in easy. Nothing fights him, his power doesn’t hit against the strange unnatural shine of the Hunter’s twisted sorcery.

“Not magic,” Alex confirms with an audible exhale, relieved beyond measure. “That’s good, it means I can do a lot to help,” he explains for Emory. Then, he touches his hand to Lux’s chest, and starts to press cool healing magic into him.

It should help, should ease the aches and inflammation and the fire in Lux’s blood, should make it easier to breathe and think, but instead it elicits in Lux a panic, a silent agonized mortal terror. Lux’s eyes widen, his breathing nearly stops, the shivers getting worse instead of better. For a terrible moment, Alex thinks that his magic is coming out backwards, twisted, worsening Lux’s condition.

When he sees the tears, though, and the unfocused eyes staring up, Alex figures that this is fear. Lux is afraid, feeling magic in him when he’s this vulnerable, this sick. How many times did the Hunter push magic into him to drive his fever up while in the cellar, Alex wonders? How many times did he make Lux better, out of boredom with a captive too ill to do more than whine, and start beating him again?

The soft whimpers, the tears and hitching breaths, none of them are an attempt at communicating. What good would it do Lux to try and stop the Hunter, try and reason with him? Lux thinks Alex is the Hunter, right now.

Emory has stepped closer, tense and ready to drag Alex away from the bed if he has to, because it looks like Lux is only getting worse. Alex holds his hand up, silently willing Emory to give him just a little bit more time. He knows, knows how hard this is for Emory to watch. But the only thing Alex can do is try harder, and murmur, over and over again, you’re doing great, Lux, you’re doing so well. He pushes in more magic, more quickly than is strictly necessary, to get this over with. After a few minutes, when Lux’s skin isn’t so hot, Alex pulls his hands away.

Lux is blinking and focusing his eyes and panting, thinking hard.

The healer rubs at his stinging wrists, and smiles. “Does that feel better?”

Lux looks at Alex and visibly relaxes like he expected the Hunter to be there, like he was avoiding the revelation of the truth. “Better,” He answers hoarsely. He feels grimy, now, stuck under a sweaty blanket, but he deals with it instead of asking for help getting out from under it. His body is still weak, his mind still drifting, and the idea of moving sounds terribly exhausting right now. “Was that you?”

“Yup, that was me. Emory called me to see if I could help.”

At the mention of Emory, Lux looks around for him and easily finds him. Emory comes over and, when Lux reaches up for him, takes that warm hand in his. Lux uses his other hand to wipe away the tears that gathered on his face when he was confused about being punished. “Can I get m-more blankets now, please?”

“‘Course,” Emory answers without consulting with the healer, desperate to offer some lacking comfort. “Anything you want, Curls.”

“And, and Alex, you’ll stay?”

Alex sits at the head of the bed opposite Emory and smiles, relieved that this time, he helped, he was able to do something, and although his chest feels tight and his wrists are tingling, he didn’t make himself the patient in the process of healing Lux. “No way you’re getting me to leave before that fever’s cleared away. I’m staying until you feel like yourself, I promise.”

#mine #whump #drabble #sick #fever #magic #afraid #past trauma #crying #comfort #lux #emory #alex #other people's ocs #whumpsprite #worry