#june of doom day 12

[shes-some-other-where]

June of Doom Day 9, Day 12, Day 25

“I made a mistake.” | “I can’t stand seeing you like this.” | Guilt

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Contains: royal whump, lady whump + dudewhump, restraints, gagged/muzzled, death mention, grief, collar (implied), threats

WC: 740

One grievous mistake

“Would you like to see your sister?”

The seer nodded, clenching his jaw around the bit between his teeth. How humiliating it would be to have her see him like this: weak, overpowered, bound, reduced to such a pathetic state. But his pride withered. Stronger, much stronger, was the need to know she was alive.

The usurper smirked and departed without another word, though it seemed he did not tread far. His voice, full of harsh, throaty notes that bespoke a deeper darkness than his cold grey eyes conveyed, drifted in through the open door as he gave orders to the guards outside: “Bring the girl.”

The girl. Not the princess, not Her Highness. Her title gone, sundered and burned on the pyre of their old life. Along with their family. Along with . . . everything.

The girl—his sister—the only family he had left.

The grief struck him so suddenly and with such violence, he gagged on a wave of nausea and convulsed in panic that he would die after all, choking to death on his own despair. Dead. They were dead. His mother, his father, his brother, who had still been round-faced and bright-eyed with youth. Tenacious and wild, outspoken and courageous.

And dead.

Yet he, a crown prince deserving of no crown and nobody’s veneration, lived. Why? What had stayed the usurper’s hand, stopped that blade from spilling his blood, too? A stroke of cruel mischance? An unhappy, wretched mistake?

It was clear, all too clear: his whole life had been one grievous mistake.

What if . . .

“Now. Hold still.” The usurper reappeared suddenly, clutching something in his hand. The seer shrank away, but where he could go? Nowhere.

Something pressed against his neck, snug and cold. The seer went rigid, certain he was about to be strangled, but the pressure did not tighten.

“There.”

No yanking, no choking, and no explanation. Whatever the prince had hung around his neck, it caused no further pain, but its purpose remained a mystery.

“What is this?” the seer demanded, but if the prince understood the garbled question, he did not deign to answer.

At that moment, rapid footsteps caught his attention, pattering down what sounded to be an echoing stone staircase, then over the dungeon floor.

“Let me in to see him, please!”

His sister’s voice gasped through the rank, rancid air. He straightened, dizzy with relief—and with concern.

She burst through the door.

A disgruntled-looking guard followed her, clinging tightly to the tail of a rope whose other end was wrapped around her wrists. She strained, trying to reach the seer, as he did the same in an effort to reach her, shouting uselessly into the muzzle.

“Let her go, you bastard!”

She seemed, as far as he could tell, unharmed: a faint crimson stained marred her throat, as if blood had dried there and then been weakly washed away, and she still wore her nightclothes, diaphanous and revealing to her captors in a way that made his stomach turn. If she realized or was bothered, though, she hid it well.

“Please,” she said, her eyes wide and desperate as she pleaded with the usurper, “untie me, let me go to him. Look at him—what have you—”

The prince tutted, grabbing her arm and wrenching her toward him. As the soldier released the end of the rope, the prince lifted her bound hands as if to inspect them. “What’s this, now? Disgraceful. What did you do?”

“Nothing,” she said, pale as her nightgown, “nothing, I just—”

“She was fussing with the window when we went to get her,” said the soldier, cutting her off. “Trying to get it open. Looking for a way out.”

“Is that so?”

His sister didn’t answer, instead stealing a glance away to meet her brother’s gaze.

Quick as lightning, the usurper slapped her.

She cried out, her head whipping sideways, and the seer roared. Neither protest changed a thing.

“I asked you a question. Is it true? Were you trying to open your window?”

“Yes, but—”

Once again, the soldier spoke over her, letting her protest crumble into defeated silence. “Leave to speak, Your Highness?”

The usurper smirked. “Granted.”

“This one will turn on you, my lord. On us all.” The soldier fingered his sword, eyeing the two former royals with distaste. “She isn’t worth the trouble she’ll cause. Let me kill her for you. Let me kill them both.”

June of Doom Masterlist

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@juneofdoom

All my writing is original. Feel welcome to interact/comment/reblog. Pls don’t steal or repost.

[sil-writes-fiction-too]

Death of a Hero

Genre: angst, pure angst

A/N: this piece was written for Day 12 of June of Doom ( @juneofdoom, ) using the prompts "I can't stand seeing you like this" and "Grief". This one-shot is set in an alternative BG3 universe where Gale and Astarion both ascended, and Summer and Arwen are left to deal with the consequences of it. @wolfhunter89 and I came up with this idea together months ago, so I want to dedicate this to her. This scenario is mostly seen by Arwen's point of view and it generally focuses on the impact that Gale's choice had on Summer. There is so much more I want to write for this alternative universe, so keep your peepers peeled (something else might come out this month, just saying👀)

Arwen had never minded the quiet. Life could be so chaotic and loud that oftentimes she'd found herself searching for those rare moments of silence. They comforted her. Gave her a moment to just... exist. With the kind of life she conducted, she often found herself desperately wishing for even just a few minutes where she could enjoy the peace and quiet. And oh, especially after meeting Summer. The tiefling was always so full of crackling energy ready to burst at any moment! And if it couldn't manifest through actions, then it would manifest through words. So many words. For almost ten years Arwen's life had been filled with adventures and mishaps and chaos, all by Summer's side. She could clearly remember all the times she had looked forward to the night's arrival, so that she could bask in the nocturnal quiet.

She regretted all of them now.

There weren't many certainties in Arwen's life, but if there was something she was absolutely sure of it was that, no matter what happened to her, she could always turn to Summer and find the strength to go on. It had happened a year before, when she had finally realized how fucked up her entire relationship with Leon was. Summer was there, with a toxic relationship of her own, and with a clear solution in mind. A solution that had inevitably become Arwen's own ticket to freedom. It had happened even years before that, when her entire life still revolved around settling the score she had with her father. When the world as they knew it was ending, when her body had to go through the most horrifying ordeal and she could do nothing to stop it, when their friends were dying left and right no matter how hard they had been trying to save them... Summer was there. And Arwen knew not all was lost.

