#fluffy whump

[feverflushed]

You know what's cute? Whumpees who dissociate during high fevers.

Whumpee has been battling a high fever all day. Caretaker tries to sit them at the dinner table for some soup, to fill their belly so they can take some medicine. Poor fevered whumpee just sits there, listless, with a thousand yard stare and bright red cheeks. Caretaker tries to grab their attention, but it's all for nothing. Whumpee just keeps shivering and staring into the void.

Caretaker caresses their cheek. "You really are not feeling well, are you, sweetheart? Let's get some food into you and tuck you back in bed".

[chaotic-orphan]

Whumptober No. 17

Nowhere Else To Go

Ruined Map // Shipwrecked // “We had a good run.”

Is it whump or is it comfort?

*~*~*~*~*

“Captain!” Captain Thorne looked up, squinting against the rain that belted down upon him. “We can’t out sail it. The beast is—”

A swell of water cut into the ship just as a loud cry from the beast wailed at the starboard. The ship turned up against the tides and Thorne lost his footing, his head slapping off the deck. He grabbed onto his lifeline, gasping as the rope tightened around his waist, almost cutting off his air supply.

The screams of his men sounded all round and Thorne grabbed the rope keeping him anchored to the ship and pushed himself to his knees as the ship began to turn on its axis. He looked up and he could see the stars and the rain across the deck and he gasped.

Was this the last time he’d see the stars? When they were so close?

“Captain!” He turned his head to see the red coat of his first mate. He smiled at him. That was the last thing he saw before the ship capsized. The salt water was freezing and hit his back like a rock that the waves crashed against along the cliffs of his home.

Home.

Home was the sea.

It was always the sea, and he was returning home.

The ship and the black waters submerged them below its surface, and Thorne realised he was at peace as he lost the strength in his limbs to hold onto his lifeline. To the locker, then. A new adventure.

Thorne gasped awake, coughing up salt water from his lungs. He gasped as he turned and vomited the bile and salt from his chest. Expunging death and breathing in life. He blinked as his fists submerged into the sand, birds cawing above.

Sand?

Birds?

Was this— was he—

“Captain,” a voice rasped behind him. Thorne turned his head over his shoulder. He had only made out the vibrant red dulled by the water before he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around his first mate.

“I knew it,” Thorne whispered, holding his first mate closer. “I knew it, I knew it, I knew it.”

“Cap—”

“There is no need for formalities anymore, First Mate. Not in the afterlife. We can finally cast aside the shackles of—”

“Captain—” First Mate protested, pushing back from Thorne’s embrace to look him in the eyes. “This isn’t the afterlife. We’re not dead. I cut your tether to the ship and swam us to safety.”

Thorne stiffened. He glanced down at his waist to see his lifeline, in fact, in tatters. Which meant… oh.

Oh.

By the Gods.

Was he really just about to confess his undying love to First Mate? What would he think? What would he say? He thought for certain he was in heaven, and heaven would be with First Mate by his side.

Alas.

Thorne pulled away and cleared his throat. “Excuse me, First Mate. The sea water must have made me temporarily mad.”

“That’s allowed, Captain. It was a long trek here.”

“You must be exhausted.”

“I am.”

“You should rest.”

First Mate hesitated. Thorne’s heart thumped against his chest. “I didn’t save the map, Captain. I couldn’t— in the panic, all I thought about was—” First Mate coughed, cutting himself off. “I mean, all I considered was getting you to safety. I didn’t even think until it was too late and the ship—”

“First Mate, do you seriously expect me to chastise you for saving my life?”

First Mate’s cheeks flooded a delightful pink. “No, sir.”

“Good. Otherwise I would have called you a fool.”

“But the treasure, sir—” Thorne waved him away.

“We had a good run. That is in the past. Now, we will retreat beneath the forest canopy and find shelter for the night. We can consider next steps when we are both more rested.”

[faofinn]

No. 19 Body Modifications (Alt. 5)

@whumptober-archive

Fao and Harrison’s relationship had gotten off to a rocky start, that was certain, but after that they’d become hesitant friends, getting closer and closer as they got older. Hars obviously cared about Finn, about the family, and now he was living with Steve, he’d managed to pull himself together, get some half decent grades at school, stop drinking so much. That in turn made his relationship easier with Fao, who’d helped him through his uni interview prep. He’d gotten offers for a couple of places, which really surprised him, but Fao had told him sincerely he’d never doubted him. 

He often spent time in Fao’s flat, a way to get away from Steve without him worrying, and he enjoyed the older boy’s company. Fao had a no alcohol rule, but they had fun in other ways, watching films (and occasionally sharing a joint). They were sat chatting one evening that summer, not long before Hars was due to move up North, on the little balcony out the back of Fao’s flat, watching the sun go down. 

“I want to get a tattoo.” Harrison announced, after some time sat in silence. 

Fao turned to him, frowning. After the one he’d gotten on his wrist for Finn, he’d started an addiction, and already had half a sleeve on his left arm. “You do?”

"It's stupid, I know."

“No, not stupid.” Fao said. “What would you want?” 

“It’s really stupid.” Harrison said, not looking at him.

Fao nudged him. “Shut up and tell me.”

“An O’Malley.” He said under his breath. 

“O’Malley the alleycat.” Fao said with a grin. “It’s perfect, Tomcat.” 

Harrison had a fierce blush on his cheeks, not looking at Fao, embarrassed by something so childish. “Really?”

“Yeah. Why don’t I take you? As a going away to uni gift?” Fao suggested. 

Harrison had tried to deny him, but it had been no use, and soon he had a time booked with an artist Fao apparently knew. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous, but having Fao as a companion helped to get rid of some of the nerves. And after all, how bad could a tattoo really be? He’d been through so much shit, it hardly seemed like a big deal. 

He got settled in the chair, stencil on, and with Fao chatting away, they started. It really wasn’t so bad. Sore, and the vibration was kind of weird, especially on his chest, but it was fine. Like a cat scratch, when Apollo had dug his claws into his thighs. Going over ribs hurt more, but it was more that it startled him, and he grabbed at Fao’s hand in a rather undignified way. Fao hadn’t said anything, just squeezed it back wordlessly, giving him a little nod. It soon settled off again, Harrison relaxing back, and he was chatting away again. It faded into the background, barely even there, and before he knew it the lines and the colour was done. They’d been there hours, but it had hardly felt like any time at all. 

