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much-obliged-timothy · 10 months

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June of Doom #30

The Old Guard - #30 - Buried Alive

“I’m just saying, he should’ve been back by now,” Joe said, pacing by the door of the safehouse. “I’m going to look for him. I don’t like this.”

Andy caught his arm. “Joe-”

“Quynh is free and she’s angry, Andy!” he said. “What if she…what if she found him?”

“She wouldn’t hurt Nicky,” Andy said firmly.

“No, the old Quynh wouldn’t hurt Nicky. The Quynh who’s been suffering underwater for hundreds of years? We don’t know her. You heard Nile; she’s free and she’s furious.” Joe yanked the door open. “He shouldn’t have gone out on his own. I knew it was a bad idea.”

Nile ran into the room so fast that she tripped over the coffee table and Joe just barely managed to catch her before she fell. She was covered in cold sweat, her eyes wide and frantic, hair messy from sleep.

“She has him,” she said, gripping Joe’s arms. “Oh, god, she has him.”

The color drained from Joe’s face. “Where?”

“I don’t know. She tricked him.” Nile pulled away and put her face in her hands. “Pretended to run to him for help. He was comforting her when she killed him.”

“How did she know where he-” Joe froze. Andy subtly pushed Nile behind herself. “Fuck! Nile! You drove us to the safehouse! You led her right to him!”

“Stop,” Andy snapped. “Nile is new to this. You and I should’ve been the ones to know better, Joe. Focus. We can use Nile to track Quynh, just like Quynh used her to track us.”

Andy fought down the feelings rising rapidly inside of her. Quynh, her Quynh, back after all these years.

But what was she going to do with Nicky? Surely she’d never hurt Nicky. The two had been close friends. Quynh had always admired Nicky’s kindness and bravery. Nicky didn’t laugh often, but Quynh got him to laugh almost as much as Joe sometimes.

She must be using Nicky to lure Andy in. Andy was the one she was angry at, surely. It was ultimately Andy who had failed her, not Nicky or Joe.

“She’ll trade him for me,” Andy said, because she couldn’t have Joe losing his composure now. “That has to be her plan. What else would she want with Nicky? She’s probably been waiting for one of us to be alone, and Nicky just happened to be the first one.”

“Where did she take him? What did you see?” Joe demanded, ignoring Andy.

But Nile just shook her head. “She had him in the back of a van. She wasn’t driving and there were no windows. She…she had a gun pointed at him. He was dead and bound.” She looked at Andy with that mix of desperation and fierce resolve that made her such a good addition to the team. “We have to find him, Andy. That rage she feels isn’t just directed at you. She blames all of you, even Nicky.”

“Nile, call Copley. We’ll go see what we can find. And I am calling Booker. He can’t be on his own out there right now, not if she’s going after us,” Andy said, kicking the door all the way open and grabbing the car keys.

Joe and Nile hurried to follow her out. She didn’t need to ask to know they were armed.

She was heartbroken over Quynh’s fate. But it was no fault of Nicky’s, and Andy would do anything to get him back safely and take the consequences herself.

***

Booker met up with them the next day, drunk enough that they smelled the booze on him before he even entered the safehouse. Joe had roughly taken him to sober up, yelling at Booker about how they all needed to be ready for anything and on guard. Booker did not drink again.

Copley tried to track down Quynh. When he showed no signs of success, Booker joined in the search. They debated moving safehouses, but decided to stay in case Quynh sent a ransom or anything of the sort for Nicky. They set up a strict watch rotation and ensured everyone was armed at all times.

It was three days before the letter arrived.

Andy unfolded it. Joe reached for it, but Andy held it away as her eyes scanned over the words and her heart shriveled in her chest at them.

“Andy!” Joe said, pleading. “What does it say?”

She swallowed down bile and read it aloud, her voice monotonous despite the horror threatening to choke her. “You will not find Nicolo. I thought of the perfect way to hurt all three of you at once. You and Yusuf will suffer, knowing you can never save him. He will suffer as I did. I can think of no more perfect revenge than this. He will cry out for Yusuf with every dying breath, and Yusuf will sob for him with every passing minute, and you will live with the knowledge that you were responsible to protect them both. As you read this, Nicolo is dying yet another death, buried alive deep beneath the earth, waiting for help that will not come just as I did. Every time you think of his agony, know you caused it by abandoning me.”

Joe sat down heavily. Nile put a hand over her mouth. Booker pushed a shaking hand through his hair.

“No,” Joe whispered. “She wouldn’t. Not Nicolo. Not him.”

“Get up,” Nile whispered. “Joe, get up. He needs us. I don’t give a fuck what she says. We’re going to find him. We’re going to save Nicky. Get up!”

Andy felt numb inside. Nicky, her kind, caring Nicky, was buried alive somewhere right now, waiting for them to find him and save him. Trusting them to save him. Just like Quynh.

She felt like she was spiraling. This couldn’t be happening again. Not again.

“Andy!” Nile shook her and ripped the letter from her hands, crumpling it up and tossing it off to the side. “Andy, he needs us. We cannot fall to pieces right now.”

“She could have buried him anywhere,” Booker said, shaking his head helplessly. “Where do we even start?”

“Nicolo,” Joe whispered, and began muttering to himself, clasping his hands together and pressing his face to them.

Nile placed a firm, comforting hand on his back. “Andy, think. You knew her best. Where would she take him?”