She would've done anything to be able to look at Summer in that moment and feel that way again. Like a new chapter was waiting for them. She had never thought there would come a day when she would be desperate to have all that noise around her again, and yet there she was wishing for just that.

Instead, the house sat quiet in the little forest, and her friend sat at the kitchen table with a now rather cold mug of tea in front of her. Her eyes trained on an empty spot in the living room, but with an unfocused and far away look to them. Arwen couldn't remember a single time when they had made a habit of drinking tea together. It had always been beer or some other kind of alcoholic beverage that kept them company while they talked, be it about the good stuff or the bad stuff. But Arwen knew her tiefling companion... and the last thing she needed at that moment was to get wasted.

The conversation had come to a halt something like twenty minutes earlier. No topic had seemed to stick as Arwen tried to distract Summer, take her mind off of things. She opened her mouth in an attempt to come up with something, anything to break that damned silence, but she closed it again when she drew a blank, defeated. Even looking at her friend was becoming a difficult task with how... broken she looked. So she let her gaze wander.

Looking around in that moment, Arwen thought of how ironic it was that the house she was sitting in was the type of place she had always imagined Summer would end up living in, before they left for Faerûn, and that yet she couldn't think of a place that was more ill-fitting for her friend in that very moment. The woman that had wanted to move in a house such as that had been gone for a long time, replaced by a woman that had a bright future in mind, to spend by the side of her beloved.

Her beloved.

Jaime had hurt her deeply in the past, drained her of all her energy and cheerfulness. Arwen knew Summer didn't like the person she was when she was with Jaime, but it still had taken her six years to finally leave for good. It had been the best decision she had taken in a long time. Jaime had hurt her, but Summer was better off without him.

Why couldn't Gale be like Jaime? Why couldn't he have been just another failed relationship? A stepping stone towards something better?

Why did he have to be the love of Summer's life?

She had never shined brighter than when she was by his side, and the wizard had somehow restored a part of her that she had thought lost forever. Summer was ready to marry him once their last adventure was finally over, and Arwen was sure that at some point he had been exactly on the same page as her, but somewhere along the way things simply... went wrong. Horribly wrong.

Up until that point Arwen had had no idea it would be possible to grieve the loss of someone who wasn't even dead, but there was Summer, doing just that. The half-elf still couldn't believe Gale would just... leave her behind like that. Didn't he love her? But then again, that was a stupid question, coming from Arwen.

With a sigh she got up from her chair and sat down by Summer's side, placing an uncertain hand atop hers. “... I thought about putting an altar in that empty spot, when I moved in. An altar. Me. I hate the Gods more than I can possibly say and yet I was ready to welcome one in my home. I should fill up that empty space with something else and yet I can't bring myself to do it.” She finally said, almost startling Arwen, who had grown accustomed to the silence hanging heavy in the room.

“I won't build an altar, but I won't dedicate that spot to anything else either. I can't let it go. I can't let him go. I want to see him so badly at times... but then I remind myself that the man I want to see no longer exists. Somehow that hurts more than if he was dead and buried. At least then I would still know he loved me. I would have a body to cry over. What do I have now? Nothing but the hole he left in me when he chose that stupid crown over me. I hate him Arwen, I hate him so much... and yet I still love him to death and it's killing me slowly with every breath I take.” Her voice wavered and cracked as she spoke, letting her sickening feelings pour out of her like a thick syrup. Each word was like a stab to Arwen's already shattered heart.

“Summer, you've gotta react, please. I can't stand seeing you like this.” She pleaded with her companion as she gently squeezed her hand, trying to tear her eyes away from that goddamn spot in the living room. Gale, or whatever the hell he wanted to be called now, didn't deserve to have so much of Summer's energy dedicated to the thought of him. Not after what he had done. “You are a hero, for Hell's sake, you fought against the Prince of the Abyss and came out on top! You survived countless impossible encounters and not one, but two apocalypses! You won't let this drag you down. I won't allow you.” Arwen knew it was a useless attempt, but she still tried to rile Summer up, to give her some kind of pep talk or something, like she had done for her many times in the past... but her friend only let out a humorless chuckle.

“I'm sorry Arwen. I know you are hurting too...” She said as she slowly got up from her chair. “But the hero you speak of is gone. I actually don't think she ever existed to begin with. Because if she did, Gale would still be here with me and I wouldn't be... whatever the fuck this is.” She vaguely gestured to herself with those words as a look of contempt appeared on her face. Arwen couldn't help but let out a huff.

“So what, you are going to rot in here for the rest of your days? No more traveling? No more adventuring?” She felt like a hypocrite, asking her friend these questions when she herself had been holed up in her home for the past few months with the sole exception of visiting Summer every now and then.

On her side, Summer knew that Arwen was trying her best to be there for her while simultaneously trying to keep herself sane, so she felt no anger or annoyance for her words. She just wished she didn't have to be seen like this by her, but there was no way Summer could even attempt to act normal.

“I really don't think I have it in me anymore, bud...” She gave her a very tired smile that didn't reach her eyes at all as she slowly walked towards her bedroom. “I'm sorry, but I feel so tired... I need to sleep...”

With that, Arwen knew the conversation was officially over. She watched her friend drag herself to her room and then she got up, ready to leave and yet not wanting to go home and face the deafening silence once more. Up until that point Arwen had had no idea it would be possible to grieve the loss of someone who wasn't even dead, but there she was... doing just that. Grieving the loss of the friend she once knew, the version of herself that she was when she fell in love... and her beloved.

Her beloved.

How could things go so horribly wrong?

[angeygirl]

June of Doom Day 12: "I can't stand to see you like this" Coma, Grief, Dehydration

[Warning for implied child death in the sense that a child dies and the narrative just doesn't use those words exactly, and implied alcoholism but its way more subtle. Neither of these are the focus, but they're in there]

---------------------

Henry Emily was not fond of hospitals in the way that no one was fond of hospitals. The fear of being turned away was almost strong enough to prevent him from entering. His loyalty was stronger. Very cautiously, he approached the ICU and entered. There were two figures in the room, a very large man and a very small boy.