He stood up, checked it out in the mirror, and couldn’t stop beaming at Fao. It was red, and swollen, and it would probably hurt more soon, but he was proud of himself for actually following through with it. He went to pay, with some of his own money he’d saved and some Steve had given him, but Fao stopped him before he could get there, handing over the cash. Harrison had protested, but Fao had just looped his arm around his shoulders with a laugh. 

“My treat, for my Tomcat.”

[greatgigintheskiess]

Today I had a great conversation with my friend in our town's local diner :D

Basically we were talking about my current wip and how I might develop the next chapters and stuff since she's also my beta. And the discussion went in the direction, that we talked about storybuilding and that after hurt should follow comfort, else it's not hurt/comfort.

But I asked then, what if there's hurt after comfort and whump after fluff.

So she said: Why don't make it a sandwich?

And that's how we created a new trope:

✨The Whump-Fluff-Sandwich✨

So it says, that in a story there's first whump, then fluff and in the end again whump.

This way, the reader first gets confronted with whump, only that, after all the recovery, love and fluff in the plot, all expectations for a happy ending get viciously crushed by the whump again and it gets only worse and worse by then... :D

And I personally think this trope is beautiful.

My friend called me evil >:3

[voidwhump]

“I’ll call out your name, but you won’t call back.”

Thermometer | Delirium | “They don’t care about you”

Continuation of yesterday! Although this is definitely more in the vaguely inspired by the vibes of the prompt category than a direct fill. What will there be tomorrow? Something completely different!

Ingredients: Unspecified illness, brief collapse, 90% caretaking by volume

“Come on, you can go right back to sleep after,” 

They’re pulled into a sitting position, and their head pulses dully as they move. They groggily straighten their posture a little, the headache receding slightly when their neck isn’t being strained. The person, the man from before? They can’t tell. They focus on his face, trying to match blurry memories to blurry vision, and then choke on the tea that’s been tipped into their mouth. 

“Ah, shit. I thought that was eye contact. Sorry,” 

They attempt a response, but just cough harder. They aren’t sure if their throat hurt before, but it definitely does now. And their head. By the time they’re done coughing, their focus is in pieces, fragmenting with every heartbeat. The cup is held up again, and they turn away. 

“Nope, you’re not going back to sleep until you drink some. Drinking cures like, ninety percent of being sick,”

He pulls them back upright. They reluctantly raise their hand to the cup, missing once, but with them demonstrating that they’re actually paying attention, the next sip goes more smoothly. Warmth blooms in their chest as they swallow, all soreness from their coughing fit erased. The heat traces their ribs, soaking in and chasing away a clammy chill they hadn’t noticed until it was gone. A short time later they’ve gotten through almost all of the tea, and when they move to lie back down he lets them. They pull at the blankets, but almost immediately the man turns back to them and tucks them in. They’re already half asleep and in a brief, exhaustion fueled moment of trust, they don’t even wonder why he bothered. 

The next time they wake up they feel more alert. They’re thirsty again, mouth uncomfortably dry. They roll onto their side, swallowing in an attempt to get rid of the worst of the cottony feeling. A pitcher and cup has been left on their bedside table, but the people that had helped them seem to have left. They listen, but don’t hear anyone. Maybe they just imagined the whole thing. As they try to remember anything concrete the details elude them, the walk back to their apartment seeming more dreamlike the longer they focus on it. 

They push past the wave of disappointment (why would they even be disappointed, it’s not like they’ve had someone to help out any other time) and push off the covers, sitting up and moving to the side of their bed to pour themself more water. As they lift the pitcher, they misjudge the weight. It drops back onto the table, then tips and rolls onto the floor, shattering in a spreading puddle of water. 

They just sit there for a minute, watching the puddle ooze under their bed. It’s fine, they’ve cleaned things up before. They’re having a hard time recalling the things they would need to clean this, or what order they should do it in. They don’t want to kneel in a puddle, so the drying the floor is first. But then there would be shards of ceramic, and that’s harder to avoid than water, right? They can feel their throat tightening as their frustration grows, and they swallow dryly. Even now they aren’t sure they have the energy to clean up, if they cry they’re never going to be able to. As they slowly, painfully step through the very simple process, trying to focus on a first step, they finally decide they’re going to sweep up the broken pitcher first. The broom can dry on its own.

Standing proves somewhat unwise, the vertigo that consumed them on they way back returning in the face of dehydration. They cling to the wall, their couch, a door frame, and retrieving the broom and repeating the process in reverse. It’s only when they’re starting to sweep, while sitting back on their bed fora short break, when they remember that usually sweeping involves a dustpan. It’s fine. Even just getting the shards out of the way is fine. A few tears leak down their face and they blink them back, but the slow, steady stream doesn’t let up. 

Eventually they get the shards over to the wall, removing the real hazard, and make the unsteady walk back across their apartment to retrieve a towel. They’re not really crying anymore at least. Not that they were before. They bend down to get the water that went under their bed and lose their balance. They hit the side of their bed, most of the fall caught by their mattress, but they land on their knees in the puddle. 

Oh, they’re wet now. 

No amount of insisting to themself and squeezing their eyes shut can stop their stupid stupid brain from giving up and making them cry. 

They have their face pressed into the edge of their mattress when someone puts a hand on their shoulder. They startle slightly, and turn to see a man who they’re almost sure is the one they remember from the walk. They don’t even have the bandwidth to explain the situation, it’s pretty clear anyway, they tried to do something simple and they couldn’t even manage that. They start crying again once the mild shock wears off, and the man pulls them a little closer, rubbing their shoulder blade. 

“Hey, you’re fine, it’s not even your pitcher, yeah?” 

It’s not their pitcher? “I broke your pitcher?” Their apology disintegrates halfway out of their mouth as they cry harder.

“No, no, I meant that it’s fine, it’s a shit ass pitcher anyway,” 

They really should not be this upset about this. They choke down a deep breath and bury their face in their hands again. The man stays there, hand on their back, until eventually they stop crying. They shudder, head aching again. 

“I’m still sorry about it though.” Their voice is a mess. If he’s even understanding them they’d be shocked.

He gives them a pat before standing up. “If I wanted my pitchers in one piece I wouldn’t leave them lying around next to people who aren’t at one hundred percent. I’ll get you that water, clean up, maybe some dry pants?” 

