#discussion of death
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The second installment of this comic right here. In which the gang hangs out :) pages under the cut!
#The thing about repetitive panels is that they look easy but I have no process so they are in fact extremely difficult and I hate doing them#But they're IMPORTANT#Those last few panels look like an edgy music video but Im allowing myself to be cheesy. I can do whatever I want forever (sweating)#rayman#ramon#bullfrog captain laserhawk#dolph laserhawk#captain laserhawk#clh#clh fanart#three's aground#three's aground comic#art#alcohol#smoking#discussion of death#mentions of violence#violence mention#Like I have no idea how to tag tws hope that's ok#*vine noise* *sweeping hand gesture* look at all those tags
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I find it fascinating that Venra gave almost everyone a choice in their death, even if they were all doomed from the beginning
She told Perry that it's all better in the moment just before you get everything you want and that he doesn't have to pull the sprinklers. He still makes the choice to turn them on
She told Camille that she doesn't have to go back there, she literally says that she could have killed her in her sleep. She still goes to collect evidence that no one will ever see
She tries to get Leo to buy a different cat, she shows him all of the other options that are suffering and need a home while the black cat already had offers and wasnt for sale to him. He still chose to buy the black cat
She keeps telling Vic that she's worried about the human trials, can she please get confirmation from Ruiz that this experiment is safe, are you sure you want to go through with this. She still chooses to use the mechanical heartbeat
She just keeps telling Tamerlane to get some rest, even after Tammy keeps falling asleep in the middle of conversations and cannot function. She still chooses to go through with Goldbug and attack the voices telling her to rest
She asked Roderick and Madeline if they were sure, from the very beginning asked what they were willing to give up for all of the fame that they could ever want, she gave them the ultimate choice as to their fate. They chose fame and fortune for a short life over a long one with less certainty of money
But she didn't give a choice to everyone
While all of the other children got a choice in how they died, Fredrick didn't. But that's because he had already made his choice. He chose over and over again to be vindictive and hateful, to be drunk on power. He was willing to let his wife suffer just to see what was in her phone and when that didn't work he decided to slowly poison her and finally when he ripped out her teeth, then Venra said "enough". He made his own bed without any input from Venra because she wasn't the one asking him if he was sure, it was Lenore. Lenore asked at every turn if her mom was safe, if she was seeing specialists, if they could go to a fancy facility that could keep her safe. Lenore just wants her mom to be okay, and Frederick decides to rip out Morrie's teeth in anger. So yeah, he made his fucking choice
Lenore didn't. She was the only Usher that was never given a warning about not tempting fate, and that's because she was the only Usher who cared about someone other than their own bottom line. Lenore was sweet, and kind, and wanted to make a difference, so Venra didn't need to ask her if she really wanted to tempt fate. No, she needed to make her comfortable with the inevitability of her end. That her kindness wasn't for nothing. That she didn't go out in a blaze of self destruction like the others. Because Lenore didn't tempt fate, she didn't throw around daddy's money to get everything she could have ever wanted, damn the consequences. No, she died because of a choice that someone else made for her before she was a thought un anyone's mind. She died because someone else didn't care about the consequences of their actions as long as they could be rich and famous in the here and now
Lenore didn't get a choice because neither did any of the victims of the Usher family's rule
They just died as after thoughts, collateral on the way to ultimate power
#the fall of the house of usher#tfothou#death tw#tempting fate#doomed from the start#discussion of death#mike flanagan
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Gotta say, I love how you made so many posts criticizing people who see Chara as an abuser, yet in your own AU you depict them as a cruel, vindictive bully who tries to turn Asriel's family against her, drives her to suicide, then guilt-trips her into getting back together with them. Yet Asriel is somehow the real abuser because she's mad at them for ruining her life. I am by no means a Chara hater, but that seems a little inconsistent.
// CW: discussions of suicide, long post
wow, what an incredibly uncharitable reading of my work! thank you so much!
okay, jokey-positive aside. i shouldn't respond to bad-faith criticism like this because it's not worth my time as it's unlikely you'll actually hear me out in response. I've been online long enough to know you don't feed the trolls.
but, I'm an optimist at heart and I'll give you the benefit of the doubt that you're actually upset with me and do want to have a civil conversation and are not just here to spew hate and drag me down.
Ask Fallen Royalty, the tumblr version wasn't handled the best as it was my first attempt at really trying to write this subject matter and I felt I didn't tackle it as well as I could have. that's something I plan on fixing with the rewrite.
that said, I have never called either of the siblings abusers.
they're flawed, mentally unwell and traumatized young adults/teens who are in no way equipped to handle the situation they were put in.
they both did awful things. Asriel packaged their trauma in a sanitized way for profit and sympathy points believing it'd benefit Monsterkind. they did so without asking Chara for permission. Then later, at Christmas, Asriel abandoned their family to go solo ruling. That's shitty! That's objectively really shitty but it's a very understandable reaction.
Asriel is taught that money is what moves the world and they believe they're soulless and a faker. That if anyone were to know their secret they'd hate them. so prevent that hurt, they cut everyone else out.