Henry had expected the boy to look like he was sleeping. He was, but it was not a peaceful sleep; it was nightmares. The soft, young features looked as though they would spring awake screaming at any moment. Henry carefully reached out a hand to touch his friend's shoulder.

William looked up dully for a moment, then back to his son. “How many sick days do I have left?” He asked roughly.

“What?”

“How many sick days do I have left?”

“I dunno, a week maybe?”

William nodded and dropped his head into his hands.

“What have the doctors said?”

There was a long pause. “Hmm? What was that?”

“What have the doctors said?”

William’s eyes went glassy.

“Is it bad?”

He nodded.

Henry was lost for words. The pair stayed locked in a heavy silence for about ten minuets before it weighed too heavily and Henry quietly left.

-----------------------

No matter what the doctor had said, William was adamant the passing was anything but peaceful. He insisted the boy had quite literally been frightened to death by his own nightmares. The doctor said the bleeding had restarted on its own.

That first day was the eye of the storm. The winds had been harshest just before it happened, lulled to total calm, and then kicked back into a fury as denial wore off. Now, William seemed to be controlled by three different people. The first version of himself was totally unchanged, the same cheerful persona he put on at all times. It must have been second nature to him; must have been easier to put on an outward mask then to face the feelings within. The second version did not have an ounce of patience. Henry wished he could ask for others to be patient instead, but when someone as large and imposing as Mr. Afton begins to lose his temper, all others are excused for being afraid. This version would only appear for minuets at a time at work, and then vanish back into the initial persona. Judging by how timid the remaining two children were, this variant of their father was still quite active at home.

Henry Emily was not a man who understood people. He didn’t know whether to get closer or pull away. He couldn’t bring himself to imagine what would happen if he was in that situation, but he didn’t know how to tell someone who towered over everyone else to control himself.

There was a third persona, however. This was who Henry was truly afraid for. It was someone he thought he could help, but would never have had the words. This was someone Henry found in the dark of the maintenance closet all alone, usually with a whisky nearby. Someone who seemed to subsist on caffeine and alcohol alone.

Summer dragged on. The rage had subsided, the drinking had not. Even as the desert heat continued to climb, William insisted on taking his time in the rabbit suit; said it made things feel better. Henry himself knew how much freedom was to be found inside a costume, but he also knew the dangers. Specifically, he knew the dangers other then the spring-locks.

It was late in August and, dry air or not, much too hot to be wearing a furry costume.

“What? It’s not like we’re outside.”

“Yeah but the A/C isn’t enough to keep up with the heatwave.”

William waved his hand dismissively and continued pulling on the rabbit pants.

Henry leaned on the door with concern in his eyes. “Bill, I know you hate when I ask to talk, but are you sure you’re hydrated enough, at least?”

William thought for a moment. “Dunno, but it’ll be fine.”

“The first rule of mascot safety is to drink your water, I don’t think you’ve had a drop in weeks.” Henry stepped closer.

William huffed. “Would you just stop?”

“No. I can’t. Bill, I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

“Like what exactly?” He snapped.

Henry shuffled back and looked down. “I dunno. You haven't been acting like yourself. You’re.. meaner. Irresponsible. Its just… I dunno.”

“You don’t think I’m like myself but you want to stop me from being myself.” William clicked the fastenings at his back shut. “Sorry to disappoint you, but Spring Bonnie is more like William Afton then William Afton is like himself at the moment, and Spring Bonnie has a show to put on. If Fredbear would like to join, he’s more then welcome to, if not, then we will be dancing alone as usual.”

Henry glanced at the decommissioned animatronic bear in the corner. It sat on a bench, looking lonely, or perhaps guilty. Henry couldn’t tell. Spring Bonnie went out to entertain the dwindling crowd, while Henry watched from the maintenance room door. A few minuets into the routine, he noticed a sort of lethargy in the yellow bunny. The wide, preformative movements were downplayed. A few minuets later, it perked up once again. Henry bit the inside of his lip. He tried to call the rabbit over to him in such a way that it looked part of the show, with a goofy exaggerated wave.

The rabbit tilted its head and waved goodbye to the three children it had been playing with and skipped back into the maintenance room.

William fumbled off the costume head, hair sticking to the sides of his face. “What? What happened?”

“You looked dizzy out there. I can tell even with the costume on.”

William shook his head and Henry noticed how pale the man looked. “I was dizzy but I’ve got my second wind now.”

“Second wind? William you’re about to go under!”

“No, I’m- I’m... I’m seeing spots.” He tried to swallow. “Henry? Henry, I’m seeing spots.”

Henry scrambled around behind him and started to undo the clasps keeping the suit on.

William tried to help, but his fingers seemed to lose all dexterity. “I feel fine, I just... I... I can’t see.”

The top part of the suit fell away, and the black undershirt was only slightly damp. With the heat, William should have been letting off dangerous amounts of sweat. Henry winced a little as he tried to unclasp the belt keeping the suit’s pants up.

“Ok, step out of it.”

William tried to obey but his eyes were glazed over. He stumbled forward a few paces and crumpled to the ground with a thud. Henry jumped up and rushed into the kitchen to find a rag. He quickly drenched it and darted back to the maintenance room. A cook had followed him.

“Mr. Emily what’s-?” She yelped when she saw the other manager on the floor. “I’ll get him some water!”

The initial sweat was drying, but there didn’t seem to be any more. The man’s mouth looked dry too; his eyes were sunken. The cook came in with a glass of water and promptly poured it all over her boss’s head. He didn’t react.

“Worth a shot.” She shrugged.

“Get another glass!” Henry shouted, exasperated and started pressing the wet rag on William’s neck and arms. The cook seemed to misunderstand. She darted away and came back, only to drizzle water along Mr. Afton’s back.

Henry raked his fingers through his hair. “Let him drink it next time!”

Embarrassed, she nodded and hurried to refill the cup. A redheaded security guard cautiously came in. “Is everything alright?”

“I...I dunno. We might need an ambulance.”

The man on the floor groggily pushed himself to his elbows. “He-hen-hen...”

Henry wiped the rag against William’s face. “It’s ok bud, it’s ok.”

William made a sound that almost sounded like ‘help’, but collapsed again.

Henry nodded to the guard. “Go call an ambulance.”