They nod, watching him leave the room before slumping and pressing their damp face into their mattress again. They stayed like that, resting their eyes until the man came back. Sitting up, they accept the cold water bottle, already open, and gulp down almost half of it. They can feel it soaking into their dry mouth and throat so thoroughly that they can almost hear it, like water draining through dry soil. They press the remaining half to their hot face. The man is still standing there. They suddenly have the energy to be embarrassed.

“I don’t want to just dig through your drawers, is there, like..”

“Oh, yeah. That one should have comfy stuff,” They point out the drawer in question, and after a brief shuffle the man returns with some random pajama pants. 

“I’ll go get another towel,” He says, and gives them some privacy to change.

By the time he gets back they’re asleep again, the empty water bottle abandoned on the bedside table.

[artemiseamoon]

Preview: A way to a mans heart

Angel Reyes & Tianna/Oc (oneshot)

Words: 947

Whumpril 2023 masterlist | Day 21: “it’s just a scratch.”

Warnings: none really, it's pretty light and on the fluffy end, mention of a bandaged wound.

An: pairing from an unreleased and unfinished oneshot. Don’t know when I’ll get to it, but wanted some light whump today and I miss this idiot. That look above gets me every time.

Quick backstory for them: friends not yet lovers, her family owns a fusion Caribbean food restaurant, she’s 34.

Preview below * read in full on A03

It’s been about 3 weeks since Tianna’s seen Angel, which is a long time without a visit from the Mayan. He was not just their number one customer, Angel often swung by to see Tianna, and sometimes have his dinner there before closing. The ride was a little out of the way for Santo Padre, still, he made it frequently.

Tianna didn’t know a lot about MC, never knew anyone in one until she met Angel, then his brother EZ. Besides, it was a group she never sought out, despite her thing for guys on bikes, there was just something about it - drew her in like a moth to a flame. But to get involved with one in a club, that would come with a whole lot of drama and stress she did not want to invite into her life.

This was one of the reasons she didn’t pursue anything with the tall, tattooed drink of water named Angel Reyes. On paper, he was exactly what she likes, but in reality, it would be more than she wanted to sign up for. Plus, his red flags were pretty clear, but not enough to make her stop flirting and playing around with the idea of maybe.

What made it a little easier to resist him at first was her family, they didn’t even want a patch wearer lingering around here too long, and made it clear, once they saw Angel flirting with her, that she needed to avoid types like that.

Then, the charming bastard he is, Angel won over the family, mom, brother, and the hardest of all, her father (who was ready to toss him out every time he came in). Still, her father didn’t make it obvious Angel won him over, he still gave him a hard time and plenty of shit each visit.

Read more on A03

More Mayans

No tags

@artemiseamoon

A03: artemiseamoon

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Whumpee is extremely high-strung and “productive” after retiring from being a superhero. Caretaker notices them working on things through the night and generally not sleeping. They want to help; but they know they’ll get yelled at if they even suggest the slightest healthy coping mechanisms. So, they start leaving things out for them where Whumpee can see them — chamomile tea, pen and paper, stuffed animals, etc. — under the guise that it’s Caretaker’s stuff and that they “forgot to put it away” so that Whumpee’s crime-solving curiosity will get the better of them and try the stuff.

[yes-i-am-happyaspie]

Hey writer friends! There's a fun, all-fandom, writing/art event taking place for fall. Cozytober! This is their second year and since they don't have a tumblr page, I thought I'd share the prompts!

For anyone participating in any of the other big fall events (@sicktember @whumptober @flufftober ) these prompts actually meld really well with those.

For more information about Cozytober rules, as well as a text version of the prompts, check out their AO3 Collection page [Here]

Happy writing!!

[alexthefly]

Heeheehee! It's even better on a re-read!

Poor Virgil. I feel bad for giggling at his pain, but the idea of our rugged heavy-lifter needing rescue from teeny tiny building blocks is so adorably funny, I just love it!

That little stab of evil brotherliness from Scott (once he's sure Virg is okayish) was perfect as well - so typical of siblings. I don't doubt he's already had John/EOS retrieve the security footage for later...😈😁

Lego Volcano (Part 1)

This fic was the result of several Thunderfam members in this post.

Those responsible include @sailing-on-a-puddle @idontknowreallywhy @womble1 and @alexthefly amongst others as they bantered while I was working my Thursday night late.

This was a thank you fic for the entertainment, written sometime before midnight Thursday night after work. I posted it originally in that thread, but thought I would repost it to its own post so it is easier to find because I have now written a Sweetapple sequel, which I will post shortly.

This one has been tidied up just a little as I didn't even reread it before posting on Thursday. Many thanks to all of you for being so kind and fun and supporting me through a three hour desk shift after an eight hour day.

Also hugs to @onereyofstarlight for the read through and sanity check :D

Warnings for sickfic and sick!Virgil.

I hope you enjoy :D

-o-o-o-

Virgil yawned and did his best not to choke on his own lungs.

His throat was as clogged up as his face and his head was throbbing, both from lack of sleep and the stupid flu he had picked up from probably London, in the sewers, no less.

Stupid uniform had stupid torn and diluted excrement had soaked his stupid undershirt. The smell had him dry heaving and as soon as they located the children who had caused the callout and made sure they were all safe and getting the attention they needed, Virgil had drowned himself in the heavy duty shower on Two…which he also had to clean when he finally made it home.

But the damage had been done and three days later, the first signs of the lurgy from hell had made itself known.

It turned out to be a bad flu, which wasn’t fun in the slightest, but considering what else he could have caught from raw sewage, the flu was on the preferred list.

But it was still a flu with all the horrid symptoms. At this point all the mucus in his body was residing in his head and he was in the process of developing a sinus infection that throbbed horribly with every single hacking cough.

Sleep was something he desperately needed, but couldn’t attain, and consequently his brain was not functioning anywhere near a conscious capacity.

Right now, all he knew was that he needed a drink, so he was staggering down to the kitchen to get one.

The house was dark and he was happy about that. He felt no need to stab his already aching eyeballs with light. He knew the house; the dark was calming and safe.

He made it down the kitchen stairs, to the sink, and the water hitting the back of his throat was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He took another and splashed his face with the cool liquid.

God, that felt good.

Of course, his lungs couldn’t have that, so he was again coughing. He staggered against the breakfast bar, trying to draw in breath.

Eventually he was able to gasp enough to keep himself alive. It felt overly dramatic, but considering the pounding in his head, he felt he deserved a little self pity.

Okay, drink taken, most of it had managed to stay down…now back to his bedroom.

