#june of doom day 19

[chaotic-orphan]

Would you write another part of June of Doom: Day 19? I loved it!

Continuation of June of doom; day nineteen:

Read part one Here

I am so sorry to whoever asked this, I have had this in my drafts for a while and just didn't have the energy to edit it, but I did now and hope it satisfies ~ enjoy!

*~*~*~*~*

“Come on Leader,” Leader heard in a hazed moment of consciousness, hungry, stormy eyes gleaming down at them, “I thought you were more durable than this.”

Leader blinked, eyelids heavy, watching Supervillain lift a hand covered in blood – Leader's blood, they recognised dimly – and run it back through his hair, slicking it back off his face using Leader's blood. He looked feral, unhinged, and Leader wanted to look away. He wanted to move, but his body was as heavy as lead and all he could do was look into those bright, stormy eyes smirking down at him.

Until the darkness swallowed Leader again.

When he woke for the second time he was sitting in a chair. He was vaguely aware that his hands were asleep, tied behind his back, he found out after a jerking, pulling tug. He shouldn’t have moved, he realised in hindsight as the pins and needles set in from being stuck in the same position for too long.

Leader lifted his eyes to get his bearings and saw himself sitting ahead of him. Leader blinked, groggy from blacking out after Supervillain’s welcome. He could see it plain and clear in the mirror, his torso bare just so he could see Supervillain’s handiwork.

Bile crawled thick and hot up his throat. Leader looked away sharply, bending over his torso and only just managing to not get any vomit on himself as he threw up the contents of his stomach. It was grim and vile, but Leader felt a little better after it, spitting for good measure to clear the rancid taste from his mouth in place of mouthwash or toothpaste. He rubbed his chin on his shoulder as he sat up again, dragging reluctant eyes to the full-length mirror in front of him.

Leader only remembered Supervillain carving in two letters to his body, but the bastard must have kept working after Leader passed out.

Leader’s torso still had dried blood sticking to it, but Leader’s eyes stayed on the two jagged letters carved into each shoulder. A crooked S on his right and a ghastly F on his left.

S. Fowl was carved into his body.

A signature.

Supervillain’s promise echoed in Leader’s ears as his eyes lingered on Supervillain’s name: “You I want on display. As a warning and a trophy. A reminder to what happens to those who oppose me.”

Leader wanted to cry. He did, he should have, maybe he would feel better, but he was exhausted. He didn’t know how long he was passed out for, but his body ached from his fight with Supervillain — Fowl — and his struggle when Supervillain dragged him to the medical table.

Leader’s ribs throbbed dully, his jaw hurt from where Fowl’s cane had hit it, a big angry blue bruise the size of Leader’s hand colouring his jaw and neck. Even his throat was raw from all his screaming. He looked like shit, which he could see thanks to Supervillain’s perfectly placed mirror, to remind Leader just how shit he looked. There were lines of purple bags under his eyes, his skin was dry and lacklustre, and his lips were pale except from where the blood from Leader’s nose painted them a faded dark crimson.

The mirror was torture, seeing himself broken and marked and beaten, too afraid to move because his entire body was sore and crying at him to stay as still as he could. Supervillain had cuffed Leader’s hands behind his back, attached them to the chair so his chest stood out in the mirror.

So Supervillain’s name stood out in the mirror, more like. His own personal brand.

Leader didn’t recognise himself in the mirror, this wasn’t – it couldn’t be him. This weak shell of a person who couldn’t fight Supervillain off him. How pathetic. Too powerless to stop himself being branded. His team relied on Leader to lead them; make the plans, do the impossible. All Leader could do at the moment was stare at that fucking name on his chest, written forever…

They’ll die with that scar.

Leader let out a soft sigh.

“Leader…” it was Medic. Leader closed his eyes. He was sitting in a chair in the centre of their circle of cages. The mirror was just a little in front of the door, reflecting the cages back at Leader from behind him.

Medic’s cage to be exact, who was looking at him through the mirror with wide eyes filled with pity. Leader didn’t need their pity; he shouldn’t have let this happen. He should have been ready for Supervillain he should have—

Leader’s hands balled into fists in the cuffs. He couldn’t see that look in Medic’s eyes again.

“Leader… we’re okay,” Medic said softly. Leader sniffed, unaware that he was crying. “Supervillain kept his promise, and he didn’t touch us. He brought us food. Brought us to the bathroom. We have water.”

“In dog bowls,” Rogue muttered in disgust. Leader wasn’t aware that they were all awake. Shame burned hot up Leader’s neck, colouring it red.

“I’m sorry,” Leader whispered. “This is all my fault. None of you would be here if it wasn’t for me, I’m so sorry.”

“I’ll follow you anywhere, Leader,” said Rogue without hesitation. Leader opened his eyes, glancing at Rogue’s cage and saw them sitting at the front bars, expression one of unflinching earnest.

“We’ll get out of here, Leader,” said Medic behind him, determined. “We always do.”

“You just can’t give up hope,” Youngest piped up. “Not with that bastard, Leader. You’re better than him. When we’re finished with him, you can carve your name on his chest.”

“Exactly,” said Medic, a smile in their voice. “You just have to stay strong, Leader. We’re all here with you. Supervillain can try, but he can’t beat us all.”

“How touching,” Supervillain said. Leader’s head whipped back to the door; he didn’t hear it open. Only Supervillain didn’t come in through the door, in the mirror Leader could see him standing behind Leader’s cage, that same horrible smirk in his eyes, face impassive as always, neutral, sending a shiver down Leader’s spine he suppressed as best as he could.

“Do you like your new addition, Leader? I was so proud of it myself, but I thought it was so good it just needed to be shared. You needed to see it for yourself.”

“Kinda weird you kept going after I passed out, Supervillain, I doubt I could have given proper consent.”

Supervillain stared into Leader’s cool eyes through the mirror, the corner of his mouth quirked up slightly, as he said as if it was a completely civil conversation: “Mutilation is hardly ever conducted with consent.”

“You don’t know,” Leader said with an effortless shrug that almost winded him but was glad to see he looked fine in the mirror. “Maybe I was into it.”

“If you like we can go again,” Supervillain purred, walking up behind Leader and putting a hand over his last name. The heat from his hand was enough to make Leader wince, and he cried out as Supervillain dug his fingers into Leader’s chest. “Although… you still seem pretty raw to me, Leader.”

“If you keep doing that, you’re risking infection!” Medic cried, trying to draw Supervillain’s attention away from Leader.

“Oh Medic,” Supervillain cooed, looking at them through the mirror, but Leader didn’t really care what he was doing because as Supervillain spoke, he dug his fingers deeper into Leader’s chest and Leader was screaming. The pain was white hot, blinding and Leader swore he was seeing stars as the world tilted hazily around him.

After what felt like an eternity, Supervillain let go of Leader. Leader doubled over, the handcuffs clanging the only thing keeping Leader in the chair as he gasped in lungfuls of air that his screams had stolen from him.

Nausea climbed Leader’s throat again as Supervillain walked over to Medic’s cage.

“Don’t…” Leader wheezed pathetically, even to his own ears.

“Relax,” Supervillain chided politely, waving away Leader’s concern. Leader could only watch through bleary eyes as Supervillain started unlocking Medic’s cage.

“Don’t… tou—” Leader said but was cut off by Rogue’s menacing:

“Get off them!” Rogue growled, kicking at the bars of their cage. Youngest was quiet, and the silence was a welcome relief to Leader. One Rogue was enough, and Supervillain was brutal.

Supervillain offered a hand to Medic, but Medic stood up on their own and nearly let out a sigh at being able to be vertical for the first time in who knows how long.

“Come now, Medic,” Supervillain scolded, voice playful but behind it was something cold that only promised pain. “Take my hand and I’ll let you look at your dear Leader, hmm? Make sure he doesn’t get an infection.”

Leader swallowed; mouth suddenly dry as Medic took Supervillain’s hand. Supervillain’s fingers closed tightly around Medic’s like a vice and Leader knew something was wrong with the scene, but he couldn’t think of what it was. His brain sluggish and muggy like a swamp Leader’s thoughts were trudging through.

Fuck.

Maybe he did get an infection from Supervillain’s branding.

Supervillain led Medic over to Leader and grabbed a fistful of Leader’s hair yanking his head up to face him. Medic protested, but Supervillain still hadn’t let go of Medic’s hand so all they could do was try and pry Supervillain’s fingers off of them.

“It’s bad manners not to look someone in the eye, Leader.”

“If you want to talk about manners let’s start with your hospitality, Supervillain,” Leader ground out. He just saw the flash of Medic’s exasperated face, before Supervillain’s fist blocked it from view and Leader’s head slammed back, blood dripping from his nose.

“Sorry, Medic, he has a really punchable face,” said Supervillain conversationally, then let go of both Leader and Medic and stepped back. “Whatever you need, Medic, just make sure he won’t die for round two.”

Medic whirled on Supervillain, eyes wide. “Round two?”

“Did I or did I not say that I want Leader on display? He is going to live a long, long life by my side or at my feet, or whatever way I want him. The only reason you’re looking him over, and not another doctor, is merely convenience, Medic, so don’t give me that wide eyed Bambi look when I say I want to hurt him again. Like I said, Leader has a very punchable face.”

“What about us?” Medic demanded, taking a step forward. Leader relaxed back into his chair, craning his neck back to see Supervillain’s face. He was smiling. Like that was exactly what Supervillain wanted them to say.

Wait, Supervillain was smiling?

Leader did a double take and just stared, not believing his eyes.

Supervillain was… Leader didn’t think he knew how to smile, and it looked wrong on his face. Hollow, twisted, hungry and vicious.

That meant nothing good.

The realisation dropped like a stone into Leader’s chest, and he looked over at Youngest and Rogue’s cages, but they were gone. How? Leader didn’t even see—

He was too focused on Medic.

He knew it was too quiet.

“Medic!” Leader cried, shooting to his feet and shouldering Medic out of the way of Supervillain. His head swam but Leader didn’t care as he planted a foot and pivoted the chair’s legs towards Supervillain. They made impact and Leader heard a satisfying oomf from Supervillain as he faced Medic.

Their devil-may-care smile melting off his face as he saw Supervillain's Henchman come up behind Medic, needle in hand. Leader wanted to shout in warning, but the words were too slow.

It all seemed to happen in slow motion, and yet too quick to wrap his head around.

Leader shot forward like a bull on instinct, Medic dodging at the last second, before Leader collided with Henchman. The pair toppled to the ground, Leader on top snarling at Henchman below but unable to get themselves back up to defend Medic.

A hand on the back of his chair and Leader was dragged back up, all four legs on the ground and Medic was kicking the needle out of Henchman's hand and stomped on their face with a satisfying crack.