That's completely why Chara goes from "oh man I miss Asriel I wish I was good enough to have them beside me again ):" to 180 "Actually screw them for leaving me i hate them for this. i don't deserve to wallow in pain waiting for someone who can't even bother to text me back" them cutting of asriel is an understandable reaction for anyone, let alone a teenager! could they have been more gentle? yeah. could they have tried to fix things? yeah! but they're not a villain for not having the emotional maturity or foresight to handle a complex situation like that. they're like, literally 15/16 at this point of the story
chara also wasn't trying to drive people away from asriel? i really don't know what you're referring to with this aside from Chara deciding to tell the (at the time they believed) truth that Asriel is Flowey. At that point, Chara literally thought Asriel was replaced by Flowey. That they were two different people. That's not to isolate them- its to be honest with the family with this huge news. Toriel is shown not to care that her children are flowers, it would have never mattered to her as we see immediately that Chara is a flower and Toriel doesn't care.
chara also didn't drive Asriel to suicide. that's a blatant misread of the text. It's not that Asriel decided to die right after Chara decided to cut them off. and it's NOT like chara handed them a loaded gun or told them to do anything. all they did was say "don't lie to our family and don't talk to me, i don't want to be friends with you."
Asriel didn't decide to die until they felt their weak support system was breaking down. Yun wanted to be with Mew Mew, the Band broke up (Shyren, Napstablook and most recently Mew Mew quit), they made a big stupid movie that they hate (the epitome of their fake narrative on the silver screen), and because they ditched the premiere to check on chara (who was missing) their agents are pissed off.
Mew Mew then talks about how troubled Flowey/Asriel is and how being a secret flower hurt their social life. (The relationship with Flora being a strong example) like, Flowey always sabotages or loses those they care about because everyone else has their own life and they don't open themselves to create connections that last because they're running away. it's the culmination of everything going wrong that drives them to that point.
plus, it's hammered home later in Flowey's introspection that they feel horribly guilty for their actions as Flowey. parading as their perfect King when they secretly killed a majority of mosnterkind and did who knows what else is like. majorly fucked up.
i'm unsure if you forgot or chose to ignore the larger narrative or what's happened, but these things are in the story. they're both messed up individuals who have a hard time communicating their feelings -Chara literally brings up having emotional dysregulation disorder and CPTSD in the epilogue. Asriel's imposter syndrome and-gestures to Flowey) is also a clear indication that they've got some fundamental mental health issues that prevent them from understanding themselves and others.
it's a story about broken people who lash out against each other but ultimately come together in love.
they care so so deeply for each other! they're family. messing up (especially as children, teenagers etc) doesn't mean you shouldn't be written off as disposable. you're ALL capable of fucking up severely but you have the chance to grow and better yourself. you owe it to those who are willing to give that chance to do better. that's what the story has always been about.
I will admit that I plan on working on the pacing and giving chara more sweet moments so it doesn't come across as harsh -I don't want either sibling to be seen as a "villain" or """""abusive"""" as you call them. Except, yeah, Asriel is meant to be seen as an antagonist for a brief while, but that's set up Chara to come to that realization just the same as the audience should.
i hope this helped you understand what i was going for. if you wanna talk further I don't mind, but please talk to me as a real person. we're on the same page that abuse is bad. that people shouldn't treat each other so horribly. i don't excuse either of the character's interactions but i want to show empathy and understanding and that they can grow past that. i sincerely hope we can come to a shared perspective. if you wanna, i'd love to talk about i can make this message more clear, i'd love some proper criticism! i hope you have a lovely day and that you please be more considerate to how you to talk to others as I could have very easily read this anon hate/trolling.
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I had some surgery recently that required general anaesthetic, and I wasn't particularly worried about it, but there is always a chance that something goes wrong and I suddenly found myself thinking about how if I died on the table, I would never know how my current book ended. And honestly, if that is what was going to be my big regret, then I think I'm living my life exactly how I want to be
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Wow Birthday Whump Day 5: Alt. Bridal Carry and “No!”
This is a fun one :) Teri whump!
Content: discussions and fear of death, brief hospital setting, severe illness, medic caretaker,
Teri smiled as Avia shuffled the cards, ignoring the pain pulsing in her head. The calm noise of the rec room buzzed around them, heroes playing thrilling games of air hockey and Mario Kart behind them. Avia had complained about a “post mission high,” and Teri wasn’t feeling super great, so they had opted for something calmer.
“Cut the cards.” They offered her the deck, narrowing their eyes. “Are you okay?”
She scrubbed her face. “Nothing. Probably caffeine.”
Avia took the deck back, dealt five cards to her, then five cards to herself, and placed it in the center of the table. Teri flipped the first card over, revealing a six of hearts. “You should probably lay off that stuff.”
“Yeah. But it tastes good.” She discarded a six of spades.
They snickered. “Fair enough.”
Teri sighed, drawing three more cards until they got one they could play. A moment of silence passed. “That was one hell of a job though.”
“Yeah. How many new baddies were there?” They grumbled something under their breath, realizing they couldn’t play.
“Seven or eight? To many.” She slapped down another card. Her stomach twisted, but she kept the discomfort off her face.
“Fuck,” they muttered, drawing another four cards. “I think they’re scraping the bottom of the barrel on the name front too.”
“Oh absolutely.” She smirked, ridding herself of a three of spades. “What was that one guy called- “The vaposquasher” or something?”
“I don’t know. There's too many of them to keep track of.” Her hand was starting to get stretched thin, keeping a hold of all of the cards.
“Yeah.” They lapsed into silence. The full day had lapped up their energy quite a bit, and they were both tired.
Her heart fluttered a little, discomfort flaring in her chest, and she made a face. Definitely too much caffeine then.
“You sure you’re alright?” Avia said, filling her hand with two more cards.
She nodded, using two fingers to flip over the last card in her hand, a queen of spades. “I know I’m alright.” She brought it down triumphantly. “I believe that makes me the winner.”