He groaned internally. He did not want to go back to his room. He had been staring at the ceiling for hours. Being exhausted and not able to sleep was a unique kind of torture.

But honestly, wandering around the house was not recommended. Grandma would roast him - he was supposed to be in bed.

It was an image of his grandmother that drove him to climb back up the kitchen stairs to the comms room.

Apparently, there was no moon tonight. Virgil tried to recall what the date was but his brain refused to oblige.

In any case, it was dark with starlight interrupted by cloud the only light making it through the rafters. Just enough to vaguely outline the shadows in the room.

A vague idea of maybe crashing on the couch and staring up at those stars had Virgil taking a few steps into the room rather than towards the elevator. Perhaps he could open the balcony doors and breathe some fresh air.

His bare feet padded softly towards the door mechanism.

A press of a button and the massive glass panes smoothly separated, both retracting into the floor as the doors quietly opened.

The breeze that blew in was pure and fresh Tracy Island. Not that he could smell it, his nose was a snotty mess clogged all the way up to his hairline, but the breeze touched his too warm skin and, oh, that was so nice.

He moved closer to the centre of the doorway, listening to the sounds of his home, the rumble of distant surf, the rustle of leaves…his shoulders relaxed, ill muscles slowly unwinding.

Yes, he would curl up on the couch, stare at the stars, and relax into the breeze.

He took a step towards the sunken lounge and his foot came down on something sharp.

He gasped and stumbled, desperate to remove the source of the pain under his foot, only to catch something stabbing his other foot.

Ow!

The floor was suddenly covered in sharp and painful objects he could not see. No matter where he tried to put his feet, there was something, something that hurt and slid on the wooden floor.

He stumbled and his feet slipped out from under him, throwing him to the pain-filled floor with a yelp. He crashed into something that shattered beneath his shoulder in a cascade of hard pieces and he finally came to a stop on his back with a multitude of sharp shapes stabbing him.

He groaned.

Everything hurt.

Breath struggled in through his teeth.

He lay there, ignoring the stabbing in his back and limbs, not entirely confident he would be able to get up.

Then bright white completed the injuries as someone turned on the lights.

“Virgil!”

Eyes clenched shut, his sinuses and brain dancing the tarantella somewhere behind his eyes, Virgil didn’t answer his big brother.

The clatter of objects being kicked out of the way and Scott was beside him, his hand landing gently on his chest. “Virgil? Are you okay?”

Virgil kept his eyes closed, dumping an arm across his face to keep all the light out.

“Talk to me, Virgil.” A touch of Commander added steel to the big brother worry.

“Kill me now.”

A soft snort was his answer.

“Why are you bathing in Lego?”

“Wha-?” He opened his eyes blinking tears away and forcing himself to focus.

A literal mountain of Lego sat beside him. Its shape was an eerily familiar Tracy Island…minus the villa and some of the rocks around the caldera…which had apparently joined the Virgil stabbing party when he fell on it.

“C’mon, let’s get you up.”

Virgil was still staring at the Lego version of the Island. Wha-?

Scott wrapped an arm around his shoulders and levered Virgil into a sitting position.

Ow, now he was being stabbed even more in the butt.

He scrambled awkwardly onto his feet, everything complaining as he stared down at the mass of scattered Lego.

Scott didn’t let go of him.

“Who made this?”

“Gordon and Alan. It was meant to be a surprise.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, oh.”

“I’ve broken it.”

“You have.” Scott sighed. “But it is Lego, it can be rebuilt. You, on the other hand, need to go back to bed.”

Virgil grunted, but was betrayed by his body as it swayed in Scott’s grip.

“Or better yet, the infirmary.”

“God, no. I’m f-“ He gasped and then sneezed, his head screaming.

“Ow.”

Scott sighed again. “Let me check you over and…” He frowned down at Virgil. “…attend to your Lego injuries.” There was enough smirk in the concern to be brotherly evil.

Virgil managed to mumble a protest, but he was more than tired and leant into his brother’s half hug, resting his head on Scott’s shoulder.

“C’mon, little brother.”

Virgil groaned. Scott only called him ‘little brother’ when he was worried and wanted to get his way. Mostly because it worked every time.

A soft snort and Scott was leading him out of Lego hell and walking him to the infirmary.

Virgil may have fallen asleep on Scott’s shoulder at some point.

But he was beyond caring.

And Scott was, as always, doing enough for the both of them.

-o-o-o-

Next

[toxicanonymity]

what if everyone simply wrote blurbs for their favorite manspreading gifs and pics and tagged them #manspreading olympics?

[whumblr]

Whump prompt #64

"That's my mark on them," Whumper purred as Caretaker stared at the scar on Whumpee's shoulder. "They're mine. And you're not taking them anywhere."

"Oh yeah?" Caretaker snapped back. Blazing eyes found Whumpee's, who looked away in shame. But Caretaker wouldn't have it. He grabbed their face, both hands, looked them deep in the eyes.

And he kissed them full on the mouth.

Whumpee sputtered, utterly confused, embarrassed even, a hand shakily reaching up to touch over their lips as Caretaker pulled away. They stumbled lightly, but an arm snagged around theirs and pulled them against Caretaker.

"That's my mark on them," Caretaker snarled. "I can easily plant one right over yours. And they're coming home. With me!"

[geraskierfanficprompts]

Prompt 26

Jaskier has been recognized as the runaway viscount of lettenhove by a band of bandits. Embarrassingly, they seemed to have found him in the midst of buying a personalized gift addressed "To My Beloved." Perhaps a hairclip shaped like a dandelion, or perhaps an embroidered handkerchief, or something else dainty and delightful. The bandits drag Jaskier away for ransom, even as he tries futilely to explain that his lover will NOT be polite to them if they continue down this road. I mean, whatever fancy shmancy noblewoman whose skirt he's chasing can't be that threatening to their operation, right? They write up a ransom note, intending on sending it along with a lock of Jaskier's hair, and a few drops of his blood to show they're serious. They slice across Jaskier's wrist, but there's much much much more blood than they expected, because the man slicing his wrist is suddenly missing his head. Huh. Perhaps they've underestimated Jaskier's beloved. He did try to warn them.

[goldenempyrean]

Back To Bed With You

« Day 10: “Honey, you’re supposed to be in bed." »

« Pairing: Lizzie Olsen x Reader »

« Notes: lil' bit late oops, I had to wait till I finished work to make the post :P »

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙〘 Advent 2023 Masterlist! 〙

"Alright. Cut. Take 5 while we set up the next scene, I want makeup touch-ups done on everyone in the next shot please!" The voice of your director dismissed you from the current scene as people began rushing around to set up everything for the next.  