Andy honestly had no idea. She thought and thought, but they had traveled so many places that she couldn’t pinpoint one. The world had changed too much in the centuries that Quynh had been trapped in the ocean; she had no idea what Quynh would do or where she would go.

Nile waited only another moment before nodding to herself. “Then we focus on surveillance videos. We try to find the van they took Nicky in. It’s better than sitting around doing nothing.”

“Andy,” Joe said, picking his head up. Tears were already dragging tracks down his cheeks. “We can’t fail him. He’s alone. He must be so scared.”

And who wouldn’t be, buried alive by your own friend, knowing you would never truly die? Forced to suffocate in the cold, lonely dark again and again for eternity.

So they got to work, even if the weight of the letter threatened to drag them all down into despair. They searched and searched, abandoning sleep whenever possible to keep going. Nile and Booker took over care for Joe, who would not eat or sleep or stop for a moment unless forced to. Andy was barely keeping herself together, but she managed to cling to her fractured pieces for the sake of her team.

Nine days after getting the letter, they found him.

It was Booker who got the idea when he saw Nile on her phone with Copley. Nicky had been carrying a cell phone with him when he left the safehouse that day.

The phone was no doubt long dead, but Booker managed to track it using something which Andy did not understand but which gave them a general location.

It was just outside a nearly abandoned town, with miles and miles of ground that no longer bore crops. Condemned land left to the wildlife to roam.

They forced themselves to be methodical, mapping the area and breaking it into a grid pattern, each of them assigned grids to dig up. They checked for signs of recently turned over ground, but found none as snow had recently fallen over the area. So they dug and dug, for two days.

And on that second day, nine days after the letter, Andy cried out with relief as her shovel struck a tarp.

She cried for the others, who rushed over and helped her dig it up. Wrapped in the tarp was the lifeless body of Nicky.

“Nicolo!” Joe cried, holding his love to him and sobbing into his motionless chest. He rocked with Nicky as Booker, Nile, and Andy dropped to their knees around them.

He held Nicky until Nicky took a frightened gasp of breath, hands already coming up to try and claw away a tarp that was no longer there.

“Nicolo,” Joe said, cupping the back of his head. “It’s alright. It’s alright now. We’ve got you.”

“Are you real?” Nicky croaked out.

Joe made a pained noise. “Yes, my heart. I’m real. We all are. I’ve got you, Nicolo.”

Andy pulled her jacket off and draped it over Nicky’s shoulders carefully. She reached out and stroked his filthy hair.

“Nicky,” she said quietly. “Oh, Nicky. I’m so sorry.”

Andy could think of no words to describe the trauma Nicky had been through. Buried alive, wrapped in a tarp, dying over and over again for nine days.

The trauma made itself apparent as Nicky began to cry silently, pressing his face forcefully into Joe’s neck and grabbing onto Joe until his knuckles turned white. His whole body shook, shoulders heaving with silent sobs.

“Nicolo, Nicolo,” Joe whispered, crying again himself, stroking Nicky’s hair, holding him as tightly as he could.

Andy finally felt her own tears come as she touched Nicky’s back and felt him flinch beneath her hand. They had saved his body, but Quynh had gotten her revenge by damaging his mind.

#june of doom #june of doom 2023 #the old guard #nicolo di genova #yusuf al kaysani #joe x nicky #yusuf x nicolo #andromache the scythian #nile freeman #sebastien le livre #quynh the old guard #jtdoesjuneofdoom

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autobot2001 · 10 months

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"What's the bad news?"

@juneofdoom

Day 7 "What's the bad news?"

Whumpee has been missing for a week. At this point, Caretaker didn't want any news unless it was that Whumpee was found unless they were dead. Then maybe they don't want to hear that Whumpee was found. They also worry how injured Whumpee would be once they're found. Caretaker knows they can't avoid hearing about Whumpee forever. If Whumpee was found, they'd wonder where Caretaker is.

Caretaker is terrified to hear about Whumpee, and a knock on the door scares them. They open the door, seeing an officer. "We found them," the officer says. "What's the bad news?" "Other than they were unconscious, I don't know the extent of their injuries. They've been taken to the hospital." Caretaker thanks the officer, and the officer leaves. Caretaker isn't sure if they should go to the hospital. They aren't family or married to Whumpee. They love whumpee but never told them.

"Excuse me? I'm a friend of whumpee." "Sorry, all I have here is they were brought to the emergency department twenty minutes ago." "Ok, thanks." Caretaker sits in the waiting room, hoping a doctor will tell them something soon, even though they're worried it'll be bad news.

An hour passes before a nurse enters the waiting room, looking for Caretaker. They bring Caretaker somewhere private, which scares Caretaker.

"You were the emergency contact on Whumpee's phone," the nurse explains. "Oh? I'm just a friend. I can give you the contact information for their parents." "That would be nice, but you have the right to know what's going on, as it seems Whumpee wanted you to know if anything happened to them." "H-how are they?" The burse hated how scared Caretaker was to ask the question. This was one part of their job that never gets easy. Caretaker is horrified hearing the extent of whumpee's injuries. Even if most seem minor compared to the head injury and being in a coma. The doctors don't know when whumpee will wake up, which adds to the uncertainty after whumpee wakes up. For now, whumpee is stable, and it's a waiting game.

Caretaker hates seeing Whumpee in a coma. They knew that meant Whumpee would be on a ventilator, but they worry about the EEG running. They know this means the brain injury is serious enough to need to monitor brain activity. Caretaker has no idea what the test is showing now. Hoping it's good news. Caretaker hates calling Whumpee's family but knows they have to.