Avia gave her a look. “Pride comes before the fall, Teri.” They started to reshue their cards back into the deck, preparing for another round. “I’ll get you next time.”
The vibrating in her chest flared again, and she could feel her heart pounding double time. Her vision lurched, the room whirling around her for a moment. “Um, I think I’m going to go to bed.” She looked down at her watch. “Maybe the telekinesis did more than I thought today.”
“I’ll come with then. We all know I should be getting more sleep anyway.” They slid the cards back into their packaging. Teri stood up, trying not to wobble too much. Though they didn’t say anything, she could feel Avia behind her, ready to catch her just in case.
They made it to the elevator without issue, but halfway up, Teri found herself swaying again. The bright, reflective box was spinning, and the railing was unhelpful in that regard. She could feel it closing in on her, the walls narrowing, and she turned to Avia, frantically trying to get her to understand that something was wrong. Black dots filled her vision and she went limp, collapsing into Avia’s chest.
Eventually, she came too with her head pressed against Avia’s chest, arms positioned under her knees and upper back. The world felt like molasses, still gooey and unstable as she lifted her head up. “Hi ‘via.”
Avia looked relieved. “You’re awake.”
She nodded a little. “I need ‘oseph…” Her heart was still thundering in her chest. “Something’s wrong..”
“I’m getting you to him.” She turned the corner, trying not to jostle Teri too much.
“Oh..thank you….” Teri’s head bounced against Avia’s chest.
“I’ve got cha’.” They arrived outside of the door, and Avia pushed it open with her foot.
She charged straight through the foyer, laying Teri out on the couch. “Joseph?” Her voice carried through the apartment as he looked around for him.
“What do you need, Avia?” He walked down the hallway, steps quickening when he saw Teri laying on the couch. Judging from the basketball shorts and slippers, he had been about five minutes from going to bed. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. She passed out in the elevator.” Avai looked at him frantically.
“I’ll look her over, yeah.” He knelt down in front of the couch. “Can you get me my stuff from under the sink?” Her eyes lingered on Teri for a moment before she turned and shot down the hallway.
Joseph leaned forward. “Teri, are you with me?”
Her eyes flickered towards him. “Yeah.”
“Good,” he smiled at her, two fingers pressing into the thumb side of her wrist. “Do you know where you are?”
She nodded. “Apartment. With Avia. We were playing cards.”
Her skin was cool and sweaty underneath his touch. “How do you feel right now?”
“Tired. And dizzy. And my head hurts.” She was quiet for a moment. “It’s…It’s hard to breathe and my chest feels fluttery.”
Avia reappeared, setting the bag down next to him. “Can you call the response team?” He asked her.
Teri’s eyes went wide. “You think it’s that bad?”
He pulled on a pair of gloves as he spoke. “I think it's worth getting you some more help. They have equipment that I don’t, yeah.” She nodded, a little tearfully. “When did this start?”
“After we got back?” She shifted. The fact that breathing was difficult was obvious. “It wasn’t like this, just a headache, and some dizziness.”
“Have you taken anything at all? Even like an ibuprofen?” He unzipped the bag, pulling out the AED to get to what he needed.
“No.” She shook her head, then slowly pushed herself up with her elbow. “Not even caffeine.”
The movement caught his eye. “Is it better when you’re sitting up?”
“Yeah.” She pushed herself up more, and he let her.
“Alright.” Now that she was sitting, he no longer had to kneel. “When did you last eat or drink?”
The position change seemed to bring her some relief. “After we got back. A couple hours ago.”
“I’m going to get your vitals, and then we’ll go from there, yeah?” She nodded, and he started by clipping the pulse oximeter to her arm. After that came blood pressure, and that was where the real party started.
He kept his face neutral as he deflated the cuff. Hypertensive crisis. Wonderful. Her temperature and pupils were fine, but she was breathing too fast and he could feel the irregularity of her heartbeat in her wrist.
An even worse look spread across her face. “Joseph, somethings really wrong.” She pawed at her chest. “I don’t know…but it's not right.”
“The response team is on their way.” He squeezed her hand. “We’ll figure it out, yeah. You’re in good hands.”
“I just…” Her mouth made a million shapes but no words. “I don’t wanna die, Joseph.”
His eyes flew to her as soon as the words left her mouth. “Hey, hey, hey, no. I’m going to take care of you, yeah.” She was crying messily, and she might not have even heard him.
“It’s bad, Joseph, it’s really bad.” She reached out towards him, clinging onto the shiny material of his shorts.
His eyebrows furrowed. “How about you get on the ground?”
Teri listened, shakily lowering herself down onto the floor. The carpet was grating on her skin. “Joseph…Joseph I need…” She sobbed. “I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die.”
The world shimmered for a moment, before everything gathered into a pinpoint and disappeared. She was sure Joseph was saying something, but the only words that got to her before oblivion was Avia’s terrified, shrieked “Teri no!”
***
Joseph hunched over in the uncomfortable, too-hard chair at Teri’s bedside. Avia was snoring softly behind him, asleep in the much more comfortable seat, but he didn’t really care. Comfort would’ve been foreign to him anyway.
The normally background hum of the ward was extra jarring, and even though he knew what all of them did, seeing Teri surrounded by so many machines wasn’t exactly comforting. She’d arrested, right on the floor of Turquoise’s common room. It made sense then, but now that everything had calmed down, it felt worse. Random and targeted, at the same time.
He reached for her hand, careful of the cannula burrowed inside it. They’d said she was likely to recover, said that whatever crazy ass thing the supervillain had done was wearing off, said that she was responding to treatment and that her prognosis looked good, but it still didn’t erase the sinking feeling in his gut.