"Lizzie?" You tilted your head in surprise at the sight of your wife leaning up against some equipment behind the main camera. On any normal day you wouldn't have thought anything of it. But she'd woken up sick this morning with little to no voice left, and it'd taken you almost half an hour to convince her to go back to bed and take the day off. Yet here she was. Standing just off set... in her pyjamas. “Honey you’re supposed to be in bed. What are you doing here?”  

She only shivered in response and goosebumps ran up her exposed arms as she pulled them round herself. “Oh, come here sweetheart,” You shook your head, taking off the jumper you’d been wearing and pulled it over her pink pyjama shirt. It was slightly baggy but on her, but it was better than that thin fabric that seemed to be doing little to keep her warm, “That better?” 

She nodded before clearing her throat, "I missed you," Lizzie whispered hoarsely, her voice barely audible. "And I wanted to see your scenes. You always watch mine.” She sniffled before muffling a cough against the collar of her borrowed jumper, making you raise an eyebrow slightly knowing you had to wear that later. 

You cupped her flushed face in your hands, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead. "You're the sweetest really, you are, but I don't want you getting any sicker. Your voice sounds awful darling. So how about this? You stay right here, I'll finish up this next scene and then I’ll walk you back to our trailer and get you settled back down, okay? How does that sound?”  Lizzie gave a weak smile, appreciating the warmth of your jumper and the concern in your eyes. "Okay," she agreed in a raspy whisper, her hand finding yours as you began to lead her over towards where one of the runners had plugged a small portable heater into an extension cord. 

“You just concentrate on getting warm, okay?” You murmured, kissing her hand, “I’ve gotta sort out my makeup. The scene’s only short but if you really don’t feel well, just head back without me. I’ll catch you up.” 

With that you turned to quickly run over to makeup to get touched up before making it back down in front of the camera. The scene went well. Everyone had delivered their lines well and you’d only needed to do a couple to retakes to get the perfect shot. 

As the director called for a wrap on the scene, you wasted no time in heading back over to where you had left Lizzie. She looked a little more tired now but at least the heater had been doing its job and had kept her warm as she watched. 

“Alright, you, we had an agreement, didn’t we?” You smiled, knowing it was time for her to go back to bed. Your wife pouted but nodded in agreement and with a bit of effort, you helped her to her feet, wrapping your arm around her for support as you walked back to your trailer 

"You're a terrible patient," You teased once you’d gotten inside, still holding her hand as you led her back to bed, a bundle of blankets that she more than willingly climbed back into. 

Lizzie grinned weakly as you leant down to press a soft kiss to her warm cheek once she’d gotten settled, "But still the best wife, right?" 

"Absolutely.” You chucked as you pulled the blanket up to her chin, “Now rest, my love and I'll be back as soon as I can." 

〖 Join My Taglist! 〗@scrambled-brain-eggs @natashamyl0ve @bloomingflowersthings @kathleenmikaelson @shamelessbearunknown @inluvwithfictionalwomen @citrussnz @fluffyblanketgecko @kljhsong @santana1437 @lovelyy-moonlight @juiles @lots-of-pockets @sashawalker2 @natashamaximoff69 @observeowl @beholdagaywriter @danveration @idkeithershawty  @rainedontknow @poison-blackheart @loveshineslikethesky @somber-sapphic @lexasaurs634 @scarlettssub @paisley-yy @wandanats-goodgirl @nuianced-tck-enby @maomaoincomming @anne-lister

[faofinn]

10. “The only place we’re going is to the pharmacy”

Harrison hadn't moved from Tai's sofa all weekend. They'd been out together on the Friday, a date night quickly turning into a weekend. They'd gotten more than a little tipsy, falling into bed together when they got home. 

Of course they both felt rather worse for wear the morning after, but they curled into each other and pulled the duvet over their heads to block out the world. By the afternoon, the worst of the hangover had faded, but Harrison was left with a scratchy throat and sniffles he couldn't stop. His body ached too, but he'd brushed that off being active the night before. Tai made a late lunch for them, just snacky food from the fridge, things to pick at.

Tai had been looking forwards to the food, settled on the sofa next to Hars, but the other man had been quiet, and he had to admit he was worried. He’d hardly touched the food, unlike him, and he frowned. 

“You still hungover?” He asked softly. 

"Mm?" Harrison raised his head, trying to focus on Tai. Everything was fuzzy and thick, and just not right. "Oh, probably, yeah."

“I feel you. Not as young as I used to be. Can’t remember how I used to drink as much as I did at Uni.” 

"Yeah, I didn't think I'd had that much, though."

“More time on the sofa required, then. We can order in tonight.”

"Oh, sure, yeah." Harrison blushed. "I'd like that."

“Me too.”

"Thought I was gonna be home alone tonight again."

“Mm, no. I’m selfish, I want to keep you here.”

"I'm not gonna argue at that." Harrison grinned, though quickly turned away to sneeze. "Ugh. Sorry."

“You alright?”

"Came out of nowhere."

“I should probably dust or something.”

"It's not your place. Just a random one."

“Mm, okay.”

"What are you fancying for tea?" He asked, stretching for a snack. 

“Not sure. Chinese?”

"Mm, yeah."

“We’ll get that, then.”

"Maybe not any beer, not tonight."

Tai groaned. “God no.”

"You're not meant to get hungover if you stay drunk."

“I’m pretty certain that doesn’t work, but you’re the doctor.”

"It does, for a while." Tai didn't need to know the real reason he knew that. 

“Just delaying the inevitable.”

He hummed. "Maybe, yeah."

“No beer tonight, I think I’ll die.”

"I definitely will."

“No dying.”

"So no beer."

“No beer, just greasy food.”

Harrison made a noise in agreement. "Lemon chicken, some chicken and sweetcorn soup, ooh, some proper fried rice? Ah, prawn crackers!"

“Oh, that’s settled then.”

"Mhmm, definitely." He snuggled into Tai's side, suddenly exhausted. 

“You going to nap?”

He shook his head. "No, just comfortable. I like lying in your lap."

“You’re like a cat.” He teased. 

"Where do you think I got it from?" He grinned, rolling onto his back.

“Cute like that. Do you want belly rubs?” 

"I'm not an actual cat." He protested, but didn't complain. 