Medic looked back up at Leader, eyes bright from the brawl and then they went to Supervillain behind Leader, and they froze. All blood draining from their face.

“Even two of you is enough to cause this much trouble,” Supervillain said, voice cutting through the room like ice. “I’m going to give you two options Leader,” said Supervillain coolly. Then: “Bambi, be a dear and turn Leader to me, would you?”

Wordlessly, Medic turned Leader’s chair and Leader understood Medic’s silence. Supervillain held a gagged Youngest up, an arm around Youngest’s shoulder and his stupid hidden dagger from his cane at their throat. The same knife he used to carve his name on Leader’s chest, Leader realised. His heart lurched and his stomach churned, fear rooting him to the spot. Youngest’s hands were bound in front of them and there were terrified tears spilling from their eyes.

Leader felt winded again, but when he met Supervillain’s eyes he was filled with a powerless kind of hatred.

“Do I have your attention now?” Supervillain asked, voice cool.

Leader’s throat felt like sandpaper, tongue heavy and dry as he replied with a raspy— “yes.”

“I have come to the conclusion, Leader, that there is no chance of getting you to submit to me while you are surrounded by your teammates. You have too much bravado around them, they encourage you too much. To — what was it you said, Bambi? “You’ll get out of here together, you always do? We’re all here with you. Supervillain can try, but he can’t beat us all.””

Leader could see Medic still from the corner of his eye, but he didn’t take his eyes off of Youngest, shaking in Supervillain’s grip.

“Fine,” Leader said, licking his lips, trying to add moisture to his mouth but it didn’t do anything to stop the raspiness, “you let them go.”

Supervillain smiled and pressed the knife into Youngest’s throat just enough to draw blood. Medic and Leader lurched forward but were stopped at Supervillain’s soft: “ah-ah-ah. Move and the kid dies on the spot, Medic. Do you want to test how good your medical skills are right now?”

Medic stepped back, shaking with anger and adrenaline, but they stepped back.

Supervillain looked between the pair and the hideous, gruesome light returned to his eyes. “Isn’t this nice, huh? Just a nice easy hostage situation with you two too concerned for Youngest’s safety to think of any witticisms? I could do this all day just to hear that silence.”

“It’s not – it’s not silence if you fill it with the sound of your own voice.”

Supervillain’s eyes narrowed in confusion. He was looking at Leader and Medic and they didn’t speak. Didn’t open their mouths at least, but Medic and Leader were staring at Youngest like kids who just talked back to their parents and were waiting for the punishment to begin.

Supervillain took the knife from Youngest’s throat and gently turned them around to face him, the cloth Henchman had gagged them with now loose around Youngest’s skinny neck. Their eyes had that same spark of defiance that made them want to kill Leader on his bad days. Days when he wasn’t in control.

“I should have expected as much,” said Supervillain, raising his chin, turning his nose up at Youngest’s defiance.

“Leader has corrupted you, Youngest, but don’t worry. I’ll fix you,” Supervillain said, grabbing Youngest by the throat and squeezing slightly. Youngest jerked back, trying and failing to fight Supervillain off. He was twice Youngest’s size, and one hand nearly wrapped all the way around their throat, not applying pressure. Not yet, but Youngest still panicked.

“Just— fucking— let me go—” Youngest cried, struggling to wrench themselves free. Supervillain sighed. With a deft flick of their wrist silver flashed through the air and Youngest gasped, screwing their eyes shut bracing for the worst. The blow never came and just when that thought registered in Youngest’s mind they heard Leader grunt in pain.

“Leader!” Medic cried and Youngest’s eyes were open, staring into Supervillain’s triumphant ones.

“Medic, you move, and Youngest dies.”

“You fucking bastard!” Medic cried. Youngest looked over their shoulder and saw Leader with the knife in his shoulder, just above the clavicle and they couldn’t stop the trembling at seeing what Supervillain did because of them.

“Leader will be fine, as long as you all behave. This was a good lesson to learn before you’re all separated.”

“You said—” Leader breathed, voice strained. “You said you were giving… giving me two options.”

Supervillain smiled.

“Oh. I was. Then your subordinates pissed me off and now I’m not letting any of you go. Especially Bambi and Youngest here, they’re just too fun. Rogue on the other hand, well,” Supervillain’s smile widened at the mix of helpless fury and pain twisting Leader’s features into something close to desperation, something close to submission. “Rogue, I could just slit their throat and leave them in a ditch, and you wouldn’t know any better, Leader, would you?”

Leader’s breath was coming out laboured and ragged. This was too much. This was too much, the pain was too much, and he couldn’t move, he couldn’t fight, he couldn’t talk his way out of this. It felt like everything was slipping, and it was all his fault. If he had predicted the blade in the cane, then none of this would have happened.

The blade that was currently imbedded in his shoulder.

He lost focus for a moment.

A moment too long.

And it got everyone he loved here. Trapped. Just as powerless as Leader was to protect them.

“Leader,” it was Youngest. Their voice so quiet, so lost, looking for what they had to do, because Leader always knew.

Leader swallowed the lump in his throat, shaking his head slowly, voice hoarse. “Don’t act out. Don’t rebel, do whatever Supervillain tells you without question or hesitation—”

“Leader?!” Medic cried, panic colouring their voice as they kneeled in front of Leader, trying to catch his eye. “Leader you can’t just—”

Leader looked at Medic then, his eyes pleading and hard, and Medic swallowed the rest of their sentence. It hurt, it hurt more than anything to see Medic have to accept their fate, fighting back the tears gathering behind their eyes.

Leader spoke before he lost his nerve, he refused to crack in front of Supervillain. He looked at Youngest’s lost expression, like a little kid being told Santa isn’t real and remembered how young they were… then he looked at Medic and his expression softened as he gave the orders to protect them as much as he could. To protect themselves when Leader wasn’t there to do it for them.

“Remember when you want to react or scream or fight, that it won't be you that Supervillain hurts, it will be someone else. This is the best we can do for each other now. We're still a team, we're still stronger together, even when we're apart,” Leader said, confident defiance still emanating from his gaze as he met Supervillain's eyes in a challenge. “Even Supervillain can't stop us looking out for each other. Remember that.”

A corner of Supervillain's lips curled up in a half smirk, surprised at the gall of Leader to look at him with that much cocky assuredness that they won't break in Supervillain's care.

Supervillain would prove him wrong.

“We'll see,” Supervillain hummed, smiling eyes narrowed, locked on Leader's.

Challenge accepted.

Supervillain’s eyes turned to Medic, finally letting Youngest go with a gentle shove backwards. Youngest stumbled a step and regained their footing, glaring at Supervillain.

“You first, Bambi, since you seem to love the drama of it all.”

Medic didn’t say a word. They just glanced at Leader who nodded his head slightly. Medic walked towards Supervillain and willingly gave themselves up. It put a spear of fear through Leader’s heart to see Supervillain put his hands on Medic, but Leader forced himself to be still. To not react. That was what Supervillain wanted, he wasn’t going to give it to him.

“Oh, Youngest?” Supervillain asked, voice deceptively sweet. Youngest didn’t answer. Supervillain didn’t even hesitate to slap Medic across the face, eliciting a shocked gasp from Medic. Leader’s handcuffs rattled and Supervillain’s cruel grey eyes got brighter, and said again: “will we try that again?”

“Yes,” said Youngest.

Supervillain’s face settled into one of neutrality. “Yes what?” he asked, voice as cold as the arctic.

“Yes sir,” Youngest bit out, their voice cracking on sir.

“Be a dear and keep Leader company while I bring Bambi to their new cell, will you?”

Youngest hesitated again, but this time Leader nudged them with his foot and Youngest said again, more demoralised now: “yes sir.”

“Good. Sit by Leader’s leg like a good little dog, I insist,” and Youngest sank to the floor, slumping beside Leader’s chair, bound hands still in front of them. “See, Leader? They can be trained to be civilised. I’ll be back soon.”

Youngest and Leader watched scornfully as Supervillain led Medic out of the room. Watched them disappear from view, powerless to stop it happening. Leader just sat handcuffed to the chair, knife imbedded in his shoulder, Youngest tied up by his side and let out a long, shaky sigh.

He didn’t know how they were going to get out of this, or what they’d have to endure, he just had to believe that they would, because… well, to think anything else would be blasphemous and Leader didn’t think he’d be able to survive if he started going down that rabbit hole.

[hurtmyfavsthanks]

June of Doom day 19

“I’m not going anywhere” (wound cleaning, succumb, chair)

Content warning: medical whump, forced drugging

"Please! Please–god, please don't –!" A slurred string of please spilled from Whumpee's mouth as they struggled against the two nurses trying to hold them still. Their movements were desperate, either uncaring or unaware of the damage they were causing their body as they forced themselves off the hospital bed. With each jerk and flail, a blood was left behind. It was clear that they’d reopened their wounds.

"We're going to have to sedate them!" One of the nurses shouted. "Their body can't handle this!"

Caretaker knew they were right. A cold sweat had already broken out on Whumpee's brow and their gown was becoming speckled with blood from both where they'd torn out their IV and popped their stitches. It was clear that pure panic and delirium were the only things keeping Whumpee fighting. They were exhausted. They were confused and terrified, and what they needed was rest. 

Caretaker knew the nurses were right, and yet the sight of them attempting to manhandle Whumpee back onto the bed filled them with a protective anger they struggled to contain. Caretaker wanted nothing more than to tear the nurses off of them, but they couldn’t. Whumpee couldn’t afford to leave, even if they were too far gone to understand that.

Caretaker took a hesitant step forward, arms raised in a non-threatening pose

"Hey, hey…Whumpee, it's me, it's Caretaker," They kept their voice low trying their best not to agitate them further. They had to do something, anything, to get Whumpee the help they needed. "Everything's going to be alright."

Whumpee's head whipped around at the sound of their voice. For a long moment, Caretaker was unsure if Whumpee even knew who they were. But then a look of recognition flashed across their face, and the terror on their face shifted into something more vulnerable. Their eyes filled with tears as they reached their single free arm towards Caretaker. "Caretaker! Help me!" 

The terror in their voice made Caretaker want to cry, but they refused to let the calming look on their face falter. "Okay. I'm going to get you out of here, you just have to calm down."

Whumpee’s eyes didn’t leave Caretaker as they approached, their struggle seemingly forgotten. The nurses stood still at Whumpee's side, too afraid of breaking the calm Caretaker had created to even remove their hands. It was only when Caretaker placed a hand on Whumpee's shaking shoulder that either of them dared to back away.

