#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".

[greatgigintheskiess]

With Me

Chapter 5: Free Will

CW: Broken bones, Branding (mentioned), (Implied) Child abuse, Minor Whumpee, Dehumanization

Word Count: 3.7 k

--

It's been two days since Nathan's operation and by now Don has lost any sense of time.

Has it really been a week already since he met the boy in the forest?

All of this still seemed like a fever dream. Yet the man had stayed all the time with Nathan at the clinic and not for a second left his side, even slept in the chair next to the hospital bed in case the kid needed something.

Well, his back might thank him later...

Occasionally, Barb also visited them, checking the child's vitals and his wound, which looked a lot better but still needed time to properly heal. At least, the pain seemed to ease.

The first night, Don had heard Nathan whimpering and crying in his sleep which struck the man awake. He gave the boy some more meds, sat with him for a while and told him the story of how he went on his first hunt as a young boy himself and returned home late at night with a self-shot rabbit.

Don still smiled, remembering this story of his childhood because not only did he take his father's rifle but also his mother caused him a lot of trouble for coming home in the middle of the night.

But as a bedtime story for Nathan, it seemed to work quite well. And by the time Don ended, the boy was already asleep.

Ironically, it was Don who couldn't sleep that night, whether it was for his uncomfortable sleeping position or for the thoughts bothering him about what would happen to Nathan now and where he gets to stay.

Don could hardly adopt him illegally because soon or later someone will ask questions how he, the lonely hunter in the woods, suddenly has a kid. But on the other side, it may be a good thing that he lives that isolated, and this way, Don can protect Nathan a lot better from any threat.

The last thing he wanted was for these scientist assholes to show up here and search for their lost little lab rat.

He was filled with rage and disgust only thinking about them and how they dared to hurt innocent children for their sick experiments. Don couldn't stop thinking about the other children Nathan had told him about, who still were in this hell hole and no one even came to help them, getting them out of there. The kid sure was very lucky to have escaped this place, even if it will probably take weeks until he can walk again by himself.

The man woke up early this morning but decided to let Nathan sleep a little longer. The poor boy was already stressed out enough by all of this. Instead, Don grabbed a cup of coffee in the waiting room, earning a few looks from other patients waiting for their treatment.

One of them was an old lady who had just now entered and registered at the reception, taking a seat next to Don while he stretched out his legs and sipped his coffee.

"Good mornin", she greeted him as a bit of confusion dawned on her face.

Admittedly, he didn't look that good with the dark rings under his eyes and sure wasn't in the mood for a talk with a stranger. He only waited for Barb to come actually. But that's just how old people are. His mother was just the same.

"Mornin'", he answered shortly, taking another sip of coffee until the cup was empty.

"I'm visitin' my husband and you, sir, why are you here?"

Don almost choked on his coffee. Damn, what was he supposed to say? He couldn't just tell her that he found an injured kid in his bear trap. He had to come up with something else.

"My, uhm...", he searched for the right word, "my son."

"Oh, that's lovely."

Son? Seriously?!

Don felt the heat burning on his cheeks. He needed to get out of here before this gets even more embarrassing.

"I, uh, have to go now", He cleared his throat, awkwardly standing up to end the conversation. “He’s waitin’ for me.”

"Have a nice day", the old lady said, before Don had almost run off, back to Nathan's room just to escape the awkward situation.

That's the reason why he hated small talk and especially old people didn't get when he wasn't in the mood for talking. Somehow he was wide awake now - he didn't know if it was for the embarrassing situation or the coffee, maybe both.

But he also caught himself thinking about what he had said earlier.

Nathan as his son... It was a crazy idea and couldn't be more far from reality.

At least, that's what Don told himself.

He immediately shoved away those thoughts when he entered the room and saw Barb sitting next to Nathan, inspecting his leg.

"Hey there", He said, throwing the cup into the garbage can as he walked past.

Don was greeted with a smile from Nathan and gently ruffled his blonde hair which was still tangled and a bit dirty as the hospital gown he was wearing. Once they get home, he'd fill up the bathtub, he thought. The boy surely had been in that forest for days and Don wondered when the last time the kid had taken a proper bath.

The boy already looked so poorly and miserable with his injuries and bruises so the rest of his body didn't entirely make it better. Don for sure couldn't help him with his wounds but maybe at least get the little one some clean and fresh clothes.

