#june of doom day 30

[shes-some-other-where]

June of Doom Day 15, 28, 30

Rescue | “Say something.” | Shock

Taglist: @scoundrelwithboba

<<< previous | next >>>

Contains: restraints, suspicion, fear, blood

WC: 1080

A man or a monster?

The seer blinked to wakefulness, stunned he wasn’t dead, only to face another astonishment:

Two strangers shoving their way into his room.

He stared blearily at the intruders: a wispy-haired servant girl and a wan-faced northerner.

Wait . . .

He knew that man, not from life, but from his vision.

The girl gasped at the sight of him, and the seer registered a tightness, a wrongness, down his face: dried blood from the aftermath of his vision, the most violent and disorienting he’d ever endured. Sitting up from where he’d collapsed, he swiped his fingers—not, to his surprise, sliced to ribbons by broken glass—beneath his nose as if to wipe it away.

“What happened to you?” the girl asked, her voice quivering.

At the same time, the man said in a voice thick with disappointment, “It’s not him.”

“But—look. He’s a prisoner, too.” She pointed toward the chain, still snarled around his legs, asking, “Who . . . who are you?”

“Imprisoned for what, though?” the man asked, dragging a hand anxiously through his hair. “We don’t know. Maybe he’s dangerous. We should just go—we need to find—”

Panic spiked through the seer. His first real chance at escape in five years, and they were going to walk away.

No. No. He couldn’t let them leave him here, not now. Think. What were they doing here, and how could he win their aid?

The other northerner, newly captured. This man had to be looking for him.

“Wait . . .”

The seer realized with a start that the man had frozen in place, eyes wide with shock and fixed directly on the seer’s face.

“I . . . saw you,” he said slowly, dazed. “My window. You broke it.” He stepped back, pulling the girl with him as if to shield her. “But you weren’t really there.”

His blatant fear made the seer’s throat ache.

“I saw things,” the man said shakily. “Horrible things. Evil, bloody, atrocious things. But they led me here. Did you do that to me?” The astonished fearfulness morphed to anger. “How? What are you?”

So he’d really done it, then—shattered that man’s window, manipulated the real world from the realm of the ethereal. A feat so impossible he’d never even considered trying it.

His brother’s bloodstained smile flashed in his mind.

“What are you?” the man repeated, more forcefully now. “Some sort of demon?” When the seer only shook his head, he snarled, “Why don’t you answer? Say something!”

His hand hovered over the dagger at his side.

With his heart beating painfully up to his throat, the seer brushed his hand over his throat, then his lips, shaking his head again.

“He can’t speak,” said the girl softly. Her eyes, he saw with surprise, had filled with tears. “He’s trapped here, and he can’t even talk. We have to help him.”

“No, we don’t,” the man said through gritted teeth. “Something odd is afoot here, and we need to move. Don’t you want to find your friend?”

“Yes,” the girl shot back, “I do want to find her, and I know you want to find your servant—”

“My friend.”

“Fine, your friend, but—”

What she’d said sank in: her. The seer bolted upright. Was she looking for his sister? Could it be mere coincidence that she was looking for another girl at the same time the prince had taken her away for some horrific punishment?

The answer to how he would earn their trust hit him swiftly. Wait, he mouthed. Please, wait.

If they understood, he didn’t know, for he didn’t wait to find out. All he perceived before he let himself fall into a vision was that they didn’t flee from him—at least, not yet.

He yearned to seek his sister, to find where she was and what she was enduring—but finding the captured northerner first would be the quicker way to earn this man’s trust.

He was coughing blood, clotted and dark, when he returned to the waking world from a locked room where a confused prisoner wriggled fruitlessly and wildly against his bonds.

That way.

They both recoiled when he reached out a bloodied hand to point in the direction of the captive northerner.

“I think he wants to lead us,” said the girl uncertainly. “Is that it? You’ll help us find our friends?”

The seer nodded.

The man took a step forward, still wary. But his hand had drifted slightly farther from his blade.

“Which are you?” he asked harshly. “A man or a monster?”

But before the seer could confess the truth in answer, the girl said, “I’m freeing him.” She brandished a ring of iron keys, obviously stolen. “You said it yourself. We haven’t got much time. He might be our best chance at finding them.”

Yet the man grabbed her arm again, holding her still, fixing his gaze on the seer.

“I don’t know who you are,” he said slowly, “or what you are.”

Neither, thought the seer miserably, did he.

“We’ll let you out of here. But our help isn’t free. You’re going to find my friend, and hers. A girl who works here, a maidservant.”

The seer swallowed, dread for his sister’s unknown fate creeping through his limbs.

“You can find them? You know where they are?”

At a loss for how to explain without words, the seer nodded and touched his temple.

“What does that mean?” the man asked helplessly. The girl, too, seemed utterly baffled.

Please.

“Be careful,” the man said, watching as the girl fiddled nervously with her keys. “Do you want me to do it?”

She seemed to consider it heavily, looking over the seer once more before she said, “No. I’m not frightened.”

Trying to hide the emotion on his face, the seer wiped fresh blood from his nose and held still as she tiptoed forward.

For the first time in five years, the shackle clicked open, and it stayed that way.

“Now take me to my friend,” the man ordered. “Time to uphold your end of the bargain.”

The seer’s steps almost faltered as he crossed the threshold of his prison cell.

Free.

He might have wept with gratitude or whooped with joy if the pressing perils from his visions weren’t crushing in around him.

Free.

He was free, and the moment he found his sister, he would do everything in his power to ensure she was, too.

He would win freedom for them both, or he would die trying.

June of Doom Masterlist

<<< previous | next >>>

@juneofdoom

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

[somer-writes]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sky & Time & Twilight (Linked Universe), Ganondorf (Legend of Zelda) & Twilight (Linked Universe) Characters: Sky (Linked Universe), Time (Linked Universe), Twilight (Linked Universe), Ganondorf (Legend of Zelda) Additional Tags: Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), June of Doom 2024, Cold, Shock, "Breathe damn you", Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Ghost Hunters, Twilight (Linked Universe) Has a Bad Time, Time (Linked Universe) Angst, Sky (Linked Universe) Has a Bad Time, Protective Sky (Linked Universe), Psychic Time (Linked Universe), Priest Sky (Linked Universe), Medium Twilight (Linked Universe), Demon King Ganondorf (Legend of Zelda) - Freeform, Possession, Demonic Possession, Hospitals, Suicide Attempt Series: Part 30 of Writer's Execution Block || June of Doom 2024 Summary:

Twilight is hospitalized following his first possession by Ganon. Sky and Time are too late to reach Twilight before the demon king.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom Day 30

"Breathe, damn you!" / Shock / Asphyxiation / Emergency Room

Prompts List | Masterpost

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 400

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

@scaewolf

CW: shock, bullet wound, dizziness, stumbling, implied/referenced death, 911 call, passing out

A/N: something short and sweet for the final day! I'm planning to finish the net whump story at some point in July, but besides that June of Doom is over! Thank you to @juneofdoom for the prompts and hosting the event.

----------

It was less a climb through the window and more of a fall.

A hit the floor with a muffled thud, and lay there, gasping, numb. They… B was… was… C had….

Their heart pounded in their ears.

They’d been chased all through the city, C’s goons always on their trail. Couldn’t get away, couldn’t lose them, somehow they were always able to follow…

And then… then they just… disappeared?

A had kept running, paranoid that their pursuers had somehow made themselves unseen. But they had to return to their home to rest… to get medical attention to their wounds… to call B….

They couldn’t call B.

They had… they had to call an ambulance… maybe they were still alive…?

A slowly pushed themself off the floor, leaning heavily on the wall as they grabbed the windowsill to pull themself up. The room spun as they stumbled through it. Warmth seeped down A’s shoulder, they’d stopped feeling the pain of the bullet in their shoulder long ago.

Should they be concerned?

B was much worse off.

A never made a habit of taking their phone with them on patrol, too easy to get tracked, but now they wished they had kept it. They could have called an EMT long ago, while they were still running.

Their phone was on the kitchen counter. A grabbed it and sank to the floor, dialing the three numbers.

9.

1.

1.

A headache began to form behind A’s eyes as they stared at the device while it rang.

Click. “Nine one-one, what is your emergency?”

“I… B… they’re hurt… hurt real bad… they’re dying…” A quickly gave the location where they had last seen B, lying on the floor, bleeding out.

“Okay, I’m sending an ambulance. Are you with them?”

“…n-no….”

“Are you okay?”

“I….” A’s head was beginning to feel like it would float away if it weren’t for their body weighing it down. “…no… m’not….”

The operator said something else, but it was just sounds. The phone slipped out of A’s hand and clattered to the floor as they slumped, darkness encroaching on the edges of their vision. The entire world tilted, and the last thing A saw was the view of the kitchen from the tile floor before the darkness swallowed them completely.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

June of Doom day 30

 “are you scared yet?” (buried alive/failed escape/denial)

Content warning: nudity (non-sexual)

“Are you scared yet?”

Whumper laid flat on the examination table, limbs strapped down and body fully exposed. Their skin was marked with dotted red lines; not blood, but ink marking everywhere Whumper intended to cut. Their body had been sectioned off into pieces, like a piece of meat ready for butchering. 

With what strength they had, Whumpee glared at Whumper. “Go to hell.”

Whumper only laughed, preparing their scalpel. “Good. It’s more fun when they struggle.”

[norbezjones]

June Of Doom Day 30: “Breathe, Damn You!” (Romance The Backrooms)

Last day of juneofdoom! This is Day 30: "Breathe, damn you!" I did incorporate the keyword

This story may or may not be canon.

Takes place: before Romance The Backrooms occurs

Contains: Kalcal & Zenobos getting saved by The Hermit

Other things to know: this story takes place in the backrooms. Before Kalcal & Zenobos met the other 3 main characters (Glarence, Adiel, & Uri), the two of them were traveling together.  This is Part 2; Part 1 is here.

