Hola, Doomers! Ask and thou shalt receive: here be the June of Doom 2026 prompt list for all your doomsday planning! All the good stuff's below the cut!
Previous Dooms: 2023 || 2024 || 2025
What the heck's a June of Doom?
This is a month-long prompt challenge/ list/ event/ thing that focuses on whump, angst, hurt/ comfort, and the like. Despite the air of doom it exudes, this challenge is very relaxed—your mod knows life happens but you still want to be part of your fandom(s), and sometimes you can't just sit down 30 days in a row to write/ art/ create. So, this list is out stupid early every year so you have the chance to prepare and particiapte! It's never too soon to Doom!
Rules
Tag your stuff with appropriate warnings, plzkthnx.
AI-created content is highly discouraged and frowned upon. I have no way of "checking", but I respect the time and effort people put into their crafts and encourage everyone to do the same. This isn't a contest for best written or prettiest art — it's a challenge, so challenge yourself.
Be cool. We're cool here. Don't like, don't read. Don't start none, won't be none. If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it. Let people be happy. 💕 (But if someone's comin' at you within the confines of this challenge, let me know ASAP.)
FAQ
You can participate with original and fan works!
You can do so with whatever medium you want!
You can combine this challenge with other challenges!
You can start/ finish this challenge whenever the heck you want! And I'll reblog it here if you tag the blog, even if it's not June!
You can use one, some, or all of the prompts listed for a given day however you want! The point is to be creative!
You can mix and match prompts from different days!
If nothing on a certain day is inspiring you, there are 15 alternate prompts this year consisting of last year's most popular prompts!
Angst, hurt/comfort, and lighter/funnier forms of whump are welcomed and encouraged! Torture takes many forms! :)
I'll post reminders and such as we get closer!
[AO3 Collection] - "JUNEOFDOOM2026"
[Banners]
And don't forget to tag @juneofdoom so I can reblog all of your amazing stuff here! (I typically only check the #juneofdoom and #june of doom tags during the event, so tagging the blog itself is the best way to ensure I see it and share it!)
If you have any questions, comments, shout outs, ideas, or just need some encouragement, inbox me anytime, June or not!
day 3 - misunderstanding / "give me another chance"
Adrian realizes they judged Grace too quickly. Minor injury. Mostly fluff. <3
Adrian doesn't expect to feel nervous when they arrive outside Grace's door, but their claw hesitates before they can knock. The last time they saw Grace, he was unconscious. For a long time, Adrian was patient. Rocky explained just how sick Grace was, just how close he was to dying, and they had dropped everything to help save him. They'd worked hard with the science team to make his food, his vitamins, his biodome. More than anything, they'd been patient with Rocky needing to spend all his time with him until he woke up.
But now, he's been awake for two weeks, and Rocky still never wants to leave his side. If he's not in Grace's biodome, he's checking with the science teams to check their progress on his environment and nutrition and health. Even when he is home, his mind is on Grace. Adrian can't blame him--it's not Rocky's fault. He watched brutal suffering and death, then tolerated an unthinkable amount of time alone in space. It's no wonder that he'd form a strong bond with the first thing that showed him kindness. The gravity of that kindness is not lost on them. Grace had saved their mate's life. He'd sacrificed his chances to go back home for Rocky. He'd almost died for him. That's why they worked so tirelessly right alongside Rocky when Grace had been dying.
However, that's not the case anymore, and they're starting to think that Grace is asking for a lot. Not only does his food have to contain hundreds of complicated nutrients while filtering out... literally everything else, because it could kill him, but it has to taste good. His biodome atmosphere meeting his needs isn't enough: it has to be cool and sandy and smell like an ocean, which, what even is that? Also, what does he need a door for? It's just hard to watch anyone take advantage of their Rocky, especially someone Rocky will never, ever say no to.
That fire fuels them to tap on Grace's door.
"Rocky?" he calls, shuffling to the door as fast as he can, which isn't terribly impressive. "I wasn't expecting--oh, Adrian? What are you doing here?" His posture stiffens a bit when he sees them standing there, which reminds them that Grace has never properly met them.
"Hello, Grace. Can we talk?"
"Of course," he replies. "Let's go for a walk."
One thing they notice about Grace right off the bat is that he feels a need to fill silences. He's chattering away awkwardly, clearly nervous. He's unsteady on his legs as they walk down the beach, his cane digging little holes into the sand.
"I'm really glad you dropped by," he says, "and you're always welcome, but, uh, it's a little out of the blue. Is something wrong? Is Rocky okay?"
His immediate concern for Rocky is, at least, nice. Rocky does enough for him, after all. It's good that he cares.
"Rocky is fine," they reply, and Grace exhales.
"That's a relief. I worry about him, you know. It seems like he's always busy with something these days."
"Then we agree."
"What does that mean?"
"You know you are welcome on Erid," Adrian beings, "and I believe you want the best for Rocky."
"Of course I do. Rocky saved my life; he's my best friend. Adrian, you're scaring me a little. What's going on?"
"Rocky needs space."
Grace stops in his tracks. "Rocky said that?" he asks, sounding hurt.
"No. He would never. I, as his mate, am requesting it."
"Why? I mean, of course I--he's your mate, and you can--you two should--but I feel like I'm missing something. Like something is wrong and you're not telling me."
"When you came to Erid, you were ill. Rocky has been desperately trying to keep you alive, so much so that I feel as though he hasn't been addressing his own needs. He's finally back home. He needs to be allowed to process that."
"I totally agree," he says. "I'm sorry, I had no idea. I--argh!" he trails off, scrawny little leg twisting on a rock in the sand, sending him sprawling to the ground. Rocky told them he's clumsy. The fall isn't hard, so it's likely more embarrassing than anything else. Probably best to politely ignore it. They wait patiently as he shifts into a seated position, breathing hard. "Sorry."