He’d promised her, he’d promised Pat, that he wouldn’t lose another. And this had cut far too close for comfort.
The words ghosted the back of his mind, amongst the chaos and the panic and the blood.
“Always kid, Always.”
Taglist: @pigeonwhumps@rainydaywhump@painful-pooch@rainbowsandwhumperflies@snaillamp @whumperofworlds
#worlds babbles#wow birthday whump#wow birthday whump day 5#bridal carry#“No!”#discussion of death#fear of death#medical whump#medic caretaker#ignore me abusing SAMPLE to avoid writing real dialogue
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I've been thinking a lot about death lately, especially the concept of "dying twice"- the whole idea of dying once when your body dies, and again once the memory of you fades from the world. That so long as your friends and family remember you, so long as they carry their love for you in their hearts, you're never truly gone.
But what if their memories of you start to change? What about all the tiny, small little pieces of you that rarely stood out. The little things you'd do, that people wouldn't even take note of, but that made you who you are? Memories are fragile things already, our brains lie about them frequently for a million and one reasons. And just. Is it really only twice that we die? Do we not die when our friends forget how we'd set the table? When our loves forget the noise we'd make when we got excited?
And, one I've been thinking of a *lot* lately- do we not die again when our friends stop using one of our pronouns?
Rel had come out as genderfluid to their friends shortly before she passed. It went primarily by they/it(/she) pronouns. They were listed, thankfully, as she/her in it's obituary and memorial. These were the pronouns they'd told it's family, and how I know she would have wanted her pronouns to be put down but. When I see so many of it's friends talk about them I see, only she/her pronouns used, even from people who use it/its themselves. And I get it, I really do. In a world as transphobic as this one, where our identities are frequently erased, saying loudly to the world that Aurelia was trans, was a girl, it feels like something you have to do as often as you can.
But if someone never used they/it pronouns for Rel again, would they truly remember them, and all that she was? They aren't misgendering them, and it isn't *wrong* to only use she/her pronouns for them, but at the same time. I just. Can't help but feel like that's a form of dying again. We die when the life leaves our bodies, and we die when no one can carry our memory anymore- but I can't, shake the feeling that we die a million times between, as people forget the things that truly made us who we are.
And I wish there was anything I could do about that. That I wasn't so, utterly powerless in the face of death.
But I guess so is everyone else, in the end.
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one thing i adore about neil gaiman’s The Graveyard Book is that death isn’t portrayed as this horrendous and terrifying thing; it’s a rite of passage. and at the same time, suicide or wanting to die is NEVER glorified or seen as a divine way to go as it has been in other media before.
SLIGHT THE GRAVEYARD BOOK SPOILERS UP AHEAD!!!!!!!
neil gaiman’s death is calm and just, she will carry everyone when it is their time.
at one point, the main character wanted to die because all of the people who loved him were also dead (ghosts) but instead of being brushed off or encouraged, another character tells him very wisely that when you die, you might still be able to experience things, but you’ll never experience or create anything NEW.
SPOILER RISK OVER
when you live, you are filled with potential. you can put that energy into anything you desire. but when you die, that energy disappears. you still EXIST but your life is over. your era of creation and potential is over.
and it’s not a bad thing to have that time be over, but it’s only something that must happen in due time. and it wasn’t the main character’s time yet.
death is a hard and scary topic for a lot of people, it scares them and brings up the pain they’ve experienced related to it a lot of the time. and that’s completely understandable, and a human reaction. but personally it just made me feel less terrified of death when it was portrayed less as an inevitable doom and more of a rite of passage. ok that’s all
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i keep having the realization that my mom is going to die. i thought i’d do it once and then live with the knowledge but it happens every day with every conversation and plan and idea for my future. an unending list of things i’m going to lose soon and no way to make anything better.
#sorry i’m having a moment#vent#i need to sleep bc i work a long shift tomorrow but instead i’m awake being sad#i think the worst part of this is this tiny bit of hope i have that she’ll be fine and actually live for longer than a few years#i hate this so much i really really do#death mention#discussion of death#delete later
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Head Up
Whumpay Day 25: Deadly Illness • Masterlist •
Warnings: Magic whump, discussion about death, medieval setting.
They could sit through the meetings. Because it was what they did before, too, and there was no reason for them not to be able to this time.
Maybe it would be real if they kept telling themselves.
They clenched their hand resting on their lap, hoping their will could shove the dizziness away.
Magic, like a cancer, was draining their body slowly and steadily after being exposed to the opposite type of it constantly. It was an illness without a cure. You couldn't cut it off like a never-ending infection, or magic couldn't repair your corrupted soul. They were a lost cause to their kingdom's sword enchanted and forged by magic.
They had been the leader of the army, a fighter whose glory was told good even in the enemy kingdom. Now, they were reduced to only bones and flesh, and their magic following their sword lost its grace.
They surpassed their coughs, their vision doubling.
"We shall continue after break." The Lord called, but General knew they would be unable to stand up even if they tried. Still, their days were numbered, and they knew this was their better days. They could see the end of this, at least.
"You don't have to sit with us through these." The Lord said, tone careful. Probably aware that they had lashed out to the last servant trying to convince them to stay in bed. "You're supposed to be resting."
But they needed to be here, even if they didn't have to. They were losing their strength day by day, and it would be soon followed by their sanity. They could be here now, and they wanted to do it while they could be a help.
"Thank you for your concern, my Lord." They tried to stop their voice from hitching, not really sure if they had when the Lord's face twisted with concern.