Within twenty minutes, the room is packed with Whumpee's parents and siblings, the medical team caring for Whumpee, and Caretaker. The family and Caretaker know the medical team has to tell them the worst outcome, but they hate it. It's not a comfort to know the medical team can't predict the likelihood of each outcome presented. Especially while Whumpee could be in a coma for weeks. All they can do is hope for a full recovery.

To be continued…

#whump #wumpee #caretaker #injury #critical #head injury #june of doom #june of doom 2023 #bad news

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juneofdoom · 10 months

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Thank you, Doomers! 🔪

June of Doom 2023 has officially ended, and I can’t believe what a success it has been! This started off as me making a list for some friends, and because of their encouragement to share it, so many of you participated! Whether you did one, some, or all of the prompts, thank you for making my first time hosting a tumblr challenge so fun!

And a big congrats to those who DID do all 30 days (if you’re not listed and should be please tell me!):

@bri-to-the-future

@daryfromthefuture

@fallenwhumpee

@hummingbird-of-light

@serickswrites

@starry-night-author

Also, if you have any feedback/ suggestions about the challenge at all, please drop me a line in the ask box!

Have a wonderful rest of the year!

#juneofdoom #June of doom #June of doom 2023 #thank you!#whump #whump community #whump prompts

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inevitablemoment · 10 months

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June of Doom 2023: Day 30

Word Count: 584

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

Fandom: Murdoch Mysteries

Pairings: William Murdoch x Julia Ogden

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

Enjoy!

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

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

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

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

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

"Where are we?" she asked.

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

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

Like a coffin.

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

"Are we moving?"

Julia moved to her feet on her trembling legs.

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

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

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

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

"Julia."

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

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

"HELP! WILLIAM, HELP! HELP!"

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

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

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

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

She knew what this was.

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

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

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

William.

She looked back up into his face.

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

Sixteen years, eight of them married.

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

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

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

"Good... again..."

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

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

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

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

No, she amended in her mind. We will.

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chaotic-orphan · 11 months

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June of Doom, day 1:

“You don’t want to do that”

collapse // fear // locked door

Cw: lab Whump/science whump/dehumanisation/experiment whumpee/scientist whumper/depersonalisation/death (mentioned)/dead body (mentioned)/beating (mentioned)/torture (implied)

*~*~*~*~*

Flint came to oversee his latest project before it was to be unveiled to the rest of the world. His perfect weapon. His trained mongrel mutt that he had been beating into submission since the day it was born.

It was in an enclosed reinforced cylinder. It took Flint’s engineering team weeks to figure out something strong enough to hold it. His little devil. Obeying only the whims of its master.

The doors slid open and Flint walked in. The scientists overseeing experiment 34214 all stopped when they noticed their chief step into the observation room.

“All hands to stations,” Flint said after a moment of respectful silence. His response was a resounding: “yes sir!”

The head scientist working under Flint’s command fell into step beside him, listing off the usual run down.

Vitals: good.

Mood: as expected.

Muscle capacity: normal.

Brain function: normal.

“All is well with Wolfe today, sir,” said Thrawn. Thrawn was an eccentric to say the least, but she had loose morals and looser ethics and wanted to push the boundaries of science.

No matter the cost.

Flint could work with that.

“Doctor Thrawn I must insist you call the subject by its medical name today.”

Thrawn just glanced at him from the corner of her eye with a wicked grin on her face. “He likes the name Wolfe.”

“A bit of professionalism today wouldn’t hurt, Doctor.”

“And here I thought you liked my unorthodox approach.”

Flint smiled. “There is a line to be drawn at public occasions. Once the day is out you can call it whatever you like.”

“Subject 34214 it is, sir.”

“Excellent. We must make sure this goes off without a hitch. We’ve worked too hard and too long for it to be any less than perfect.”

“Aye, sir,” said Thrawn and then went back to barking orders at the scientists on mains control. Flint just watched with a small, satisfied smile on his face. He was the first in the history of genetics to mutate humans beyond their original form.

To make them stronger. Faster. Smarter.

Earnest Flint’s name would go down in the history books, the next chapter following Darwin’s theory of evolution. Man made evolution. Flint made evolution.

It was time to show the world exactly what Flintlock Mechanics could do.

When the donors and shareholders started arriving along with the reporters for a few paper publications into the building it definitely generated a buzz. Flint smiled and welcomed them all in his perfectly tailored grey suit and tie. He even invited his rival from College who grinned widely when they saw Flint.

“Peters,” said Flint and put his arm out. The other man, Peters, grabbed his elbow and pulled him in for a hug. “Good to see you. So happy you could make it.”

“Of course, Flint, wouldn’t miss it for the world,” said Peters stepping back. He was wearing a red dress shirt tucked into slacks, his stubble perfectly trimmed. The same renegade man he always was. Then Peters stepped back and revealed a raven haired woman who’s hazel eyes seemed a little too inquisitive, a little too judging.

Peters gestured to the woman in the red dress matching Peters, and said: “you of course remember Collins. Or should I say Doctor Collins.”

Flint smiled politely and bowed slightly, taking Collins’ hand in his and pressing a kiss to the knuckles: “of course. How are you Marion?”

“Intrigued to say the least, Flint,” she told him withdrawing her hand. Peters put his arm out and Collins took it with a demure smile. “Let us hope you haven’t broken too many laws of the Geneva convention for this revelation.”