That's what he thought at least when he saw Barb's worried face. Her co-workers must've asked her already about him.

"Hey, Don, do you have a minute?", She asked and Don's smile faded again.

Right, today Barb would let Nathan go and they had to discuss where he gets to stay now. Suddenly, his thoughts from this morning returned to his mind and Don followed Barb into the room next door where they could talk in peace without worrying Nathan.

Considering what he already has done for that child should be enough of an approval for his decision. And if it weren’t for him, Nathan would still be out there in the woods, all by himself. Here he had a cozy bed, nice warm food and some company. And who knows where he ends up when they involve the police now?

Though that had been Don's first idea right after he met Nathan, now he didn't even think about giving the boy away. He didn't really know why but it just felt wrong.

The decision all in all wasn't that easy, for both Barb and Don. She could easily lose her job and Don his hunting license after the 'incident' should some authorities get wind of this. But from the logical point of view, it would be necessary to report to the police after what Nathan had told them about the place where he and others were kept captive for so many years. The people responsible for that had to be punished after all.

But what would that mean for Nathan?

Don couldn't imagine how he would feel if he and Barb handed him over to some strangers who would just put him in another orphanage or worse. He'd be feeling devastated, scared, betrayed, alone and honestly, Don's heart just couldn't cope with that.

Looks like he did grow fond of the boy that he thinks about such things. So much for keeping his distance, he laughed to himself in his mind. Stupid old man with his stupid sentiments, that's what he was.

After a long talk, they finally came to a decision. Don gets to keep Nathan, well, if the boy wants. But Barb also told him to be careful from now on, trying not to draw that much attention on him, for Nathan's safety.

They both entered the room again, explaining everything to the kid, yet they still want to ask him before anyone decides anything. Though Don knew how that answer might look like.

"Nathan, do you want to stay with Don?", Barb said, sitting on a chair next to the child.

The boy looked at Don and nodded while a little smile appeared on his lips.

"Yes, I'd really like to."

That only expression on the child's face was enough to warm Don's heart. And where once fear and sorrow clouded his face, now there's a happy smile - the way a child was supposed to act. It was a sad thought but Nathan probably never experienced any nice things in his childhood and where kids his age had played outside, he was locked up somewhere, in pain and just his thoughts from losing his sanity. The boy still needed to learn a lot, but mainly what it meant to be a child.

Barb interrupted Don's train of thought.

"Sure that he's not too boring? I doubt that he has any toys for you", She teased and Don gasped in disbelief, making Nathan grin.

"No but he brought me nice food everyday", the kid replied.

"He did?", the woman raised an eyebrow, "I thought cooking wasn't your thing."

Don shrugged. "Well, now it is."

He knew his cooking sucked, he barely ate anything himself before but now he had another mouth to feed, something that was unimaginable just a month ago.

The man noticed how Barb had taken out a little book, handing it over to Nathan as a small gift. The boy had never gotten anything like that and looking at the cover, it seemed to be about different animals and their habitats. The font was big enough for a child his age to read and the colorful illustrations immediately caught Nathan's attention.

"There you go", She said with a smile, "You can read, now can you, sweetheart?"

Nathan shook his head a bit ashamed. Actually, he never learned to read or write nor went to school and in the hospital no one taught him anything either.

"Then you both can read it together", Barb broke the tension, taking a look at Don.

In the meantime, he noticed that the boy was much calmer now in the presence of the woman than in the beginning. As the town's doctor she often had to deal with children so it didn't surprise him that the kid started to trust her, especially after he spilled his heart out to them two days ago.

Nathan opened the book and admired the first few pages of it, carefully running his fingers over the paper as if he had never held a book in his hands. While he was almost in a trance like this, Barb addressed Don once again.

"I'll come over after a few days again to look at Nathan's leg."

Don nodded and looked down on the boy who was browsing through the book with interest, looking at all the pictures he had never seen before.

The sound of water flowing out of the faucet into the almost full bathtub had something meditative about it. Don stared for a while on the water splashing slightly against the tub's edges, thoughts about what Nathan had told him two days ago still circling in his head. He was so shocked about it, wanted to cuss the fuck out of the ones who were responsible for the boy's suffering but at the same time he felt so helpless and wasn't able to keep any thoughts of his together.

What if they were already looking for the boy? Would they even search here, in the deepest woods?