Tai settled for running his hand through his hair. “You sure about that?”

He couldn't help the sigh in contentment. "Mhmm, sure."

“You’re practically purring.”

Hars cracked an eye open, deliberately purring at Tai. "How's that?"

Tai couldn’t help but laugh. “Weirdo.”

Harrison broke off to cough, though quickly grinned. "Hey, you started it."

His cough didn’t sound great, but Tai didn’t push it. He was probably just run down on top of the hangover. “That’s true.”

"It is nice, though." Harrison admitted, not meeting his gaze.

“I won’t stop, then.”

"Thank you."

“You’re nice and warm in my lap.”

"Really? I'm kinda cold." He admitted. 

“There’s a blanket on the back of the sofa.” Tai said, reaching to pull it down. “Here.”

"Won't you get too warm?"

“I’ll be okay.” 

Harrison made a quiet noise, but stretched to grab the blanket. 

Tai helped, spreading it out over him gently. “There. Better?”

He didn't think it was possible, but he fell further in love with him. He settled down, a smile on his face. "Thank you."

“Should we put a film on?”

"Mm, yeah."

Tai scrolled through idly, eventually finding something to put on. It wasn’t exactly thrilling, but it was some background noise for the pair of them to relax to. 

Harrison dozed on Tai's lap, occasionally making a comment at the film. There was something intimate about just existing with each other, and Harrison didn't want to break the spell. 

They spent most of the day there, watching shit films and dozing off the hangover. It felt tantalisingly perfect, like it was always supposed to be like that. They ordered their food that evening, and ate it laughing, the worst of Tai’s hangover gone. 

Still, they headed to be early, Tai unwilling to let Hars leave. He knew he should, but the other man wasn’t exactly complaining, and like this he could pretend things would always be like this. 

Harrison happily joined Tai in bed, curling around the other man. He still felt a bit rough, but Tai seemed to fix everything. With his head on his shoulder and his arm draped across his chest, he could almost imagine it was forever.

Tai fell asleep quite quickly, comfortable with Harrison and still tired despite the sleep he’d had during the day. He hoped Harrison would feel better soon, worried about him. 

Harrison woke in the early hours, rolling over to go to the toilet. He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, waiting for his head to clear. His nose was blocked, and his throat was beyond dry. It took him a moment to realise he was ill, not just hungover, and his heart sank. He shoved his leg on, padding to the bathroom.

Sat on the toilet, he made up his mind. It wasn't fair on Tai for Harrison to get him sick, so that meant no sleeping in his bed. He hauled himself to his feet, washed his hands and then made his way to the living room, curling up on the sofa there. 

Tai had woken when Harrison had, though once he’d gone to the toilet he’d dozed off again. When he didn’t come back, though, he didn’t understand, the bed empty. 

He found him curled on the living room sofa, and still didn’t quite understand what was going on. “Hars?”

He startled awake, half sitting up in confusion. "Oh. Tai."

“Hey. Why are you on the sofa?”

He lay back down, coughing into his arm. "Think I've got a cold."

“And? Come back to bed, this isn’t comfortable.”

"I'm not getting you sick." He shook his head.

“Don’t be daft, c’mon. Come back to bed.”

"No, I'm serious." He sniffed. "I'm fine here."

“So am I. You can’t be comfortable here, you’ll sleep better in bed.”

"I'm comfy enough. And not getting you sick here."

“I think if you were going to get me sick it’s probably already happened, don’t think sharing the bed is going to make much of a difference.”

His face fell. "I know."

“Don’t worry about it, come on.”

He sighed, but didn’t sit up or make any attempt to move. "No, I'm okay here."

“I miss you in bed.” 

"I miss it, too." 

“So come back to bed.”

"I can't."

“You can, come on.”

"Tai." He whined. 

Tai reached out to squeeze his shoulder. “Come on, you’ll feel better for it.”

He sniffed again. "But I'm sick. I need to go home so you don't get sick."

“I don’t mind. You can stay, then I can look after you.”

Harrison couldn't help the pang of want, to just snuggle up with Tai and be looked after. His shoulders slumped in defeat. "You won't get mad if I get you sick?"

“I won’t get mad. Promise.”

He sat up slowly, reaching for his leg. "Promise Promise?"

“Promise promise.”

With his leg back on, Harrison took Tai's hand, pulling himself up. "I'm sorry."

“It’s okay.” Tai reassured. “Do you want some paracetamol or something?”

"If you've got some." He admitted quietly. 

“Yeah, of course. Go to bed, I’ll get some.”

Harrison murmured his thanks, meekly heading back to bed. There, he happily curled under the covers, wrapping himself up in Tai's scent. 

Tai left him to it, digging around in the bedroom cupboards to find the paracetamol. He only had two tablets left, shit. He’d have to go and buy some more in the morning, but they’d do for now. He brought them to Harrison with a glass of water, melting at how sweet he looked under the duvet. 

“Got your paracetamol.”

Harrison rubbed his face, taking a second to catch up. He must have dozed while he waited for Tai, but he didn’t remember. He sat up, gratefully reaching for the water. 

"Thank you."

“You’re welcome.”

"I'm sorry." He said quietly, swallowing the paracetamol. "I can go home when it's light out."

“You don’t have to.”

"Yeah, then you don't have to put up with me."

“I like having you around.”

"Not when I'm sick." He mumbled. "You'll hate me."

“I couldn’t hate you.”

He managed a smile. "You say that now."

“It’s true.”

"Are you sure I'm alright to stay in the bed?" He asked, making no move to leave. 

“Of course you are.”

Harrison let Tai lie back down, gingerly curling into his side. "'m sorry."

“What for?” Tai asked, running his fingers through Harrison’s hair. 

His response was lost to a contented sigh, Harrison stretching out as Tai played with his hair. 

They fell asleep again soon enough, Tai relieved to have Harrison back with him. 

When Harrison woke properly, he felt absolutely rotten. He shivered, though knew he had a temperature, and his nose just wouldn't stop running. He must have been coughing all night; his throat was dry and scratchy, his voice nonexistent as he tried to say good morning to Tai. The paracetamol must have been wearing off, but Tai didn’t have any more. Which meant, as much as he didn't really want to move, he needed to go home. He managed to get Tai up and in the car, surprised that his boyfriend had been so agreeable to drive him home.

The only reason Tai had agreed to drive was to get Harrison into the car and stop him being so daft as to try and go home. He needed to get more meds, so he might as well take Harrison with him. They’d stop off at the supermarket and get some snacks and bits for him, too.