Then the pair walked away, and Flint squeezed his hand into a fist, a scowl trying to make its way onto his face as he glanced after the pair. Then he took a deep breath and went back to his host’s smile and greeted his guests with charm and poise.

It was easier to walk back into the observation room while the curtains were drawn to see Thrawn smile confidently at him and put his mind at ease.

“How are our guests?”

“Opinionated and intrigued,” said Flint, not getting Collins’ comment out of his head. “Is everything perfect?”

“Running smoothly, sir.”

“Wonderful. I best go out and introduce it then.”

“You’ll do great, sir.”

Flint smiled, as thin as it was, and walked back out to the whispering crowd. Some had glasses of champagne in their hand. Peters was one such person, raising it in a toast as soon as Flint walked up to the mic.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I am so happy to see so many of you showed up,” said Flint honestly, and that got a couple laughs from the crowd.

“I must admit my invitation was quite vague but I did promise you a night to remember,” said Flint, his confidence settling into his shoulder’s and his charming smile. “Tonight, you shall witness history. My team of geneticists and biochemists have developed human DNA that will bring our species into its next phase of evolution. I present to you: subject 34214.”

Flint boomed the name into the mic, stepping back and spreading his right arm wide as the curtains fell and gasps filled the room. The control room was sunk below the raised cylinder in the middle of the room, housing Subject 34214.

Gasps filled the room, some shouts of outrage demanding to know what the meaning of this was. That it wasn’t a subject but a human being.

Flint raised his hands to quieten the crowd down, his pleasant smile reassuring as he said: “I understand your concern. However, subject 34214 is not human. His DNA was sequenced into a cadaver which had donated his body to science.”

“That is an insult to his memory,” cried a man from the audience.

“Please, I understand your outrage. I understand. But without bodies donated to science we would never have the cures for modern medicine. We would never be able to fix any problem in our bodies without having first dissected them and seen what was inside,” Flint implored, and as he spoke the crowd’s outrage too settled. “Subject 34214 has human tissue. A brain. A heart. Muscles. Bones. Thoughts. Feelings.”

“How?” A clear voice demanded from the crowd. Collins. She was standing. “How can he have such things if he was dead?”

“Clinically dead,” said Flint. “Our subject was in a coma since the age of ten. At seventeen his parents having seen no brain activity decided to pull the plug. That’s when Flintlock mechanics stepped in.”

“A child cannot donate it’s body to science,” said Collins, voice hard.

“No,” said Flint, “but his parents could and did. As he told his parents he wanted to be a scientist when he was younger, they thought the best way to give him his one dream was to donate his body to science.”

A couple of lies and half truths and very lightly dusting over the intense blackmail and settlement the family received to stay quiet after signing their NDA.

Flint smiled humbly. Maybe a more human approach was better with this crowd. “We have taken to calling our subject: Wolfe, as he enjoys listening to Mozart to calm down after a long day.”

And another lie, wow. He was on a roll. Flint should have been a politician instead of a scientist. Maybe in the next life.

“May I present the one and only of his kind, Wolfe!”

Again he spread his arms dramatically, and turned to look through the observation glass and into the room to see Wolfe awaken.

It’s eyes flew open, too bright a blue to be human, blinking owlishly at it’s audience. Hair settling in its unnatural white waves. Wolfe placed a hand on the glass of its cage and stopped levitating, placing it’s feet on the ground. That elicited a couple gasps from the crowd. To know that while he slept he hovered, something not humanely possible.

Because Subject 34214 was not human.

It was human adjacent. Human-esque and that’s where the similarities ended.

“You must let us get a closer look,” said one of the shareholders. Flint found his wide eyes in the crowd. Quinton. Flint smiled as the glass to the observation deck opened and Flint invited everyone up on stage. To further inspect his creation. His creature.

A man in a slim black tailored suit and black dress shirt caught Flint’s eye as he straddled behind everyone. He was pale, red rimming his eyes to a point it almost looked painful. Sickly. Flint stopped him when he made to walk by, a cold smile found it’s way to his pale lips.

Dark eyes found Flint’s, so dark brown it almost looked black.

He stretched his hand in greeting, and said with the lilt of a French accent: “I don’t think we have been properly introduced. You must forgive me, I arrived later than expected. My name is Felix Graves. You of course need no introduction, Mr Flint.”

“My friends call me Flint,” said Flint with a charming smile.

The stranger smiled at him and it put Flint on edge. Something primal in his body screaming at him to run. “Enchanté. My friends call me Graves. How delightful to make your acquaintance.”

Then Graves dropped Flint’s hand and gestured for Flint to walk with him towards the cage. Flint obeyed.

“It is quite extraordinary what you have done here, Mr Flint,” said Graves, gesturing at the lab and the cage. “To have created life from death. It is beautiful, no?”

“Like I said, there was still life in the boy’s body,” said Flint, finding it harder and harder to keep the smile on his face.

Graves just smiled at him, turning his head so Flint could see the extent of it. It was a genuine smile, Flint could tell, but there was something behind it. Something lurking beneath skin, hidden, dangerous, malevolent.

“Ah. That is not the story you should tell the word, Mr Flint. People will get bored of semantics. You must craft the tale to enrapture the public, oui?” They stopped behind the crowd looking up at the cage and the inhuman boy. “The man who makes life from death, that is you, Monsieur.”

“And who are you, Mr Graves?” Flint asked and Graves smiled like it was the question he was waiting to be asked.