The cook came back with the water cup and timidly offered it. William propped himself up on one arm and drained it in seconds. The cook was gone and back again in time for the guard to confirm help was on the way. Henry helped hold his friend upright.

“Drink it slower this time, bud. Think of it like those bottles on the sides of rodent cages, you gotta drink it in little sips.”

“L-l-lag-a-m-m-mor-phszz.”

“Huh?”

“L-lagam-m-morphsss.”

“You’re makin’ up words there, friend.”

“R-rabbitsss are lag-a-amorphsss.”

"Same idea." Henry ruffled the other man’s hair. It was sticky.

Nevertheless, the rabbit cage analogy seemed to come in handy. William took the water in little sips, and seemed slightly recovered by the time the paramedics arrived. They checked him out fully and determined the cause was dehydration. Heat exhaustion had also been to blame. The only reason they had convinced William to go to the hospital with them was because he was too close to unconscious to argue.

William did not stay in the hospital overnight. In the meantime Henry went to make sure the Afton kids were all taken care of. Michael was mostly capable, but had been too emotionally drained to be at full strength.

When Henry knocked on the door, Elizabeth had answered. “Uncle Henry! Why are you here?”

Henry stepped inside shyly. “You’re dad ain’t doing to well. He’s alive, don’t worry about that.” He was careful to reassure Elizabeth when he saw the fear in her eyes. “But he’ll be tired when he comes home.”

Henry explained the situation and helped the two reheat a donated casserole. Michael was fine to eat it cold and Elizabeth was too scared to use the stove. William came home at a somewhat decent time and dropped himself directly on the couch.

Henry appeared and sat on the other side. “So, you’re alive?”

William nodded.

“Tired?”

He pinched his lips together and nodded again.

“You gotta drink your water.”

William glared. “Water isn’t very good for sleeping.”

“Neither is- Never mind.”

“Say it.”

“Naw, I’ll spare you the lecture.”

William nodded. “Much appreciated.”

There was several minuets of awkward silence. Usually Henry appreciated that, but not now. Elizabeth seemed too frightened to approach her father without permission and Michael had vanished into his room again.

“Guess I better be heading home. Take care of yourself, Bill.”

William sighed and nodded.

Henry glanced over his shoulder as he was about to leave. “I mean it.”

---------------------------

@juneofdoom

idk why this was the prompt that spoke to me, but it spoke so clearly that I mixed in all four ideas into one

R.I.P. random cook and security guard, you existed only to serve the plot briefly

(plz don't tag as a ship?)

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

June of Doom day 12

“it’s no use” (explosion, fainting, trembling) 

Content warning: death mention (not in detail)

As Whumper made their way through the rubble of Leader's base, they were surprised with just how well everything had gone. Leader and everything they'd work to build was gone, reduced to a pile of rubble and broken bodies. They'd finally won.

But, it seemed, there were a few loose ends that needed to be tied.

Whumper watched as Youngest limped through the broken landscape. They were a disheveled mess, with blood dripping from their head and staining their hair. Their left arm hung limp at their side and they were clearly avoiding putting pressure on their left leg. They looked ready to drop in a dead faint. And yet, when Whumper looked into Youngest’s eyes, all they saw was rage. Youngest stared at Whumper without a hint of fear.

"So I missed one. How nice of you to come to me," Whumper addressed Youngest, casually taking a step towards their approaching form. Youngest did not waiver.

"You. This was you, it’s always–” Youngest gave a shaky breath, shivering. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Amused, Whumper smirked. “Really? You’re going to kill me?” They laughed, not even bothering to keep an eye on their approaching foe. “Go on then, I’m in a good mood. Try,”

That was all the encouragement Youngest needed. With a scream of rage, they ran at Whumper. Their movement lacked any of the grace or deadly precision of their now dead teacher. Youngest was sloppy and predictably, movements slowed either by their injuries or simply inexperience. Whumper easily sidestepped their attacks, waiting for the right moment to hook a foot around Youngest’s injured ankle. With a choked scream, Youngest fell to the ground.

Youngest practically growled, reaching out towards Whumper’s leg. Whumper kicked them away, pressing their heel hard into their injured shoulder. Even as Youngest screamed in pain, tears forming in their eyes, the look of utter hatred didn’t lave their face.

“You are quite the spirited thing, aren’t you?” Something close to affection bubbled up in Whumper’s chest. Youngest was pathetic. They had to be stupid, because anyone with half a brain would know how utterly hopeless their situation was. The fact that they had the audacity to fight Whumper, when playing dead would have been so much better for them, was almost enduring. Like a chihuahua attempting to fight a bull dog.

They could see Youngest’s face rapidly going pale, their injuries beginning to take their toil. Still, they struggled. “I’ll kill you! I swear to god I’ll kill you for what you did!” They continued to growl, words beginning to slur together as their eyes grew hazy.

It was like watching an exhausted toddler insist they weren’t tired. “You are adorable, do you know that?” They lifted their foot, only to slam it into Youngest’s stomach, earning them a breathless yelp. “You know, you’re lucky I’m in such a great mood. Otherwise, I would probably have just killed you...”

They could see Youngest loosing the battle to maintain consciousness. With a groan, they clutched Whumper’s foot, fingers weakly tugging. Their head was flopped weakly onto the ground, mouth open as they gasped for air.

“You know what?” Whumper smiled down at Youngest. “I think you’d make a great prize. I think I’ll keep you.”

[serickswrites]

I Can't Stand Seeing You Like This

Warnings: grief, mcd referenced

"I can't stand seeing you like this," Caretaker said as they sat down in the chair opposite of Whumpee. "It's really not ok."

Caretaker pulled the blanket their friend had given around them tighter. "You really didn't prepare me for what things would be like. What it would feel like. I can't stand it!" They scrubbed their face, wiping the tears away before Whumpee could notice.

"Of course I'm mad at you. Who wouldn't be mad? You would be so pissed at me if the tables were turned. I'm so mad that I barely want to look at you."

Caretaker looked away for a moment, blinking back the tears. They sighed. Everyone had told them they needed to be honest about how they were feeling. They needed to acknowledge their feelings. "But mostly, Whumpee, I am so sad. I am so heartbroken that you didn't warn me. That I didn't realize what could happen. That I," their voice broke as they began to sob," that I didn't get a chance to say goodbye."