Whumpee wrapped their arms tightly around Caretaker, tears overcoming them with an ugly sob. Slowly, carefully, Caretaker led them back to the bed. "Whumpee, look at me. Just me. I'm not going anywhere," Caretaker paid no heed to the blood staining their hands. They stared into Whumpee's panicked eyes, blocking their view of the room with their body.

"Please!" Whumpee removed their arms from Caretaker's torso only long enough to grasp towards Caretaker's face, grabbing handfuls of their hair and pulling them closer until their foreheads touched. Their voice was a shaky whisper. "Help me. Please–please don't go–"

"Okay, I'm going to help you. You're going to be fine. You just have to trust me, alright?" Caretaker leaned into their desperate hold, slipping a hand between Whumpee and the bed to  rub reassuring circles into the small of Whumpee's back. They waited until they were sure they could hold Whumpee before turning just enough to catch the eyes of a nurse. Caretaker gave them a pointed nod.

Seeing their signal, a nurse approached slowly, syringe in hand. Caretaker did their best to block Whumpee's view, but they could do nothing to stop Whumper from feeling the nurse's hand on their arm.

The response was instantaneous. "No!" Whumpee shouted, attempting to pull away. With Caretaker’s grip around their body, Whumpee lacked the leverage to pull their arm free. Caretaker could hear their heart pounding as panic overwhelmed then once more. "Stop, stop it! Leave me alone!"

"Shh, it's okay. I'm right here," Caretaker soothed, their grip tightening slightly. Whumpee's struggled only increased. 

"Let go, let go! Help, please! You said you would!" Each word was punctuated with one of Whumpee's fists colliding with Caretaker's back as Whumpee redoubled their efforts to escape, but to no avail. When the syringe entered Whumpee's arm, the screamed.

Hearing Whumpee's panick, seeing the anger and confusion and fear in the eyes, hurt more than any of the desperate blows Whumpee was throwing their way. Caretaker only held them tighter, praying that Whumpee would be able to rest soon.

Caretaker couldn't hide the waiver in their voice when they next spoke. "I'm sorry, but we have to. Everything's going to be better after this, I promise."

It felt like an eternity, but it couldn’t have been more than mere minutes before the drug spread throughout Whumpee’s system, its effects quickened by the pounding of their heart.  As the minutes ticked by, Whumpee’s flailing arms came to rest against Caretaker's back, holding as if unsure if they should be pulling them closer or pushing them away. Their breathing leveled out, their sobbing devolving into quiet wimpers. But the look of terror and betrayal never left Whumpee's eyes, not until they finally shut.

Caretaker only let go once they were sure Whumpee was under. They looked down at Whumpee's tear streaked face, at the blood from their popped stitches that stained their medical gown. Somehow, it felt like Caretaker had failed to protect them again.

Caretaker flinched as a hand landed on their shoulder, turning to see one of the nurses smiling hesitantly at them. "Thank you. You might've just saved their life."

Logically, Caretaker knew it was true. But with Whumpee's blood drying beneath their nails, Caretaker only felt like they’d failed to protect Whumpee again.

[tildeathiwillwrite]

June of Doom Day 19

"This can't be happening!" / Sobbing / Straitjacket / Disassociation

Prompts List | Event Masterpost

Hero x Villain Masterpost | <- Previous Part | Next Part ->

Fandom: Original Work

Words: 700

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

@scaewolf @doctorsawyer @pinkrangerv

CW: panic attack, crying, denial, manhandling, threats, power suppression cuffs, pistol-whipping, concussion, blood, PTSD, disassociation, captivity, separated

----------

Hero’s heartbeat pounded in their ears as Sound Gun roughly yanked them up from their knees and began to pull them away, not caring as Hero stumbled over the uneven ground, their legs trembling uncontrollably. Their vision blurred and warped, tears running down their cheeks.

“This can’t be happening!” They mumbled, trying in vain to make sense of it all. “This is a nightmare, a hallucination, a—!”

“Shut up!” Sound Gun snapped, jerking them roughly to the side. Hero tripped and fell to their knees, the sharp stones on the ground slicing through their costume and skin like it was made of thin paper. Sound Gun grabbed their collar and pulled them back to their feet. “This is very much happening, and if you keep trying to deny it I will gag you.”

Hero didn’t respond, couldn’t respond, could barely breathe through the heaving sobs that tore through their body as their former teammate dragged them over the debris of the collapsed building to the modified police car that had served as their mode of transport. It was like a heavy weight had settled onto their chest, their lungs couldn’t expand.

“Hero! Hero!” Villain’s panicked shouts reached their ears, but as they turned toward their voice, Hero was met with the sight of Leader slamming one of Villain’s own guns against their head.

Crack!

Villain’s head snapped sharply to the side, and they slumped in Shapeshifter’s tight grasp, blood running down their temple. Hero screamed their name and tried to run to them, but Sound Gun yanked them away with ease. More tears rolled down their face as Sound Gun shoved them into the back of the car, Shapeshifter dumping Villain’s body in the seat next to them before slamming the door shut.

“…Villain?” Hero whispered timidly, gingerly wiping away the blood on their face. 

Villain’s eyelids cracked open, eyes slightly glazed over. “Hey….”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Hero mumbled hysterically, wiping away their tears. “I should’ve listened to you, should’ve waited, should’ve been more careful, should’ve—!”

“Shhh…” Villain gently put a finger to Hero’s lips, as they always did when Hero got upset like this. “Listen. If we didn’t go out there, Youngest would be dead.”

“But—!”

“They… they were in bad shape when I carried them out. I wasn’t sure how we were going to get them… the proper medical care. Hate to say it, but they’re better off now.”

Hero slowly breathed in, held it for a few seconds, and breathed out. Their chest no longer felt like a great weight had been placed upon it. They reached up and took Villain’s hand as the car began to move. “What about us?”

Villain’s expression darkened. But Hero noticed something else, something they might not have detected had they not spent so much time around Villain the past months. A hint of fear. “I don’t know, Hero. I don’t know.”

Hero squeezed their hand, all too aware of the familiar turns that the car took to reach the headquarters. Remembering all too well the blindingly white cell in which they had been chained. Their ribs ached, recalling the jabs and blows delivered by Teleporter. And then told to lift an object while in pain.

And then while being beaten.

And then while nearly unconscious.

And then—

“Hero….”

Hero blinked back into reality as Villain squeezed their hand and realized that the car was slowing down. They had arrived. They tightened their grip on Villain’s hand, not ready to let go. 

Not ready to be separated.

But they didn’t have a choice. Not when the car stopped. Not when the doors opened and Leader dragged Hero out one side and Shapeshifter dragged Villain out the other. Not when Hero registered the outside world and realized they were at the side door, the door they’d used to break in weeks ago. Not when they saw Sound Gun carrying Youngest’s limp body through the door, no doubt headed for the medbay.

Not when Hero and Villain were roughly ushered in after them and immediately escorted to the lower levels.

And especially not when Hero was locked in the exact same cell.

Alone.

[shes-some-other-where]

June of Doom Day 19, 27, 28, 29

Sobbing | Dissociation | Stairs | Display | Last Resort | Numb | Gag | “I’m so cold.”

Please heed the warnings. Dead dove: do not eat.

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Contains: lady whump, aftermath of noncon/SA, dissociation, helplessness, hopelessness, restraints, gag, suicide attempt

WC: 950

Wet-paper petals

The body on the bed was still. It could move, but moving hurt. Moving dragged skin, reddened and burned by friction, over wool and cotton that mercilessly scratched. Moving shifted the light, illuminating blossoming bruises.

Bruises—broken blood vessels—temporary, violent purple in their prime, but not eternal.

Involuntary shivers wracked the body, however: the tiny tremors of limp, exhausted limbs. Bluish lips formed soundless pleas to no one: Please. I’m so cold. Please.

If there was only stillness, then there was no pain. Frigid numbness, perhaps, but numbness was bearable.

It was a body on garish display: arms spread wide and bound in place, showing off tender skin now marked. Adorned. Pink and abraded beneath the ties.

A body, and nothing else.

A door crashed open, casting a resounding clang throughout the room, and the illusion was shattered.

The maidservant stirred, bringing her knees as close to her chest as she could, her eyes squeezed shut. Please. No more. No more.

Footsteps slowly approached.

She tried to hold back a sob and failed, mewling into the leather tied around her mouth. It tasted foul: dust, sweat, oil. She couldn’t remember when it had wound up there, or where it had come from. A belt from a uniform, perhaps? It didn’t matter. It had served its purpose, stifling her frantic cries when her enemies decided they’d had enough of her tongue being free—after it, too, had served its purpose.

The footsteps halted, and her eyes flew open.

The soldier. He’d promised to kill her one day. He’d dragged her before the prince. He’d kept his distance, he hadn’t touched her. But he’d stayed silent.

He’d done nothing.

He reached toward her now, and she flinched, unable to disguise how she wept, condemned again to the indignity of freely flowing tears while he stood by and watched.

“No,” she begged. Some dried substance at the corner of her mouth cracked with the movement of her lips. “Please.”

He didn’t answer, but simply reached for her bound hands again; silently, he untied them. Torn strips of red fabric, ripped from a mass that had once been a gown, fell away. The soldier stepped back.

The maidservant fumbled with frozen, clumsy fingers and found she could not untie the leather belt. She pulled it from her mouth instead, letting it hang slick and dripping around her neck.

“Get dressed.”

Two words, a simple command, brimming with unbridled disgust.

She coaxed her unwilling limbs off the bed, stumbling toward the heap of once-ravishing silk, now ruined, stinking of pond-water and sweat. She struggled into it anyway, hungry for the scant warmth and comfort it would bring.

Her arms screamed, as unhappy free as they had been restrained. Her legs ached. Trembled. Burned.

The soldier said nothing, offering no release from . . . wherever she was. A dungeon cell? Perhaps. Likely. She dimly recalled stairs and windowless corridors. She’d fought and screamed and cried. Earned welts and bruises for her efforts.

Efforts ultimately in vain, like everything else she’d ever done.

An unexpected weight, hidden in the depths of the dress, bumped against her leg.

“Come here,” the soldier said. She looked up to find him watching her with narrowed eyes. The scratches on his face had clotted to perfect, parallel scabs, muddy brown in the poor light. “Move.”

She obeyed.

“Give me your hands.”

She did.

He tied them together in front of her, not torturously tight but securely enough that she could not wriggle free. She watched numbly, pretending those dirt-and-blood-stained fingers belonged to someone else. He thought he was being clever and cruel, lording his power and control over her yet again, protecting himself from another attack.

Didn’t he realize? She was done fighting.

Another tear slid down her cheek, splashing against his hands as he tied the final knot.

With a scowl, he shoved her away from him, back onto the cot with its mattress still damp. She caught herself clumsily, whimpering in pain. “Sit still and stay quiet while I find out what to do with you.”