“Allow me to show you,” said Graves. He moved through the crowd with ease, slipping behind and through people trying to view the cage. Flint could only watch, eyebrows knitting together in confusion before he saw Graves stop beside the cage. Raising his hand to press to the glass.

“Mr Graves!” Flint called in a panic. “You don’t want to do that. It is unsafe.”

Graves smiled back showing all their teeth. “I know.”

The moment Graves pressed his hand to the glass Wolfe looked down at him. A cackle of green electricity lit up the cage, eliciting gasps from the crowd in delight. They thought it was part of the show.

Flint knew better.

Wolfe’s eyes went to Flint then and flashed an unnatural green.

Then the electricity went out and the lab was thrust into darkness.

The sound of glass shattering and then a scream turned to many. People panicked, running back towards the auditorium, back towards the safety of the exits. When the lights came back on Graves was gone.

And the cage was empty.

Broken from the inside out, and people were screaming. Flint just looked down to Thrawn who was standing in shock staring at the empty cage much like he was. Then he saw her fall to her knees, then collapse to the side. Only then did he see the scorch marks over her heart.

Someone grabbed his arm and turned him away from the scene, all he saw was red.

Peters.

“Hey Flint! Flint?! Look at me buddy, hey! The door’s locked, Flint. Why are the doors locked? People are panicking.”

“I— the doors shouldn’t be locked,” said Flint, breathless.

“Well they are and no one can get out. Do you have the keys? A back entrance? Hey, Flint! Look at me!”

But Flint’s eyes were drawn to the stage where Graves now stood at the microphone, his dark eyes catching Flint’s with a wink and a smirk as he said: “ladies and gentlemen, do not panic. This is no time for fear or tears. That part comes later, please everyone take your seats for the next part of this presentation.”

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daryfromthefuture · 11 months

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HAPPY JUNE OF DOOM EVERYONE

#bttf #back to the future #juneofdoom #june of doom 2023 #june of doom #writing challenge #bttf fic

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bri-to-the-future · 10 months

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I think I mentioned at the end of Whumpril that it always feels strange to finish a challenge like this. This one was particularly special, as it was made by my good friend @bg-sparrow . It was also the first time I made illustrations for one of my fics, though not ever chapter has one. Maybe one day I’ll be that ambitious, but it likely wouldn’t be on a challenge like this. I’m sure those of you who kept up as I updated noticed I barely have enough time just to write every day. Nonetheless this challenge was a blast, and I’m super excited to start McFly July tomorrow!

#june of doom #june of doom 2023 #bttf #back to the future #bttf fic #sorry for such a wordy caption #apparently i had a lot of thoughts

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periwrinkles · 11 months

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“Did you have a nightmare too, Tony?” Bruce asks, but he’s already pulling down another cup from the shelf, putting more water in the kettle and pulling out a tea bag. He knows the answer, he knows how to read Tony, how to take care of him. Tony doesn’t even know how to take care of himself.

Tony blinks at him, “I— That doesn’t matter, are you guys okay? You’ve been crying, it’s late— did you say too?”

or; tony wakes up from a nightmare, and finds bruce and peter coping with their own dreams ⮯

written for @juneofdoom day 6, nightmare!

#mcu #mcu fandom #mcu fanfiction #tony stark angst #june of doom 2023

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cecescomposition · 7 months

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🌾June of Doom 2023 Masterlist

🌾🌻🌾🌞🌾🌻🌾

Day 17 | “Don’t Lie to Me.”

Day 19 | “I’m Not Going Anywhere.” / Guilt

Day 27 | “I’m so sorry.” / Abandoned

#june of doom #june of doom 2023 #hamilton musical #hamilton fanfic #alexander hamilton #hamilton au #hamilton fanfiction #fanfic #writing #prompt challenge #alternate universe

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its-my-whump · 1 year

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Masterlist

Whumpril2024

Febuwhump2024

Whumpuary2024

Whumpcember2023

Whumptober2023 (Hummingbird)

Whumptember2023

Whumpmas in July 2023

June of Doom 2023

The Merry Whump of May and Medi Whump May 2023

Whumpril2023

Bloody Poems

Sad tales of Andrew Samuel Cooper

Art

#whumpril2023 #whump #writing #whump community #themerrywhumpofmay #mwm2023 #mediwhumpmay #mediwhumpmay2023 #masterlist #june of doom #juneofdoom #whumpmas in july 2023 #my oc character

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serickswrites · 10 months

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How Many Fingers Am I Holding Up?

Warnings: rescue, captivity, torture, unconsciousness, restraints, poison, caretaker and whumpee

“Whumpee! Whumpee! I’m here. I’m here!” Caretaker shouted as they ran to the basement where they knew Whumper had to be keeping Whumpee. They had checked the rest of the house and Whumpee was nowhere to be found.

Caretaker kicked open the door and hesitated on the stairs. Whumpee was slumped over, arms pulled at an awkward angle by the chains that kept them attached to the wall. “Whumpee?”

They could see Whumpee’s body move with each breath, but Whumpee didn’t respond to their words. Caretaker hurried forward. “Whumpee?” They rolled Whumpee onto their side. “I’m here Whumpee. Whumpee! Say something.”

Caretaker gave Whumpee a little shake. Whumpee blinked open bleary eyes. They blinked, their gaze unfocused. “C-C-Caretaker?”

“I’m here, Whumpee. I’m here.” Caretaker said softly as they looked for a way to get the cuffs off Whumpee’s wrists.