It wasn't until they were almost there that Harrison seemed to realise it wasn't the route home, and he turned to Tai with a frown. "You said home."

“The only place we’re going is the pharmacy.”

"You're kidnapping me."

“I wouldn’t say kidnapping.”

"I would." He stretched his hand out for Tai's.

“I’m just gonna buy some more paracetamol, and then we can go back to mine.”

Harrison considered it for a moment, weighing up the argument. "Mm, okay.”

[greatgigintheskiess]

With Me

Prologue

CW: Blood, Broken bones, Lab whump, Implied child abuse, Severe wounds/injures, Bruising

Word Count: 2.7 k

- -

The moon has already reached its highest point above the horizon, filling the darkness of the night accompanied by millions of stars shining in the sky. Small glimpses of moonlight fell through the branches of dark high pines, crickets sang their usual symphony while somewhere far away you could hear a few owls calling into the gloom.

Putting his last few remaining things such as several hunting knives, binoculars and gun cases in his backpack, Don decided to call it a day and end his hunt for tonight. Unfortunately, it wasn't quite successful this night, if not completely wasted. He sighed and threw the backpack over his shoulder, as he started walking through bushes and scrub.

Maybe if he's lucky, one of his traps caught something so that he wouldn't have to drive home without any prey. Remembering, that he also has put a few bear traps not that far away in the deepest parts of the forest, Don went on to pick them up again.

He winced and pricked up his ears, when, in the symphony of the night, he heard something metallic lashing out in an echo. Recognizing that noise right away, Don trottened in the direction from where the sound came from, leaves rustling under his feet.

Maybe he finally did caught a bear.

Maybe he had luck and it was a real doozy.

Maybe-

Don froze, he couldn't believe his eyes. In the moon's twilight he believed to actually recognize the outlines of a living being, moving right in front of him. His reflexes set in and he pulled out his rifle with anesthetics in it, pointing it on the creature. As he slowly came closer, trying to not draw any attention to himself, the huntsman hesitated in an instant.

The bear trap had been triggered, indeed, but to his horror not from a bear but a human.

A child, in particular.

The tiny figure - a boy, not older than ten - was standing there on shaky legs between a few trees, trembling, while one of his bare feet was stuck in the trap. The child only wore some kind of hospital gown, the hair unkempt and a few dirty hair strands fell into his slim face, which was hidden from Don's view as the boy looked down on his blood strained foot and desperately tried to get it out. The sharp jaws have plunged so painfully deep into the flesh above and into the ankle, that every attempt of pulling out the limp looked even more tormenting.

The huntsman heard a cry leaving the child's throat, sounding so brittle and bitterly as if he was losing his breath.

Oh my fucking god.

A cold shiver ran down Don's spine at this horrible sight. He lowered the rifle, dropped it with his backpack on the ground and ran over to the boy, eyes widened in terror, gasping: "Hell, kid, you alright?!"

Without thinking, Don kneeled down in front of the boy to release the trap. He pushed both of the springs down at the same time, the clamps fell open and the jaws opened. Blood ran all over his hands, covering the trap, the ground, painting everything in dark red. The wound on the child's ankle was so deep, that when he released the trap, the boy shrieked in pain, his whole body was trembling, tears streamed down his flushed cheeks. But before Don could even do something to help him, the boy already had lost his consciousness and the small body collapsed right in front of the shocked huntsman.

A brief moment after, everything had happened so fast.

Don had pushed all the hunting stuff off the backseats of his jeep and layed the boy on them. To his relief, he found his medkit for emergencies in the trunk of his car - alongside with a hunting blanket he actually anticipated to use for himself that night. He tried his best and thankfully managed to stop the bleeding, carefully bandaging the wound on the boy's foot. While doing this he noticed the numerous injuries on the child's body; dark blue bruises, severe cuts on arms and legs, some already covered with other older patches and bandages, scraps on his face and forehead. As if that wasn't already enough, the boy also now had a very deep and probably painful wound on his foot because of his frickin trap, Don thought cussingly.

Poor little boy.

What kind of monster would do such awful things to a helpless little child? The whole time, Don wondered where the kid came from and what he was doing in the woods all alone in the middle of the night.

The boy still wasn't awake even after Don had wrapped him in the blanket and threw all his stuff into the car to drive as fast as he could to the nearest hospital or emergency station, anywhere he could get medical supply.

The kid needed help, for god's sake.

Don felt his hands trembling in great distress while they gripped the steering wheel of his car. Almost every other second passing by, he looked into the inside mirror, just to see the child's face buried in the blanket while his eyes were still closed. But Don could hear him breathe softly- a sign that he was still alive. Never before in his life had the older huntsman felt that nervous and troubled like in this moment. He felt his mind drifting away more from second to second as he saw the dark forested street in front of him. No soul was out here, except him and the boy.

Don had no idea how many minutes had passed, when he heard the child slightly shifting and slowly blinking his eyes open, to his relief. The boy raised his head, still looking very dazed. But the man left out a relieved sigh.

"Gosh, you're awake. Don't worry, ain't that far to the hospital now." He spoke to the boy, who still wasn't very aware of where he was right now. "We'll be there in 10 minutes."

Sure, waking up in a stranger's car must be confusing and, all the more, terrifying but Don hoped the boy wouldn't start screaming or something like that as he still had to focus on the road. Unfortunately, exactly that happened. The boy sat up, probably feeling the pain in his right ankle while he glanced at his surroundings in fright. He flinched as he noticed being inside a car that brought him to an destination unknown.

"No...no! No!" He squawked, narrowing his eyes and started to punch his fists against the car's doors in fright.

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?! Stay there!" Don hissed at him as he wasn't able to do anything else to stop the boy.

Thinking fast, he steered the car to the roadside and stopped there, the boy still rambling on the backseats. Don unbuckled his seatbelt and turned around to the kid.

"Now will you stop that?! I'm just tryin' to help you!" He snapped, clenching his jaw.

Instantly, the boy stopped moving and big green frightened eyes met his.

"No! No hospital..." The child screeched as he winced and his face paled. Fear swept across his face while his facial features screwed up, probably still being in awful pain.

Don glanced at him in disbelief about what he just heard. When was the last time the kid had actually looked at himself?!

"What do you mean no hospital?" He uttered in a confused tone with widened eyes glaring at the terrified boy. "Look at you, you've got some really nasty wounds there all over you! You passed out right in front of me!"