Like the first time they were brought to the former Lord, they felt too exhausted, too out of place, too weak. Stripped of their own crown, they were to serve the former Lord in life and death, their tactical mind shining in no time and earning them a fast rise through the advisors of the former Lord.
They remembered young Lord, a clueless child coming to the palace and put to their care. They didn't choose their friendship began, but General kept watching the young Lord's back from the inner politics of the palace and the dangers from the outside.
They felt the cold sweats form on their too warm skin and closed their eyes for a second to gather their strength.
"Healer!" They heard the Lord shout, distant. They grabbed the table not to fall, grunting as they felt their chest tighten.
"—neral! General... you—?"
They nodded. Everyone was asking them if they were alright nowadays. They hated it. They tried to straighten weakly, someone holding them tight, pinning their back to chair as their strength left their body.
General felt their magic return for a few second, their hunger wishing for more, only to feel it being ripped off his body, again, leaving them into a vast emptiness. They closed their eyes, breathing was too hard, and they could hear their heartbeats in their ears.
They felt the burning heat against their skin, and they tried to wake up, but they weren't supposed to be asleep. They were with the Lord. Not sleeping.
They opened their eyes, coughing as they failed to breathe properly. They were back in their room. They felt too heavy, and there was something cold on their forehead.
"Back with us?"
Yes, they wanted to say, but they coughed, their breaths weren't enough, and they felt like they had broken all of their limbs. They turned their head to the voice, succeeding as the person took the cold cloth over their forehead.
The Lord was sitting next to their hand, holding it while they set the wet cloth down. They weakly squeezed the hand, and the Lord smiled.
"Most of the times, I regret sending you alone to the enemy lands."
"Would y-you rather send a... a whole army, m-my Lord?" They sounded terrible, not convincing at all. But it was the best they could do.
"I'm not ready to lose you." The Lord looked down, squeezing their hand back.
General tried to sit up, their body not accepting any command. But the Lord understood and helped them lean their back to the bedrail.
"It was a decision made for... for the better. And I shall bear the burden of illness like I carried my sword for you." They gasped, feeling more tired but better with their breathing. The Lord got closer to them and cupped their cheek, wiping a single tear born of pain.
"For everyone will die, I don't regret my early departure or the decisions I made... I made through my life. Keep your head up, my Lord." They continued. They were starting to get tired of sitting up, but they couldn't talk while laying.
"You have no reason... to be ashamed, for your decisions always seek the better. Be at peace with them ." Because I am, they couldn't find the strength to say. Sometimes faces haunted them, of friend and siblings and enemy. They abandoned their own kingdom, pushed to the breaking point by their ancestors. They ordered deaths over deaths. They weren't at peace, but they couldn't rest while knowing the Lord was going to blame themselves.
"Sending me was your choice, but... but I chose to follow your will, so the burden doesn't solely weight on your shoulders." They dragged the Lord's hand over their chest, placing to their heart. They stopped, letting the silence fall between them for a while.
"Keep your head up, my Lord. And it will honour my death." The Lord pulled them into a hug, shoulders shaking slightly. General hugged their younger sibling in everything but blood and let their head fall. They breathed together, and General closed their eyes.
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leave everything but your bones behind
Whumptober 2022: day 7 - silent panic attack
Warnings: red room stories (nothing graphic) /panic attacks
Word Count: 1.6k (gif not mine)
Summary: Natasha becomes unwell and only the Red Room can fix her. The choice is die or go back to the very place that made her.
A/N: enjoy? (just remember that things are always worse before they get better)
Main Masterlist
Whumptober Masterlist
———
Clint glares.
He’d demanded that if they were indeed going to make contact with the Red Room then he was going to be there.
He wanted to know everything, whatever demands they made, whatever information they had. He was going to find out.
Tony sets up the video link.
Clint can’t help but wring his hands together. They shake when he’s not got hold of his arrow head, the one the usually lives in his pocket.
He knows he’s anxious, scared even.
They’ve been Natasha’s big bad wolf for so long, it’s like he’s meeting the devil to make a bargain.
He twirls the arrow through his fingers, concentrating on not dropping it, willing his hands to stop shaking, lowering his breath rate and forcing himself to concentrate.
He puts Natasha out of his mind, thinks of this as a hostage negotiation.
He can’t think of her, it makes it too personal.
Tony looks aloof, his quick wit annoying Clint; even though he cognitively knows is protective.
“Shut up,” Clint tells him, and Tony sticks out his tongue.
“How long?”
“Five minutes.”
The screens light up and a tracking programs alights on one.
Tony sees him looking.
He nods to the other screen which holds a GPS.
The screen goes black and they wait.
There’s silence, until… two men appear on the screen, clearly Russian judging by their uniforms and the way they’re sitting.
“You’ve contacted us about a program you should not know about, but since you do, let’s drop all pretense about what this is,” one man says.
“You have one of our defectors,” the other states.
“We’d like her back.”
Jarvis translates with subtitles, but Clint replies in Russian, much to Tony’s surprise.
“She’s not a defector, she’s not yours, she’s American. And she’s sick from something you did.”
They both stare down the camera.
“She was once ours, she is always ours, we will fix her,” the other one states.
“How can you fix her, if you don’t even know what’s wrong?” Tony says, and to Clint's surprise it translates automatically.
There’s a pause, and then the smaller of the two men answer.
“Seizures, her body is failing her.”
He clicks something and it brings up a scan that looks like Natashas.
“The nanites are attacking her body,” he starts, “they’re old technology, and even you, the genius can’t figure it out.”