He turned away.

When the lock clicked, that means of escape barred—not that it had ever been within her grasp—the maidservant felt for the makeshift pocket she had made what seemed like lifetimes ago.

I’m sorry.

She’d whispered those words to the food taster, and she’d meant them. What had become of him? Had the prince found him? Was he dead? Imprisoned? Coerced into bending to the prince’s darkest whims?

I’m sorry.

If only she’d had the chance to say those same pitiful, inadequate words to her brother.

Her stiff fingers struggled with the knots in her skirt. She wept, forcing them to keep working until, at long last, the knots came free.

She laid out the crushed flowers methodically, inspecting each. They were beautiful, even in death: wet-paper petals of soft yellow, like summer sun dimmed by mist. That colour, warm and lovely, hearkened back to golden days of long, long ago—before her life had been upended, ravaged, and utterly destroyed.

Back when her life was worth something.

She found two flowers with their poisonous spines intact and lifted them reverently from among their fellows.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, but there was no one to hear, no one to see, and no one to mourn.

She sank the two sharp, spindle-like thorns into her fingertip; a cool sense of numbness spread outward. One prick, he’d promised, and you’ll be on the floor. What about two?

She fell, matted hair fanning out over the soiled mattress, poison coursing through exhausted veins.

A body, still living, but only just.

A broken heart, pulsing with strength enough to decorate her finger with a single, welling drop of blood.

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.

[somer-writes]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Legend & Twilight (Linked Universe), Time & Twilight & Warriors (Linked Universe), Four & Hyrule & Legend & Sky & Time & Twilight & Warriors & Wild & Wind (Linked Universe) Characters: Legend (Linked Universe), Twilight (Linked Universe), Warriors (Linked Universe), Time (Linked Universe) Additional Tags: Linked Universe (Legend of Zelda), June of Doom 2024, Disassociation, Burns, Fire, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Blood and Gore, Guilt, Legend (Linked Universe) Has a Bad Time, Twilight (Linked Universe) Has a Bad Time, Legend (Linked Universe) Needs a Hug, Twilight (Linked Universe) Angst, Protective Twilight (Linked Universe), Parental Time (Linked Universe) Series: Part 19 of Writer's Execution Block || June of Doom 2024 Summary:

Mobbed by enemies, Legend uses the fire rod to save himself. Little does he know Twilight is caught in the crossfire.

[cozycompositions]

Me?? Posting?? No way.

Here’s for @juneofdoom Day 19: “I’m not going anywhere” and “guilt”. This is extremely under edited and was written in two seconds.

“I hate you!” Alexander howls as he lunges at John once more. Lafayette struggles to hold the smaller boy back. John holds his face tenderly, one eye swollen closed from where Alexander has hit him mere moments before.

Alexander shrieks as he bucks against Lafayette’s hold. The taller reaches out an arm and wraps it around Hamilton’s waist, effectively trapping him. He tugs, attempting to remove Alexander from the situation.

He practically has to throw Alexander to the side, and the boy begins to stomp away. His face is a bright red, and his chest is heaving with the effort of calming down. Lafayette keeps a firm hand on the back of his friend’s neck, attempting to help usher him away.

“I’m sorry, Alex,” John’s voice comes from behind them. Alexander’s head snaps up, a gasp that sounds suspiciously like a sob escapes his throat, and he spins on his heel towards John. He makes it to him in two steps.

“Alex!” Lafayette tries to calm the boy. It’s no use.

“‘Sorry’?!” Alexander practically screams. He has his fists wrapped around the lapels of John’s coat. Hamilton is small, barely as tall as John’s shoulders, so the sight is more pathetic than threatening.

“You think ‘sorry’ is going to fix this?! Idiot! Solo eres un estúpido idiota!”

The insults are childish, Alexander knows, but he can’t help it. Tears are pouring down his face as he sobs, slamming his fists into John’s chest over and over, hoping it’ll ease the pain in his own chest. It doesn’t.

“Alexandre, stop!” Lafayette screams. John puts a hand up to silence him.

“It’s alright, Gil,” he says quietly. “I understand, Alex,” he directs to the weeping boy in front of him.

“No, you don’t,” Alexander quiets. “I hate you.”

John looks down at Alexander sadly. He should’ve done more to prevent this. It was just going so well. He didn’t want to ruin what he had with Alexander, how he felt when he was around him. He would articulate this to Hamilton, but his voice catches in his throat with his own sobs.

“Alex, please…” Tears well up in John’s eyes. He knows he’s being selfish. He knows. But he just can’t let go. Not of his Alexander.

“I hate you!” Alexander screams once more. He drops to his knees at John’s feet.

“Alex, please!” John pleads. His resolve to let go of all of this cracks. “Please! I’m not going anywhere!”

“But you would run away to her! You never loved me!”

“Alexander, keep your voice down!” Lafayette reprimands, sending a worried glance outside the tent.

John knows he would never, ever, choose Martha over Alexander. But Alexander’s words hurt because there is a portion of truth to them. Martha is a clutch, a social disguise. Alexander and John could never have a life together. And now any chance they had at even sliver of one.

“I’m not going anywhere…” John tries one last time.

“That’s enough!” Lafayette hisses. There is noise outside of the tent now, surely Hamilton’s shouts have gathered attention. Lafayette wraps his arms around Hamilton’s waist and shoulders once more and hoists him up, tossing him roughly towards the tent flaps. Alexander storms out.

Jeers and shouts from the men outside are heard, along with the thumping of what John only can assume to be Alexander fleeing the scene.

John turns to Lafayette, opening his mouth to say something, anything. But there’s nothing to say.

Lafayette massages the bridge of his nose before peering up at John.

“You both knew the risks.”

[serickswrites]

This Can't Be Happening

Warnings: captivity, torture, forced to watch, drowning, temporary character death, forced to watch

Caretaker strained to try and reach through the bars of their cage. The keys to their freedom were just out of reach on a nearby table. If they could just reach a little further they could get out and help Whumpee.

They had to help Whumpee.

Whumpee sobbed as Whumper dragged them from their cage. "Please, please, PLEASE!" Whumpee screamed as they tried to keep from being dragged to the pool in the center of the room.

"You stink. You need a bath. I'm being kind to you," Whumper sneered as they continued to drag Whumpee by their hair. "You should be grateful."

Whumpee thrashed trying to get away, but Whumper was stronger and bigger than them. And they were weak from the days of torture. "Please," they sobbed harder as Whumper stopped short of the pool.

"No," Whumper said as they shoved Whumpee into the water.

Hope initially buoyed in Caretaker's chest as they watched Whumpee swim to the surface, sputtering as they kept their head above water. Whumpee wasn't the strongest swimmer, but seeing them tread water had Caretaker breathing a little easier. Maybe Whumpee could hold on a bit longer.

"Get under there," Whumper growled as they shoved Whumpee's head below the surface.

Whumpee thrashed as they tried to swim away, their struggle knocking Whumper's hand away. Without hesitation, Whumper jumped into the water. They could stand, their head and shoulders above the water. "You shouldn't have made me come in here," Whumper said as they grabbed Whumpee by the neck. "Now I'm really pissed."

Caretaker's mouth went dry as they watched Whumper hold Whumpee beneath the surface of the water by the throat. "LET THEM GO!" Caretaker roared as they watched Whumpee's hands scrabbled on Whumper's arms.

"No," Whumper said with a wicked grin as they tightened their fingers. "Whumpee stinks. They need a bath. I'm giving them a bath."

"THEY CAN'T BREATHE! LET THEM GO! WHUMPER!!!" Caretaker stretched their arm further, willing their shoulder to dislocate so they could reach the table.

But it was no use. No matter how much Caretaker tried to reach, they couldn't. No matter how much Caretaker yelled at Whumper, yelled for Whumpee to hold on, Whumper didn't stop. And as Caretaker watched Whumpee's arms drop limply into the water, Caretaker stopped breathing.

"Huh, would you look at that," Whumper said as they stared down into the water. "New tactic of playing possum? Won't work on me. Not until you're clean."

"WHUMPEE!" Caretaker screamed. "LET THEM UP! WHUMPER! THEY CAN'T BREATHE!"

"Not until they are clean. Look, they're still dirty," Whumper lifted Whumpee's head from the water. Water streamed down Whumpee's face, but it didn't hide Caretaker's view of Whumpee's eyes. Whumpee's open, empty eyes.

"NO!" Caretaker howled as Whumper shoved Whumpee's head beneath the water once more.

"Now I can clean you," Whumper said as they began to pull Whumpee's limp body through the water.

"Please, please, PLEASE!" Caretaker screamed as they watched Whumper scrub down Whumpee's arms. "They're not breathing. Please! You won't be able to hurt them if they're dead! Whumper!"

Whumper paused. "Dead? They're not dead, they're just playing possum." But Caretaker heard doubt in Whumper's voice.

"If they're playing possum, surely their heart should still be beating, right? They should take a breath when you pull them from the water," Caretaker said quickly. They knew Whumper didn't want Whumpee to die. Not yet. If they could get Whumper to check, Whumper would save Whumpee.

Whumper grabbed Whumpee by the throat, lifting Whumpee from the water. Whumpee's head lolled on their neck as Whumper lifted them. "You're just playing with me, right, Whumpee?"

But as Caretaker listened to the water streaming down Whumpee's body, dripping from their hair and finger tips into the water, Caretaker watched as Whumper realized Whumpee's heart had stopped beating.

With a roar of anger, Whumper tossed Whumpee out of the water and to the deck. They hauled themself out and began to pound on Whumpee's chest. "You stupid piece of shit," Whumper growled as they continued their compressions. "You aren't allowed to die yet. You aren't allowed to die until I've had my fun."

Caretaker held their breath. This had to work. Whumpee had to come back. Whumpee could hold on a bit longer. They would find a way to break out. And they could get Whumpee to safety. To help. Whumpee just had to hold on.

Whumpee's body spasmed and Whumper quickly turned Whumpee on their side. Whumpee coughed, water pouring from their mouth with each cough. Whumper sat back, breathing heavily as they stared into Caretaker's eyes. "You're welcome."

Caretaker sagged with relief. Whumpee was alive. Whumpee was breathing. Whumpee was alive.

"And you," Whumper said as they yanked Whumpee to sitting by the hair, Whumpee moaned weakly, but didn't fight the movement. "You are in for a world of hurt for that. You don't get to escape pain unless I say so."

[fairyniceyeah]

🧭🐶Day 19: "This can't be happening."

Sobbing/Straightjacket/Dissociation

@juneofdoom

Day 18: "I'm fine."

Summary: Seungmin knew something was wrong.

CW: dissociation, panic

Whumpee: Seungmin

Caretaker: Chan + Minho

Seungmin knew something was wrong.