The more Don found out about the child's past, the more pieces he could tuck together until a complete picture emerged.

And that picture was horribly disturbing.

Don closed the tap and the water stopped running. His hand slid through the water, sensing if it had the right temperature. He came back for Nathan and carried him in bridal style to the bathroom, hopefully for the last time until his leg will be in a better condition.

He sat the boy as gently as possible on the closed toilet lid, his bare feet dangling in the air. Don took the hem of the dirty hospital gown the kid had been wearing this whole time.

"C'mon, 'lemme help you with your gown..." He said calmly with a gesture to help the boy undress.

But Nathan crossed his arms in front of his stomach, preventing the man from shoving away more of the fabric.

"No", the boy said, his hands clenching more into his gown.

Don immediately put away his hands, assuming that he might've gone too far with physical contact. He thought Nathan was at the point where he trusted him enough - or else he wouldn't have stayed here with him, right?

But why was he so scared then?

He had a foreboding but pushed these thoughts aside right away.

No, he didn't want to think about that.

Don respected the kid's own will - for whatever reason it might be - and he would never want him to be uncomfortable in his presence.

"Wanna do it yourself?" The man asked instead, to which Nathan replied with a nod.

He saw that the boy moved his hands away from his stomach, ready to take the gown off his body by himself. Once he did that, Don saw his exposed back for the first time and that sight disturbed him all the more.

The child's skin was covered in more awful injuries. A huge bruise covered the boy's shoulder, scars lined his spine and something very shocking and horrible caught Don's sight.

Symbols burned deeply into the flesh of the boy's protruding small shoulder blades. It appeared to be a number, a roman one.

A 'V' and 'I'.

Six.

Don gulbed.

That was also something Nathan didn't tell him about. Don couldn't express the amount of disgust he had felt in this moment of realisation.

The boy seemed to surprise him all over again, but not in a positive way.

"Is that...a branding?" The man stuttered, terror overtook his facial features.

The child turned his head, noticing Don's horrified expression.

"Number Six. Everyone gets a number." He responded in tension, not moving an inch.

"Everyone?"

A nod followed after that question.

"The others... they have a number too."

Nathan felt his body trembling as he remembered everything. The moment he got his number. His screams in agony, begging and pleading and tears running uncontrollably when the hot iron burned into his skin, leaving that terrible branding.

That day, the boy lost his name, his personality, his dignity.

He was a subject. Something with a beating heart, nerve system and working brain but not more than that.

"They didn't treat you like a human, where you came from, did they?" Don asked, coming closer to the petrified child, tilting his head.

"No... Not human, subject."

Don kneeled down to the boy, who proceeded staring at the ground.

"Kid, listen. You are a human. Just like me. And it doesn't matter what they said about you, got it?"

Thousand thoughts ran through the boy's head, he didn't even know what to feel, what to say. Don's words burned into his mind, leaving him so confused and abashed. But he let the man's words sink in, thinking about them. Never did one say something like this about him. And Nathan didn't even know anymore how a human needs to be treated.

Indeed, he never saw himself as one. How should he know it better then?

"Okay..." Nathan breathed as an answer, avoiding the man's stoic look on him.

Don sighed.

He knew the child was overwhelmed by that. He didn't even need to ask, he saw it in the boy's eyes, in his gestures - him avoiding eye-contact, a quickened heartbeat and hard swallows whenever he spoke about what happened.

And he couldn't describe just how sorry he felt. Sorry for all the lies the boy has been told. Now his only assumption about the child has been proven, sadly. He probably never had anyone in his life, was alone the most time, abused, beaten, treated terribly.

And now also traumatized by all these experiences in his life. That shouldn't happen, never, to anyone.

No one in this world deserved to be treated like that.

After a few moments of complete silence, Don looked back on the bathtub still filled with water, still untouched and calm.

"Let's get you in there or else the water will get cold."

Don gently placed him into the bathtub, trying to not hurt the boy with his wounded ankle. "How's the temperature?" He asked softly.

"It's good."

The man took a shampoo bottle and a washcloth, explaining to the boy what he'll do with it. "Now I'll give ya a lil' hair wash, kiddo. You better close your eyes so the shampoo won't sting them."

The boy did as he told him and Don started washing Nathan's hair, softly massaging his scalp which he seemed to enjoy as he closed his eyes in relaxation.

A smile crept over the man's face, remembering how his mother used to wash his hair as a little boy. Something he also always had liked.