Whumpee’s lips twitched as their eyelids drooped closed once more. “Hmmmm,” they hummed once before going quiet.

“Stay awake, Whumpee. Talk to me.” Caretaker worked quickly.

“Mmmmm. ‘m ‘ere,” they whispered as they struggled to open their eyes once more.

Caretaker tapped Whumpee’s cheek as Whumpee’s eyelids fluttered. “Whumpee. Keep your eyes on me.” What had Whumper done?

“C-C-Can’t. T-TTooooo ‘ny. ‘zzy.”

“Whumpee, how many fingers am I holding up?” Caretaker had a sinking feeling in their stomach. “Whumpee, how hard did you hit your head?”

Whumpee blinked up at Caretaker with fever bright eyes. “No. P-P-Poi--” their words cut off as they began to cough. Loud, wet coughs wracked their body as they tried to speak once more. Caretaker rubbed Whumpee’s back as Whumpee kept trying to speak.

But Caretaker knew what Whumpee was going to say and didn’t need Whumpee to finish. Whumpee had been poisoned. Rage boiled in their stomach as they realized Whumper had set this trap for Caretaker. Made it easy for Caretaker to find Whumpee. But didn’t make it easy to save Whumpee. Caretaker made a silent promise that they would pay Whumper back in kind once they got Whumpee to safety.

“It’s ok, Whumpee. I’ve got you. I’m going to save you,” Caretaker said as they lifted Whumpee into their arms.

Whumpee had gone silent after the last bout of coughing. Terribly silent and still. “Whumpee?” Caretaker tapped Whumpee’s cheek as they started towards the basement stairs. “Come on, Whumpee. Wake up.”

Whumpee’s only response was the quiet, irregular wheeze that let Caretaker know they were still alive. “Hang in there, Whumpee. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Hold on.”

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much-obliged-timothy · 11 months

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June of Doom #11

Devil May Cry - #11 - Firearm

“Watch your back,” Nero said, stabbing a demon that had been trying to sneak up on Vergil.

Vergil grit his teeth. “If I’m watching my back, I’m not watching the ones attacking in front. Or from the sides. Or even from above.”

“Yea, yea, we’re surrounded,” Nero said, swinging his sword in a rough arc to smack away a few more of the small yet fierce demons attacking them.

They’d been hired to deal with the infestation, but it was much worse than they’d imagined. Vergil didn’t want to admit that he was growing tired, but he knew it was starting to show in his reduced speed and his weaker swings. He’d been working a job all day yesterday with Dante. Dante was sleeping off an injury, so Nero had offered to come along for this job.

Vergil had no time to rest before coming out here. He swiped sweat from his forehead before deftly dodging an attack and stabbing three demons in quick succession.

He felt like no matter how many he killed, more just kept coming. It was like a never ending horde of the damn things.

It didn’t seem to bother Nero, who was rested and ready to fight. He leapt about, slashing and shooting at demons, seeming to enjoy himself. At times, Vergil was fairly certain the boy was just trying to show off, but he was too focused on keeping himself going to bother lecturing Nero about it.

Vergil raised the Yamato to deflect a demon leaping at him. But, as Nero had warned, he was not watching his back.

A sharp pain ran down his arm before it went numb and he dropped the Yamato in surprise. One of the demons had viciously slashed Vergil’s arm, blood pouring down from the dangerously deep gash tearing down it.

Nero was there in a flash, sword piercing the demon and flinging its corpse off Vergil. “Vergil?”

“I’m fine.” He reached for his sword, realized he still couldn’t feel his hand, and lifted it in his nondominant hand.

“Yea, fine,” Nero said, raising an eyebrow. “You can’t keep up like this, Vergil.”

“I’ll be fine,” Vergil said firmly. “I’ve fought in worse condition.”

Nero had no more time to argue with Vergil as another onslaught came at them and they were separated trying to keep themselves alive. Vergil felt frustration gnawing at him as he struggled to keep up with the demons now. He was slower than usual and down his dominant arm. He couldn’t keep this up much longer before mistakes slipped in.

“Vergil!”

Vergil spun just in time to see the weapon thrown his way. He sheathed Yamato and caught the weapon in a quick motion.

A gun. He shot Nero a look.

“Easier than a sword,” Nero said, his own gun out as he fired on the demons. “Quicker, too. But it’s one I was carrying for Nico, so don’t damage it or you’ve gotta pay for it.”

Nero’s gun did seem to be making quicker work of the demons than their swords had. Perhaps this one time, he’d allow the use of such a weapon.

“Nero,” he said.

Nero didn’t have to be told; he ran to Vergil’s side as if this was their hundredth time doing this, not their first. They pressed back to back, aiming their guns as the demons changed course and charged at them.

Vergil rolled his shoulders in preparation, finger tightening on the trigger. “Jackpot.”

They began to fire, maneuvering together with an ease that was surprising given their limited experience in combat together. Vergil found he could easily predict Nero’s movements and adapt to them to cover Nero’s weak points.

As the final demon fell dead, Vergil lowered the gun. The feeling was starting to come back into his arm, making it tingle. He passed the gun back to Nero.

“Hey, what was up with that? Jackpot, I mean. Sounded like some kinda corny catchphrase,” Nero said.

Vergil had to turn so Nero would not see the color rising in his cheeks. He’d forgotten Nero didn’t know about that. It had just felt so natural to be back to back with Nero, that it had slipped out.

“Nothing,” he said. “We should go.”