He had realized a few weeks ago. Or maybe it had been months? He wasn't sure. Time as an idol sometimes didn't feel real - switching between so many schedules was overwhelming and it wasn't easy to keep track.

Well, normally Seungmin did have a good sense of time and happenings, able to recall their schedules when members like Felix or Changbin or Han came home in the evening and barely remembered what they had done that day. But Seungmin supposed he had reached a point where he also couldn't tell.

Maybe it should worry him. It didn't.

He didn't even know what day it was. Monday, maybe? Or Thursday? It didn't really matter anyway. He could just look at his schedules and see what was planned.

At times, this indifference scared him. At night he'd lie awake, not feeling anything. He'd never been this indifferent before to anything. Sure, he wasn't the most emotionally open member but he also did feel emotions. Not to an extent like Felix did, crying with every moment of sadness and laughing brightly with every second of happiness. That wasn't who Seungmin was.

But the real Seungmin also wasn't as … detached as he sometimes felt. Maybe detached wasn't the right word. He knew where he was, who he was, when he was. That would mean he wasn't detached from the world. Right?

Just, at times, Seungmin would only exist. His emotions didn't connect with him. Nothing did. Third person view. It was happening more often now, that he would watch his members do something and feel like he was watching all of them - himself included - through a wall of glass-clear water. Like you'd watch colorful fish in a green pont. Trapped inside the confines of the water and the way to the top, to fresh air, a barrier they didn't need or dare break. 

The pont was a fantasy world and he was a cloud of mist watching from atop.

There had been that day during dance practice when he had first felt it. Seungmin had been struggling with the dance a lot for some time. He never was able to really understand the moves, struggling and tripping over his own feet.

Even Chan and Jeongin who had also struggled a lot had gotten the moves down two days ago. Still Seungmin made mistakes.

Minho had taken him aside, leaving the practice to Hyunjin and Felix, and had asked him what was going on. He'd been so kind, so understanding. But Seungmin didn't know - he just couldn't do it. His hyung had sighed, his hand resting on Seungmin's arm for a moment. Then they had done one on one practice - something Seungmin hadn't needed since their trainee days. He'd been too emotionally overwhelmed to care. 

Then, as he danced, following Minho's steps, he slowly started to feel weird. Like he wasn't really there? It was hard to describe. He watched himself dance like he would watch Minho dance - an outside perspective. It would have been scary if he had been able to feel that - or any - emotion.

But for the first time in days, he got the dance down. Not as perfect as Minho, not as fluid as Felix or as passionate as Hyunjin but he did it. Without even thinking about it.

Minho's compliments felt hollow. It wasn’t him who had done that dance, was it?

Ever since instances such as that happened. 

During vocal practice with Jeongin his mind had been so far away from his body, that he afterwards didn’t even remember learning the new technique the vocal coach had taught them. He pretended to know but he had spent a sleepless night of watching youtube tutorials on catching up with it. He still couldn’t really do it, didn’t remember how.

A photo shoot had been completely wiped from his mind. The photos had been so alien to look at - seeing himself in clothes he couldn’t remember wearing in a location he couldn’t remember being at and doing poses he couldn’t recall.

There had been several more moments and Seungmin knew how bad this was. Sudden memory loss? Feeling so far removed from himself that emotions didn’t seem to work? That were signs of something being very wrong with him. Yet, he never had been able to bring himself to tell anybody. 

He didn’t want to make a fuss, be benched during heavy, stressful schedules when the other members would be even more stressed if he was out. He didn’t want to speak with a manager, private person that he was. He knew all his members would gladly listen to him and try to help but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. This seemed so bad, they’d be so worried.

No, he couldn’t burden them. Though he had nearly broken down and told Chan after that photo shoot but he had seldomly seen the leader so stressed at that time. So he had stayed silent.

Yet truth be told - every time he came back to himself or saw evidence of things he didn’t remember doing, he was so scared. 

Ignoring was bliss, not having to face it was heaven. 

Seungmin had no recollection of making himself coffee that morning or going to the company but he blinked and was standing in the hallway holding a cup from home. Felix was by his side, watching TikToks on his phone. He seemingly hadn’t even noticed how absent Seungmin was. Or maybe they had held a full conversation without Seungmin remembering it.

“Felix?”, he asked timidly. 

“Yeah?”, the older answered distractedly. 

What should he say? Seungmin hadn’t thought this through. Sorry, but I don’t remember the past thirty minutes at least? What’s up?

… had they even arrived together?

“What’s on the schedule today?”, he asked instead. 

Felix furrowed his brow, looking up from his phone for the first time. “You okay? Since when don’t you know the schedule by heart?”, he asked, half-teasing, half-worried.

“Didn’t sleep well, didn’t have a chance to look at it”, Seungmin lied. Well, maybe it was the truth. He didn’t know.

“Oh no, I’m sorry. Let’s see, 3Racha want to record today. Let me pull up the schedule, you should be there … fifteen minutes ago”, Felix replied, looking up with wide eyes.

“Damn”, Seungmin cursed. He had never been late before, he hated being late. This was embarrassing. After a quick look at his phone - muted in his pocket - he saw he had five missed calls from Chan and Changbin and about fifty messages from Jisung. “Fuck.”

“Min-ah, are you okay?”, Felix asked, putting his own phone away and mustering Seungmin from head to toe, a hand on Seungmin’s wrist. It was difficult to have a conversation with the dancer without him touching you. Seungmin didn’t mind, it grounded him a bit. 

“Yeah”, he choked out, “yeah, I gotta go. Sorry.”

He turned around and fled towards the elevators that would take him up to the studios.

The hallway seemed to stretch on as Seungmin rushed to the right studio, like it didn’t want him to arrive. His chest felt so heavy from guilt and fear and confusion that it was getting hard to breathe.

Just as he arrived at the right door, a hand on the knob and an apology on his lips, the door swung open to reveal a frazzled Chan. 

“Seungmin”, he sighed, pulling the younger into the studio with him and forcefully closing the door behind them, “there you are. I was about to search for you. Han, text Minho back and tell him he can go practice and that we found our stray puppy.”

Shrinking into himself, Seungmin looked around. Luckily none of the three members looked angry but still he was scared. He hadn’t intended to make them wait. Changbin was sitting at the console, fiddling with the buttons but more out of boredom than with a purpose. Han was sprawled out on the sofa, rapidly tapping on his phone. Chan still stood beside Seungmin, looking him up and down with a frown.

“Are you okay, Min-ah?”, the leader asked. 

Seungmin nodded jerkely. “I’m sorry, hyungs”, he apologized, bowing slightly, “I … I completely forgot. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s alright”, Changbin called, “this is the first time this has happened to you. Knowing you, you are beating yourself up about this more than any of us could - not that we want to. Are you ready?”

“Yeah”, he whispered quietly and brushed past the still concerned Chan to enter the recording booth. 

The lyric sheet was already in position, so he took the few seconds he had to warm up his voice. Then he lifted the headphones to his ears and gave the others thumbs up through the glass wall.

He had practiced his lines often enough to already know them by heart - never mind that he still wasn’t really good at that particular technique. He knew he was doing a bad job from the start. The lack of warm-up and his own thoughts of guilt choked him, making him have to start over and over again.

Lost in the repetition he didn’t even really notice how he was slowly starting to lose himself. He closed his eyes in hopes that helped him hit the note but as he opened them, he was gone. 

Seungmin knew he was standing in the recording booth, he knew what song he was recording. He knew that Chan, Changbin and Han were listening and making notes, fiddling with the control console. He knew all of that - but it was just like he was watching the scene on television. It was like he couldn’t interact with anything surrounding him, like it was removed from him. Maybe a different dimension. It didn’t feel real.

Still, he sang. The words didn’t register in his mind at all. Fuck.

This can’t be happening - not now. The thoughts repeated themselves in his head, louder than the words he sang. Was he still singing?

He needed to record, he needed to make up for his lateness with a good take. He owed it to 3Racha, to the group, to Stay. 

Seungmin heard Chan speak through the speakers. Were the words directed at him? What was he saying? Was he speaking at all?

Everything felt so unreal.

Shit, Seungmin needed to snap himself out of this … episode. He didn’t want to …

Before he could think of anything that would help - nothing before had helped - Chan stood in front of him, taking the headphones off his dongsaeng. When had he come in? Chan’s lips were moving but Seungmin couldn’t seem to hear a word he was saying.

He was just watching. Everything was so foggy, so dream-like. 

Was this a nightmare? Suddenly, his chest felt tight. At least he thought so. Fear didn’t register in his mind. He just didn’t care, didn’t feel, didn’t exist.

Or maybe he was a shooting star. Passing by the earth, a moment of happiness for those who saw but doomed to die soon after, fade into nothingness.

Then he saw Chan wrap his arms around Seungmin’s body. He knew, he knew that he should be able to feel it. There should have been soft and warm pressure against his chest, comforting hands rubbing up and down his spine. He should have been able to smell Chan’s familiar aftershave from where his nose was buried against the leader’s neck. He should have been able to feel the soft rumbling of his hyung’s chest as he spoke. To him, maybe? Or to Changbin and Han? Seungmin should have been able to hear him speak. 

But he didn’t.

That’s when the panic set in. Before he knew what he was doing, he started to struggle against the arms holding him though he didn’t feel them. But even as Chan let go of him, everything was so detached. So removed. So far away. 

“Hyung”, Seungmin rasped, tears choking him up as he heard himself speak, “hyung, nothing feels real.”

Then, for a long time, he didn’t feel anything at all.

The first feeling that came back to Seungmin was coldness. He shivered, trying to get away from it. It moved away. A warmness came to the same place. Was that a hand on his cheek?

Seungmin blinked. Somebody was looking down at him. No, not just somebody. Chan. 

Chan’s hand was stroking his face. 

Seungmin opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out.

“Don’t try to speak if you can’t. Can you hear me?”, Chan asked then, gently and calmly. His presence was so comforting, like a warm blanket.

Seungmin nodded. He looked around, head still but eyes moving. 

The room was familiar, though the perspective was distorted. No, he realized then, he was just laying down. On the sofa in the recording studio. How had he come to be there? He didn’t know. He couldn’t muster the strength to care.

“Take it slow, baby”, Chan said, “it’s just you, me and Minho.”

Seungmin was allowed to drift for some time. Just exist. 

Slowly things became more noticeable around him. There was coldness on his wrists and feet. He shivered but the coldness stayed. A strange aroma caught his attention. Curry? Spice? Something like that. Soft voices spoke above him and then, as he was finally able to turn his head, Seungmin saw Minho sitting on the floor by his side, conversing quietly with Chan.