"That's it, my boy. You can open your eyes."

Don took a cloth, dipped it into the water and washed off all the dirt and blood from the kid's body, trying to not tear open his stitched wounds.

"If I hurt you by accident, tell me, okay?"

Nathan nodded, feeling how tenderly Don was rubbing his back, especially around the awful mark wound. Don was worried that the boy would protest like before as this situation was even more intimate than anything they went through before, but Nathan seemed to trust him enough and simply enjoyed the procedure, sitting still in the bathtub.

And like that, all worries from before were seemingly dissolved after Don finished bathing him, washed off with all the dirt and blood and Nathan didn't know when the last time was he had been so relaxed.

While Don was putting away the bottles, Nathan's attention fell on the foam, which looked and felt so weird. The child was moving his hands out of the water or collecting some of it on the water's surface just to peer at it in pure fascination. He believed to never have seen such a thing before.

Well, before no one has ever let him have a bath, either.

And when the child put together his hands curiously to see how the foam was stuck between them, he felt how calm it was in his head. No thoughts, no anxiety. Just silence. And it was pleasant.

Don had watched the boy for a while like that and couldn't help but smile at this sight. Something about the way Nathan was playing with the foam like every kid usually did, just having fun - probably for the first time in his life - it lightened Don's mood without him even noticing it. Instead, a warm feeling spread in his chest.

The man almost felt a little sorry for interrupting that moment when he took a cup and wiped the remaining body wash and shampoo from Nathan's skin.

"You know what? I think I forgot to wash one spot", He then said to the boy, running his fingers behind his ears, "Riight here."

Don heard a giggle from the kid as this seemed to have tickled him, which caused the man to chuckle himself. The kid laughed so rarely though his laugh was absolutely adorable. And Don was kinda glad that he left such a positive impression on the boy, making him feel comfortable enough to laugh this light-heartedly in his presence.

Which was a whole lot different from the first time they met, he realized.

"A'ight, now you're all clean. That's better, ain't it, huh?" Don got Nathan out of the tub, toweling him down.

"Here I got you some fresh clothes, though they might be a 'lil bit too big for ya."

He gave him some of his old clothes, a dark blue sweater which he barely wore anyway, and wool socks his mother once knitted for him. Don wasn't that much of a fashion expert. He owned only a few clothes, most of them dark sweaters, a few t-shirts and two or three pairs of pants for hunting. Owning many clothes and barely wearing them all appeared to be unnecessary to him.

Like expected, the sweater was way too large for the little one and putting it on, it almost reached to his knees.

"Well, ain't the best but better than nothin', right?" Don rolled up the sleeves up to the boy's elbows.

He really should get the kid some clothing in his size…

Nathan looked down at himself and couldn't remember wearing such comfortable clothes ever before. The sweater was large enough for him to cuddle into it and finally his bare feet were protected from the cold bathroom floor.

Also it felt good to be clean again, finally washing off all the dirt, sweat and dried blood of weeks from his body. And especially after the bath, Nathan could feel his muscles ease a bit after all the physical exhaustion his body had gone through.

The man also noticed how relaxed the boy now looked and he saw his shining blond curls for the first time which before were all tangled and covered in dust and dirt. His face was all clean too, with freckles showing on his skin which had been practically invisible before but now adorned the boy's rosy cheeks and snub nose.

Don thought about putting on some fresh bed sheets too but for now, he'll care about dinner first as he felt his stomach growling.

"So, how 'bout dinner? Bet you wanna eat somethin' too, kiddo."

--

Taglist: @pigeonwhumps @smellofsnoww @picklehat3r @i-eat-worlds

[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.”

[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

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@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.

[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

[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." 

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[faofinn]

No.13 "It comes and goes like the strength in your bones."

@whumptober-archive

Cold Compress | Infection | "I don't feel so good."

Kieran woke up feeling not right, confused and shaky. He couldn’t work out why - had he had a bad dream and not remembered? His heart felt like it was pounding, and he whimpered, curling in on himself. He tried going back to sleep, but he really didn’t feel good. 

“Alfie?” He whispered to his brother. “Alfie!” 

He didn’t wake up, grumbling and rolling over in bed. Tears threatened to fall, his lip trembling, and he grabbed his little cat toy, his mind made up. He stood up on shaky legs, feeling dizzy and weird, but padded down the hall, pushing the door to his Dads’ room open. 