"It's fine. I know humans are uncoordinated."
"Uh-huh." Though Adrian expects them to continue their stroll, Grace seems done, for now.
"Rocky cares deeply for you. If you feel the same, you'll let him have this time."
"Adrian, I'm--ah--I'm so sorry. I didn't know. Of course, he should take all the time he needs. I've been--" he hisses through his teeth, "telling him he's working too hard. I've been so worried. He doesn't take no for an answer."
Adrian can't help a fond chuckle. If there's one thing that can be said for Rocky, it's that. "You're right about that." They expect Grace to get to his feet, but he doesn't. He's sitting on the ground, holding the ankle that tripped him. "Is something wrong, Grace?"
"No, I'm--fine. Just feel guilty. I didn't mean to hurt him."
"You didn't," Adrian says. For as frustrated as they've been, it sounds like Grace has been telling Rocky some of the same things. It's not fair to keep that on his conscience. "This is Rocky's choices."
"Please don't blame him," he argues. That's a little surprising. They're offering Grace an out, and he's fighting it? "I was really, really sick on the Hail Mary. Can't imagine how hard that was for him." The thumping and swooshing sounds from his chest are both rapid. He groans.
"Grace, you seem distressed," they point out. "Are you injured?"
"I'm--a little," he admits. "Sorry. My body's still really weak. Muscles aren't what they used to be. Twisted my ankle." Adrian shifts.
"I thought you were fully recovered."
"Nah," he dismisses. "Still got a long way to go, and some of the damage is gonna be permanent."
Adrian curses. He's been walking and talking. They wouldn't have initiated this conversation just yet if they'd known he was still sick.
"Like... what?"
"I don't know yet," he admits. "Bones are going to be weak, maybe some damage to my heart; too early to tell. Definitely some chronic pain."
"You're still hurting?"
He looks down. "Again, it's nothing you should even be thinking about. Just--tell Rocky I asked for some breathing room, okay?"
Before Adrian can ask further questions, before they can even fully process the fact that they've just asked Grace, who is apparently still very sick, to stop seeing the only person he knows on this entire planet, he's clambering to his feet. His chest is thumping fast fast fast.
"Grace, perhaps you should sit down. You're hurt. I can get Rocky."
"No," he reassures tightly, "no. Not necessary. Just, uh, I might need someone to help me get back home. Don't think I can walk on this."
Adrian offers their arm, gesturing a little more impatiently when Grace just stares at it. "Well, are you going to hop on, or force me to pick you up?"
"You don't have to do that."
"How else are you going to get home?"
"Just--I don't know, you can send one of the doctors down or something. You don't even like me."
"On," they command, "now." Grace obeys. "When did I say I don't like you?"
"I--I mean, why would you? I'm taking up all Rocky's time."
"I... may have been a little prematurely hostile. I thought you'd been telling him that his efforts in caring for you are not good enough."
"What?" he actually laughs a little. "God, no. He's been--you've all been so kind to me. More than I could have ever asked for. Rocky is just... I mean, he can be a bit..."
"You may say it."
"Bossy."
Adrian chuckles again. "Only when he loves you."
As gently as they can, Adrian moves Grace back to his home, settling him on his bed. He removes his shoe and sock, then hisses in pain as he presses on the affected joint.
"Are you badly injured?"
"Nah, probably just a sprain. Hurts, though. I'll get Armando to wrap it up and just use my wheelchair until it heals. It's okay."
"I'll send Rocky up to check on you before you sleep."
"No, please. He needs to be spending his time with you."
"This is true," they admit, "but I suppose there is also time for Grace. We will both come visit later."
Though Grace tries to argue, what he's about to learn, as Adrian scuttles out the door and ignores him, is that they're pretty bossy, too.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Two Clara chapters in a row? What a surprise?!
Chapters: 3/30
Fandom: Original Work, Petals of the White Rose
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Clara Aijouni/Sophie Minazuki(Petals of the White Rose)
Characters: Haru Yamada(Petals of the White Rose), Clara Aijouni(Petals of the White Rose), Sophie Minazuki(Petals of the White Rose), Kanae Mizuno(Petals of the White Rose), UsaRimi Kiyomi(Petals of the White Rose)
Additional Tags: Angst, Whump, Blood and Injury, Emotional Hurt, Choking, Childhood Trauma, Child Abuse, Haru Abuse, Young Haru Tried His Best, Coup d'état, Haru Speaks In Third Person, Clara Is Referred To As The Black Rose, Mentioned Eclipse(Petals of the White Rose), Eclipse Is Referred To As The Black Dahlia, June of Doom 2026, doomed yuri, Coma, villain origin story, Clara Misses Her Wife, Mentioned Council of the Gods, Character Death, Mentioned UsaRin Vaelune(Petals of the White Rose), UsaRin Is Referred To As The White Lily
Series: Part 1 of June of Doom:Petals Edition
Summary:
I decided to join in on the June of Doom thingy. It felt perfect to put my PotWR characters in
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
@unwholesomeocweek day 3 - Power Imbalance
@juneofdoom day 3 - "Give me another chance."
“Richard,” James Hsu interrupted, pitching the bridge of his nose. “You know I hate hearing this. But… they were just civilians. Miners. No, not raiders.”
“Civilians who fucked with us. Same difference when they start shooting at our boys."
Richard took a breath. He still believed he wasn’t the one at fault here. "They had a choice, James. Pay their taxes, behave, and keep their head. They benefit from our protection, our laws, and every fucking thing the Republic gives them, don't they? If they bite the hand that feeds them, they can’t cry when that hand turns into a fist.”
Summary: Struggling with Bucky never being around, you consider how much longer you can put up with his absence.
Pairing; postCW!Bucky x gf!reader
WC/Tags: 814 / established relationship, hard conversations, breakup talk, angst, comfort, making out, bucky being reassuring
A/N: I did nawt proof read this lol oopsss. Day three of @juneofdoom ‘give me another chance’ and find the link to the rest of Softlys Locket below.