“Hyung?”, he whispered, reaching out with his hand before he even knew what he was doing. The coldness fell from his wrist. An ice pack. Minho caught his hand in his and smiled at him.

“Hi, Seungmin-ah”, he said quietly, “take your time. We’ll stay with you.”

“What happened?”, Seungmin rasped, lifting his head up. He was so exhausted. But he felt a bit more connected now.

“We think you dissociated”, Minho said, throwing a glance at Chan, “do you know what that is, Min-ah?”

He shook his head. He didn’t want to stay laying down like this. He tried to push himself up but realized he was too weak to do so. His arms gave up under him and he nearly fell back down. Chan caught him, his grip gentle and lifted him up. Then he settled himself on the sofa, pulling Seungmin into his lap. The leader’s strong arms wrapped around him. Never before had Seungmin felt so safe, so protected.

Minho climbed onto the couch with them, sitting down cross-legged across them and took Seungmin’s hands in his, the grip a bit tighter than normally. It was comforting.

“Basically dissociation means that a person starts to feel disconnected from their surroundings. Unable to feel things or see themselves in third person view, like they see others”, Minho explained, “there are other things that might happen but I’m no expert.”

“You said things didn’t feel real?”, Chan asked. 

Seungmin nodded. “Yeah”, he whispered. His tongue felt a bit too big and too awkward in his mouth and he stumbled over his words, “like Minho-hyung said. I saw myself but I couldn’t hear you or feel anything or … everything felt like I was in a dream. A nightmare. I think I should have been afraid but I wasn’t. I couldn’t feel anything, any emotion, at all.”

“Oh, baby”, Minho said gently, “I’m sorry this happened to you. How do you feel now?”

“Tired. Scared”, Seungmin whispered, “I don’t want that to happen again.”

“Yeah, I know. Dissociation is really scary. But I don’t think it has to happen again. It can be a one time thing”, Chan said, “well, the internet says so. I can understand it’s really scary when it happens the first time but likely it won’t happen again.”

“But …”, Seungmin said, voice trailing off and getting quieter with every word, “this wasn’t the first time.”

“No?”, Minho asked, surprised. Chan tensed behind him, causing Seungmin to tense himself. Chan immediately relaxed again, rubbing Seungmin’s arms to calm him down. It only slightly helped. Seungmin knew he was working himself up but as he went to speak, he burst into tears.

“It happened at that dance practice, when you showed me the moves one on one. It wasn’t like I was there but like I was watching myself dance. But it worked so I didn’t say anything. Then it happened again and again. I’d watch things happen like through a fog or a glass. And other times I’d … that photoshoot two weeks ago? I don’t remember it. At all. When I saw the pictures later I had no recollection of doing that shoot”, Seungmin whispered, breath hitching as he sobbed, “then today, again. That’s why I was late. I opened my eyes and was in the hallway of the company, holding a coffee I don’t remember making, next to Felix. Did I arrive with Felix? I … I asked about the schedule, I couldn’t remember it. That’s when he realized I was late, so I came here. And then during the recording I … I saw you hugging me but I couldn’t feel it. Hyungs, I am so scared.”

As Chan rocked him from side to side and Minho gently played with Seungmin’s fingers, he gradually managed to calm down again. He knew he could trust his hyungs and not being alone in his secrets and his fears was relieving. 

“Min-ah, why didn’t you say?”, Chan asked worriedly, “we would have helped you. This has been going on for so long. How did we not notice?”

“Well”, Minho started, his brows furrowed as he looked down at his phone, “Felix says, that you two talked about the show you watched yesterday? But you don’t remember.”

“No. No, I don’t.” Seungmin’s voice shook. “I need help, hyungs, I need help. Memory loss is so bad. Something is wrong with me and it’s getting worse, I think.”

“You’ll get help”, Chan said, moving Seungmin’s head so he was resting on his shoulder, “I promise, we’ll figure this out. The fact that the memory loss is going hand in hand with what seems to be dissociation probably means that it’s connected. It can be a symptom. Also, the fact that the ice and the strong smell helped you come back from this, also makes it likely you’re just dissociating.” 

He lifted his fingers to air-quote as he said just. Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t just a simple thing.

“Chan will call a manager later to find you a psychiatrist, okay? We’ll see what an expert says but we’ll be with you all the time to help you, okay?”, Minho promised.

Seungmin nodded in thanks. While he was still scared, the prospect of professional help calmed him down somewhat. He was so so grateful to his hyungs. Suddenly, he yawned and had to fight his eyes falling shut against his will. While he was indeed very tired, his curiosity was still bigger. 

“Where are Changbinnie-hyung and Hannie-hyung?”, he asked quietly, “and did the ice and the smell really help? How did you know it would?”

“Half-asleep and still thirsting for knowledge”, Minho teased. Seungmin felt Chan’s chest rumble as he laughed.

“I sent them to get Minho when we realized something was going on with you”, Chan explained, “I didn’t want Han to be scared or possibly have a panic attack when we didn't know what was going on. And yeah, the ice and the smell was Minho’s idea and it really helped. It was a bit unnerving to see you stare up blankly but soon after the ice touched you, you at least started blinking. I am also curious though. How did you know?”

Minho flushed a bit red under the attention. “Well, uh, I didn’t know but I thought it was worth a try. I , uh, well, I saw it happen with Namjoon-hyung when I was one of their back-up dancers. I don’t really remember why but it was just Namjoon-hyung, Suga-hyung and me when Namjoon-hyung went blank - kinda like you did. I was really worried so Suga-hyung explained it to me. Ice helped Namjoon-hyung a lot and well, Suga-hyung always carried around smelling salts for him, apparently. So I figured, since we didn’t have smelling salts, that the instant curry I had in my bag would also help.”

“You brought me back from dissociation with instant curry?”, Seungmin asked incredulously. 

“Hey”, Minho defended himself, lifting his hands, “it helped, didn’t it?”

“Yeah”, Seungmin mumbled begrudgingly and yawned again, closing his eyes and nuzzling closer to Chan. He was already half-asleep when he heard Chan mumble: “Sleep, baby. Hyungs are here, we’ll figure this out together.”

Day 20: "I can handle it."

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

Notes: I have never dissociated before - so this is just based on what I read. I hope this is okay and doesn't play into wrong stereotypes!

[blackrosesandwhump]

Nathaniel's Bane, Part 4

June of Doom Day 7: “What happened?” | Nightmare | Isolation | Stumbling

June of Doom Day 19: “This can’t be happening!” | Sobbing | Straitjacket | Dissociation

CW: drowning, nightmare, self-harm, gothic illness

Black water laps at the edges of Nathaniel’s face, threatening to submerge him completely. His limbs feel like lead, numb and useless as a statue’s. He tries to move, tries to raise himself from the treacherous waves, but his body doesn’t belong to him. It belongs to a dead boy.

Please, no…this can’t be…this can’t be happening--

Terror grips him in an inescapable vise. He manages to take a breath just as the water closes over his face. Sand shifts and drops away under him, giving way to—nothing. An endless deep. A watery tomb that sucks him down.

Weight. A terrible weight in his chest. The stone. The stone is pulling him downward, paralyzing his body. He has to get it out.

In the black water, Nathaniel claws at his chest. His body finally obeys, but the realization vanishes in his desperation. He has to get it out, or he’ll drown. Thrashing, frantic with fear, his nails dig into his own skin. In vain. The stone is deeply anchored, part of his body. Blood stains the water. Nothing. It pulls him deeper, deeper, away from air and light, away from the figure poised at the edge of the water, watching him die. Familiar. The figure feels familiar.

The boy screams, and the figure watches as he drowns—

The scream jolts Nathaniel awake. He bolts upright, damp with sweat, tangled miserably in his sheets. He screams again, but this time, it fizzles into a sob that bursts violently from him, wracking his body. The stone pulses with each sob, a small fist of pain close to his heart. He gasps for breath between cries, the sensation of drowning still fresh and nightmarish in his lungs.

His bedroom door creaks open abruptly. Elvie rushes in, framed in her nightgown against the dim light from the hallway.

“What happened?” she blurts, stumbling over her own feet. “You were screaming! Are you—” She stops as her brother’s sob breaks through the quiet.

He can’t help himself. Drowning. Pain. The stone, killing him slowly. The watcher, unwilling to help.

“Nightmare,” he manages to whisper. “I was…I was drowning. And the—the stone was making me die.” He wipes his face on the edge of the sheet, trying to ease his ragged breathing. Elvie says nothing, just reaches for the glass of water on the side table and helps him drink.

Gradually, as they sit in silence in the dark, his heartbeat slows, and with it, the stone’s throbbing. His sobs fade to hiccups, his panic to a sagging exhaustion. He sinks back into the pillows with a heavy sigh. His mind feels empty. Mostly.

I’ll do anything. Before…before it’s too late. I have to make that deal.

Because if I don’t—

“I wish I could help you.” Elvie’s stricken voice startles him. “I’m—I’m so sorry.” Her own eyes shine with fresh tears.

I should tell her.

“It’s okay,” Nathaniel says quietly, pushing the twisted covers back and stumbling out of bed. A fresh shirt. He needs something clean before he tries to sleep again. “I have a plan.”

@juneofdoom

[snaillamp]

JOD - Day 19 - Stay with Me

We had fluff on day 18, so day 19 is the complete opposite. >:)

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

Masterlist

Day 19: “I’m not going anywhere” | Wound cleaning | Guilt | Chair |

Right-hand limped out of the forest, pulling someone behind them. Slung over their shoulder was the arm of Leader, who was barely able to walk. Right-hand  whimpered as they sank to the ground, Leader heavily dropping to the ground next to them.

Right-hand was breathing heavily as they rolled onto their back, staring up at the stars, they were still heading in the right direction. ‘We are so close to the bunker… we have to be. We have to keep going.’ they thought.

In the darkness, they looked over at Leader, who was lying still. They turned and shook them, “Leader?” waiting anxiously as they felt Leader’s chest rise and fall, barely. They felt cold. 

Right-hand pushed themself to their feet, pulling Leader’s arm back over their shoulder. Leader groaned, lifting their head slightly. “Right-hand?” “I’m right here Leader. Stay with me, we’re nearly there.” 

They adjusted their grip on Leader’s arm before continuing. Leader spoke again, their voice ragged, “What happened?” Right-hand felt gooebumps erupt over their skin, Leader sounded terrible. “I got us out of there. We’re-” Right-hand’s sentence was cut off as pain ripped through their leg. “We’re nearly there.” They panted, practically dragging their leg behind them. Leader moaned quietly, before slumping against them, sending them both staggering off course. Right-hand righted themself before grunting, pulling the arm of the unconscious Leader over their shoulder a little more, trying to carry their dead weight.