Somehow mentioning the word 'hospital' made the kid wince once again and Don just couldn't understand why that was the case.

What was the child so afraid of?

"No hospital... Please." The boy repeated, this time without screaming, instead sorrow clouded his facial features, his upper lip trembling, cheeks flushed.

Don's facial features eased, his scowled face became softer when he saw tears glistening on the child's cheeks. He must be very scared of him right now. Being grouchy sure isn't helping here.

"A'ight. No hospital then." Don sighed and it seemed like the kid relaxed slightly too.

Although he normally didn't have to tend to the wounds his traps caused, Don decided to leave it that way and change the topic, for the kid's sake. He would have to figure something out later.

"Would you at least tell me what the hell you were doing out there in the middle of the night?" The man asked instead, still looking into the boy's widened, tear-filled eyes.

"Escape..." Was the short answer.

"Escape from where?" Don bugged him, tilting his head. "Who did this to you, boy?"

"Bad people."

Don couldn't make anything out of that answer. Did the kid get abused by someone? Maybe by his parents. Maybe not. Everything about that child appeared to be a mystery. Why didn't he want help from the doctors? Where did he escape from? All these questions circled in Don's head, making him dizzy.

The boy turned away his head so he didn't have to look into the man's worried eyes. Probably he was embarrassed by crying in front of a total stranger. Don eyed him a moment or two, then turned back and started the car's engine. For the rest of the drive both remained silent, neither of them has said one single word. The boy had stopped crying and buried himself deeper into the blanket, staring right forward the whole time, staring at Don.

Soon enough the car stopped.

"Okay, we're there. Home sweet home." Don mumbled to the kid on the backseat. "Stay there."

He opened the driver's door and stepped out of the car, hoping, the boy wouldn't try to run away through the backdoors. Don could see him fidgeting nervously on the seat, looking around himself disoriented, still in fear. The startled boy flinched again when the man opened one back door.

The boy had pressed his back so tightly against the seat, shielding his upper body with his trembling hands while he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for something terrible to happen now. But there was nothing. The man just stood outside of the car's opened door, looking down on the shivering child. Slowly the kid had opened his eyes and lowered both of his little hands, a mix of fear and surprise dawned on his face. He winced ever so slightly when Don broke the silence.

"C'mon, kid. I'm not gonna hurt you." He assured in a calm quiet tone, not wanting to scare the child even more.

Don waited patiently for the boy to step out of the car but nothing happened. He was still sitting there, not moving an inch, peering at the man. What was he waiting for? Or was the child still afraid of him? Don had to admit, he would be scared too if a stranger would just take him with them, bringing him to their home somewhere in the forest.

Though, Don hoped that the kid would stop seeing him as a threat, but rather as someone who just wants to help.

The man had eyed the child full of expectation for him to finally come, seeing, how he got more anxious from moment to moment. The little boy was still shivering under the huge blanket, staring into Don's confused face. Don had the feeling he forgot something but it just didn't come to his mind, what it was.

"What are you waiting for, boy?" He urged, still waiting for some kind of reaction.

The child winced at that sudden question, which sounded more like a demand, and Don could only see the fear in the boy's eyes when he slowly lifted the leg from the seat to step on the ground. He gnashed his teeth and whimpered in agony as he put pressure on his foot.

Don finally got the point. How could he forget about it?!

"Right...You can't walk." The man realized, remembering the injury on the child's foot. He thought about what to do next. "That's why I wanted you to bring to the-"

Don hesitated before speaking out the word. It probably scared the boy when he was mentioning it, so it was probably better to avoid saying it in front of him.

"Well, you know." He finished the sentence.

When Don came closer, he could clearly see the tension written all over the boy's face. He probably didn't want to get touched by anyone right now but Don couldn't think of something else to get him out of the car. The man carefully put his hands on the child's shoulders, pulling him as gently as possible to the door, into his arms. To his astonishment, the kid let him do this, not punching him, trying to free out of his grip like Don had expected him to do.

"Yeah, that's fine. Lemme see your leg, boy.", He muttered to the boy, pulling away the blanket to look at the wound on his foot.

It still looked awful, blood sticking at the sides of the bandage as well as underneath it. Don assumed the ankle was most likely broken, probably the trap had pulverized all the blood vessels and veins too, destroyed the muscle tissue. Of more he didn't want to think about. The pain must be terrible.

Just when he reached his hands under the boy's knees and on his back to pick him up from the seat, the child resisted.

"No..." He whined quietly and pursed together his lips.

"What's wrong, boy? You don't wanna be carried inside?" Don frowned and glanced at the kid who was ever so slightly whimpering in pain.

The boy shook his head and the man let him go again. A bit awkwardly Don then was standing there, giving him a confused look.

What now?

"'Kay..." He sputtered. "I mean...uh... you can also stay here in the car. I'll turn on the heat, so you don't freeze."

Don carefully closed the door again and went back inside the car on the driver's seat, starting the car and turned the heater on. Switching to neutral gear and pulling up the handbrake lever, Don then looked back to the boy again, still sitting on the seats.

"See, it'll get warm in here right away."

Don saw the child had calmed down and eventually stopped shivering as the heater began to warm the car from the inside. He couldn't help but smile when the kid seemed to finally feel comfortable, noticing that the fear almost completely vanished out of the boy's face. He lay there, the most relaxed since meeting him, the way too big blanket wrapped around his small body, his facial features seemed to ease too as he started to fall asleep from all the exhaustion. Although Don wondered how in such a brief timespan, the kid got calm already, considering the fact, that his heart was pounding in his chest like furious before when Don had tried to lift him up from the seat. That wound wasn't that little of a deal after all and he just hoped, it wouldn't infect that much overnight. He believed to know what to do to help the boy, but wasn't sure if the kid would let him help. And it sure was a tricky situation for both of them, because Don did feel responsible for the kid. It was his trap the boy had stepped into. It was his trap, his fault, whether he liked it or not. And justice always finds its way, after all.

After a few minutes only listening to the soft breaths of the child, Don then muttered to him, without looking back: "Hey, boy, what's your name anyway?"

"Six" The child replied wearily.

"Your name is Six?"

The kid nodded slightly in response, his eyelids soon getting heavier and heavier.

How weird. Don chuckled. "Well then, Six, I am Don Warner. Nice to meet you."

[whumpninja]

Whumpee sleeping in a barn.