He finds you on the rooftop of your apartment building.
Bucky had had to press down the panic when he found your apartment empty, but when he noticed your phone and sneakers gone, he knew where you had went.
He’s quiet when he approaches you, only making himself known when he’s a few feet away. You glance at him, a quick flick of your eyes before looking back at the night sky.
“You’re back.”
“I am.”
“How was work?”
It’s a moot question, because you know he won’t tell you. He can’t.
Bucky shrugs. “It was work.”
You nod, but don’t reply. He moves forward, sitting beside you and balancing his elbows on his knees.
“Will you talk to me,” he asks softly, and your sneakers shift as you tug your legs closer. “Please?”
“They say you get used to it,” you exhale. “The long nights, the longer days. The waiting. But it never goes away.”
“I know,” Bucky says quietly, staring at the city lights. “I used to think it'd get easier too. Like my brain would just... stop noticing the empty space beside me.”
He swallows hard, hands flexing on his knees.
“Did you eat today?” he asks suddenly, turning slightly toward you. His voice isn't scolding but soft with that quiet worry that never quite fades when it comes to you.
You nod, and you don’t look at him when you speak. “Yeah. You would know if you were here.”
“I was on a recon op,” Bucky says, voice low. “Three days in the woods. No signal.” He hesitates, then adds, “Steve covered my shifts. I texted you when I could. You never replied to any of them.”
“What was I supposed to say?” You mutter. “That I missed you? It doesn’t matter.”
“I came straight here the second I got back. Didn’t even go home. Didn’t shower. Just… drove,” frustration prickles at his neck. “You think I don’t miss you too? Every damn night?”
“It doesn’t matter,” you snap, and you turn to him, and only then does he see the sadness in your eyes, on your face. “I only exist in the moments you’re talking to me. I- wait for you, day and night, just praying you’re okay. That you’re safe. I can’t- there’s nothing I can do. I just sit and wait.”
“I didn’t realize it felt like that to you,” Bucky says, voice cracking. “I thought… I thought you knew I’d always come back. That you weren’t just… waiting.”
He reaches for your hand but stops halfway, fingers curling into a fist.
“I hate making you wait,” he whispers. “God, I hate that.”
“I love you,” you whisper and your voice is choked. “But it’s like…I’m something to you. And you’re everything to me.”
You stand up, dusting off your jeans and Bucky whispers your name. “Just, wait-”
“No, I can’t,” you murmur, and he’s standing too, stepping closer. “I can’t.”
“Please don't walk away,” he grabs your wrist and you pull, but he doesn’t ease. You tugs you closer, and you can smell his aftershave. “You're not something to me. You're the only thing that's ever felt like home.”
“Bucky.” you whisper, your brows knitting and he shakes his head.
“No, baby, please,” his words are rushed now, cracking. He cups your face. “Listen to me. We can work through this. I’ll- I can figure it out.”
“That isn’t fair to you,” you shake your head and tears cling to your lashes. “I can’t ask that of you.”
“I’d quit the team tomorrow if you asked me to,” His hands slide into your hair. “I don’t care about missions or ranks or any of that. I care about you.” A tear falls, and he kisses it away. “Let me fix this.”
Bucky leans forward and kisses you gently. You shudder before your arms loop around his neck and deepen the kiss. You feel his hands brace your back, tugging you closer, your heartbeats beating rapidly against your chests in tandem.
“God, I love you,” he breathes between kisses. “I’m so sorry.” His lips press to your forehead, then your nose. “We’re gonna be okay, sweetheart.”
“Are we?” you murmur softly, pulling back to look at him.
“Yes,” he replies, and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “I didn’t…I didn’t know how much it was hurting you. And it isn’t worth it. “No more long missions. No more disappearances for days.” He takes your hand, kisses your knuckles. “You’re worth every second of peace I can give you. Give me another chance. Please.”
You blink quickly, and then a smile as wide as the sun pulls at your features. “I don’t think I could ever stop loving you.”
“Good. Because I'm not going anywhere.” He kisses you again, slow and sweet, and you sigh in relief knowing you have him by your side.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Continuing my kidnapped Buck fic for @juneofdoom Day 3: Trapepd
Snippert below:
When Buck came to, his head was pounding.
Thump Thump… Thump Thump… Thump Thump…
God it was painful.
He tried bringing up a hand to his head, to rub it, feel for an injury or something, only to find that he couldn’t.
It was like his arms were tied behind him or something. He tried to flex his fingers, but he couldn’t feel them. For a brief second, he had a crazy idea that his arms had been cut off of him. But no, he would be in pain if that had happened. So they had been tied up for way too long and they had lost circulation. That wasn’t good, but better than them being cut off.
He opened his eyes, needing to see where he was, why he couldn’t move. Only when he did so, he couldn’t see anything. Complete blackness.
He could feel his breath rate pick up when he noticed this, slowly growing on the verge of hyperventilating. If he was in any other circumstance he might realize what was going on, but he wasn’t in the right head space at all right now. He had just woken up with pain all over his body, doubly so in his head and he couldn’t see a thing. His first thought had jumped to blindness.
Someone or something had whacked his head, causing a massive concussion and taking his sense of sight.
But then as he breathed in, his mind paused just long enough to feel a piece of fabric press against his lips as he tried to take in a deep breath.
Fabric…
There was some sort of cloth bag or hood over his head. Okay, okay, so he could see or well… he couldn’t, but he hadn’t been blinded or anything, just blindfolded.
Okay, he tried to take a deep breath, regain whatever bearing and control he could. But even so much as regaining his breath seemed impossible. They way his arms were tied up behind his back, it was putting a lot of stress on his shoulders, which in turn were putting a lot of stress on his lungs, stopping them from expanding fully.