Nero shrugged it off. “Yea, sure. Let me tend to that wound, first. You're getting blood everywhere.”

Vergil had no desire for Nero to take care of his wound, but Nero insisted. Vergil was too tired to fight about it, and eventually sat down, offering his injured arm to Nero.

Nero wrapped it carefully, a grin coming to his face as he did so. “I recall you being judging towards guns. Not such a bad option after all, huh?”

“Shut up,” Vergil said. “Or I’ll consider their use in silencing you.”

Nero snickered. “Sure, Vergil. Might as well hold on to this for now; might be more demons crawling about.”

Vergil glared but took the gun because, yes, it was helpful. In this one situation, at least.

Nero stood and offered his hand to Vergil. After a moment, Vergil took it.

He opened his mouth, something in him suddenly wanting to tell Nero all about the meaning behind jackpot. Wanting to train more with the boy because they worked surprisingly well together.

But then he closed it slowly. There was no need to tell Nero about any of that; actions spoke louder than words.

And so when they came across the next horde, Vergil moved right to Nero’s side, their guns drawn without having to speak to each other.

#june of doom #june of doom 2023 #devil may cry #Nero Sparda #Vergil Sparda #dmc nero #dmc vergil #dadgil #jtdoesjuneofdoom

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autobot2001 · 10 months

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Can't Eat

@juneofdoom

Day 12 Fainting | Trembling Dehydration

The Whumpee has been safe with their team for a month, but they struggle to realize they're safe. They struggle to realize it's ok to eat. Even water is still considered a luxury to them. The team is struggling to help Whumpee while trying not to cause Whumpee to think they're a group of people working for Whumper or being captured by another group like Whumper. Trying to get Whumpee to leave their room is also a challenge. Even to see the team's psychiatrist. It's hard to keep track of when Whumpee eats or drinks water.

Whumpee ignores the trembling as they get ready to meet the psychiatrist. They still get anxious attending these appointments, but this doesn't cause dizziness. Whumpee ignores this.

As Wgumpee walks down the hall, they feel worse but keep walking to the appointment rather than the medbay. "Hey, are you ok?" someone asks. "I'm f—." The Whumpee falls forward, allowing teammates to catch them and slowly get them onto the floor. Relieved other teammates see what's going on so they don't have to leave Whumpee in the hallway to get the medic. Whumpee wakes before the medic gets to them, but they feel tired and weak. The teammates and medic know what caused Whumpee to faint but worry about how sick Whumpee is. The teammates wait in the waiting room.

Within twenty minutes, the medic confirms the teammates' concerns. Whumpee had gone without food and water for almost two days. It's not life-threatening, but this is a problem they need to figure out how to deal with this problem. "They're getting fluids and nutrients infusions," the medic explains, "and asleep." Within minutes the leader finds out and decides it's time to meet about this. Aware the physiatrist has been trying to help Whumpee.

The psychiatrist isn't sure if inviting Whumpee to eat — whether in their room or not — will help. At this point, the decision is to take the risk Whumpee won't feel safe here or watch them die. Most agree they need to work on getting Whumpee to feel safe so that they can eat and drink water. Aware at first, they'll think they're being told to eat or drink. "What would they think if we only shared their favorite food?" One teammate asks, "wouldn't someone who kidnapped not do this? They'd give their captive crap to eat when allowed to eat." "They have a good point," the psychiatrist agrees. The teammate who suggested the idea goes to make one of Whumpee's favorite dinners.

Whumpee wakes up to the smell of food. Whumper would never have food waiting for them. Still, is this a cruel trick by Whumper? That they'll watch Whumper eat? "Look, I made one of your favorites," teammate smiles, showing Whumpee the food and putting the plate on the table. They poisoned it. whumpee thinks. I'm not safe here. "It's safe, see," teammate takes a bite of the food, "it's ok, you're safe. remember?" Whumpee is still uncertain, but they fear their punishment if they don't eat. The teammate knows this is what Whumpee thinks and will be for a while. Even as they show Whumpee their favorite cookies. This could take months, but this is good as long as they're eating and making progress. The medic thinks, watching Whumpee eat.

#whump #whumpee #post rescue #used to not eating #lack of eating #fainting #feeling dizzy #dehydration #serious problem #worried teammates #june of doom #june of doom 2023

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trulyinspiringmovies · 11 months

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Justice League: Doom

“Justice League: Doom” is one of my favorite DC animated movies of all time and a perfect example of the Justice League portrayed right.

The Justice League is all being strategically attacked at the same time. These attacks are carefully planned out and exploit each Justice League member’s specific weaknesses. Batman recognizes these plans and realizes the mastermind behind them is... himself.

I always tell people that I’m a DC fan first and foremost. I like Marvel, but their stories will never be on the same level for me as DC’s. Then people get confused because all they know about the DC universe is those awful live-action movies. “Justice League: Doom” is one of many great stories done right. DC’s animated movies have always been their strength, but they don’t get as much attention as the big-budget live-action movies. I truly believe that translating comics into animated movies is a better fit than live-action since it’s less of a leap in terms of medium. Plus it allows studios to spend less money while still cranking out a lot of movies that draw from classic stories without much change. Even when they do make changes like from “JLA: Tower Of Babel” to “Justice League: Doom”, the changes aren’t jarring or even sometimes better overall. These stand-alone movies are always the best because they don’t have to neatly fold back to the status quo or follow some grand overarching plan like most franchise movies have to. Instead, they’re able to tell stories that ask questions through choices that have more gravity and finality. I think if the comic industry wants to create more interest in comic books, then they need to focus more on these types of movies. I know DC animated movies are the reason why I started reading and collecting comics in the first place.