Caretaker reached out to brush Whumpee's grave stone. "I didn't get a chance to say goodbye because you said it would all be alright. Well this isn't alright. Nothing is alright, Whumpee. You left me behind! How could you!"

Caretaker stayed like that for a while. They weren't sure how long they sat there sobbing over Whumpee's grave. They wiped their face. "I'm not ready to forgive you yet, Whumpee. You could have told me what might happen. You could have warned me. You didn't let me prepare. Or help! But," they let out a big sigh, "I know you were trying to protect me. And I can't fault you for that."

They stood up, folding their chair carefully. "I just wish you were back, Whumpee. So that I could hug you, kiss you, and never let you go."

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom Day 12

"I can't stand seeing you like this." / Dehydration / Grief / Coma

Prompts List | Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 500

Tag List: @juneofdoom @fourwingedsnake @whumperofworlds @pigeonwhumps @mr-orion

@scaewolf

CW: hospital room, coma, car crash mention, death mention, worry, mild dehydration, guilt

A/N: here have a slightly fluffy drabble to make up for the last couple days.

------

“…and Sibling’s seeing someone now, I’ve met them, they’re very sweet. Haven’t known them for very long, of course, but I think they’re perfect for each other….” Caretaker trailed off, listening to the beeping of the heart monitor and the hum of the machines keeping Whumpee alive.

They sighed. “Wish you were awake, to meet them yourself.”

Whumpee didn’t respond, of course. They had been in a coma for almost three months following a nearly fatal car crash. The other driver had died upon impact, and Whumpee was barely hanging onto life by a thread when the paramedics arrived. Caretaker remembered the shock of that fateful afternoon when they’d received the phone call. The initial worry had been dampened at first, covered by the need to call Sibling and get to the hospital.

Of course, when they’d arrived and waited several hours during the emergency surgery their fear returned in full force, and it didn’t help when the doctors informed them that Whumpee was in a coma.

Caretaker hated to admit it, but they’d gotten used to Whumpee being in the hospital. Modeled their daily routine for one less person in the household, visited every day, and made mental notes throughout the day of things they wanted to tell Whumpee, even if they couldn’t hear them.

They softly smoothed out a few wrinkles in Whumpee’s bed sheets. “I can’t stand seeing you like this, y’know. Seeing you asleep, vulnerable, completely dead to the world…. I hate it. If there was a way to wake you up, I would go to the ends of the earth just to see your smile again.

“…the doctors warned us that you had a pretty serious head injury to be in a coma like this. If you wake up—no, when you wake up—you might have issues with how your brain works. You might be a completely different person from before the crash.”

Caretaker’s hands curled into fists. “That scares me. Even more than when I thought you were dying. I don’t know why, but it does. We’re not sure if you can even hear me right now, but I want you to know that even if something like that happens, even if it scares me, I won’t abandon you.”

A tear ran down Caretaker’s face, and they quietly brushed it away, becoming aware of the aching in their forehead and behind their eyes. When was the last time they’d had water?

…not since last night, if memory served. The coffee they’d had earlier in the morning didn’t count, no matter what Sibling claimed.

“I should go now,” Caretaker said, glancing at the clock on the wall, “visiting hours are almost over. But I’ll be back tomorrow! And maybe I’ll read another chapter of that book to you.”

They reached out and squeezed Whumpee’s hand before rising from the chair. “See you tomorrow.”

[onlythegoodpretzels]

"I hate to see you like this."

"I thought I would enjoy your defeat after all this time, but really it's sad, isn't it? Once so powerful, and now I can't even chain you properly."

Rauru's ears twitched, which was still a mistake. The Demon King's gloom stung cold and heavy where it smeared his face. Trying to leech in, sicken him.

Rauru bared his teeth. Even without his secret stone, the light in him seared the gloom back. Not enough to banish it. But enough to keep it from taking him. "You...have done nothing. Too weak to approach, perhaps? Your beasts' skills...do not impress me, either."

He focused on the slow hot pulse of energy from his missing right arm. Link was there, somewhere. Fighting. Using his magic. Listening?

"You, lecture me on weakness?" Ganondorf flicked his hand. In a flurry of gloom another small monster snarled into existence, standing menacingly over Rauru.

Provoking the Demon King, immobilized and surrounded with his foul creatures. Somewhere out there, Zelda was very cross with him.

Rauru pressed his elbow back against the rock. He thought vaguely he could feel a sword in his hand. Link's hand. The sword that seals the darkness?

He smiled. "Maybe...you will find where my power has gone. And we will see."

____________________________________________________________

Loosely a follow up to this post -- Rauru survived sealed with Ganondorf and shares the arm with Link (which means at some point it'll pop back in and all hell will break loose here! :D).

Been imagining this restraint option with his ear piercings forever. So fun to finally put it together.

_____________________________________________________________

Slight alteration of @juneofdoom day 12's dialogue prompt. So much of this prompt list is so inspiring for me! Thanks for putting it together!

[chaos-and-codeine]

June of Doom 2024

Day 12 - I can’t stand to see you like this + dehydration

@juneofdoom

Warnings and Content: Dehydration, dizziness, drug withdrawal, sick mention, exhaustion

Word count: 214

Summary: Whumper had kept whumpee cooperative with drugs and now whumpee is facing the withdrawals. Caretaker is with them all the way.

Caretaker held whumpee’s head against them, their other hand on their back as they shook. They’d never seen whumpee this bad before and it scared them. The shaking. The dizziness. The sleepless exhaustion.

If caretaker ever saw whumper they swore…

Whumper had used some kind of drug to keep whumpee cooperative; keep them dependent. Whumpee had fought as hard as they could, but with enough of it in their system there was no fight to give.

“Caretaker,” Whumpee whimpered into the fabric of caretaker’s shirt. They held out a hand and caretaker took it. Whumpee took a shaky breath, “Sick.”

“It’s okay, whumpee. Try not to, but I’m here if you do.” Caretaker brushed through their hair with their other hand. They were already so dehydrated, caretaker didn’t want them to throw up and get any worse. The withdrawals had them sweating through the night, making resting even harder. Caretaker couldn’t stand to see them this way, but they would be there for them every moment.