Still though he tried the box breathing he had seen Hen try when their patients were going into shock. Breathe in for four seconds, hold for four seconds, and then breathe out for four seconds.
It took a couple rounds of that, but then he slowly found himself calming down from the near panic he had just been in. He still couldn’t breath normally or see, but he felt marginally more aware of his body.
He tried to wrack his brain for a memory of what happened, but kept coming up blank. What was the last thing he had been doing?
Had he been with Maddie? No, Chimney had finally worked up the courage to take her on an actual date, after basically dating her for months already.
June of Doom Day 3: Trapped | "Give me another chance"
@juneofdoom
Character(s): Foulques of the Mist, unnamed WoL
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Cw/Tws: fade to black SA
Ao3 Link:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
|
Foulques slumped against the wall, breathing weakly. Today's day of torture had been light beatings, which only meant that Grenaux would pay him a visit later. Foulques shudder, drawing his knees to his chest.
His body still ached from Grenaux's last visit. The door opened and Foulques tensed, looking up as dread built in his stomach.
Grenaux stepped into the room and Foulques tried to push himself into the wall to get away. That action only seemed to amuse Grenaux as he approached the weakened elezen. Foulques whimpered behind the bit gag as Grenaux grabbed him by the hair. Foulques struggled, hands reaching to try and pull the hands off of him.
Grenaux, undeterred, threw Foulques on the bed, quickly straddling him. Foulques tried to push him off, but Grenaux got his wrists and pinned them above him with one hand.
"No!" Foulques choked out.
"You don't get that choice, Duskwight," Grenaux sneered, binding Foulques' wrists to the headboard of the bed.
Foulques struggled, fighting back tears. He couldn't cry, he had done such a good job not crying.
Even after dealing with this for weeks, he hadn't cried. He couldn't show weakness now.
But he was scared, as humiliating as that was to admit.
Grenaux pulled down Foulques small clothes.
Grenaux must have been really angry, Foulques only bled this much when something had pissed the Wood Wailer off. Foulques weakly rolled off the bed, pain shooting through him as he hit the ground. He crawled across the floor, unable to sit up due to the pulsing pain in his backside. His small clothes were on the floor a little in front of him, but it would take a little before he had the strength to put them back on.
Foulques' stomach churned and he wasn't sure if it was from hunger or disgust. His wrists, freed from the binds before Grenaux left, were red and bloodied from his struggle. He traced his fingers along his exposed ribs.
A part of him was glad he was still used to starving, otherwise the lack of food might have driven him insane (it certainly had when he was in prison).
He closed his eyes, the floor cooling his warm body. He felt hot, the kind of hot that indicated sickness soon to come. Wether he was trembling because of the cold, weakness, hunger or sickness, he did not know.
A short rest. He would feel better after a short rest.
He woke up feeling horrible. His body was hot and sticky and his throat ached. He tried to sit up, make it easier on his lungs should he start coughing only for his arms to give out beneath him.
Foulques let out a muffled choked gasp as he went still on the floor. He closed his eyes, panting like that would help cool him down. A cough tore through his throat and he curled in on himself coughing and gasping. His chest ached with each cough.
It was hard to stay aware, as the heat grew unbearable. At this rate, he definitely had a fever but it was too hard for him to think. Foulques stared at the iron door weakly.
They enjoyed torturing him too much to let him die.
Did he want to die?
The pain would end at least.
The door suddenly slammed opened and Foulques struggled to see who it was through the fog of his mind.
The figure who walked in wasn't the Wood Wailers who had been tormenting him.
They crouched down in front of him and pulled out the gag. With how close they were, Foulques recognized them.
The Lancer.
Tears stung his eyes and weakly grasped their hand.
"Please," he sobbed, "Give me another chance,"
"You needn't ask," the said, softly, voice filled with concern and a kindness he hadn't heard in weeks, "I would save you regardless,"
Foulques closed his eyes as the Lancer put his small clothes back and and gently lifted him up in their arms. Foulques leaned into them despite his pride.
"Rest now, Foulques," they said, "I will take care of you,"
Character(s): Emmanellain de Fortemps, Artoirel de Fortemps
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
Ao3 Link:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Emmanellain walked quickly through the Jeweled Crozier, a slight skip in his step and a bag of sweets in his arms.
The 11-year-old boy had been given money and a task of buying sweets by his father and he was very excited to have done it successfully, he had even gotten a deal and saved 250 gil!
Maybe Father would praise him!
Emmanellain took a step forward and felt a ripple of shock go through him when he slipped forward and then he was falling.
He hit the ground, hard, yelping in pain. With a groan of pain, Emmanellain sat up slowly and looked around. He was not in Ishgard.
Going on for a long distance, branching off into other pathways and up and down stairs was white tiles, from ceiling to wall. Most of the place was submerged in water that seemed to glistening a greenish blue and moved with an unknown tide.
Emmanellain looked up, trying to go back the way he came, only to be met with pristine white tiles, smooth, undamaged and devoid of any opening.
"H-Hello?" Emmanellain called.
His voiced sounded muted, like something was slowing it down. It was unnerving and felt wrong.
Emmanellain clutched the sweets bag to his chest as he slowly sat down on the tiled floor.
Father had always said that if he got lost he had to stay put and wait for someone to find him.
And so Emmanellain sat.
And sat.
And sat.
He had no idea how much time had passed, but he was convinced that something was watching him. He would look around, but wouldn't see anything.
Emmanellain couldn't stay there.
He pushed himself up, holding the sweets close and picked a direction (the one bathed in the most sunlight). The area was completely in the water, but Emmanellain was willing to go in if it meant getting away from the eyes watching him.
The water was cool and relaxing as Emmanellain waded through the water, holding the sweets bag up so it wouldn't get wet.
He walked and walked, but he seemed to get no where. A turn here and turn there. It was only when he entered a large room with multiple different pathways that Emmanellain realized he was lost.