___________

Kalcal opened his eyes to find himself lying in the bed of a strange shack.  The figure with the plague doctor’s mask was sitting across from him, holding out a bowl of stew.  “You’re finally awake,” she said.  “Here, eat something.”

Kalcal suspiciously took the bowl, eyeing the figure.  She laughed and said, “Take it easy.  If I wanted to kill you, you already would be dead.”

Kalcal thought for a minute, and then shrugged.  “Well, I can’t argue with that!” he agreed.  He put the bowl to his lips and drank the stew greedily, finishing it in a matter of seconds.  Then, he handed the bowl back.  “So, you saved me?” he asked.

“More or less,” the person replied.  “Your friend is resting in the other room.  He was pretty affected by the cold, but I managed to reverse the worst of its effects.”

Kalcal sprang up from the bed.  “Lead me too him!” he exclaimed.  “I need to make sure he’s ok!”

The figure nodded and stood up, leading Kalcal out of the room.  Kalcal followed her to a living room area, where Zenobos was lying on the couch.  Kalcal went up to the other entity and crouched down in front of him.  “Hey, little buddy,” he said softly.  “You breathing ok?”

Zenobos was tired, but he managed to nod.  “Y-Yeah, I’m ok,” he told Kalcal.  “Thanks.”

Kalcal smiled and stood back up, turning to the person who had saved them.  “I owe ya one,” he said to her.  “You really helped us out.”

She nodded.  “I’m glad I could help,” she said.  “Now, go rest.  You need your strength.”

Kalcal returned to the bed and lay down.  He closed his eyes, and was soon asleep.

[serickswrites]

I Don't Feel So Good

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, electrocution, rescue, hospital, cardiac arrest, cpr, unclear character status, forced to watch

"I....I don't feel so good, C-C-Caretaker," Whumpee said as they slumped over in their chair. "D-D-Dizzy."

"It's ok, Whumpee. Help is here. Hold on. Just hold on," Caretaker said, wishing they could slip the cuffs that kept them away from Whumpee.

Time passed strangely for Caretaker. It seemed as though time had frozen when Whumper was in the room with them. But then time passed swiftly when Whumper had left them alone for an hour. And now, time seemed distorted, speeding up and slowing down. It had been torture watching Whumper spend the last hour shocking Whumpee with the car battery. And now that help had arrived, the waiting was torture.

Whumper had rushed from the room, leaving Whumpee still hooked up to the battery, when the sound of a door giving way startled the three of them. "Help is here, Whumpee. We're saved. Help is here."

Caretaker repeated it over and over as they watched Whumpee struggle to breathe. They opened their mouth to say something, but a group of people rushed into the room. Time seemed to jump for Caretaker, the rescuer's movements disjointed and fast. Before Caretaker could say much, they found themself in the back of an ambulance with Whumpee, rushing to the emergency room.

Whumpee lay on the gurney, their face pale and drawn with pain. The paramedic quickly hooked Whumpee up to various leads and monitors. Caretaker squeezed Whumpee's hand tightly. "You're going to be ok. They're taking us to get you checked out, you're going to be ok." Time was slow in the ambulance. Time was too slow. Whumpee needed help. But the ambulance seemed frozen in time for Caretaker.

A monitor screamed a warning and the paramedic looked up. They called to their partner, "They're in V-Fib. I'm going to defibrillate."

Caretaker's heart began to pound. Whumpee was getting worse. "Please, stay with me, Whumpee."

"I need you to step back, Caretaker," the paramedic said as they attached the sticky patches to Whumpee's chest. "Let me take care of them."

Whumpee's eyes frantically searched for Caretaker's as Caretaker pulled away. "I'm right here. You're going to be ok, Whumpee. You're going to be ok."

The paramedic took the paddles and paused before placing them on Whumpee's chest. "Whumpee, I know you're not feeling very good right now. This isn't going to feel great either. But your heart is beating in a rhythm that isn't good or sustainable. I'm going to try and shock you back into the correct rhythm."

Whumpee nodded their understanding, though their eyes were beginning to get hazy.

"Stay with me, Whumpee. You're going to be ok," Caretaker murmured as they started to reach for Whumpee again.

"Clear!" The paramedic said as they pressed the paddles to Whumpee's chest. Caretaker quickly yanked their hand back to avoid being shocked.

Whumpee's body convulsed with the shock. The paramedic watched the monitor. "I'm going to shock you again, Whumpee. Your heart rhythm isn't quite where it should be."

Whumpee nodded weakly, blinking their eyes slowly. "Clear!" the paramedic said as they deployed the paddles once more.

Caretaker held their breath as they watched Whumpee's body move. The monitor continued with the same sound, the same warning alarm that Whumpee's heart wasn't cooperating.

"Clear!" the Paramedic said again.

But as they started to deploy the paddles once more, Caretaker's stomach dropped as they heard the monitor let one continuous streak and the line that had been erratic mirroring Whumpee's heart beat became flat.

"Asystole," the paramedic called out, putting the paddles back onto the machine, "starting compressions."

Caretaker couldn't breathe around the terror gripping them as they watched the paramedic begin compressions on Whumpee. Couldn't breathe around the terror gripping them as the ambulance stopped, pulling into a med bay. Couldn't breathe around the terror gripping them as they stared into Whumpee's half lidded, empty eyes.

"Come on, breathe, Whumpee. Breathe, damn it!" The paramedic said as they continued to pound on Whumpee's chest.

Caretaker started to reach out to Whumpee, to take Whumpee's hand in theirs. Started to reach out to beg Whumpee to breathe, to stay with them. Started to reach out to try and bring Whumpee back to them. But as their fingertips brushed Whumpee's, the door to the ambulance swung open and they were swarmed by the medical team.

Whumpee was wheeled away from them before they could say or do anything. Wheeled away with the medic still performing CPR. Wheeled away to somewhere Caretaker couldn't go.

Caretaker began to sob as they realized Whumpee might be gone. Might be gone to somewhere permanently. Might be....dead.

Caretaker jumped as a nurse put a hand on their shoulder. "Caretaker," they said softly, "let's take a look at you."

"They....they need help," Caretaker whispered, unable to say the words that they feared were true.

"Whumpee has a great medical team looking after them. Let's get you looked at and then I can find out how Whumpee's doing, is that ok?"

"Whumpee....Whumpee needs me. Please, they need me. I need them." Caretaker started forward to try and follow, but the nurse's hand on their shoulder made them stop.

"Whumpee has all the medical team they need. You need to be looked at. Let the doctors do their job with Whumpee. And let me help you. Then I'll look in on Whumpee, ok?" Their voice was calm and soothing.

But Caretaker didn't want to be soothed. Whumpee had been hurt because of them. Had continued to be hurt because of them. They hadn't been able to do anything to help Whumpee. Hadn't been able to get help, escape, or save Whumpee.

And now....And now, Whumpee's heart had stopped beating. Whumpee was.....dead.

"Please, they can't die. Please. Don't let them die," Caretaker said, tears streaming down their face.

"We won't let them die, Caretaker. We're working on bringing them back. Now let's take a look to make sure you're ok."

[fairyniceyeah]

💎🤘🏼Day 30: "Breathe, damn you."

Shock/Asphyxiation/Emergency Room

@juneofdoom

Part One: Day 18: "I'm fine."

Day 29: "I'm so cold."

Summary: Vernon’s allergic reaction scares the Hip Hop Team.

CW: mentions of emeto, CPR

Whumpee: HipHop Unit

Caretaker: HipHop Unit

Mingyu clutched Wonwoo’s hand as he watched the paramedics lift their youngest rapper on the stretcher. They had arrived with flashes and sirens and an air of hurry and worry about them that had Mingyu crying. Wonwoo barely seemed to be faring better - he had ducked away to throw up when the male paramedic had stuck a huge needle into their dongsaeng’s elbow.

“One of you can come with us”, the female paramedic called. Wonwoo let go of Mingyu and pushed him into her direction. No, Mingyu did not want to go with them, watch Vernon struggle more. It was hard to watch and, while he felt horrible about it, he would prefer to run away.

“You go with him”, Wonwoo called shakily, “I’ll take Coups-hyung’s car. I’ll call him too.”

Mingyu as if on autopilot followed the paramedic out of the door, throwing one last glance at his hyung whose t-shirt even was stained with their dongsaeng’s vomit after he had taken his hoodie off. The door of the ambulance fell shut and they drove off.

The male paramedic had already connected various devices to Vernon and there was the beeping sound of a heart-monitor. The numbers dancing across the screen made no sense to Mingyu but the paramedic seemed unhappy. Vernon was still unconscious, had been since they had realized that he was not throwing up because of his headache but because of a severe allergic reaction. Watching Vernon's lips and nail turn blue while a rash was developing all over his face and neck had been terrifying.

The awful sounds Vernon had made while vomiting and struggling to breathe would forever be ingrained into Mingyu’s brain. 

Mingyu was pulled from his thoughts as the paramedic cursed and started fiddling with some equipment. A loud ringing sound came from a machine.

“Shit”, the paramedic said forcefully and jumped up, professionally not caring that he was in a fast moving vehicle. That was when Mingyu saw a sight he never wanted to see again. Vernon was still, so awfully still. His chest didn’t move up and down and he didn’t make the wheezing sound anymore. 

The paramedic pushed some buttons on a machine, connected things to the IV in a matter of seconds. Then he leaned over Vernon and forcefully started pressing onto his chest - CPR. Vernon was … 

“Breathe, damn you”, Mingyu whispered, curling into himself and bringing his hands together in silent prayer. Please, just breathe.

The ambulance pulled into a stop and the doors were opened forcefully. Mingyu pressed himself to the inside of the ambulance and watched as they wheeled Vernon away, nurses and doctors rushing about. Only one nurse stayed behind, smiling encouragingly at Mingyu.

“Come on, honey”, she said, “they’ll take good care of your friend.”