Tony snarls inaudibly, and Clint can feel his whole body tense.
The man smiles, “we know who you are Mr. Stark, and you Mr. Barton.”
He continues on.
“If you’ve given her medication to stop the seizures, she will enter states of fatigue, and her body will start to shut down, run only the basic functions, she will start to see things, hallucinate.”
He pauses.
“The medication will not hold, and the electrical impulses in her body will surpass the strongest of medications. If you had not given her anything, she would already be dead, and we would not be talking. Once it starts, there’s only a certain amount of time before we can reverse what’s being done.”
He frowns.
“The Black Widow is our property. Give her back and we will fix her.”
Clint clutches the arrow head so hard, the point digs into his hand, drawing blood.
“How can we trust what you’re saying?” he questions, “how do we know what you say is the truth?”
The larger man smiles.
“Is it a risk you’re willing to take? Her life, over our truths?”
Tony nudges Clint, willing him to calm down.
“What do you want in exchange for an antidote?”
Both men laugh.
“There is no exchange, give her back.”
Shrinking into his seat, Tony glances at the gps tracking that’s almost got their location.
“How?” he asks.
.
They demand for Natasha to be returned in Georgia, in the small village of Resi near the Terek river. Three days from now.
They send a video, to further prove their point. It’s of a girl, seizing, she’s no older than ten.
Tony watches it in horror.
Clint watches in resignation.
They restrain her and inject her. Body stilling, they can see as she sinks into unconsciousness.
The time stamp changes, it’s hours later if they believe it; she’s up and walking, like it never happened.
Dread fills Clint.
There is no way that this can go well.
He stays in the room long after the Russians are gone, trying to figure out just how this will go, how to account for all scenarios and get Natasha back to them safely.
Tony offers fo stay but Clint wants to be alone.
They have two geniuses, a hulk, a super soldier and him. Surely, they can do this.
He can feel the panic rising.
They’re sending her back to a house of horrors, the place that broke her, and tortured her.
He can’t catch a breath.
No matter how hard he tries to ground himself, it doesn’t work.
Clint’s face feels hot, and he curls in on himself.
“Agent Barton?” The AI feels far away but it breaks through his panic. “Your heart rate is skyrocketing, can I get someone for you?”
Clint groans out a no, trying again to stop visions of Natasha being held down, tortured. He counts his breath in and out until his mind wanders again.
He’s not sure how long he’s in there but somehow he’s on the floor, more cognizant of the world around him.
They’re sending her back with no clear plan to help her home.
“Where’s Natasha?” he says out loud, knowing the omnipresent computer will tell him.
“She’s on the medical level, she seems to be asleep,” is the response.
Clint stands, makes his way to the door and takes another deep breath.
Tony better have a plan about this, because the only one in his head is to get them to fix her, and then he’s going to kill them all.
.
Steve is asleep next to her as Clint enters, though he wakes as soon as the door moves.
“They gave her something to make her sleep,” he whispers.
Clint nods, she’d been pretending to sleep, but he doesn’t know if it’s fear of the constant nightmares she’d been having or pain.
Perhaps it was both, he hadn’t asked.
To think that this time a week ago, everything had been fine, they’d been sparring in the gym, eating dinner together and planning their trip to Barbados.
Natasha had laughed and said she wanted to wear her new striped bikini that she’d bought in Australia last year.
He’d kissed her then, and they’d both grinned at the thought of a holiday.
He shakes his head.
They’ll get there. They have to.
He thanks Steve and says he can go, tells him to have a talk to Tony about upcoming events but doesn’t elaborate. Steve nods.
“Do you need anything?” he asks, taking in his friend.
“No,” Clint says bluntly. “Just figure something out with Tony.”
He sits by Natasha’s bed and watches her carefully.
Dark circles under eyes, iv’s now in each arm. So small in a big bed.
They’re trying so desperately to keep her here. The Red Room better want the same thing.
Dozing, he sleeps lightly holding onto her hand.
.
Natasha watches him.
She knows when he wakes up the news he will bring, so she stays in this bubble of blissful ignorance, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles.
She sees when he realises, hand grasping a little harder, eyes orienting up to meet hers.
“Hey,” she whispers.
“Hey,” he whispers back.
“What’s the time?”
Clint looks at his watch.
“It’s just past 7.30 in the morning,” he nods.
“Move over.”
Clint climbs into the bed, minding her wires and lines. It feels like it’s been a lifetime since he touched her, held her.
The silence has them both thinking until she can’t take it.
“Tell me,” she requests.
He sighs.
“Three days. Resi in Georgia. They want you sedated on transfer.”
He can feel her body tense.
“You can say no,” he offers.
“No I cant,” she replies.
Pauses.
“I don’t want to go,” she tells him burying herself into his body.
“We’ll protect you, set up safe guards. Tony and Steve, they’re working on some ideas now.”
He hugs her close, hoping she believes his lies.
“I won’t come back the same,” she confesses, the thing that’s worrying her most, as tears drip down her face.
Clint wishes he could be strong, but his heart hurts and he feels tears on his face too.
“I don’t want to do it, Clint. I don’t want to go to that place,” she clenched her fists in his clothes.
He can feel her body shake, shuddering breaths as they hold each other for dear life. When she can access words, her breath slows.
“What do you think death is like?”
His answer is harsh, quick to rebuke it.
“No one is going to die.”
This is a truth he knows.
“We do this, and they fix you, then we will come and get you. We do this and they fix what they broke inside okay?”