The trees sighed as they broke into the clearing, Right-hand collapsing again. They looked up at the sky, now clouded over, the light of the stars no longer a comfort to them. At least they didn’t need them to navigate anymore.

Leaning Leader against a tree, they limped out into the small clearing, uncovering the bunker door, hidden in the dirt and leaves, pulling it open. They hobbled back to Leader, picking them up under their arms and dragging them along the ground. Slowly, they managed to get them both down the bunker entrance, one agonising step at a time, before slamming the door shut behind them, plunging them into darkness.

They felt the cold, brick wall, pressing the light switch when their fingers brushed it. A dull yellow light flickered on, buzzing as Right-hand looked around. There were many bunkers scattered around the country for teams like them, secret places to remain safe until they were picked up by an evacuation team, a team that couldn’t come soon enough.

Right-hand felt the blood begin dripping down their leg again, swearing as they noticed. They lay Leader on the ground, before stumbling to a shelf and fumbling through the supplies. Finding what they needed, they bandaged their wound tightly, hoping it would be enough to keep them going. They popped out a couple of pills from a box and forced themself to swallow them, gagging at the taste of the chalky tablets.

Turning to Leader, they knelt down and checked them over. There was a large wound on their head and dried blood was all through their hair and down their face. Feeling their chest for breathing, Right-hand could tell that Leader had some badly broken ribs and their breathing was shallow as they took quiet, uneven breaths.

Right-hand grabbed more bandages, wrapping a large stab wound on Leader’s arm and a long gash on their stomach. Leader suddenly woke, hissing in pain as Right-hand brushed their hand against the raw skin accidentally. They let out a cry, scraping their fingernails along the concrete floor as Right-hand quickly tried to wrap the rest of the bandage. “Leader, I gotta fix you up, then we can sort your pain out.” Securing the bandage, Right-hand managed to lift Leader from the floor and move them to a small, low camping stretcher. They were both soaked in blood, not all their own, as Right-hand lowered Leader onto it.

Leader gripped their stomach, fighting back tears in their eyes as waves of pain and nausea washed over them.

Right-hand grabbed a wound cleaning kit and sat by their side, before leaning back and resting their head beside Leader’s shaking shoulders. Opening the kit they swore, trust the people who kept these stocked to cheap out and buy shit antiseptic. They pulled up their sleeves, giving their own wounds a clean until Leader’s shaking subsided. The antiseptic burned as they winced through clenched teeth.

When Leader’s breath became calmer, Right-hand began to clean their wounds. This caused Leader’s body to spasm and they bit back scream as Right-hand cleaned a particularly deep wound. Their eyes grew slightly distant as they gasped in pain. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Stay with me.” Right-hand was concentrating on causing the least amount of pain as their leader writhed in the stretcher.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Leader grunted through gritted teeth, trying to keep a scream back unsuccessfully when Right-hand dabbed a cut. Right-hand stopped as Leader’s breathing grew faster, their body drenched in sweat. Leader looked up at them, eyes unfocused, “They aren’t coming… Are they?” shaking their head Right-hand kept dabbing, “They will. They have to.” They had to right? Surely they would be found and get out of here?

Right-hand used some more antiseptic to wipe the dried blood off their bodies. The scent was overpowering, smelling like fake pine trees. Leader coughed as they accidentally breathed it in. “Don’t do that.” Right-hand smiled gently, removing the small gauze pad they were using to clean. “The fumes will make you drunk.” Leader let out a pained laugh, “Honestly, wouldn’t mind that right now. Better than this.” They shuddered in pain again.

Nausea ripped through Leader’s body, making them feel like they were on a ship in a storm. They felt the cool sensation of the antiseptic drying on their arm as Right-hand wiped a new gauze pad all over it. “I’d rather you be sober for this one.” Right-hand’s voice sounded slightly muffled. Another wave of nausea washed over Leader, making them groan as the room began to swirl around them, as a jolt of pain ripped through their body, white hot and agonising. Leader’s body arched as the pain ripped through their entire being, before their eyes rolled back and they landed heavily on the stretcher. “Leader?”Right-hand cried out, shaking them to no avail.

Right-hand felt their mind beginning to swirl too. They must have been exposed to the toxin at the facility they infiltrated. That was the whole mission, to blow up a lab that they had received intel on. It was supposed to be manufacturing a new, fast acting, painful toxin that could be used by anyone to interrogate any information out of them, without causing them too much physical harm. No physical injuries? No suspicion. Absolute agony.

Pain began to rip through Right-hand’s body too, soon enough. They were on the lying ground, writhing in pain when they heard a weak voice through the fog… “Right-hand… Stay with me.” Scared, Right-hand flailed towards the sound, “Lie down… You’re with me… I’m not going anywhere.” Right-hand’s mouth was dry, “Neither.” they found their hand being weakly squeezed by another cold, shaky one.

They lay together, sprawled on the ground, drifting in and out until a light broke through the darkness and brain fog. Muffled sounds echoed around them ad the barely conscious Right-hand felt themself being lifted up. The cold, limp hand of Leader dropped from their grip and they groaned, reaching for it again. They promised they wouldn’t leave them alone.

“It’s alright, Right-hand.” The sound of the extrication team around them began to become clear. “Leader…” They mumbled, reaching for them again. “Leader’s right here, they’re fine.” The disembodied voice comforted them. “We got here just in time. A signal went off saying that the bunker had been opened and it’s a good thing it did. You’re both quite lucky.” Right-hand couldn’t make words form in their head as they were carried to a large, black helicopter.

Leader was already being loaded in, wrapped up on a stretcher. Right-hand realised they were lying on one too, as they admired the soft, warm colours of the rising sun.

Once on the chopper, their hand fell from the edge of the stretcher, brushing Leader’s, who’s eyes opened slowly. They looked at each other, too tired and in pain to move, but they weakly smiled. They would get through this together, they weren’t going anywhere.

[hummingbird-of-light]

June of Doom 2024 Day 19 (@juneofdoom)

19. “This can’t be happening!”                 

| Sobbing | Straitjacket | Dissociation |

~

It was already very late at night when the young student Hikaru Sulu got off the train and slowly made his way home. He had met up with another student to study after his last lecture and it had turned out to be later than expected. But that didn't bother him. No one was waiting for him. A grin crossed Sulu's face at the thought.

He was finally living on his own since the month before and was a grown man. Even though it had been extremely difficult for his parents, especially his mother, to let him go, the student had been very pleased that they had supported him anyway.

Sulu's path led him through a rather deserted area. The lonely streets were lit by flickering streetlights. In the distance, the young man heard a dog barking and he had to admit that he actually felt a little uneasy, almost startled. He had rarely been out alone late at night.

He also didn't like the fact that there was a red light district nearby. Who knew what kind of sleazy guys were hanging around this area, looking for trouble.

Sulu shook his head and clenched his hands into fists. He was no coward! He could handle guys like that! Nevertheless, he almost unconsciously increased his pace and walked a little faster.

The student was surprised when he suddenly spotted a person standing in the middle of the sidewalk not too far away. Judging by the figure, it was a woman.

Sulu tilted his head to the side in surprise when he saw that she was wearing a long raincoat with the collar pulled up. It was the middle of summer and there were no rain showers in the forecast. So why was the woman dressing so strangely?

He decided not to think too much about it. He would just walk past her and give her a friendly nod and then the whole thing would be forgotten very soon.

Sulu walked forward with slow steps and he realized that his legs were trembling more and more the closer he got to the figure.

The woman just stood there, her hands hidden behind her back. Her long black hair blew in front of her in the gentle evening breeze.

When Sulu was almost past her, she took a step to the side and stood directly in front of him. Only now did the young man realize that she was wearing a face mask.

"Uhm, good evening," he said, bowing his head politely. "Can I help you?"

The woman tilted her head and her piercing gaze made Sulu's blood run cold. He felt his heart begin to race. What kind of woman was this? Why did the sight of her send such a shiver down his spine?

"Am I beautiful?" The female voice sounded like the sound of long fingernails scratching across a blackboard. Sulu did his best not to make a face.

What was he supposed to say? What kind of answer did the woman expect from him? Sulu thought hard about it. His parents had always brought him up to be as polite as possible. And if he was honest, the woman actually seemed very pretty. At least what Sulu could see of her.

He nodded.

"Y-yes. You are."

The woman's shoulders began to twitch and a shuddering sound escaped her throat. She ... appeared to giggle.

Slowly, she lifted a hand and pulled the mask from her face. The sight that presented itself to Sulu made him freeze in horror.

The woman's mouth was slit open at the sides. She looked at the young man with a horrible, huge grin. Her teeth glinted in the light of the streetlights.

"And ... now? Am I still pretty?"

The voice sounded even more terrifying than before and Sulu couldn't help but stare at his counterpart with huge eyes. He opened his mouth to say something, but no sound came out.

A single thought flashed through his mind.

'Kuchisake-onna!'

As a child, he and his friends had told each other scary stories about this Yōkai, an evil demon. A figure that stalked lonely victims and entangled them in a conversation that could not end well. It didn't matter what answer they gave.

Sulu swallowed hard. It wasn't true! It was just a story! A legend!

This woman couldn't possibly be Kuchisake-onna. That was impossible!

But when he saw the woman pull her second hand out from behind her back and reveal a huge knife to him, Sulu knew it was real.

He dared not move. He dared not say anything.

If he answered in the negative, the woman would torture and kill him with her knife. If he answered in the affirmative, she would slash his face too so that he would be as beautiful as she was before she killed him as well.

The only salvation he had heard of was not to give a definite answer or trigger the Yōkai's compulsion to count.

Sulu quickly brought his hand to his neck and tore off the string of beads with the amulet his mother had given him for protection when he had moved into his first apartment of his own.

He threw the beads to the ground and didn't even wait to see if it worked.

Sulu ran as fast as he could, on and on towards his apartment block. He had to escape! He had to reach his home!

Tears streamed down his cheeks and he sobbed in panic, shaking his head violently.

"This can't be happening! This can't be happening!"

But no matter how many times he said the words, he couldn't believe them.

He shouted as loud as he could when suddenly a breeze – a shadow – whizzed past him and Kuchisake-onna appeared right in front of him.

"Twenty-four," she said with a grin, holding one of the beads between her fingers. Sulu opened his mouth to utter one last prayer to the heavens, but he never got the chance. The sharp blade of the knife touched his face and all he could do was scream in pain as the demon slowly disfigured him and cut him to pieces.

[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.

[dinosaurswant2rule]

I am belatedly joining @juneofdoom

This is an old story, but I like the prompts for June 19 so I decided to use them as a way to push the narrative forward. Hope you like! Feedback always welcome

Mac is trapped in a mental hospital, the foundation is under new management

@teddythecat1234 - this chapter might appeal to you

@grettiwrites - I know you always liked medical whump, thoughts on a new chapter?