Fifteen minutes later Wonwoo and Seungcheol rushed into the emergency room where Mingyu was about to pace a hole into the floor. Two managers trailed behind them, short of running themselves. Mingyu did not care at all that he was nearly ten centimeters taller than his leader - he threw himself into his arms so hard that Seungcheol stumbled a few steps back before regaining his balance.

“Hey, baby”, he whispered, holding onto Mingyu as tightly as Mingyu grasped at him. “How is he?”

“I don’t know, hyung”, Mingyu answered quietly, suppressing his tears, “they took him in as soon as we arrived. He … he wasn’t breathing.”

Saying the words suddenly made it much more real. Mingyu’s knees buckled under him and only Seungcheol’s hold on him prevented him from crashing onto the floor. With Seungcheol guiding him down it was more of a controlled fall.

Wonwoo knelt down beside them then too, silent tears trailing down his cheeks and staining his glasses. Seungcheol tucked him close so that both younger rappers were cradled against his chest - all on the floor in the middle of a random ER while fearing for their HipHop baby.

It took over two hours until a doctor entered the VIP waiting room. After a request from the managers they had been allowed to wait there out of the public’s eye. Seungcheol had been texting back and forth in their 95liner’s group chat, his hand shaking. Mingyu had been leaning his head on his shoulder, feeling mostly numb. Wonwoo, still his salt on his cheeks and lips, had fallen asleep from exhaustion on Mingyu’s lap, stretched out over the couch the three of them had fit themselves onto. They were too scared, too shocked by the sudden events to want space. 

How had a simple headache turned into a member nearly asphyxiating on their living room floor?

“Family of Chwe Hansol?”, the woman called and Mingyu’s and Seungcheol’s heads jerked upright. Wonwoo was still asleep so Mingyu gently shook his shoulder to wake him. Wonwoo blinked blearily but sat up quickly as soon as he saw the doctor. 

“Hansol-ssi is going to be just fine”, she said to them soothingly, seeing their worry. “He had an allergic reaction which turned into anaphylactic shock. We treated him with antihistamines and epinephrine and he’ll be just fine. We want to keep him overnight just in case but he should be fine to go home tomorrow. However, you should probably invest into at least one, if not multiple epi-pens in case of further reactions.”

“Thank you, seonsaeng-nim”, Seungcheol said hesitantly. “But … what is Hansol-ah allergic to? He never had a reaction before.”

“We did some tests and found out he is allergic to a variety of pollen and peanuts. Only the peanuts would have caused the anaphylaxis though. Did he ingest some today?”

Wonwoo blanched. “Maybe the cereal bar?”, he asked quietly, already blaming himself. 

Mingyu patted his pockets and indeed, he still had the wrapper of the cereal in his pocket. He held it out to the doctor who read it, nodding. “Yeah, that would do it.”

“It’s my fault?”, Wonwoo asked, looking faintly nauseous. Mingyu squeezed his hand.

“You didn’t know”, Seungcheol and the doctor said at the same time. 

“Nobody knew”, Seungcheol added. 

“Not even Hansol-ssi himself”, the doctor continued.

“Scary, I think we met a female version of you, hyung”, Mingyu whispered, acting a bit overdramatic. Bingo. Wonwoo managed a small smile as Seungcheol scoffed. The doctor just giggled.

“Hansol-ssi is asleep for now but I think I can sneak you three into his room for ten minutes. After that you’ll have to go home”, she said.

In their haste to get up, the three oldest rappers nearly tripped over themselves.

And seeing Vernon peacefully asleep, chest moving up and down and snoring a bit, made them all smile.

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

Notes: And that’s a wrap for June of Doom 2024! Thank you to everybody who stuck with me and read the fics! Thanks for every like, every comment and every reblog! You people are amazing 🩷

[autobot2001]

Echos of Silence

Author: Autobot2001 Genre: Fanfiction Fandom: Transformers Rating: T Warning: Poor mental health, panic attack, self-harm Pairing: None Description: Crosshairs silently struggles with Jamie being in the ICU again until it backfires on him. Ratchet doesn't help the situation.

Combining @juneofdoom day 19, 20, 23, 24, 25, 28 & 30.

Feeling his anxiety rising, Crosshairs had to go to one of the in-patient rooms to be alone. For the second time this year, Jamie is in the ICU because of her condition. Ratchet tried to assure Crosshairs and Drift that this isn’t a sign of something serious considering how often Jamie had a moderate flare-up after being poisoned. The chemical was working harder to kill Jamie. It’s still hard for Crosshairs and Drift to watch. Crosshairs didn’t expect to be affected like this. “This can’t be happening.”

Drift thought Crosshairs went to the bathroom, but twenty minutes in there is concerning. Seeing the bathroom door open and the receptionist saying Crosshairs didn’t leave adds to Drift’s concern. The only place left to search are the in-patient rooms. Drift thinks. It’s not good if he’s hiding in one of those rooms.

With Jolt busy with patients and Ratchet doing paperwork, Drift asks Jasmine to come with him to find Crosshairs and help if needed. “He won’t like that you found him,” Jasmine comments, “leave the door slightly open so I can listen. I can hear if you need help.”

Drift inspects the last room. Hearing sobbing worries him. While Drift goes into the room, Jasmine remains in the hallway as planned, showing concern for Crosshairs. Drift quietly sits next to Crosshairs. He’s careful not to startle the mech. “Crosshairs?” The sobbing mech hears Drift. He hates being found, but he hugs Drift and continues to sob. Drift feels Crosshairs tremble. Drift worries Crosshairs is thinking about how Jamie could decline further and is panicking rather than was trying to hide his sadness. Drift realizes that Crosshairs is having a panic attack about Jamie possibly declining. Drift pointing out he needs to stop neglecting his emotions Drift worries about how quickly the situation deteriorated. He thought Crosshairs was only upset, but this turns into a panic attack, leading Drift to worry about what Crosshairs is thinking. He feels Crosshairs’ rapid heartbeat.

Jasmine sees enough of what’s going on, uncertain if she should intervene. I don’t think this is him acting like he’s ok is backfiring. Jasmine believes. He’s remembering the nightmare situation.

Drift isn’t sure what to say. He too worries Jamie could decline. Drift hates reassurance isn’t possible, but he needs to get Crosshairs to calm down. Hoping to be successful without getting Jasmine.

Crosshairs takes ten minutes to calm down. He relaxes in Drift’s hug. This panic attack adds to Drift’s concern that Crosshairs continues to act ok for him. With Crosshairs calm, Jasmine leaves the two alone.

The two mechs walk out of the room twenty minutes later. As they walk by the three offices, Ratchet stops them and tells them to step into his office. Ratchet’s conversation concerns Jasmine.

“You need to stop doing this,” Ratchet begins. “Ratchet, don’t —,” Jasmine urges. “No, he needs to realize neglecting his emotions is not good for him or Drift. How the frag is Drift watching you panic after who knows how long of keeping quiet helping him?! All you’re doing is neglecting your emotional well-being!” Drift has had enough at this point. He pulls Crosshairs up from his chair and leads him out of Ratchet’s office and out of the medbay. “I know his decision to keep quiet isn’t helping anyone, but now wasn’t the time to say anything,” Jasmine argues and leaves the office.

Drift leads Crosshairs to The shared bedroom. The two sit on the couch. The silence bothers Drift. “Crosshairs? Say something.” Crosshairs’ blank expression worries Drift. Ratchet went too far. Drift believes. Even if he’s right, shouldn’t have lectured Crosshairs. Drift isn’t sure what to do. Even in the centuries of war, he’s never seen Crosshairs like this. Drift: Jasmine, there’s a problem. Drift is worried about what Crosshairs could be thinking. He’s uncertain of how Jasmine can assist but desires her presence.

Jasmine can’t believe what she’s seeing. She sees why Drift is concerned. We might have to get Rung. Jasmine believes. “Crosshairs? It’s me, Jasmine. You’re ok.” Jasmine is also worried about Drift’s anxiety at seeing Crosshairs like this. She is careful while trying to get Crosshairs to respond to her.

Jasmine had to get Rung involved. The events trouble the psychiatrist. Noting he’ll have to talk to Ratchet later and in a few days. Also, he’ll need to get both Crosshairs and Drift to talk to him. The three don’t realize that in place of Crosshairs feeling emotionally numb, he thinks about what Ratchet says, worried about losing most of his family. He worries only Lightning will be with him since she’s his sister while Drift And Jamie are his friends that he considers family. “He’ll be all right, but I think staying here until dinner is wise,” Rung tells Drift. Jasmine and Rung leave. Crosshairs and Drift sit in silence. Crosshairs continues to think about Ratchet’s lecture. “Please don’t leave me,” Crosshairs suddenly says. Drift looks at Crosshairs, confused. He sees the fear in Crosshairs’ eyes. Ratchet should’ve let me talk to Crosshairs when he’s in a better state. Drift realizes. “We’ve been friends for centuries, I’m not going anywhere.” Drift hugs Crosshairs, feeling him tremble. He needs to get Crosshairs to relax. Drift lies on the couch and pulls Crosshairs on him. Ensuring Crosshairs’ head is on his chest. He suspects Crosshairs will find this action weird once relaxed, but Drift knows this works.

Drift gets dinner rather than he and Crosshairs going to the cafeteria. Crosshairs turns on the TV. He is relieved to be proven wrong about his concern about Crosshairs not eating. The two watch TV and eat dinner. Drift is unsure of what to talk about but dislikes silence. This adds to his concern about Crosshairs.

Drift leaves Crosshairs alone to take care of the dishes in the kitchen downstairs. Crosshairs watches TV for a few minutes until he needs to use the bathroom.

As Crosshairs washes his hands, he looks in the mirror. Feeling anger about how Drift saw him weak. He knows Drift worries about Jamie and now Drift is worried about him. To him, he failed to protect Drift. Even if they’re not in battle. Out of anger, Crosshairs punches the mirror with his right hand. The glass shatters and goes on the counter and floor. Tears roll down his face, but not from pain. Crosshairs sits on the couch, ignoring he’s bleeding.