After hours laying against the hard headboard with whumpee, caretaker felt whumpee relax slightly. They felt a few tears trail down their own face as they realized whumpee had fallen asleep. It might not be the most comfortable rest of their lives, but they needed it so badly.

[fairyniceyeah]

⌛🐶⛰️Day 12: "I can't stand seeing you like this"

Dehydration/Grief/Coma

@juneofdoom

Part One: Day 9: "I made a mistake."

Day 11: "We're out of time."

Summary: Yunho watches San destroy himself over the accident.

CW: below text to avoid spoilers

Whumpee: Yunho + San Caretaker: /

San hadn’t moved from Wooyoung’s bedside in days. None of the members had been able to drag him away - none of them really had the heart for it. They were just as worried as he was.

Yunho remembered the wild fear in Hongjoong’s face when he got the call. He had been with the oldest hyungs in the living room of the dorm Hongjoong shared with Wooyoung and Jongho, watching a movie. He had listened as Hongjoong talked first with San and then with the nurse, his face getting whiter with every word, clutching Seonghwa’s hand so tightly the older’s hand had been slightly bruised afterwards.

It had been Yunho’s responsibility then, after Hongjoong and Seonghwa had called a manager to drive them to the hospital, to tell the other members. He had hated it, seeing their joy and happiness turn into worry when they saw Yunho’s face and then into defeat and sadness as he spoke.

He had gone to Yeosang first. It had felt right. He was so close with the two and he was, after all, Wooyoung’s oldest friend. Yeosang had been making himself some coffee, reading over his script for the next episode of The Show when Yunho had walked in. The younger had been whistling, singing some song under his breath but when he saw Yunho in the dormway, he had frozen.

“Yunho, what’s wrong?”, he had asked, putting his coffee down with a worried frown on his face.

At first, Yunho hadn’t been sure what to say but then he had just whispered: “There’s been a car accident. San-ah is okay, mostly. Wooyoung-ah … he’s in surgery. The nurse couldn’t say more.”

Yeosang hadn’t even cried, just forced Yunho with him to tell Mingi and Jongho, so they too could go to the hospital.

Mingi had burst into sobs the moment they told him. They had interrupted Jongho’s vocal lesson and they had never seen the maknae look so worried and scared.

Now - three days later - Seonghwa and Hongjoong had been forced home by Yunho. The two hadn’t left, neither wanting Wooyoung nor San to be alone. Yeosang, Mingi, Jongho and Yunho himself had gone to the hospital in shifts - dropping in and out but due to visitor restriction not allowed to be there all the time. Not even Yeosang’s puppy eyes had made the hyungs or San budge.

San, no matter how much Yeosang had begged and Hongjoong had pleaded and cried, had refused to leave Wooyoung’s bedside. The second youngest had come out of surgery five hours after the accident - with a list of diagnoses that Yunho couldn’t all remember. Concussion. Whiplash. Broken femur. Spleen that had to be removed. Something like that. 

Wooyoung looked so small on that hospital bed, wrapped in bandages everywhere. Parts of his hair had been shaved away for surgery, leaving bald spots behind - visible due to lack of hair outside the bandages in that area. A neck brace swallowing him whole. Leg stretched out in a brace. More scars and injuries below the blankets, hidden from sight. And so many different lines and cannulas running into his body. An artificial coma so he could heal and the swelling in his brain go down. No, the doctors didn’t know how long it would take for him to be taken out of anesthesia. Yes, it was a good sign he was mostly able to breathe and his own.

San, with scratches over his face and whole body, had not let go of Woyooung’s tiny hand other than for going to the bathroom or being sick. Shock and guilt, mostly. The nurses were worried about his mental state, they did not do a good job of hiding their worry.

Woyooung’s and San’s parents had been informed of their sons’ accident and had been staying at a hotel close by. Yet, San’s parents had to leave for work soon again and Wooyoung’s parents - hurting to see their energetic son so still but having to take care of his siblings - had left the day after. Instead, Hongjoong’s eomma had come to Seoul, looking over the members at the dorms.

“San-ah”, Yunho tried.

No reaction.

“San-ah.”

Yunho sighed and stepped closer into the room. He hated seeing the two like this - like Jongho who hadn’t been able to really stomach the sight of his injured hyungs - he had not been at the hospital as often as he had expected of himself. He had chosen to worry about getting Yeosang to sleep, keeping Mingi from spiraling into panic attacks and forcing Jongho to eat - all while trying to keep in contact with Hongjoong and Seonghwa and trying to make them come home.

Now, only San was left.

San with his vacant stare as if seeing right through everybody but Wooyoung.

San who had not left his best friend’s side.

San who was injured himself.

San who had neither eaten and drank much or slept at all since the accident.

San who was killing himself with guilt.

It had been the last thing he’d said before he refused to speak to any of them. “If he dies, it’s all my fault. If he never wakes up again, it’s my fault. If he can never be an idol again, it’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

Yunho wasn’t proud of it - but he was getting angry at San. He wasn’t the only one who was suffering. He wasn’t the one who received the phone call, scared his younger brother was dead. He didn’t get to act like he was the only one suffering from this. 

Seonghwa had cried so much for him but Yunho was angry. 

“Choi San”, he yelled and for the first time in days, San moved. Well, he jumped in his seat, scared. His eyes wide he turned around to stare right through Yunho.

“Eat”, Yunho begged him, “San-ah, eat. Drink something. Sleep. Please.”

There was no further reaction.

“Just eat a bit, please. Aren’t you hungry? Or at least drink a bit of water. Your head must be hurting from lack of fluids, doesn’t it? Try to rest, just a bit. You can do that here even, please.”

San just stared, blinked, and turned around again, looking at Wooyoung.

“Choi San”, Yunho called, voice loud and angry, “San. Anything please. Just react to us. We’re so worried about you. Just react to us. Don’t shut yourself off like this!” Wetness hit his lips and, oh, Yunho hadn’t even realized he was crying.

His knees buckled and he fell to the ground.

“San-ah. I can’t stand seeing you like this”, Yunho sobbed, “please, just react to anything. Please. I can’t lose you too. Please.”

San bowed his head but there was no further reaction.