[starry-night-author]

June of Doom Day #19

"This can't be happening!" |

June Of Doom Prompt List @juneofdoom

The moment Hero saw them they were already sprinting, and seconds later they had hugged Villain so forcefully that the two of them fell to the ground.

Superhero came up behind them, laughing. "Hold on, they've still got to breathe!"

Villain was trying to pry themself loose, practically hissing, but Hero didn't even seem to notice. "I'm so happy you made it! It's so good to see you again!"

"Get off of me!" Villain screeched, and Hero finally let go.

Superhero helped Villain up, still laughing. "I'm glad you're here, Villain. With you on this case with us, we'll have it solved in no time."

"Not so sure I want to help anymore," Villain grumbled, dusting themself off. They glowered at Hero, who gave them an ear to ear grin.

"Oh come on! I haven't seen you in ages, sorry if I'm a little excited! It feels like this can't be happening!"

"It is, unfortunately," Villain sighed heavily as they were pulled in to another hug.

"You know you're happy to see me too!"

Villain rolled their eyes, but tilted their head so it rested against Hero's as they hugged them. "Fine, I did miss you. A little. Now let go of me!"

[shes-some-other-where]

June of Doom Day 3, 10, 18, 19

Ambushed | Smoke | Self-defence | “This can’t be happening!”

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Contains: angst, very brief mention of corporal punishment, ambush, arrest, restraints, corrupt guards, fantasy chloroform, knocked out

WC: 940

Burnt sugar and rotting flesh

The stars were coldly curious, just barely visible now that the sun was almost set. The food taster walked the streets with purpose, toward the palace, toward its high walls and iron gates. His feet ached from the countless steps he’d taken that day as he scoured the city for any word of the girl. His bones creaked with fatigue, his head ached with confusion, his throat pinched with thirst, his chest burned with frustration.

How could no one know who she was?

Guilt, too, prickled at his conscience. He shouldn’t have slipped away in secret. Really, he shouldn’t have even considered leaving without permission. After all, he was sworn to bend to his employer’s whims and well-being, no matter how friendly their bond. Worse, sneaking away before dinner meant he was shirking his duties outright. If word of his disobedience reached the governor? Unquestionably, there would be some measure of punishment awaiting him once they returned to the north.

Whatever that turned out to be—withheld wages, a stern warning, a lash or two with a switch—mattered little. Tonight, it was all insignificant.

He promised himself: another hour of searching, and if his efforts still turned up nothing, he would give up.

When he approached the royal palace’s south gate, his steps faltered.

The air . . .

It was different here.

It didn’t reek, exactly, but it was . . . unwelcoming. Magic lay thick and impassable over the iron bars, spikes, and locks—a curse dense enough that the area even appeared unguarded.

Don’t even try, the spell warned.

Ignoring the acrid tang of hostility on his tongue, the food tester pressed his hands to the lock.

The spell holding it together snapped.

He stepped back, mystified but undeniably pleased that it had worked. Palms slick with perspiration, he slid the mechanisms apart, piece by piece.

“Oi! You!”

Perhaps the area was not as undefended as he thought.

The food taster cursed under his breath, jolting away from the broken lock as harsh voices rang through the air.

“Yes . . . ?” he asked, trying to exude an air of bewilderment as a line of soldiers advanced toward him.

Too late, he realized they were shouting his name.

How did they know his name?

Much too late, he considered that his friend’s dire predictions might actually come true.

“Breaking in, were you?” asked the leader. “Caught you red-handed.”

Had they been looking for him? Waiting for him?

“How . . . how do you know me?” he stammered.

His earlier confidence that he might successfully defend himself was downright laughable. Two guards seized his arms, too strong for him to shake off, while the leader rifled through his pockets.

“Hey! Get—get off!”

The leader paid him no heed; he merely smiled in triumph, displaying the girl’s gold charm with a flourish. “Well. I was told I’d catch a thief tonight. Looks like I did.”

“I’m not a thief,” the food taster protested. “I wanted to return it!”

His objections went ignored.

“You’re under arrest,” the leader said, locking a pair of manacles over the food taster’s wrists.

“You can’t arrest me!” he yelped. “I haven’t done anything!”

The guards looked pointedly at the gate’s broken lock.

“Get moving,” said the leader, pushing him forward. A malicious sort of amusement coloured his tone. “Tell it to the . . . courts.”

“But I—”

Someone shoved him again, rattling the chain, and the food taster stumbled, falling silent in defeat.

They hauled him into a dimly lit office, demanding a full confession. The room boasted dusty, windowless walls and cold grey flagstone for a floor. It stank of old magic and suffering.

With his heart in his throat, the food taster repeatedly defended his innocence. More than once, with irritation unchecked and running rampant, a guard slammed his chained hands back to the table or clipped him hard on the ear.

To his great alarm, his explanation of “I wanted to find her and give it back to her; also, I think she might be in grave danger,” appeared to hold very little sway.

“Oh, save it,” said the leader impatiently, “and shut up.” To the other guards, he said coolly, “I’ll handle the rest of this. Leave us.”

Dread washed through the room when the other guards vanished, although the food taster couldn’t have said why.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” he insisted.

“Honestly? I don’t care.”

The food taster’s mouth dropped open as the guard lifted the statement he had just finished painstakingly recording, holding it tauntingly against a torch set into the wall.

The paper flared into smoke and flame.

“What are you doing?” the food taster cried, struck with horror.

“Well, you see . . .” The guard dropped the charred remains of the parchment to the floor. “Someone wants a word with you. In private.” He lowered his voice. “No trail left behind.”

A sickening scent met his senses in a violent assault: a heavy, cloying smell, like burnt sugar and rotting flesh.

Poison.

Not just any poison. He cursed his too-deep knowledge of the subject, for he knew right away what this poison was for. He knew when that soaked cloth clamped over his nose and his mouth, the pungent chemical would cut off his air and overwhelm his senses, muddying his thoughts and sending him straight into the depths of oblivion.

This can’t be happening.

“No! Don’t—”

The last thing he felt was the guard’s free hand holding him down to quell his struggles.

The last thing he heard was his own panicked, muffled breaths.

The last thing he saw was shackled hands growing slack, and the yellow candlelight fading to impenetrable, unforgiving darkness.

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.

[annabelle--cane]

do we have any information on the approximate dates or year that TMA takes place in? I’m obsessed with timelines and I’m so curious about if those dates are Known or not or can only be guessed about

yes we do! some parts of the timeline are a little vague, but every live and "in situ" statement (with a few exceptions) has a date attached to it. I won't go through every known date, and I'm also not scrupulously checking to make sure I've copied all these numbers down correctly so there's probably an error or two in here, but some significant ones include:

s1

mag 13 - alone: the first live statement and the first hard date for the show, 13 january 2016

mag 22 - colony: martin's statement after being trapped by jane prentiss, 12 march 2016

mag 26 - a distortion: sasha's statement about meeting michael, 2 april 2016 (<- that was my fourteenth birthday :3)

mag 38 / mag 39 / mag 40: jane prentiss's attack on the institute, sasha's death, and all the debrief statements afterwards, 29 july 2016

s2

mag 41 - too deep: jon's statement about exploring the tunnels and his first supplemental tape about gertrude's murder, 2 september 2016

mag 43 - section 31: basira's statement about diego molina + the start of her giving gertrude's old tapes to jon, 19 september 2016

mag 47 - the new door: helen's statement about the hallways, we meet michael in person for the first time, 2 october 2016

mag 61 - hard shoulder: daisy's statement about seeing the coffin for the first time, 1 december 2016

mag 73 - police lights: basira's statement about rescuing callum brodie from maxwell rayner, 11 february 2017

mag 76 - the smell of blood: melanie's statement about her investigations into war ghosts, at the end she and jon have a bit of a fight about how That Is Not Sasha, 13 february 2017

mag 78 / mag 79 / mag 80: jon releases not-sasha from the table, martin and tim get trapped in the corridors, jon meets leiter, elias smashes leitner with a metal pipe, all on 16 february 2017

s3

mag 81 / mag 82: jon makes a statement at georgie's place about a guest for mr spider at the same time as daisy interviews the remaining archives staff to try and ascertain his whereabouts, 18 february 2017

mag 89 - twice as bright: statement of jude perry, ft. jon hand crispification, 24 april 2017

mag 91 / mag 92 (/ maybe mag 93?): statement of mike crew, death of mike crew, jon daisy and basira's encounter in the woods, the big elias conversation at the institute, 28 april 2017. mag 93 might also be recorded on this day, I'm not quite sure, because georgie's statement (mag 94) is 29 april, but I don't know if that's fully the next day or if jon got back really late on the 28th, recorded mag 93, and then georgie gave her statement in the wee hours of the 29th. up to interpretation and how little sleep you envision jon as having.

mag 100 - I guess you had to be there: lynne hammond's is 2 may 2017, robin lennox's is 20 may 2017, brian finlinson's is 26 may 2017, and "john smith's" statement doesn't have a date.

mag 111 - family business: gerry's posthumous statement about smirke's 14, 30 june 2017. again, trevor and julia's statement about how they met in mag 109 is dated 29 june, and I don't know if it's an either-side-of-midnight thing or a full day elapsed between them.

mag 118 - the masquerade: martin and melanie pull a fast one on elias while the rest of the gang sets up explosives in the unknowing, 6 august 2017.

mag 120 - eye contact: elias's statement about jon's coma dreams + elias's arrest, 9 august 2017.

s4

mag 121 / mag 122: oliver banks gives his statement about point nemo and jon wakes up, 15 february 2018

mag 128 - heavy goods: breekon deliver's the coffin and jon slurps a statement right out of his head, 3 march 2018

mag 132 - entombed: jon buries himself alive to rescue daisy, 24-26 march 2018

mag 141 - doomed voyage: on the boat to norway jon slurps a statement about mikaele salesa out of a shiphand's head, 11 june 2018

mag 142 - scrutiny: jess tyrell comes in to complain about jon slurping a statement out of her head and haunting her nightmares, 12 june 2018

mag 146 / mag 147: jon gets intervened on about all the brain slurping, they go to hilltop road and find annabelle's statement, 20 july 2018

mag 157 / mag 158 / mag 159: peter releases not-sasha and brings martin to the panopticon for a showdown with "elias," julia and trevor attack the institute, daisy goes monster mode, and jon follows martin into the lonely and saves him with the power of gay love and also slurping peter lukas's brain so hard he explodes badly, 25 september 2018

mag 160 - the eye opens: jon reads a normal statement and nothing bad happens, 18 october 2018.

s5

fuck if I know