Drift walks into the shared bedroom, thinking Crosshairs would still be on the couch. “Crosshairs!” Drift panics seeing Crosshairs where he thought, but his hand is bleeding. Drift sees the broken glass from the mirror. Crosshairs is in tears. Drift doesn’t think it’s the pain from the cuts. I’d rather he broke a glass cup again. Drift thinks as he gets his first aid kit capsule and opens it on the coffee table. Drift uses local anesthesia before knowing what he’s dealing with. He has Crosshairs lie on the couch. He hates he can’t comfort his friend, but he needs to take care of Crosshairs’ hand. Drift waits two minutes before he works on stopping the bleeding and cleaning Crosshairs’ hand. After stopping the bleeding and cleaning Crosshairs’ hand, Drift notices three cuts that require stitches. He’s relieved to know how to stitch cuts. He wants to inform Jasmine about the situation but doesn’t feel like dealing with Ratchet.

Once Drift stitches up the cuts, he applies bandage strips over each cut and wraps Crosshairs’ hand in gauze and adhesive bandage to secure the gauze wrap. “Done,” Drift tells Crosshairs and begins cleaning up. He didn’t think Crosshairs would want to visit Jamie, “tomorrow. I think sleep will be good for you.” Crosshairs sighs. He gets up and gets his pajamas from his closet. Drift cleans up the glass from the mirror while Crosshairs gets changed. Crosshairs could leave without Drift, but he knows Drift is worried about him. Crosshairs is also tired.

Crosshairs gets into bed. He feels sadness as he covers himself with the blankets on his bed. Not only because of what he made Drift deal with today, but Crosshairs feels that the nightly routine is ruined since Jamie is in the medbay, even if he and Drift were watching TV like the three friends do every night. Often with their other friends.

Crosshairs is asleep when Drift goes to bed himself. He too is tired. He worries about how Crosshairs will be tomorrow morning.

Crosshairs is quiet the next morning, troubled by the events of yesterday. Drift knows Crosshairs is thinking about how he failed to act ok for him. “You need to stop acting ok for me,” Drift says as he takes Crosshairs’ wrapped hand, “I don’t like it and you hurt yourself.” Drift hugs his friend.

While Crosshairs takes a shower — with his wrapped hand protected from the water — Drift starts agroup chat with the twins and Lightning, telling them what happened yesterday and not to say anything. They all hope the other Autobots won’t ask what happened. Sunstreaker: can I scold Ratchet? Drift: I suspect Jasmine did yesterday. Drift knew Crosshairs would want to visit Jamie. The two would after breakfast.

The twins, Lightning and Lily, see how yesterday affected Crosshairs. This isn’t the mood they expected even with Jamie in the ICU. The four don’t ask if they can join Crosshairs and Drift in the medbay. They know the depressing scene.

Crosshairs and Drift enter the ICU room where Jamie is. Without realizing it, they are being observed by the three medics. Jasmine told Jolt and Ratchet what had happened yesterday, including what Crosshairs did to his hand. “I told you that shouldn’t have scolded him,” Jasmine says, “Drift would have talked to him when he felt it was appropriate.” Ratchet goes to talk to Drift.

Before he can say anything, he watches Crosshairs, sitting on a chair, stroking Jamie’s hair with his left hand. Drift stands beside him. He puts a hand on Crosshairs’ shoulder. He looks to see Ratchet standing by the door. He lies about why he needs to leave the room.

Drift follows Ratchet to his office where Jasmine and Jolt await.

“What?” Drift snaps. Drift’s continued anger towards Ratchet isn’t surprising to Jolt and Jasmine. “I’m sorry,” Ratchet apologizes. He looks at Jasmine, “I should have listened to you.” Ratchet feels guilt. “Crosshairs needs to stop acting ok. I don’t think your lecture is all that set him off,” Jolt suspects, “but was part of it.” “No, this is Crosshairs. We’re partners in battle but he’d do his best to protect me, but not to where I’m not taking part in battle,” Drift explains, “to my knowledge, he never hid emotional struggle. Being Jamie’s guardian and friend has brought on new challenges. Crosshairs thinks he’s protecting me by acting ok, but it always backfires. I’ve told him countless times not to do this, but he doesn’t listen.” “That’s still not good for him. Add his anger because you found him struggling,” Jolt adds, “the challenge is to get him to stop doing that. We’ve been telling him for five years now.” “I’ll figure something out,” Drift tells the three medics and leaves the office.

Drift enters the room and finds Crosshairs still beside the bed. Until Crosshairs hears the door close. Crosshairs stands up and hugs Drift. “I’m sorry.” “You need to stop acting like you’re ok. I can’t stand that, and you know it. You’re hurting yourself more than me. I worry about you lashing out at Jamie. You’ll likely face consequences if you lash out at anyone, but you know how bad it’ll be if you lash out at Jamie.” “I know,” Crosshairs sighs, “I’m supposed to protect both of you.” “That doesn’t mean act like nothing troubles you until you can’t.” Drift moves the other chair by the bed. They sit, holding Jamie’s hand in theirs.

[inevitablemoment]

June of Doom 2023: Day 30

Word Count: 584

Warnings: Post-traumatic stress disorder, past buried alive, captivity, claustrophobia, panic attacks, brief mention of post-partum depression

Fandom: Murdoch Mysteries

Pairings: William Murdoch x Julia Ogden

I know that I dropped the ball with all of the other prompts, but when I saw what Day 30 it, it fit so perfectly with what I had in mind for this little snippet that I came up with after watching the Season 16 finale of Murdoch Mysteries.

Enjoy!

————————

The last thing that Julia Ogden remembered as she awoke with a gasp was this shock going through her very core, like she had been struck with a bolt of lightning.

No... she could still remembering the voice of Mathilda Crisp threatening her and William... and possibly Susannah.

An entire crime orchestrated-- a man's death fabricated.

And... Mathilda and her father needed her and William for... for something.

Julia's head whipped towards William-- he seemed to have been awake for quite some time before her.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"I don't know," William answered in a shaky voice-- something that she hadn't heard since Frank Rhodes had poisoned him.

The first thing that Julia noticed about where they were was that it was small. Wooden.

Like a coffin.

She thought that she could feel it jerk the both of them around.

"Are we moving?"

Julia moved to her feet on her trembling legs.

Memories of darkness and burning lungs hit her like she was kicked in the chest.

 No... no, this can't be happening again! Please, God, don't let this happen again!

Julia couldn't stop herself from beginning to scream and pounding at the walls enclosing her and her husband. "HELP! HELP!"

Strong, callused hands carefully grasped her forearm. Her chest, already tight as a drum, clenched further into her heart with fear before she heard a familiar voice.

"Julia."

The voice of someone that, in the span of a few seconds, she had forgotten was there.

"Julia," William gently urged as she turned to face him. "Save your strength. My guess is whoever put us in here doesn't care much to help us."

 "HELP! WILLIAM, HELP! HELP!"

Her lungs were burning and her heart was racing against her chest even as it pressed against it like a mechanical vise. Her stomach was churning violently, like choppy sea waters during a violent storm.

Her eyes began to burn as well, as she thought of Susannah...

She wasn't even a year old yet...

"Will-- William..." she choked out. "I-- I can't breathe..."

She knew what this was.

It had happened to her before, all throughout her life. But it hadn't been until she was treating a patient for postpartum depression that she realized that she wasn't the only one.

It didn't help her feel like any less of a burden for it.

"Julia... Julia, I need you to look at me..."

William.

She looked back up into his face.

It was amazing how much time had passed, she thought in an attempt to try to distract herself.

Sixteen years, eight of them married.

She looked into his soft, amber brown eyes, noticing the slight wrinkles around them that again reminded her of the passage of time.

"Just take a breath?" he instructed. "Just breathe..."

Julia took a deep inhale through her nose, exhaling through her mouth.

"Good... again..."

She repeated William's instructions, beginning to feel her heartbeat slowing back down. Her chest still felt tight and her stomach was still churning. As the tears that formed in her eyes finally escaped down her face, she thought that she could feel the circles forming under her eyes as she leaned against William.

His strong arms wrapped around her waist, rubbing her back soothingly with one hand and the other reaching up to stroke her hair.

"We'll figure out how to escape," he promised. "And we'll get back to Susannah."

Julia took another deep breath. "I... I hope."

No, she amended in her mind. We will.

[its-my-whump]

June of Doom 2023 in a bloody poem

Sorry, it's kind of dorky, but I really enjoyed writing it :-)

So many whumpees have to suffer through our pen,

we make them hurt and will do so again and again.

We stab them and burn them in glee,

let them endure. Hardly set them free.

So cruel, so mean. Whumper tortures and lies.

Simultaneously brings us the whumperflies.

We hunt them merciless or let them drown in the sea.

The own skin is tingling and the heart jumps happily.

Whumpee is broken and bloody, beaten or in a cage.

Can't help myself, when they need to resuscitate.

In the real world, can't stand gore, vomit and spit.

But here, I'm intrigued and can't get enough of it.

Out there, all of this would be horrible and would go much too far.

But please, let them chock a bit longer, only than give them cpr.

The best whumpee is dirty, desperate and in agony.

But let's be nice, let them suffocate alone or in company.

We knife and chock them, let them dehydrate.

Sometimes they're rescued, sometimes it's too late.

When whumpees are chained, alone in the basement weeping and crying.

When they are slurring exhausted, those whumperflies are definitely flying.

30 days of endurance, caretaking and pain are summoning,

More blood, torture and hurt, will hopefully soon be coming.

Next time maybe we'll punch more, care more and will be cutting more slow.

We'll make them hurt again for sure, but unfortunately June of Doom is over for now.

[snaillamp]

JOD - day 30

And we are done! Day 30 is here!! Thak you all for reading and enjoying my works! <3

************************************************************************

Masterlist

Day 30: “Are you scared yet?” | Buried Alive | Failed Escape | Denial |

Jay turned the car stereo louder. The doors almost vibrated with the amount of bass that emanated from speaker. “Bro. Shut the fuck up.” Bridgette turned it back down to a bearable level of noise, causing Jay to stick his bottom lip out in an exaggerated pout.