Emmanellain froze, tears welling in his eyes.
"Dad!" he shouted, as loud as he could, but the water lapping at the the walls drowned out his voice, "Mom? 'Toriel?"
All he could hear was the water.
Emmanellain, tearfully, waded to an island in the middle of the water pool and climbed onto it. Tears blurred his vision as he sobbed.
"Please," he sobbed, "You have to let me go! I want to go home, please,"
He collapsed onto the cold tiled floor, body shaking with sobs.
"Dad…" he hiccuped.
He lay there, sobbing for an unknown amount of time. Time passed so strangely here.
Emmanellain's stomach rumbled and he was suddenly very aware of how hungry he was. It was odd, he had eaten just before he had gone to get the sweets and yet it felt like he hadn't eaten in ages.
Emmanellain weakly sat up and looked down at the bag. He had finally managed to do something right, something his dad had entrusted him with, and he had messed up.
So if he had already messed up, maybe his father wouldn't notice if he ate some of them.
Emmanellain opened the bag and grabbed one and ate it quickly, and then another.
He managed to stop himself before he could eat all of them.
What was he to do now? He felt so sleepy and scared and hungry in equal measure.
Emmanellain stood up only for his legs to give out from under him.
When had he gotten so weak.
He was stuck here, wasn't he? Emmanellain crumpled into a ball, drawing his Halonic rosary close to his chest.
Even as he sobbed, tears falling down his face, he prayed to Halone for salvation.
A chill went down his spine as he felt the eyes from before return. He no longer had any strength to run from it.
After what felt like hours, his tears finally dried up and, sniffling, he drew the half-empty sweets bag close to his chest.
Emmanellain exhaled, his breathing forming in a cloud. It was getting colder. Emmanellain shivered slightly and curled up on himself.
He felt suddenly very very sleepy.
Emmanellain closed his eyes.
He could hear, distantly, the sound of ice.
He was being lifted into someone's arms.
"It is alright, my child," a woman's voice, not his mother's, "You are safe now,"
"Emmanellain!"
Emmanellain's eyes snapped open and he slowly sat up. Blinking slowly, he made out the form of his eldest brother, face twisted with worry and fear, running towards him.
Emmanellain was leaned against one of the inner walls of House Fortemps. When had he gotten here?
"Oh thank the Fury!" Artoirel exclaimed, unaware of how true that statement was.
"'Toriel?" Emmanellain mumbled, weakly reaching for his brother.
He was still dripping wet and there was a shiver in his back, but he seemed to be all here.
Artoirel pulled Emmanellain into a fierce hug and Emmanellain gripped his brother's shirt with a grip as tight as he could muster in his state..
"You've been gone for almost three days, Emmanellain," whispered Artoirel.
Emmanellain furrowed his brow. It hadn't felt like three days. Silently, he raised the sweet bag, tinged at the edges with ice.
"I got the sweets, but I got really hungry and ate some of them" he mumbled, sniffing, "And I saved some gil,"
"Emm," whispered Artoirel
Emmanellain burrowed his face in his brother's shoulder and completely broke down. Emmanellain didn't want to end up in the tiled maze again.
Artoirel held him close.
Emmanellain couldn't tell if he was shaking or if it was Artoirel.
Character: Foulques of the Mist
Fandom: Final Fantasy XIV
CWs/TWs: Implications of SA but nothing happens
Takes place in an AU where the WoL saved Foulques from his fall, but he runs off.
Ao3 Link:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
|
Foulques ran through the forest, breathing heavily as the fight with that new lancer weighed on his mind. He had lost. Totally and utterly.
The new lancer was one of the most skilled fighters he had ever faced.
His body ached from the fight, but he pushed himself forward.
There was a sudden rush of movement and pain erupted across Foulques' face. He hit the ground, hard, vision spinning.
Through the daze, he could make out the green armor of Wood Wailers. He collapsed back onto the ground, breathing hard.
One of the Wailers said something to his comrade, but Foulques couldn't make it out.
He tried to sit up only for one of the Wailers to slam his boot into Foulques' chest.
"Stay down," the Wailer snarled before gesturing.
Another Wailer nodded in response before raising his boot and kicking Foulques in the face hard enough that he passed out.
Foulques awoke to darkness and for a moment he wondered if something had happened to his eyes. After a moment of concentration he realized that he was blindfolded, restrained and most likely gagged, if the cloth in his mouth was anything to go off of. He was also not wearing much in the way of clothes, able to feel the breeze against his chest, arms and legs.
He could hear movement around him as he tested the bonds tying his wrists around something.
"He's awake," a male voice called
"Finally, I didn't think I kicked him that hard," sneered another
A hand grabbed Foulques' chin and forced it up. Foulques let out a muffled sound of protest, trying to pull away.
"I've been meaning to find a new kind of stress relief," said the first male voice, getting closer, "I've been getting antsy,"
A sudden sharp pain erupted from Foulques' chest and he realized a knife was slowly tracing across his skin. Foulques couldn't keep down the pained noise that built in his throat. The whimper of pain was embarrassing and Foulques pushed down the shame.
Whoever was holding his face released him, shoving his head to the side.
"Quite a looker, for a Duskwight, but I think he would look better all nice and bloodied,"
There was laughter as the knife finished it's journey across his chest. Foulques let out another muffled cry, straining against the restraints.
Foulques felt hot breath by his ear and tensed as one of his captor's leaned in close.
"You're our toy now, Duskwight,"
They started small, just grazing his chest with the knife. It hurt, but he was ready for it now. Bracing himself, he breathed through the gag. He felt the knife slip through his skin, pushing down. Then the knife was removed and Foulques felt something warm slip into the wound. He let out a muffled hiss.
Then the skin was torn from his body and Foulques screamed in agony, body straining. The pain was almost blinding.
He could hear the wailers laughing as he gasped for breath, his body trembling.