“Yunho-ssi”, a female voice called and a nurse entered, a hand coming to rest on his shoulders, “I know, it’s hard seeing your friend like this. But please keep your voice down for the sake of other patients.”

Yunho nodded, wiping at his eyes and more and more tears flowed down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I just … San-ah, I can’t keep watching you grieve Wooyoung-ah like he is already dead.”

CW: mentions of death, guilt

Part Three: Day 29: "I'm so cold."

Day 13: "Wait!"  

Masterlist link: Fairy's Full Masterlist Fairy's June of Doom 2024

Notes: People, I am so sorry ....

[blackcat2907]

Day 12 of June of Doom! Thank you to @gizamalblythe for giving me the title

[iriel3000]

Fix It!

June of Doom Day 12: “I can’t stand seeing you like this.” | Dehydration | Grief | Coma | @juneofdoom

Summary: Phytotoxicologist Dr. Clint Barton leaves his girlfriend in charge while he’s gone. It goes as well as expected.

Follow up piece to ‘I Pick My Poison and It’s You’, not necessary to read before this, but why not?

excerpt:

“This is different, you're usually the one leaving because of work. You up to this?” Clint asked while packing up his suitcase.

“Completely. Have fun at your conference.” Natasha gave him a soft, lingering kiss.

“That's not making me want to leave.” He tried to snake his arms around her but she playfully ducked away and laughed.

“You’re going to miss your plane. We’ll be fine for one week, go.”

Four days later—-------------------------------->

“James, get over here, they're dying!”

“What?” Bucky Barnes shot up in bed, fumbling with the phone, accidentally waking his husband, Steve. "What happened to Clint?"

"No, not Clint. The babies!"

"The babe…what…where are you?" Bucky checked the time, 6 a.m., on a Saturday.

"Clint's."

"Who's that?" Steve mumbled, sitting up.

"You're crush.” Bucky put the phone on speaker. “Nat, what the hell is going on?"

"I've killed them. He's going to hate me. Please come over.”

“It’s the weekend.”

“James!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll be right there.” He grumbled.

tbc, please click link below

Fix It!

[shes-some-other-where]

June of Doom Day 10, Day 12, Day 17

“Can you hear me?” | Fear | “You don’t want to do that.” | Struggle | Grief

<<< previous | next >>>

Contains: royalty whump, restraints, death mention, murder mention, fantasy drug/potion, threats

WC: 620

Mark my words

A door creaked open. Light flashed, illuminating his prison: a dark dungeon cell with a single door, thick wood with only a tiny, barred opening through which a guard might peer to inspect his prisoner and ensure he still drew breath. It swung wide, swaying on its rusted hinges. The seer flinched at the door’s ominous croak.

In stepped a man he’d never seen before.

“Seer-prince,” said the stranger. “Or, rather, former prince.”

The seer thrashed in his chains, choking on words he didn’t have the time or wherewithal to plan. Stifled words of rage and confusion—and fear.

“Your family’s line is ended, and you are a prisoner,” said the stranger. He folded his arms, watching the seer’s struggles coolly. “The former king and queen are dead. You serve a new queen, and a new crown prince.” He smiled. “Me.”

Dead. “No,” he tried to say. “No!”

“Yes. Killed, too, is your brother. And your court. Nothing remains.”

“My . . . brother . . . ?” Only seventeen. Brave and brash. Dead.

“Slain with my own blade. I slit his throat.”

The grey eyes glinted, as if he knew was the seer would ask next. As if he anticipated it.

“My . . . sister . . .” He coughed, forcing out the garbled syllables, as shock and panic burrowed into him even more.

Dead?

The usurper grinned. “Alive.” He chuckled. “And she will remain so, if you do as I say. So, listen well.”

Too much, too fast. His parents and brother, slaughtered. His sister, living—but where? Hurt? What had happened to her? Had she witnessed the murders? Had this killer really kept her alive? To what purpose? Was it too much to hope for? What if this so-called prince was lying?

And how was he to know, locked in a dungeon, with no memories to fall back on because he’d been too much of a coward to face his visions every night?

“I said, listen, seer.”

The voice was cold and cruel, sneering and harsh, but it was not wrathful. It did not shout. Its patience was wearing thin, but that patience endured. For now.

With no other option, the seer looked up. The usurper’s image swam and wobbled.

“I own you now,” said the usurper, “and your fascinating little magic trick.” He smiled. “Ah—yes—I know about your visions, and how you chose the path of weakness to avoid them. There will be no more of that. All you see? Mine to know.” He stepped forward and crouched, and though he lowered his voice, the words only seemed to grow louder. “You will spill every secret, and your precious sister lives another day.”

The revulsion, the thought of coping with the visions every night for the rest of his life until they finally destroyed him, had him shaking his head in horror.

“Oh,” said the usurper softly. “Mark my words. You don’t want to refuse me. I will not make this kind, merciful offer again. So. In case your soft, drug-addled brain didn’t comprehend the first time, I will repeat myself once. Do you hear me? Only once.”

The seer stilled, bile burning hot and rancid in his throat.

“You are mine to wield and to control. There will be no more suppressing of your visions. If you don’t learn to control this gift of yours, and if you refuse to share what you learn with me and the queen you now serve, I will kill your sister in front of you, and then it will be your turn, and your family’s bloodline will be ended once and for all.”

The tears in the seer’s eyes spilled over, soaking into the heavy muzzle that rendered him unable to acquiesce. The chains fell still and silent.

The usurper prince smiled again.

June of Doom Masterlist

<<< previous | next >>>

@juneofdoom

All my writing is original. Feel welcome to interact/comment/reblog. Pls don’t steal or repost.

[writerbythewater-blog]

Percy was sobbing in his room. The door locked and the curtains drawn tight over the windows. A clear sign he didn't want anyone to bother him. It worked for the first part of the day, but Annabeth got tired of waiting for him.

He heard her try the door and the window to find both locked. He heard her curse and try to pick the locks and curse again when she got the lock on the door only to find the door still wouldn't give. Percy's sobs had quieted into small sniffles, but he still didn't feel like leaving the room.

"Come on, Seaweed Brain! It's your birthday. Come out and join us. Your mom made blue cake!" Annabeth called through the door.