Natasha looks away. He can’t know the future, and she doesn’t believe his words.
“There’s a story the older girls used to tell; we’d just come back from the tundra; and they knew what had happened. 12 of us left and 4 came back. They’d been through the same. I think they tried to make us feel better, so they told us stories. One of them, she said that death was like being carried to your bedroom by your parents, loved; held.”
She suppresses a groan as she adjusts her position.
He hugs her tighter.
“For those of us that had experience with home, parents, love.”
“Ruthie died calling out for her mother, for someone to carry her to her bed,” she pauses, swallows.
“I’m scared,” she admits, “that that will be me too, but I’ll be calling out for you.”
He squeezes her then, ignoring the shudder that runs under her skin. Clint tries to convey everything in it, kissing her head, her face, her lips.
“Soon, this will all be a bad dream. A memory, just like Budapest, and Moscow and Trinidad.”
Hand under her chin, he kisses her again, lips soft like a long kiss goodnight.
.
#whumptober2022#no.8#silent panic attack#marvel fic#natasha romanoff#clintasha#black widow#clint barton#my fic#hawkeye#clintasha fanfiction#natasha romanoff fic#tony stark#red room#panic attack#discussion of death
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😱 Master Charles' painting!! While they may be looking on, horrified, Coco is overjoyed to have an audience! 😄
***
"Archa! Pitty!" Coco beams at the man who's name she cannot pronounce. She toddles to him hands outstretched to be picked up but he bristles at the sight. She doesn't notice the hand held out to block her from greeting the tall man until she bumps into it and falls back on her bottom with a soft bonk.
Ollie? Coco isn't hurt but she can see her friend looks upset! He has tears in his eyes and it's making her sad. His Poppa (?) is mad at him, maybe, she doesnt understand, and no one is picking her up off the floor.
"Archa, uppies?" She tries one more time to get either of the grownups attention before being ignored and desolving into tears. Trying to suck on her fingers to self soothe she finds them bitter tasting. All she wants is her Poppa now, she doesn't want to play with 'Archa'.
CW: discussion of death, fear of death, convinced they’re going to die
Ollie doesn’t realize his Master is there until Coco tries to get held by him. But when he sees, his legs nearly give out, his horror spread on his face. He can’t even get words out, his fear choking him up. Ollie can’t even breathe, staring up at his owner. The man who holds his life in his hands. Tears threaten to spill over and he. Can’t. Breathe.
Master doesn’t shove Coco away, he’s too perfect for that, but after rejection, she cries all the same. Ollie’s lungs are able to restart after Coco tries to stick her fingers in her mouth, and he tears his eyes away for one moment, just to try and wipe it out.
“Oh, no no no, sweetie-“
“What’s going on here? What- I-… Ollie.” Master snapped, his voice stern and strained. Ollie recoiled, face betraying all of his terror. He’s never heard his owner sound like this before. He’s never seen him look this way, either. Jaw set, frown deepening, eyes staring hole into his worthless slave.
His Master is angry. Really, truly angry.
Ollie is going to die.
Coco keeps crying for her father, but Ollie’s mind isn’t on that right now.
This is it. His master is upset with him. Furious, even! Ollie is bad, bad, bad badbadbadbad. he’s horrible and useless and so very bad.
“M-master- it didn’t- it- no, please- ah. Hngh, no, p-please, mercy!” Ollie fought to get any sound out at all. There was no word strong enough for his fear, nothing to describe how to crushed him and filled his bones with cruel ice. There was only the certainty that he was going to die, and the unsureness of how exactly he’d be killed.
He could be choked, drowned, beat, stabbed, burned, starved, electrocuted, buried alive, poisoned, frozen, or anything else. Or all of those at once, somehow.
He was doomed.
“-llie. Ollie. Listen to me, darling. Listen.”
Master was crouched down next to him. When Ollie Pet realized, he scrambled back. Horrible, disobedient, awful creature. He should stop this behavior and be willing and pliant as his owner killed him.
“My dear, deep breaths. That’s it, that’s it. Breathe in deeply, there we go.” Master said, smiling. Smiling?? Pet blinked, confused, while still gulping down calming air.
“That’s my boy, yes. You didn’t even need me to demonstrate deep breathing, good job. And now, my darling. My dearest.” Master hand approached slowly, and Pet allowed it to land on his cheek, cupping his face. “I will not kill you. That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it? Well, I’m sorry to say, but your mind is wrong. I will not kill you. I’m very upset, yes. I won’t lie to you. But I won’t kill you for this, okay? Let’s get that out of the way.”
“N-no, nngh. No k-kill?”
“No kill, my darling. My precious Ollie, I could never part with you. I certainly will not be taking your life. I’m… not pleased with the painting. But I want to understand. What happened?”
Pet bit his lip. Glancing over, Coco was still crying. He really should do something about that.
Master followed his eyes.
“Ah, yes. The perpetrator in question. She escaped under your nose, I assume?”
Ollie Pet? Ollie nodded sadly. Master just stared at the tiny human, his cross gaze silently judging the child.
“S-she, um.” Ollie glanced up to see Master’s face. He may not be killed for this, but surely he’d be hurt. Ollie didn’t want to make Master change his mind about the killing thing, so he had to be very good.
“She w-wandered away f-from me. I- well, I was making a s-s-snack for her, some fruit, and w-when I t-turned, she was… gone. Just gone. I s-s-searched everywhere, and then I found her… in here… The p-painting had already been ruined when I got here… I’m so sorry, Master.” Ollie looked at his owner, pleaded with Master to believe Ollie. “I’m so, so sorry.”