“You’re no fun.” He whined as they drove into the misty darkness. “Dude, it’s literally 1 am. Last thing I wanna do is make a bad impression on the neighbours.” Bridgette stared out into the darkness. Jay scoffed, breaking her attention from it. “Dude, it’s literally miles from anywhere, everyone here is probably practically a geriatric. Mean, look at ya Pops? He was what, 107?” Bridgette rolled her eyes, sighing. “He was 92. And I didn’t ask for this, so yeah, I’m trying to to take what I can get. Fresh start ’n shit.” 



Jay glanced at her properly, his voice suddenly serious. “So you’re really going to do it? You’re gonna move out here with nothing and start over? Are you scared yet?” He reached over as tears began to form in Bridgette’s eyes, squeezing her arm sympathetically. “I hate to say it, but I couldn’t have received his will at a better time.” Bridgette mumbled. “I never knew him well, but I guess he never forgot me. It’s not like he had anyone else to give everything to. Then again all he left me was an address…”

She glanced out the window again. “And getting away from Darryl… That’s the most important thing. I’m done with that asshole.” She wrung her wrists anxiously as Jay turned the final corner, unveiling her new home for the first time.


She had been a couple times as a kid, but didn’t really have any memories of it, other than a couple of vague ones. She could remember running along the beach on a cold, grey day, squealing like a pig, and lying on a rug watching an ancient TV. She was probably… ‘Jesus Christ, I have no idea how old I would have been.’ She thought to herself.

The car drove past the small sign, barely visible under grass and weeds.

Blackcliffe - est. 1911

“Soooo. What even is this place?” Jay mused, looking at the old street lamps costing their orange glow onto the road. “Blackcliffe? Was an old whaling town back in the day I think. Then when that stopped happening I think it became a forestry village, with like, fishing and shit too. Maybe even a little sliver mining? I don’t really know, to be honest.” 


Jay nodded skeptically as the steered the car through the empty streets. The road was cracked and torn, the houses sleepy and covered in moss and climbing vines. “Wow, this place is a dump.” Jay muttered, looking at the dark windows of the houses. Many were smashed in and boarded up, others had mouldy curtains or flags hanging from them.

“Jay! Sure it’s not the suburbs, but I’m sure it’s fine. Don’t talk ‘bout that stuff here, word‘ll get around.” Bridgette ran her hand through her hair nervously. Jay was her best friend but god she wanted to strangle him sometimes. “I have to live with the conseque-” “Okay, okay. I wasn’t trying to be rude, but you know I’m right.” Jay lifted his fingers from the wheel in surrender. “Where am I going now?” He stopped at an intersection.



“Right, then left on the next street. Should be called Wharf Street or some shit.” Bridgette pulled the scrap of paper from her pocket, squinting at it in the crumpled light. “Yeah, Wharf Street. We’re looking for Laverne Avenue though. Should be after Wharf and Pier.” Jay nodded, his eyes glowing in the light, the rest of his face cast in shadow. He glanced across the street before moving the car, driving down the barren, amber lit road.

They turned into the correct street, being met with a cul-de-sac. The house the were looking for was an old weatherboard, once painted blue, but now only small remnants of that remained. The house was covered in moss, vines, mould and rotted planks. The front lawn hadn’t been mowed in a long time, meaning the wildflowers and grasses were the only thing waving welcome to the car as it pulled up. “Oh…” Bridgette mumbled, shocked at the state of the house. “We can get a motel…” Jay began, but she shook her head, getting out of the car. “No. It’s too late. Besides we’re here now…”

Jay groaned, getting out of the car and walking to the back of the car, where Bridgette was out pulling her suitcase. “Bridge, that place looks like a literal death trap. It’s rotten, full of mould and probably asbestos. Hell, the walls‘ll fall in it the wind blows too hard.” Bridgette shot Jay a look. “You’ll get mould poisoning. That shit kills you know!” Jay called after her, but she was already dragging her suitcase through the grass to the front door.

He groaned again, following her in.

 Bridgette shoved the key into the old door handle, turning it around. It opened with a ‘thunck’, before she pushed the door open. It didn’t move far. Bridgette pushed again. “Jay.” She glanced back, shoving the door lightly, to show him it was stuck. He sighed, walking to her side and pressing on the door. “Oh no.” He pressed on it hard, grunting as his muscles strained. “Think ya Pops… Was a fuckin’…” he grunted as Bridgette helped him push, “-hoarder.” They both gasped as the door gave in, sending whatever was in front of it crashing down into the void.

Something glass smashed as the overwhelming scent of cat piss and feet filled their noses, making Jay gag, turning and doubling over. “Jesus Christ. Bridge ya can’t-“ He wretched. “Ya can’t stay ‘ere.” He coughed staggering back.

“Quit being over dramatic, dummy. It’ll fade once we air it out.” Jay looked exasperated, “Yeah, if we can even get in to open a fucking window. Jesus Bridgette, I get you’re desperate, but stay at my place. This house‘ll kill you before Darryl will.” He made a face, realising he’d gone too far. “I’m sorry I didn-”

Bridgette exploded. “You know what Jay? Thanks for the lift. Really. But I’m not gonna make you hang around a place you *clearly* don’t want to be!” She realised she she was shouting a second too late. A dog in distance started barking and the light of the house on their left flicked on. Jay and Bridgette stared at it as a voice hushed the dog, before a young woman emerged. 
She was wearing a hugely oversized black t-shirt with some metal band logo slapped across it and slides with socks. Her black hair was tied up loosely with a messy ponytail, streaks of deep blue shimmering in the orange light. Bridgette felt her breath hitch.

“Can you two, like, shut the fuck up. It’s 2 am.” Bridgette blushed harder than she had ever blushed before, partly flustered, partly embarrassed. “Uh, I- I’m so sorry, I just…” Jay made a quick face, sliding in to save Bridgette’s pathetic attempt at an apology. “Sorry. We’re really tired after a long trip, so we’ll be going now.” Mumbling from the side of his mouth, he grabbed Bridgette’s hand. “Come on, Bridgette, lets get inside.”

The woman grunted, rolling her eyes and turning on her heel. “Keep it down assholes.” Bridgette felt her heart pounding in her ears as Jay chuckled, leading her towards the door. “Thanks…” She whispered, looking up at Jay who was smirking wickedly. “You’re pathetic.” He whispered. 

Looking at the door, he pushed it open a little more, before squeezing into the house. He grunted, his taller frame not fitting very well into the gap. “Should’a given up… body building… ‘m too… swole…” He joked as he finally managed to sandwich himself through the door. Bridgette giggled, “Yeah, sure buddy.” She squeezed herself in as well.

There was a bookshelf of something blocking the entrance near the doorway, so they had to thread themselves between the wall and behind thing to actually get in. 

The moon shined in through a window, or what window was peeking out from behind books, magazines and random junk. Jay stubbed his toe on something hard, yelping as he stumbled back, crashing into a precariously stacked tower of books. “No no no no!” He fumbled to steady them, but they fell, causing him to crouch and shield his head. Books clattered down onto his shoulders, making him wince.

“Fucking hard covers.” He rubbed his shoulder as he stood. 

Bridgette burst out laughing at the sight of the stocky man rubbing his shoulder. “Defeated by a pile of books? I thought you would be swole enough to fend them off?” Jay shot her a sarcastic glare, “It was a tower of books and they have sharp corners, miss I can’t talk to women.” He stuck his tongue out at her, putting his hands on his hips. Bridgette scowled, “Hey!” Jay shrugged, “Am I wrong?” “No…..” Jay ran his hand through his hair, humming. “So where we gonna sleep, madam? Can always stay in my car you know?” He wiped his nose, sniffing as the decades of dust they dust they had disturbed finally made it to his eyes and nose.



Bridgette waded through the trash, feeling the floorboards bend and flex as she moved. She hoped to god they weren’t rotten, but deep down she knew they probably were. “Don’t know, guess in here?” She followed the vague trail of books and trash through to the kitchen. It was equally piled up with rubbish and had stuff that had probably once been slimily dripping down the walls mummified into a crust on the wallpaper. It smelled like faeces, mould and a faint dripping sound was coming from somewhere. “When did dear ol’ Pops die? The late Jurassic?” Jay mumbled, pulling the collar of his shirt over his nose. He looked a little ill.

“Girl. You’re crazy if you wanna stay here. I feel like I’ll get tetanus if I look at something. This place is a fucking biohazard.” He tapped a wall, hearing for an echo. Something inside skittered away. “Eugh.” He moaned.

Bridgette continued through, but the house was a wreak. The thing was a two bedroom, one bathroom, midcentury dream, but now it was in ruins. “I think you’re right Jay… I’ll call a motel in the morning, I’ll pay for it don’ worry.” She took in a shaky breath.

Jay melted a little, wading through the crap to wrap her in a hug. 

Bridgette sobbed into his chest as he wrapped his big arms around her, squeezing her tight. He rocked her from side to side, like he always did, hushing her. Grabbing his shirt in her hands, Bridgette bunched it up, holding onto it for dear life. “E-e-everyth-th-thing is… is… is.. go-going wr-wrong-ng.” She sobbed, leaning hard into Jay’s ribs. Breathing deep, she could smell his cologne, some pine forest scent or something stupid. She loved that dumb smell.

She could hear his heart beating as he shushed her, the sound of his voice making his chest vibrate as he spoke up. It was comforting to hear and feel, it made her feel safe, just like always. “Bridge, this isn’t your fault.” He rested his chin on her head as she shook against him. “Let’s get some sleep ’n then we can figure it out in the morning, hmm?” He rubbed her back with his hand, drawing comforting circles between her shoulders until her sobs began to calm.