"Fuck, should this be making me hard?" a male voice said
"Of course this would get you hard," another countered
"Maybe I'll have some more fun with him later,"
"I'm not sticking around for that,"
With them distracted with each other, Foulques took a moment to catch his breath.
Maybe this is what he deserved?
Foulques focused on the sensation of his blood dripping down. It was slow and sluggish, just as he felt.
He closed his eyes, or maybe he didn't.
The world slipped away from him and he didn't even try to hold on.
When Foulques awoke again, he was alone, in a small, windowless room and lying on a rather uncomfortable bed. He tried to sit up and pain flared from his chest and he groaned in pain.
Slower this time, he sat up. He felt a heavy weight on his neck and slowly reached up. There was a metal collar around his neck and he turned his head slightly, following the chain to a metal loop in the wall.
Foulques sighed. This was just great.
Glancing around his new cell, Foulques felt unease settle into his gut at the bare room. There was only one door, made of solid iron.
He was screwed. Maybe this wouldn't have happened if he hadn't run away from the lancer.
The sound of a lock clicking open startled Foulques and he tensed, body coiled to attack.
A Wood Wailer entered the room and Foulques glared at him. The Wailer drew his lance and cracked Foulques across the head, sending him crashing to ground.
Foulques spat out blood.
"What did I even do," he sneered, "Or is this just for kicks?"
The Wailer didn't grace him with a response, simply grabbed him by the hair with one hand and (after sheathing his lance) slammed his other hand into Foulques' stomach. Foulques let out a choked gasp.
The Wailer shoved something into his mouth, a bit of some kind, and tied it around his head, with the sound of a lock clicking shut behind his head.
The Wailer shoved him aside and Foulques it the ground with a muffled grunt. This Wailer could have gagged him when he was unconscious, but he had waited for Foulques to wake up before doing so. A humiliation tactic. Foulques raised his hands, groping at the metal cage around his mouth. It hadn't just been a bit gag, it was a muzzle.
The Wailer laughed.
"An animal like you might bite, its always better to muzzle a violent dog,"
Foulques lunged at him, but the Wailer simply stepped back, causing the chain connecting the collar to the wall to go taught, yanking Foulques to the floor and choking him in the process.
"You Duskwights are all the same," sneered the Wailer, watching Foulques pant on the floor, "Enjoy your new home, and you better hope Grenaux doesn't catch you alone, he has trouble with his…urges,"
The Wailer turned heel and walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The elevator was ancient, though it was classy in its own way. All old wooden paneling and faded brass fixtures, including the hand rail that had been worn smooth by thousands of hands over the years. Qiao Ling leaned back against the wall to stare up at the number wheel above the door as the elevator lurched and slowly began to ascend.
The G for the ground floor slowly crept past to be replaced by the number 1. The elevator shuddered as it passed the first floor. Then the second. The number 2 rolled by, followed by the number 3, and then….
This is chapter 29 of a story I've been writing a lot longer but I thought to use the epic prompts for the latest bits from from @juneofdoom
Assignment + Hospital + History
It's day 2
"You have to let me go."
| Dying Alone | Drowning | Blame
The initial din of the reporters retreated into the background for Mac as he waited there. He kept his back ramrod straight, determined to show absolutely no weakness in the face of the foundation, the journalists outside. He appreciated that this show of strength was a little late in the game, but now he was very much on his own, it was all he had. He didn’t have Marriott, he didn’t have his parents, his friends…whatever they were to him, he could trust them. It was just himself. The thought of it made him want to be sick. But he told himself:
You can’t trust anyone. Show them nothing. Show them that you will not give in.
written for the @juneofdoom day one prompt: unfair fight
warnings: descriptions of flashbacks and panic attacks
word count: 2303
read it on ao3 here.
When nightmares drive Grace to avoid sleep for far longer than he should do, Rocky decides to adopt a new strategy to help him.
Grace had known that eridians were strong. It was one thing to know that as a fact, however, and another thing entirely to experience first-hand.
-------------------------
"Rocky!"
Grace was shouting the word before he was even really awake enough to realise what he was saying. Unfortunately, he was also not awake enough to have fully forgotten the motivation behind it, images of how his friend might ignite in his oxygen-rich atmosphere still lingering in his mind's eye.
"Rocky is here," the voice– the chords– came from somewhere next to him, finally doing the job that Grace's panicked wheezing hadn't been able to do and dispelling the nightmare for good. There were no wailing notes of pain behind them, no high-pitched screech; just the usual steady timbre that Grace would expect from the eridian.
Rocky was fine. There wasn't any emergency. Adrian was long behind them, and the two of them had survived.
Grace focused on that thought, struggling to wrestle back control of his breathing. It took him longer still to really comprehend where he was and what Rocky was up to, even after he had forced himself upright and blinked away the worst of the grogginess - he wasn't used to seeing the eridian running around outside of the ball, and certainly wasn't used to having him be able to get close enough to try and provide some kind of physical comfort.
Rocky, xenonite suit catching the lights above them, had huddled into his side, far closer and warmer than he had been able to when he had been restricted by the xenonite ball. It was nice. Grounding, even.
"Nightmare," Rocky stated once Grace had gotten his breath back, and Grace nodded despite the fact that the eridian wasn't really looking for clarification. By this point, it was not as uncommon an occurrence as it had been a few months ago when they'd started their journey towards Erid. In fact, nightmares had been making an increasingly regular appearance during the night-cycle that Grace had adopted.
Grace wasn't stupid, despite the recent accusations that Rocky had thrown at him for occasionally avoiding sleep. He knew that having increasingly dire nightmares was normal for someone who had been through as much as he had.
Knowing that fact didn't mean he had to like it, however, and soon he was pushing himself even further upright, bracing himself to swing his legs around and off of the bed– only to find himself faced with an immovable force.