“Dads?” He called out into the darkness. 

It was Tai who woke first, groaning softly before sitting up. “Kit? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel so good.” He whimpered, padding over. 

“Oh, Kit. Do you feel sick?”

“No. I just feel all wrong.” 

Tai nudged Harrison next to him, helping Kieran up onto the bed and into his lap. “Can you try and use your words? Do you feel all dizzy? Like you’ve been spinning around in circles? Or do you feel all sweaty and hot?” 

“Yeah dizzy.” He mumbled, burying his face in his Dad’s chest. 

"You're absolutely drenched, Kit." Harrison rubbed Kieran's back. 

“Don’t feel well.” 

And of course they were still waiting for his monitors, his having come off during rough play with his brothers. "Tai, can you get your kit?"

“Yeah, course. You go cuddle with dad, Kit.” Tai said, gently moving him over. He reached for the kit in his drawer, digging around to find it. 

"Oh, kiddo." Harrison took Kieran, bundling him in his arms. "You must feel rubbish."

He nodded. “Mm.”

"You're gonna be okay."

“Don’t feel well.” He whined. 

"Can daddy borrow your finger?"

He nodded again, stretching out a shaky hand. 

“Thank you, kit.” Tai said, grabbing the lancet he needed. “Little poke, okay? It’ll hurt but only for a second. Ready?” 

When Kieran made a small noise, Tai quickly did what he needed to, glad he’d flicked the light on by the bed. The glucose monitor beeped as it did its job, and Tai let it read as he fussed over his son. 

“Well done.”

"You're being so brave."

“So, so brave. Braver than me, for sure.”

Harrison leaned over, impatient. "What is it?"

“Uh, 3.2.” Tai murmured. “You’re a bit low, Kit.”

"Why don't we get some juice?"

“Yeah, some juice and maybe some toast?” Tai said. “You cuddle with Dad and I’ll go get it. Do you want jam?”

“Yeah. Strawberry?”

“Of course.” Tai said, kissing the crown of his head. 

"You're gonna be okay." Harrison held him close. "Well done for coming and waking us up."

“I tried waking Alfie up but he was asleep.” He grumbled.

[coulsons-left-arm]

Just think about it, though...

Daisy is laying in a hospital bed, asleep. Coulson has a predisposition to stay at her bedside, especially if she hasn't woken up since coming out of surgery.

When she first wakes up, her brain feels like soup because those pain meds are working their magic almost a little too well. There's a man next to her bed, and she recognizes him as someone she feels safe with, so she says his name.

"Dad?"

Mmmmmm, that doesn't seem right. That's not his name. That's not usually what I call him.... Right?

It seems to catch his attention, though, as he smiles shyly and leans forward a bit, grabbing her hand gently. It's warm and solid and safe, encompassing her whole hand.

"Daisy? How're you feeling?"

How does she feel? Everything is hard to pinpoint, but she knows two things for sure.

"Sleepy, but better now that I've got pain meds and you here." Or maybe that's three things... She gives him a dopey smile, one that she thinks probably looks like one of the many she's seen on his face. It probably does look like his because the apple doesn't fall too far from the tree, right?... Or wait, is she even hi--

He seems to give a breathy chuckle, reaching a hand to move some of her loose hair behind her ear. The warmth seems to calm the soft pounding in her head, so she leans into it. And to her satisfaction, his hand seems to stay close, his slightly calloused thumb rubbing back and forth on her cheekbone.

His presence is warm and safe and all the things that make her drowsy... And she ends up falling back asleep on accident.

~~~~~

When Daisy wakes up again, she's more coherent -- the drugs were wearing off --, and Coulson is now sitting with her. She groans as she tries to wiggle her stiff body. The noise makes Coulson perk up, a little tentative, but still reaches for her hand. It felt... familiar. She decides she likes it, so she doesn't remove her hand from his.

"You're here."

"Of course. Pain meds wearing off?"

"Yeah, but I'll be okay for a little bit. It's good to feel a little pain. And I don't want to be too loopy... Which, do you know if I said anything crazy?" If Daisy didn't know any better, she would've missed the slightest bit of red in his cheeks as he seemed to smile to himself.

"Meh, nothin' too crazy... You may have called me, 'Dad.'"

That was him??? Oh....

"But... Honestly?... Is that too far from the truth?"