“Ready to head back out?” He asked, looking down at her. He smiled as she looked up at him, nodding quietly. “Okay. Come on baby girl.” Bridgette sniffed, “‘m not a baby…” She mumbled. “But you’re my baby…” Jay argued back, pulling at his shirt. “Only babies sob all over their best friend’s shirts.” Bridgette playfully slapped him on the arm, before grabbing onto it, hugging him as he made his way through the mess. “You know, it’s kinda difficult to get around with a koala on my arm?” He looked back at Bridgette, before glancing at his arm. “So-sorry.” She stuttered, letting go.

They made it back out, going back to the car. Jay opened the back door, waiting for Bridgette to get in. 

“No I’ll sleep in the front it’s okay.” She insisted, but Jay walked over to her and guided her in. “I’ll sleep in the front. You take the back, you need it.” He opened the back of the car, pulling an old blanket from it, before draping it over Bridgette’s shoulders. “G’night Bridge.” He patted her shoulder, the chain around his neck hanging down above her face as he leaned over her.

She smiled, snuggling down as she heard the door shut, before Jay got in the driver’s seat, sighing as he leaned back. Within a few minutes, he was asleep, the sounds of his breaths making Bridgette feel calm as she listened to them. There was no way she would be able to sleep. Not after everything that had happened that day.

Jay woke with a groan, slouched over gearbox. He wiggled his shoulders, trying to get the stiffness out of them. He had always hated sleeping in cars, but this had been worth it. Anything to get his best friend away from that monster. He hadn’t realised how much pressure she’d been under until she broke down on him last night. He glanced at his black shirt, slightly smeared with makeup where she had cried. “Fuck, Bridge. What are we gonna do?” He glanced up, staring out his window as a bump sounded against his door. 



He opened it, seeing a happy little tan coloured mutt sniffing at it. It looked up with its’ shining eyes gleaming with wonder, as it put its’ front paws on Jay’s lap. “Hello baby! Who are you?” Jay asked in his baby voice, as the dog jumped up at him, trying to lick his face. “Oh, you are definitely a boy!” Jay exclaimed as the dog managed to get its’ paws on Jay’s shoulders.

“Griz! Ge’down!” A voice ordered. Griz turned his head and bounded back towards it. Jay chuckled, brushing the fur from his clothes. “I’m definitely going to need a laundromat.” He looked up at the sound of a whistle, seeing the woman from last night point at the ground. Griz sat obediently as her feet, as she ruffled his pointy ears. “Aww, good boy. Stay. Uh! Staaay. Good boy.” She turned to Jay, walking over to him with a slight scowl. 

“Morn’.” Jay nodded in acknowledgement, grunting as he eased himself from the car. The woman nodded back.

“Sorry ‘bout that little shithead. Hasn’t got ‘ny manners yet, little furry dipshit.” Jay smirked. “Eh, ’s fine. I was gonna have a laundry day ‘nyway.” He reached out to shake her hand, painted with neat black nail polish. “Jay.” The woman looked at him, taking in his features. “‘Kay.”She shook his hand once, before turning back to check her dog was where she’d left him. Nodding when he was, she turned back around. “So what’s the deal ‘ere? Ya moving into ol’ Jackie’s place. Fucking bastard. Guy used to be sweet, then one day he became a sour old bag, then fucked off somewhere, never seen again...” She glared at the house.

Jay looked around, slightly desperately for Bridgette. 

“Nah, I’m just the wheels. Bridgette is the one who’s moving in, though I don’t know how that’s gonna go… Place is a mess.” The woman nodded, “Yeah. Jackie was a fuckin’ prick. Didn’t look after shit. Finally died when his mess smashed his skull in. Can’t say I didn’t think he didn’t deserve it.” She sniffed, wiping her nose. “Where’s the girlfriend then?” She gestured with her head, a sliver of blue hair falling around her face from the pony tail. She tucked it behind her ear. “I have no idea…” Jay trailed off, looking around a little more for Bridgette. “I’d better track her down. Nice meeting you! Oh, ’n sorry ‘bout last night, uhh…” He trailed off, waiting for the woman to tell him her name.

“Sash.” She spun on her heel, whistling as Griz ran to her side, giddy with excitement about the walk. “Cya!” Jay called after her, but she didn’t look back.

He decided to go and look for Bridgette. “Bridge! Hey! Where are you?!” He glanced around, peeking into the house. Nothing.



Making his way around the side of the house, he found a large wooden fence, or at least what was left of it. He shoved a plank aside and squeezed through the gap that had clearly been recently ripped open. “Bridge?” Jay called out again, the silence making his skin prickle. “Over here!” Bridgette’s voice came from a shed, a small, dilapidated metal thing, rusted and practically falling over.

The grass around Jay was waist high as he walked through it, keeping a nervous eye out for snakes. He made it to the shed, peeking in. Bridgette was standing inside holding a rusted shovel. “Hey, do you think this’ll break?” She asked, holding it out. 

Jay frowned, taking it. “Don’t know. Why?” He gripped it in his hands, hearing the wooden pole crack as he bent it slightly. “I wanna get shit out of the back door, that way we can dump it in the yard and just truck it away. We can use that.” She pointed at the shovel, as Jay squinted, before snapping it in half. “Yeah, I don’t think so. We can buy new shit, but I think we’d make more progress with a box of matches.”


He glanced up at Bridgette who was scowling. “Jay! Quit it. I want to live here!” Jay did a double take. “You *want* to live here? Yeah, that’ll do you wonders.” Bridgette made a pleading face as Jay dumped the old shovel on the ground. “Fine. But we have to do it safely. Get masks and fucking hazmat suits ’n shit. You’ll get asbestosis if you even get a whiff of the place, ’n think of the mould and-” Bridgette interrupted him by walking up and shoving him playfully. “Okay, okay, we can do that.” 

Jay made an exaggerated annoyed face, “Yeah, except you’re buying.”

He glanced up. “Oh, and I met your neighbour. The pretty one from last night. She seemed thrilled about your old Pops. And her dog is cute too I guess. Oh,” His next thought was a more sarcastic one. “-and I don’t think she likes us. The exact opposite I think.”  Bridgette looked a little forlorn. “Oh come on. You’ll win her over with your tantalising charm and quick whit.” Jay joked, taking her hand as she climbed from the crowded shed. “Do you think?” Jay nodded, “Yeah. I think. Unlike you. But I’m sure it’ll be fine. Let’s just try not to piss her off anymore than we already have.”


Bridgette stared at the shovels, deciding which one to buy. Money was tight, so she had to make this work. Picking the cheaper shovel, she grabbed two and took them to the counter. The old man behind it looked up, before slowly punching in some numbers into an ancient electrical cash register. He pushed up his glasses, before fumbling the cash Bridgette handed him into the draw, struggling to grab the change with his shaking hands.

The door bell rang as Jay walked back through, two coffees in hand. “And for you madam.” He bowed dramatically. Bridgette went beet red as she took the coffee, before gently hitting Jay’s head. “Get up, stupid.” The old man chuckled, handing her the shovels. “You two make a very cute couple.” Jay shot up, also going red. “Oh, no we-“ “We aren’t-” They both stuttered, before grabbing the shovels and hurrying from the store.

Arriving back at the house, they began shovelling shit from the front entrance. The day as hot and a couple of hours in, they were both sweating as flies buzzed around them. “Fuck… this…” Jay panted, wrangling his sticky shirt from his body. Soon Bridgette did the same, and they continued shovelling for another hour, though it felt like three. Soon they were both collapsed in the front yard, dust masks cast into the long grass. Bridgette looked across at Jay, who was panting, a mark from the mask pressed into the skin of his nose and cheeks. “How much did we get out?” She mumbled, feeling light headed. Jay looked up at the door way. “I’d say entry room is about 10% finished.” His head dropped back to the ground as he sighed. “Wanna… get back to it?”

Bridgette sat up, grabbing her shovel and mask, before easing to her feet. She turned and helped Jay up before turning to the door and sighing. “Come on.” She walked to the doorway, shoveling the broken pieces of trash, papers and whatever else and dumping it in the front yard. Jay slid by her, shovel at the ready.

By the time the sun began to set they were both exhausted, but they had somehow managed to actually clear a space to walk. The main entry room which had at some point had a lounge and a TV on a table looked a little better.

The floorboards had bent and arched under the decades of waste, and Bridgette sighed, knowing that she would probably have to get them replaced, unless the building didn't pass an inspection. 

Jay walked in, grabbing the final heavy bookcase he could and hauling it outside onto the rapidly growing trash pile. “Honestly, I wanna set that on fire so bad.” He panted as he stuck his head around the door. The chain he wore around his neck was plastered to his skin as the golden light illuminated his sweat stained body and his hair was stuck against his scalp. Bridgette knew she didn’t look any better.

“No.” She crossed her arms, stating the obvious firmly. “We can’t do that.” “Why not? It’ll get the grass too, two birds, one stone.” Jay flashed a cheeky grin.

Entering the house, he looked around at the mouldy ceiling and floor. “You know, it would have been quite nice once upon a time.” He muttered, sitting on the floor. He immediately stood back up again as the floor sagged under his weight. “Uh, should it be doing that?” Bridgette sighed, shaking her head.

“No. The floor is fucked. I’m gonna have to get a job if I’m gonna replace it.” Jay pursed his lips, eyes flicking around the room as he thought. “Or, knock down the house, sell the land and use the money to buy a place. Surely that would be better… Bridge I don’t think this place is salvageable.” His voice grew deeper as he looked at her earnestly. “I’ll help out when I can, but this… It isn’t sustainable. At least stay with me while you figure it out. You’re always welcome on my couch and-” “Jay. Stop. I have to do this.” Bridgette glared at him.

He held up his hands in surrender. “Whatever. I’m gonna get food. Saw a fish and chip place in town, wanna see if it’s still open?” Bridgette shook her head. “I wanna keep going. At least get this a little emptier.” Jay shrugged, walking back to his car, before driving off. Bridgette sighed as she heard him leave. He was right, deep down she knew this couldn’t work. But she had to make it. She had to take back control after *he* took everything from her.