Next to him, Rocky had shifted, placing a hand against Grace's shoulder.
"Grace only sleep for two hours," Rocky chimed. "Is not enough."
Grace grimaced, and shrugged off the touch. "I don't think I'm going to be getting any more sleep at the minute, bud," he said. "I need to stretch my legs. Get out of the way, would you?"
Rocky shifted, two of his other arms thudding against the bed in an agitated manner.
"Grace say this last night. And night before! No sleep bad bad bad for Grace."
The two of them stopped and stared at each other – or, rather, Grace frowned at Rocky, and Rocky tilted his carapace towards Grace in a manner that Grace had been interpreting as a hard stare.
Then, when Grace went to push himself up again regardless, Rocky stepped forwards into his space, taking full advantage of being free from the xenonite hamster ball.
The xenonite suit was a new addition, one that had gone through a few iterations already before Rocky had landed on the version he was using now. He'd insisted on making it, refining the design to something more form-fitting in case of emergency, despite Grace's best efforts to reassure him that their journey shouldn't pose any threats similar to what they had faced around Adrian. Not that Grace had been trying too hard, beyond trying to quiet his friend's anxieties – it gave Rocky no excuses not to help with chores like keeping the ship tidy, even if it did give him more opportunities to be a menace.
Grace still found it a little jarring to see his friend moving around in it, and stranger yet to have his friend use to get up in his face.
The two of them had celebrated its creation with a proper hug, which Grace had melted into and then promptly freaked out over. Since then, they'd been working up to maintaining closer and closer contact, Rocky obviously not trusting Grace's reassurances that he was going to be fine.
Until now, that was.
"Rocky!" Grace sputtered, left with no choice but to let the eridian push him further and further backwards until he was lying down flat again. "Hey, cut it out!"
Grace had known, intellectually, that eridians were strong. It was one thing to know that as a fact, however, and another thing entirely to experience firsthand.
Defiantly, he tried to wriggle down the bed and out from underneath Rocky, only for Rocky to immediately hook two of his arms under Grace's and haul him back up into place. Although, maybe 'hauled' was the wrong word to describe it, given how little effort the eridian put into moving him. Despite the gentle grip that Rocky kept on him, there was no chance of escaping it.
"Come on, Rocky," Grace groaned, "stop messing around! I'll go to sleep eventually, I promise. I'm just not tired right now."
"Grace also promise this two nights ago! Only few hours of sleep since then, not enough. Grace lie lie lie." Rocky tilted his carapace upwards, as if realising something, then chittered in a pitch that Grace had come to understand as laughter. "Now Grace lie! Lie down."
Grace sighed.
"Is joke!" Rocky clarified, all-too-pleased with himself, and disappointed at the lack of encouragement that Grace usually provided towards his efforts at human puns.
"Okay, okay, good one!" Grace forced himself to laugh, aware that he might be grinning a little too wide to be convincing. "I'm giving up now. No need to keep–"
Grace cut himself off, trying to pull himself up and away this time.
Even the element of surprise was of no help to him. In fact, he probably found himself the one more shocked out of the two of them, not truly expecting Rocky to keep up his antics for long. As it was, all Grace succeeded in doing in his second bid for freedom was getting himself wedged underneath Rocky's carapace, half stuck on his side, half with his arm trapped underneath him.
Rocky chittered. "Amuse amuse amuse! No problems, if Grace insists, Grace can sleep on front!" he chimed smugly.
Grace didn't bother with a response that time, given how stubborn he knew Rocky could be when he'd made up his mind about something. He settled on gritting his teeth, something that the eridian probably found more disturbing than any barbed words Grace might spit at him, trying to think of anything that might persuade Rocky to see reason.
Above him, the eridian shifted, moving more of his weight onto Grace's back as he seemed to take the human's silence as surrender. It was far from a crushing force, nothing more than a gentle pressure, but something about it still had Grace freezing up.
Grace swallowed. Rocky knew what he was doing, he reassured himself. In the eridian's own words Grace was a 'leaky space blob' - Rocky knew that Grace wasn't as sturdy as he was. But still, as he lay there, he could have sworn the weight above him was increasing even further. It was shifting from a gentle but steady pressure to something more crushing. Something truly inescapable.
Something that seemed to be making it harder and harder to breathe.
"Rocky," Grace managed to get out, "I don't think I can sleep like–"
Rocky made a gentle hissing sound, not dissimilar to white noise. It was the eridian equivalent of a 'shhhhhh'.
"Less talk, less worry, more sleep. Rocky protect."
Right, sleep. That was the whole purpose of this. But grace didn't feel particularly restful, nor did he feel particularly safe, no matter what his friend might insist upon.
In fact, he could feel… a chill?
That didn't make any sense. Rocky should have been an inescapable source of heat, and here he was suppressing a shiver.
Then, he went to clutch the bedsheets, intending to drag them closer towards himself, and found himself clutching at blades of grass.
Wheezing, he forced his head to the side and his gaze upwards, eyes gliding over the sight of a chain link fence and a stormy sky and settling on a faceless figure. That wasn't right either, he knew it wasn't, and yet in his confusion his brain couldn't summon up the answer to who he should be looking up at.
"Sleep," they commanded, but he didn't want to go to sleep. He didn't want to go to sleep, but they weren't going to give him any choice about it. He knew that with as much certainty as he knew that everything about this was wrong, wrong, wrong.
There were hands holding him down, pressing against his spine, his ribs. They'd caught him, and now they would never let him go.
He wouldn't be able to move them. He knew that with certainty, too. Enough so that he didn't even bother to try.
They were going to hold him down until he slept and slept and couldn't wake up even if he wanted to.
The ground beneath him was cold and hard… no. No, there was give to it, a softness that went beyond the texture of grass, but that didn't make any sense. Nothing made any sense.
Why did he have to sleep?