He didn't want to have a party on his birthday. Not when all he could remember were the dying faces of children he led into battle. When all he saw was a day full of lives he failed to save.

"Fine, I'll come back later."

He was sure she would, and when he could finally breathe again he would open the door. For now, he would stay here. The shadows of his room had grown far darker than they should have been hours ago and seemed to wrap around him in a sort of hug. Nico was here. Had got past his locks by using the shadows in the room, but hadn't said anything. Just let him cry till he couldn't anymore.

"Do you want a hug?" Nico's voice was quite like he was trying to mask it with his shadows.

Percy nodded still not able to speak. Nico moved out of the shadows and to his side. Arms and shadow both wrapped around him. His cousin held him until he let go. Percy took a deep breath. It still felt harder than it should have to do that, but he pulled some water from the pitcher on his nightstand and washed his face.

"Do I look better?" Percy asked Nico trying to smile.

Nico winced. "Maybe don't smile."

Percy's shoulders slumped down, but he tried for a small grin.

"That's better."

With a nod, Percy stood up going to his door. Nico was gone before Percy got to the door, so Percy took a deep breath and faced the party alone.

[hummingbird-of-light]

June of Doom 2024 Day 12 (@juneofdoom)

12. “I can’t stand seeing you like this.”       

| Dehydration | Grief | Coma |

~

Montgomery "Scotty" Scott didn't know where he was or how he had gotten to this place. It was a dark and empty place and his body was floating in the center of it. Scotty had no control over what was happening to him. And that made him feel just awful.

All the Scotsman knew was that he was freezing and that he just wanted to sleep. It was really strange because actually, Scotty thought to himself, it felt like his body had been asleep for a long time. But his mind just couldn't rest.

He was incredibly exhausted, but something inside him was vehemently resisting finally switching off his mind.

Scotty wasn't sure exactly what it was. Maybe it was the urge to find out what had happened to him? Maybe he wanted to know where he was? Or perhaps it was the voice that kept coming to his ears, somehow making its way through the darkness.

Scotty knew it. It was incredibly familiar, but he just didn't know who it belonged to.

'Hey, Monty. It's me again.'

It was a warm and soft voice. Scotty found it incredibly pleasant, because it managed to make him feel at least a little more secure and better.

The voice asked him many questions. How he was feeling today. If he was in pain. How much longer he intended to sleep. And the Scotsman would have loved to answer, but his body simply wasn't strong enough for that.

'I ... thought ye might like to hear a few articles about the latest car models. Mum said that it's completely crazy after ... everything that's happened, but I know ye better. Ye are and always will be a car freak.'

Was he? Was Montgomery Scott interested in cars?

A strange shiver went through his body as an image appeared before his inner eye.

He was sitting at the wheel of a car and almost pressing the accelerator pedal to the floor. Wild cries of joy escaped his mouth and he laughed, feeling freer than ever before. Sitting next to him was another person who didn't seem quite as enthusiastic as he was, but was still smiling gently.

'I'll ... just read ye a bit, yeah? A lot has happened in the last few months.'

The warm voice began to read, but with each paragraph it broke more and more until finally only sobbing could be heard. It filled Scotty's heart with sorrow to hear it.

'I'm sorry, Monty. I-I cannae do this. Why was I so stupid? Why didn't I stop ye from taking part in that stupid street race?'

More images appeared in front of Scotty.

He saw the needle on the speedometer rise faster and faster. The feeling of freedom grew bigger and bigger and he screamed with happiness, but suddenly he lost control. There was that tree. And then ... there was nothing.

'Ye're in a coma because I didn't help ye. I cannae stand seeing ye like this. If only I'd seen how bad ye've really been since Dad died. If I had understood that ye were only tuning cars and racing because ye couldn't cope with the situation, I would have–"

The voice. The person who had been in the car with him. It was Robbie. It was Scotty's little brother. The Scotsman's heart broke at this realization. How had he not realized it sooner? How had he not seen that the person visiting him every single day was his poor, wee brother?

'Why the hell don't ye just wake up? I just want to tell ye that ... I'm sorry!'

Robbie. He blamed himself for something that wasn't his fault. He blamed himself for something Scotty had messed up. It just wasn't right. It wasn't fair!

And as hard as it was for him, as much as he longed for sleep and rest, Scotty realized in that moment that he had to keep on fighting. He had to try to wake up. For his brother. No matter how long it took, he wouldn't give up. Never.

[diegoalvesisgod]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Men's Football RPF Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Patrick Cutrone/Gennaro Gattuso, Manuel Locatelli/Matteo Pessina Characters: Patrick Cutrone, Gennaro Gattuso, Matteo Pessina, Manuel Locatelli, Davide Calabria, Paolo Maldini Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Major Character Injury, Injury Recovery, Head Injury, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Guilt, Temporary Amnesia, Friendship Series: Part 12 of June of Doom 2024 Summary:

Rino’s office is eerily quiet, the muted hum of the air conditioner the only sound breaking the silence. His phone vibrates on his desk, its screen lighting up with missed calls from Locatelli and Calabria. A chill runs down his spine as he sees their names. They would never call him unless it’s urgent. They never call for a friendly chat, and never both at the same time. His heart pounds as he dials Calabria’s number, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios.

Day 12 of June of Doom 2024: Coma

[serickswrites]

It’s No Use

Warnings: captivity, torture, forced to watch

“It’s no use,” Whumpee said as their trembling legs gave out. They collapsed next to Caretaker, their body still trembling. “We’re never getting out of here,” they said as tears slipped down their cheeks. 

“No. Don’t say that Whumpee. Don’t say that. I’ll get us out of here. I just have to find a way.” 

“Even if you do find a way out, I won’t be able to go. I can’t even stay standing, Caretaker.” Whumpee leaned heavily on Caretaker, absolutely spent. Their time with Whumper had left them weak and shaking. And in pain. 

“I’ll carry you out of here if I have to, Whumpee We are getting out of here.” Caretaker did not want to witness more of Whumpee’s torture. Did not want to sit there uselessly as Whumper tortured Whumpe. Did not want to sit there and watch and do nothing. “I’ll find us a way out of here. And I’ll carry you.”