When the car returned, Jay looked out to see Sash walking over. She was wearing a different band T-shirt, still as big as ever, some basketball shorts and socks with slides. Her hair hung down her back, reaching her tailbone easily. It blew slightly in the wind as the last of the fading light made it flash streaks of blue. Getting out of the car, he grabbed the steaming fish as he walked down the driveway. “Heya.” He acknowledged with a nod, before walking through the door.

Bridgette had managed to clean a little more, but was standing, staring at a gaping hole in the wall. “Dinner, m’lady.” Jay held out the food, setting it on the footpath leading to the door. 

Bridgette turned, wiping a tear from her eye and walked forlornly over with a sniff. “What’s wrong?” Jay asked, his face creasing with concern. “The walls rotten. I don’t think I can save it.” She whispered in reply. Jay wrapped his arm around her as she sat in the front doorway and held her tight. “You’ll figure it out, Bridgette. I know you will.” His voice was quiet, but his tone made Bridgette feel calm. “Get something in ya.” He thrust a box in her lap. “House special. ‘parrently ’s pretty good.”

“It is.” 



The voice made them both look up. Jay glanced at Bridgette, who’s cheeks were burning red, as half a tarte sauce covered fish hung from her mouth. She quickly tried to save it, but ended up with sauce smeared on her face and hands and the fish dropping into her chips.

“Ofmgawb. Imf fo fowwy.” She stammered, mouth still full of fish. She held out her oily hand to shake Sash’s, who took one look at her dripping fingers and raised her eyebrow instead. “It’s fine.” She sank to the ground, resting her elbow on one knee and tucking the other under her. “Sash.” She nodded at Bridgette who was staring at her, mortified.

“Bwidg…” Bridgette swallowed, “Bridgette. Nice to meet you.” She wiped her hand on Jay’s knee “Hey!” He exclaimed. Bridgette reached over to shake Sash’s hand, this time managing to actually shake it. “Sorry about… everything. We are all a little tired.” She looked away, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“Eh, I get it. Lover’s quarrels happen all the time on this street.” Bridgette and Jay shot up straight. “Oh, we’re not together. He’s my best friend. Not my boyfriend. But-“ Sash interrupted her with laugher. Bridgette felt her heart skip a beat. This woman had the most amazing laugh and she was beautiful and cool and-

“Earth to Bridgette. This is Jay to Bridgette, do you copy? Krssht.” Jay spoke through his hand into her ear. Bridgette realised she had been staring at Sash, blinking as she came back to reality.

“Sash was asking what made you come all the way out here.” ‘Jay thank all that is holy for you saving that. Oh my god. Fuck that was embarrassing. Uh, shit what do I say.’ “Uhhhhhhhh, not much just inherited it and thought I’d finally have my own place ya know?”

There was a crunch as Jay bit into his fish. Only he knew the real reason for her packing in the middle of the night for this place. Her Poppa had died two years ago, but she just hadn’t gotten around to selling the house yet. Now, she was glad she had. Sash nodded, her face telling Bridgette that she knew it was a lie. “Right. How ‘bout ‘im?”  She nodded in Jay’s direction. “Oh, I’m just here to look pretty.” He replied, flashing a stupid smile.

Sash snorted, leaning between them to glance into the dark house. Her eyebrows raised, looking impressed. “Damn. You two really did a number on it, eh?” She looked a little sad. “It used to be so beautiful, but I guess where you live reflects who you are. Old bastard used to be nice, then he became rotten, just like his house.” Jay leaned forward, confused. “What do ya mean?”

“Ol’ Jackie used to let me stay over when my parents would fight. Used to love it, looking at all his old things ’n… He had these window hangings that would cast light across the floor and fluffy rugs…” Her face went dark as Bridgette spoke up.

“He got dementia. I had no idea he’d started hoarding. Not till I got through the door. Then again, it’s not like I ever came to check. Anyway, he wandered off a couple years ago and disappeared. No one ever found him, there were search parties and everything. The only reason we were notified he was missing was cause he hadn’t paid his water bill in a while…” She looked guilty as she scuffed her foot against the ground. “We assume he just got lost and…”

“You look like him, ya know.” Sash smiled at Bridgette. “Got his eyes. And his hair.” She stood, turning around. “See ya round, Bridgette.” She walked away, leaving Bridgette melting.

“Bro, you’re crushing so hard, right now.” Jay said biting his fish as he did, half to mask the comment. “Nooooooooo.” Bridgette gasped, nudging his arm. “Uh, you were starin’ all puppy dog eyes at her that whole time, dipshit.” Jay argued back, nudging her. “Aight. Let’s lock up ’n find that motel.”



The next three days, they worked to clean the house together. They managed to clean the entry room and half of the kitchen, even a little bit of the bathroom. They only had the two bedrooms and the laundry to go. On the fourth day, they were both completely dead. Jay took his usual spot in the front yard, the grass now crushed permanently to fit his shape. Bridgette sat fanning herself on the front doorway, before she stood up with a heavy sigh. A crow called cawed overhead. “I’m gonna keep going!” She called to Jay. “Cool! I’m gonna not.” He called back. Sash looked up from her yard at the yelling, rolling her eyes.

Bridgette filled the wheelbarrow they had found with junk from the main bedroom. Jay had found it shoved in the kitchen, an absolute blessing of a treasure to find. She walked into the room, her feet crunching on the ragged carpet. “Ugh, that is not a sound carpet should make.” She mumbled as she unloaded more junk into the wheelbarrow. There was a tower of precariously balanced stuff she was dismantling. ‘I should really get Jay to do this. He’s taller than me.’ She thought, half outlet as she stumbled to catch the debris falling on her.



Something snapped under her foot. She looked down, half expecting to have stepped on a dead rat, but she leapt back with a blood curdling scream when she saw what it was.

The piles of stuff crumbled on top of her, forcing her to the ground. She couldn’t move as decades of junk pinned her against the floor. The last thing she saw before everything went black was it.

Jay heard a scream emerge from the house. He bolted up like lightning, racing into the house the second he heard it. Sash looked over from her yard, running towards the house too.

Jay streaked through the house, panting. “Bridge?” He yelled. “BRIDGE!?” His voice cracked at the effort as he panted, rushing into the last room he knew she had been working on. His stomach dropped as he saw the pile of trash almost as high as the ceiling. Just visible under it was a single shoe. “Bridge…” Jay breathed, immediately grabbing junk and throwing it across the room. Before he realised, Sash was beside him, helping.

They glanced at each other as they moved in tandem, pulling off the mess as fast as they could. It felt like forever until they got half way, both of them panting as they moved the junk. “It’s been what, 3 minutes? Do you think she can breathe?” Jay gasped as he heaved a heavy old box off the pile. “Don’t… know… keep… going.” Sash replied. They finally reached the bottom, about 10 minutes later, working to push a small bookshelf off of Bridgette. She moved, gasping for breath as soon as it was off her.

Jay grabbed her, pulling her close to his chest as her fingers found the chain, gripping it tightly. “No, no, no, no…” She was mumbling. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here, Bridge. I’m right here.” Jay rocked her as he pressed her head into his chest, both of them shaking. “He was right there… He was right there…” She whispered, quaking in Jay’s arms. “Who? Darryl? Darryl has no idea you’re here Bridge. He will never see you again, I promise.” Jay murmured, stoking Bridgette’s hair.

“Who’s Darryl…?” Sash asked quietly. 

Jay kept rocking Bridgette, looking up at Sash who was staring at her feet. “Her ex. He was an abusive prick. She called me the night we came saying he’d…” Jay scowled, swallowing the words with anger. “I told her to pack her bag and that we were going. She told me about this place. We figured it would be the best place to hide until she got on her feet and-“



“I don’t think she was talking about Darryl…” Sash murmured, looking at Jay, before pointing at her feet. Jay leaned forward and gasped.

A mummified arm was sticking out from under a pile of trash.

“I think we found Jack.” Sash said, matter of factly.

Bridgette sat in a chair as a nurse fixed the cut on her face with steri-strips. She had emerged with a couple bruised rips and a hell of a lot of scrapes, but other than that, she had survived being buried alive in trash.

Jay was sat across from her, bouncing his knee nervously. He looked spooked. As they left the hospital, he wrapped her in a great big, crushing hug, sticking his face into the cork of her neck. “Ow, Jay. My ribs…” Bridgette gasped as Jay let her go. “Oh, sorry…” He looked away, wiping tears from his eyes. “I’m just so glad you’re okay. I thought, after everything… If I lost you like this?” He shook as Bridgette hugged him, squeezing his torso much lighter than him squeezed her. “I’ll manage. With you. I’ll be okay.” Jay hummed, looking down at her.

“I’m not letting you live there.” His tone was firm as watched the crew carry the bodybag from the house. “Jay, come on it was an accident.” Bridgette whined. “Yeah, and if Sash and I didn’t dig you out you’da gone the same way as your Pops. Come home with me. At least until we sort this out.” Bridgette shook her head. “I’m never going back there. I won’t risk your safety. Yours would be the first place he looks, if he hasn’t figured it out already.” Bridgette looked up at Jay, who ran his hand through his hair again. “I took two weeks off work, one is gone. I can spend another looking for a place with you. I won’t let you stay in that death trap.” 



“So stay with me.”



Sash’s voice appeared next to them. “Your grandfather saved me. I wouldn’t mind repaying the favour.” She nodded in the direction of the house. “Besides, I been livin’ by myself in that house my whole life, never had anyone, would be nice to ‘ave some company.” She smiled.

Bridgette went beet red, glancing at Jay, who wore an amused look on his face. “Hey, I won’t try to stop you.” He winked at her, making her blush even more. “O-okay…” She stuttered. Sash sidled up to Bridgette, sliding her arm around her waist. “Besides, you’re cute when you’re flustered.”