"Please…" he whispered. Whimpered, really, but panic now held him too firmly in its grip for him to care. "Please, I don't want to go. You're killing me. You'll be killing me. Please."
Discordant music chimed overhead, as nonsensical as everything else around him.
"I can't do it, I'm sorry. I don't want to go. I want to live. Please, please."
Desperation had driven him to fight against his breathlessness, but now that overtook him too, and his words failed him. In their place came tears, sobs that escaped between wheezes and distracted him from the fact that there was no longer any weight pressed against him at all.
The hands had disappeared. The grass, too.
There was a bed underneath him, he realised eventually, after exhaustion had slowed his panic to a stop. A bed underneath him, and above him…
Nobody.
Grace blinked. Slowly, he twisted himself around so he could face upwards, appreciating the fact that he could breathe a little easier again.
There was nobody there, he thought to himself, but there should be somebody, there should be–
"Rocky!"
Realisation had him shouting for his friend for the second time that day, sitting bolt upright and looking around the room. His room on the Hail Mary, he could remember, now. It was like he was coming out of a nightmare, except this one hadn't needed him sleeping to sneak up on him.
There was nowhere he was safe from them, then.
Movement caught his attention in the corner of the room before he could start to spiral again, and his gaze landed on his friend. The eridian was inching his way towards Grace, wariness apparent in every hesitant step.
"Grace?" he warbled, as unsteady in his vocalisations as he was in his movements.
"Rocky," Grace repeated himself, although this time out of relief rather than distress. "Rocky, hey, what happened?" He still felt a little distant from everything, a little shaken.
Rocky paused, hunched in on himself. "Apology, apology, apology," he said, maintaining a careful distance from Grace as he spoke. "Rocky hurt Grace. No understand how. Rocky much careful, Grace much precious. Rocky want help Grace with sleep, but Grace upset upset upset. Grace leak. Grace no make sense."
Grace leaned backwards into the pillows, absorbing everything that Rocky had told him and thinking back on what must have happened.
"I…" he began, then failed to summon the words or his courage to explain. "I'm sorry, bud. I must have surprised you. That was just a human thing, like a nightmare." He tried for a smile, but it came out far more wobbly than intended. "Just a silly human thing, that's all. An overreaction."
Rocky was smart. He'd want a better explanation than that, Grace knew. But maybe this time he'd grant Grace a little mercy.
On the floor beside him, Rocky shifted from arm to arm. "Not silly human thing," he finally came out with. "Scary human thing. Grace say Rocky killing him. Why?"
Why.
Well, there it was. No mercy for Grace this time. Rocky wasn't going to let this one go, even if he agreed to drop the topic for the moment.
"I was mistaken," Grace whispered. "I was confused. Sorry, Rocky. You… you reminded me of something bad that had happened to me on Earth, that's all. Something I'd rather not talk about, please."
Rocky uttered a mournful sound, leaning his carapace towards Grace. "Bad, bad, bad," he warbled. "Apology."
"Don't." Grace bit out. "You didn't do anything wrong. I was the one who–" He cut himself off, shaking his head. "Nothing. Let's just forget about it, okay?"
Carefully, Rocky pulled himself up onto the bed. He tapped the sheets twice, shifting from side to side. "Yes," he chimed quietly, almost beyond the range of Grace's hearing. For a moment, he looked as if he might want to settle against Grace's legs, before changing his mind and dropping onto the bed where he stood.
The space between the two of them was only a foot or so, but it felt further. Grace felt the urge to fill it, to shuffle closer, but found himself glued to the bed where he sat.
"I'm going to try and go back to sleep," he lied, and turned away.
It is time to spread the love with our June 2026 Comment Bingo. Try and fill four in a row, column, or diagonal, or let all the creators out there know how much you appreciate them 🤍🩶🖤 and go for a full black-out!
(textual version behind the readmore ↓)
Brag about your progress and inspire others to follow in your footsteps! Use the #fandomwithbenefits and #FwB2026 Comment Bingo tags to make your post findable.
As a reminder of our general rules, there is no deadline to contribute, if you wonder 'Is X allowed?' the answer is probably yes, and we highly appreciate all kind of works—not just fanfic or fanart!
If you have any questions or feedback, drop us an Ask or a DM! ❤️ Need even more inspiration? Check out our previous events.👀
The comment prompts are listed in order of the grid (rows 1 through 4, columns A through D):
1A: user's first work
1B: a drabble (exactly 100 words)
1C: comment more than 100 words
1D: a work you have bookmarked or saved
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2A: written before canon (jossed)
2B: less than 500 hits
2C: non-fic (audio, art, poetry,meta,...)
2D: liveblog in comments
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3A: quote your favorite sentence
3B: a genre or trope you've never read before
3C: first comment on work
3D: one of oldest 20 works in a fandom or ship
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Credit:
background image by Eva Bronzini @ pexels.com
heart vector by kjpargeter @ freepik
If there is an AO3 link, I follow it to AO3 and kudos your work (BGSparrow).
I reblog your work to @juneofdoom with tags: june of doom 2026, day X, and whatever prompts you've indicated. If I can't figure out what the prompt was, I just go with the dialogue prompt for that day.
If you use an alternate prompt, it will be tagged with the day X, alt prompt, and then the alternate prompt you used. This way I can see what day you used an alternate prompt on, not just that you did.
So, if you're doing Tumblr and AO3, you should have a heart, a reblog, and a kudos from me!
If just AO3, I get emails when a work is added to the collection. Sometimes, it tells me I don't have access? So be sure to make them accessible.
Same with here on Tumblr--I'm getting messages that people are tagging the blog and sending me the links in the messages, but when I click on it, I get the ghost blog screen. I'm not sure what permissions would be causing that, but all of mine are open!
This is all just FYI! A behind the scenes, if you will!
You're all doing amazing, and I'm so impressed with all the stuff you're putting out! Keep it up (but be nice to yourself if you need a break)!