★★★★★

Rewatched on June 1st, 2023

#Justice League: Doom #February #2012 #Action #Science Fiction #Animation #Fantasy #PG-13 #Lauren Montgomery #June 2023 #5 stars

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inevitablemoment · 11 months

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“does that hurt?”

Word Count: 871

Warnings: Politics, politically motivated violence, stranger attack, black eye, injury, dislocated shoulder

Fandom: Spin City

Pairings: Mike Flaherty x Nikki Faber

I’m finally writing a Spin City fic! I love this show so much, and I am just shocked that there is no content. Like literally, on AO3, there’s no fics under the Spin City (TV) tag. But, that may change, as writing this piece has given me a spark of inspiration for to expand on it in a multi-chapter fic.

Takes place in late Season 3.

Enjoy!

————————

As Nikki had taken to spending more and more nights at Mike’s apartment, they often made their commute to City Hall together. It was not an uncommon sight to see them hand-in-hand as they made their way up the steps into the building, and she could not see them stopping anytime soon-- no matter how much Stuart teased them.

Besides, she had valuable ammo against him, should he annoy her enough.

She and Mike were discussing the previous night’s episode of Law & Order when she caught something in the corner of her eye; a man, dressed in a grey hoodie and his face obscured by a baseball cap.

Something in her gut flared at the sight of this man. She had lived in New York City all her life, a city girl through and through, and these instincts had been drilled into her from her earliest memory.

Her hold on Mike’s arm tightened when she realized that the man was approaching the both of them.

“You Mike Flaherty?” the man asked.

As tightly as Nikki tried to squeeze Mike’s arm to warn him not to engage, he still took two steps forward.

“Yeah, what can I do for y--?”

The man’s fist came flying towards Mike, immediately knocking him down. The man began yelling things like “Liberal puppet!” and “Commie bastard!” as Nikki rushed to her boyfriend’s side, trying to help him up as two security guards restrained his assailant.

Nikki helped Mike back to his feet. “Hey, you okay?”

Mike shook his head, even as he held the heel of his palm against his left eye. “Y-- yeah.”

“Mike,” she gave him a warning tone.

“Nikki, don’t worry about me,” he asked. “Did-- did he try to hurt you? I couldn’t see--”

“No,” Nikki said. “Are you sure...?”

“Nikki... please,” Mike lowered his hand, revealing that his eye was beginning to swell shut.

“Mike...”

“Just... let’s just go inside,” he requested, taking her hand again. “Please?”

Nikki sighed. “Fine. But I’m getting ice for that eye when we get inside.”

Throughout the rest of the day, everyone reacted just as Nikki predicted they would; Carter, James, and Janelle showed genuine concern, Stuart asked if it had been a result of their “activities in the boudoir,” Stacey asked if Mike at least got a punch in, and Paul was just as clueless as ever.

“I heard the Secret Service guys talking,” Carter said as he and Stuart followed Nikki to the ice machine. “You think this might be the guy that tried to take a shot at the mayor last month?”

“I don’t know,” Nikki answered, inserting a coin into the machine and holding an open Ziploc bag out.

“Seems a little weird-- can’t take out the mayor, so you try to get the guy below him,” Stuart mused. “Like how I couldn’t score a night with a future Penthouse model in college, so I dated that flat-chested girl for six months. She even roped me into spending Thanksgiving with her family.”

Nikki let out a heavy sigh of frustration and contempt that harmonized with the ice machine as the ice fell into the bag.

No.

She would not let Stuart’s “horny bastard” ways aggravate her today.

She had too much on her plate to worry about.

Nikki sealed the bag and turned back around. “Just see if you can get a security detail for Mike-- and make it discreet. Don’t want to make him feel smothered.”

“And what better way to do that than to gaslight him about the black, windowless cars outside his apartment building?” Stuart said.

Nikki gave herself one split second to glare at Stuart before she turned to Carter. “If I broke his jaw, I’d be doing mankind a service, right?”

“Oh, you’d get the Nobel Peace Prize,” Carter remarked.

Nikki gave Stuart the fakest smile that she could muster up before she left for Mike’s office in a rush.

As she expected, Mike was sitting at his desk, working as if nothing had happened that morning. The only indicator that this was not just a normal day was the beginnings of a violet bruise that framed his left eye, and the pained expression he seemed to have on his face as he filled out some paperwork.

Mike looked up, seeing her standing in the doorway. “Hey.”

“Hey-- I got the ice,” Nikki held up the bag, walking towards his desk and taking a seat across from him.

“Thanks, but--”

Whatever he was going to say, she didn’t listen as she gently pressed the bag of ice against his injured eye.

“Thanks,” he repeated, sincere this time.

He began to reach his hand to take hold of the bag himself, before wincing in pain.

“Wh-- you okay?” Nikki asked.

“It’s-- it’s just my shoulder,” he tried to wave off. “It’s a little sore.”

“That didn’t sound like a ‘little sore’ groan,” Nikki observed, reaching over the desk to try to examine his shoulder. “Does it hurt? Let me--”

As soon as her hand made contact with his shoulder, Mike cried out in pain. Nikki sprung to her feet and practically hurdled the desk to get to him.

“I-- I think we need to take you to the hospital.”

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