Jay smiled as he watched Bridgette giggle for the first time in a long time, truly happy. He stared at the sun setting in the sky, casting a golden light over the two girls. The end of an era, and the beginning of a new one. He let out a breath that he had been holding for years, she would finally be okay.

[kamryn1963]

Even though I totally ran out of any motivation for the last three days, I finished this! June of Doom 2024 complete.

[doomsayersunited]

A Decade Of Doom!

I started this blog ten years ago to compile the growing evidence that our planet would not longer be able to sustain human life by 2050, thanks to our continued, capitalist-fueled efforts to destroy all the systems we rely upon to sustain life. The first thing I put up here was this essay, on February 20, 2014. Now, a decade later, I thought it might be "fun" to look at what's changed: 1) Earth Overshoot Day

In 2014, "Earth Overshoot Day" (the day that humanity collectively consumes more resources from nature than it can regenerate over a year) was August 19th. Now, in 2024, Earth Overshoot Day is August 1st, 2.5 weeks earlier. At this rate and assuming things don't accelerate (even though they are likely to), Earth Overshoot Day will be around June 17th by 2050. 2) Biocapacity Biocapacity is the amount of resources contained on the planet required available to sustain life, measured by area. In 2014, I calculated that the planet had a biocapacity of 1.7 hectares per person. By dividing the total available biocapacity today in 2024 with the current global population as I did then, it now appears that there are just 1.5 hectares of planetary resources left per person to extract all the materials needed to sustain life, as well as all the area available to dispose of waste. That's a 12% loss over ten years. At that rate, we can expect to lose another 30% of biocapacity by 2050, going down to just 1.05 hectares per person by then, and that's assuming that the rate of biocapacity loss does not accelerate further and that the global population suddenly stops increasing after a run of non-stop increases spanning five centuries. Oh, also a reminder that the average human requires 2.7 hectares of land to sustain its current consumption habits/levels. So. 3) Individual Conservation To illustrate the futility of individual conservation at this point in the apocalypse, let me give you an example: If you were: a fully-vegan localvore living in a one-bedroom apartment with nine other people and using 100% renewably-generated electricity; who did not ever use motorized transportation of any kind or buy new clothing, furnishings, electronics, books, magazines, or newspapers and recycled all the waste you generated that was recyclable, you'd only require 1.4 hectares of biocapacity to sustain yourself. That is close to the kind of lifestyle extremism it would take to live sustainably. Deviate from that level of stoicism even slightly (say by living in a two-bedroom apartment with three other people instead of a one-bedroom apartment with nine other people and taking a single, four-hour roundtrip flight, once a year) and you're now consuming 1.6 hectares of biocapacity, which means you're using more resources than the world has available for you if everything was divided evenly among everybody. Of course, biocapacity, like all resources, are not divvied up evenly among everybody, which is why there are currently 114 different armed conflicts happening worldwide - the highest number of armed conflicts since 1946. 2023 was the most violent year in the last three decades. 4) Other Signs Of The End Times In my 2014 essay, I referenced the work of geologist Dr. Evan Fraser, who studies civilization collapse. In his book Empires of Food, Dr. Fraser noted common signs of a civilization about to collapse, which began to appear about two decades before it all goes completely to hell. Those signs were: -a rapidly-increasing and rapidly-urbanizing population We've added 700 million people to the planet since I began this blog in 2014. And where is everyone moving to?

-farmers increasingly specializing in just a small number of crops " "As farm ecosystems have been simplified, so too are the organisms that populate the farm.  A farm that specializes in a limited number of crops in short rotations does not, for example, look for plant varieties that do well in more complex rotations with intercropping.  A beef feedlot operation wants breeds that gain weight quickly on grain diets and does not want cattle breeds that digest well pasture grasses and thrive in all year outdoor environments on the range." The result? Recent estimates put the loss of global food diversity over the last 100 years at 75%. Over the 300,000 species of edible plants that exist, humans only consume about 200 of them in notable quantities, with 90% of crop plants not being grown commercially. -endemic soil erosion Climate change and the need to raise more crops have combined to increase the rate of agricultural soil erosion globally. Back in 2014, when I started blogging about the end of everything, the UN had already determined that there was only enough fertile soil left to plant 60 more annual crops. So, by 2074, we won't be able to grow food, full stop. This of course comes at a time when the global population continues to increase, and with it the need to grow more food. If projections are accurate, we will need to increase food production by 50% over the next three decades to feed everyone. -a dramatic increase in the cost of food and raw materials When I started this blog in 2014, I noted that 2011-2013 had seen the highest food prices on record. So what's happened since then?

It's important to point out here that the current food price spike started in 2020, so if Dr. Fraser's calculations are correct, the food system will collapse sometime around 2034, taking civilization with it. I closed my debut essay on this blog with a quote from the (now deceased) climate scientist Dr. James Lovelock, who advised a Guardian journalist to "enjoy life while you can. Because if you're lucky it's going to be 20 years before it hits the fan." That interview was published in 2008. We have four years left to enjoy.

[starry-night-author]

June of Doom Day #30

"Breathe, damn you!" | Shock |

June Of Doom Prompt List @juneofdoom

Hero was utterly frozen, and nothing Supervillain could do could get them to move. "Hero, come on, you've got to get up-"

But Hero stayed stock-still, completely rigid, staring at the building that was now going up in flames. "S-Superhero-"

"Superhero's gone, Hero, and now we have to get out of here before the fire spreads! Get up you idiot-"

Hero finally turned to look at them, eyes wide, mouth gaping like a fish. "Superhero-"

"Yes, they're gone! And we will be too if you don't move- c'mon, I'll get you up." They lifted Hero up under their shoulders, trying to haul their dead weight backward. Hero did nothing to help, and a few moments later Supervillain tripped over a piece of debris and tumbled back to the ground.

Swearing all the way down and all the way back up, Supervillain rolled over to face Hero once more, who was lying flat on their back staring up at the sky. "Hero, please- Hero?"

Hero was shaking, still gaping at the empty air, their face white. Making odd sounds, they looked like they were being strangled.

"Hero, Hero breathe, come on," as Supervillain moved their side in a scuffle, they realized they'd severely underestimated how in shock Hero was. Supervillain was pretty sure this wasn't even how regular shock worked (Hero had to be bleeding for that, right?) but their mind immediately ran through the protocol.

Leg elevation, CPR.

There was nothing to prop Hero's legs up on, so Supervillain immediately tilted Hero's head a little and started chest compressions. "C'mon Hero, breathe, damn you!"

It only took a few for Hero to let out a gasp, jerking against Supervillain's hands. They lay there, taking in air like they'd just been drowned, still staring aimlessly at the smoke-filled sky. "Superhero-"

"I'm so sorry, Hero." Supervillain sat back, touching their shoulder. "I'm sorry. But we have to go."

This time Hero let Supervillain haul them up, and the villain held most of their weight as they moved from the wreck, Hero sobbing into their shoulder.

[serickswrites]

Are You Scared

Part 2

Warnings: captivity, restraints, torture, buried alive

“Are you scared, Whumpee?” Whumper asked as they dragged Whumpee along the forest floor. 

Whumpee could feel their back getting scraped up by the dirt, rocks, and twigs, but they couldn’t respond. They were too weak from the days of being at the mercy of Whumper. Their body hurt all over and they could barely keep their eyes open. Whumper had bound them at the wrists and ankles before carrying them up from the basement, but Whumpee wasn’t sure why. There was no way they were escaping. Not after their last attempt. “Hmmmm,” Whumpee hummed, unable to muster the energy to speak. 

Whumper dropped Whumpee’s legs suddenly. “Well, you should be because this is the end of the line for you.”

Whumpee’s heart beat quickened. End of the line? “Pl-pl-please,” they whispered weakly. 

Whumper kicked out at Whumpee. Whumper’s foot struck their ribs hard and all the air left their lungs as they fell into a deep hole. Whumpee’s heart was pounding, but they couldn’t get a good breath. They coughed weakly as they lay on their back. 

Whumper’s head appear at the top of the hole, a shovelful of dirt also barely visible. “Don’t worry, Whumpee,” they dropped the dirt onto Whumpee. Whumpee sputtered and coughed the dirt off their lips, “I won’t leave you here forever. Just a few days to make sure you’re good and gone. Then I’ll dig you up and leave you somewhere Caretaker is bound to see you. Bound to see what I did to you and that I won.”

“Pl-pl-please,” Whumpee sputtered. Terror gripped their heart as another shovelful of dirt dropped down. They were afraid and they didn’t want Caretaker to see their mangled corpse. Didn’t want to break Caretaker. 

“So, I ask again, Whumpee, are you afraid?”

Whumpee nodded weakly as they began to cry. “Yes,” their voice barely a whisper. 

Whumper smirked. “Good.” And they dumped another shovelful on Whumpee. 

[whumpsday]

It's a new month, so it's once again time for me to give a rundown of the next two months of whump events!

May whump events starting today:

🌼 Whumpay (@whumpay), prompts here, comes as either a 7-day, 10-day, 14-day, or 31-day whump event

🌿 The Merry Whump of May (@themerrywhumpofmay), prompts coming soon, a 31-day whump event

🩺 Medwhump May (@medwhumpmay), prompts here, a 31-day medical whump event

💔 Mangst (@greenfiredragonfly), prompts here, a 31-day angst and hurt/comfort event

May miscellaneous events starting imminently:

🧜 Mermay exists, and you can create mer whump for it

🧛‍♂️ Dracula Daily starts May 3! Read along with a classic horror novel that influences most modern-day vampire works. Available in text form with Dracula Daily or audio form with Re: Dracula.

Confirmed June whump events starting next month:

🌩️ June of Doom (@juneofdoom), prompts here, a 30-day whump event

Possible June whump events not confirmed yet:

🏄‍♀️ Whump Girl Summer (@whumpawoman), a 7-day woman-focused whump event

📆 Two Weeks of Whump (@promptsforyourwhumpfic), a 2-week whump event

🐦‍⬛ Jump: Whump in June (@whumpinjune), a 30-day whump event

Have fun! :)