His Master had to believe him. He just had to.
- - -
Poor Coco, getting ignored 🥺🥺 Man, such a shame her dad is gone right now. It would be so convenient if he forgot something or maybe his trip was super short 👀 super convenient if he could come in right now 👀👀 and see this 👀👀👀👀 🥺
#whump#ask#morelikepainsley#coco paints series#fear of death#discussion of death#death mention#tw fear of death#tw death mention
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When I was 16 my mum died and for the next couple of years I was scared that someone else in my family was about to die. Every time my dad fell asleep watching TV I thought he was having a heart attack or a stroke or an aneurysm or something. If I heard the landline I thought something had happened to one of my grandparents (doubly so if it was at a weird time). One time I saw an ambulance on my road and I worried it was for my brother.
But then it faded away for a while. Looking back it seemed illogical, she didn't die suddenly, I'd already imagined the possibility, she talked to me about it. But I guess there's a difference between thinking about the possibility and living the reality, right?
Then in late 2016 I was just hit with low level death anxiety again. Maybe it was all the celebrity deaths? Maybe just the the general feeling of doom that year brought? Or my grandad's death the year before? Then 2020 happened and I was scared one of my friends or family would die from Covid, which forthunately didn't come to pass.
Anyway, I haven't conciously experienced this since then but a couple of weeks ago I dreamed that my friend died and it was so intense that when I woke up I had to check my phone because I couldn't immediately identify it as a dream. I've had similar dreams before but weirdly I don't think I connected it that much with the death anxiety thing, but I guess I realised that this thing hasn't gone away completely.
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Oh. It just hit me— the reason why Laudna didn’t want to sleep in the Whitestone castle:
The last time she was in the castle and lost consciousness it was because she was brutally beaten there. I’m not sure if Laudna and the other people with her died on the Sun Tree or were already dead by the time they were hung… but I would imagine, by that point it meant, for Matilda, an end to her pain.
Also, Delilah and Sylas didn’t need to have Matilda and the others beaten, she could have just poisoned them with their food.
No, Delilah did it in the most cruel way to warn off and taunt Vox Machina.
Matilda and her parents thought they were going to the dinner party as a start for a better life. Instead, they barely mattered to Delilah, they were afterthoughts, and a means to an end.
One of many people killed sacrificed on the altar of Delilah’s cruelty and ambition.
The Sun Tree might have been the more potent imagery but the Sun Tree was not the one that really hurt Matilda.
#critical role#laudna#deilah briarwood#matilda bradbury#warning#discussion of death#delilah typical violance
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i don’t know why i keep trying to have discussions with people on the hoyolab app like
do you really think, venti..barbatos..anemo archon, would survive the archon war without killing anyone?
you really think that? “where is the evidence? there’s no evidence”
bro he fucking survived and solidified his status as one of the seven archons
we don’t need evidence
use your noggin
i need to stop joining discussions there or i’m going to die an early death
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What the Brotherhood Destroyed
Here's a quick thing I wrote
G/N Sole Survivor
C/W discussion of death
They Picked through the ashen ruins of what once was the brotherhood’s greatest achievement. The remains of people they would have called a family a lifetime ago lay amongst the wreckage. They dragged what bodies they could from the skeletal remains of the Prydwen, laying them out with the intent of granting them a burial. Despite the Brotherhood of Steel's atrocities, these people still deserved a proper memorial. Sole knew that much.
Sole didn’t leave the soldiers flowers. They didn’t deserve flowers. Glory deserved flowers. Where Glory had her life stolen from her, that is where Sole left flowers.
Venturing back into what was once the Prydwen, Sole looked for what they could take. It had to seem as if they had ventured there for a scavenging mission, not the personal guilt fest that truly motivated their actions. Not everyone aboard could be held accountable for what happened to Danse. For the attack on the Railroad. But the people weren't the problem, it was the continuation of the ideology that had to be destroyed. Was that how Desdemona would clear her consciousness of what was done? Or was it simply revenge?
As Sole made their way the length of the tarmac, their hatred for what had become of the world sprung up. People acted out of revenge in a never-ending spiral until one side was wiped from the map in their entirety. They didn’t let the thought fester. People were coming together, rebuilding and making lives for themselves amongst the ruins of what once was. That was admirable. That was the essence of the wasteland that they chose to focus on. The sense of community that had been missing from the suburban townships they had lived in.
Sliding down a heap of ash and rubble, Sole’s hand found something. A small journal. An old leather-bound notebook with a small pencil pushed out of it. Where someone had found an in tacked leather-bound book, was a question that defeated them. Carefully, as to not ruin the paper, they pulled the book from the debris and opened it. It was full of ideas, scribbled on the pages hastily to prevent their disappearance. The handwriting shifted from legible to illegible across the same page and then back. It looked like the notebook of a young writer. A Scribe, Sole decided as they thumbed through the pages, and a young one. Lines about a brave knight saving the kingdom from itself reminded Sole of how the Brotherhood saw their purpose in the Commonwealth, saviours. Near indecipherable lines of poetry that detailed the feeling of flying in a Vertibird.
Sole looked at the first page, staring at the name scrawled across it.
Arthur Maxson.
They stopped. Gripping the journal tighter. Part of them wanted to rip it up, destroy all links to him. But the other part knew they had found something that was the last link to a younger Maxson. A boy, someone who wanted to be a writer. The small aspect of innocence that was still there in the man Sole had met and learnt to hate.
They looked over at where they were creating the memorial. Pulling themselves back up, they headed back to the gravesites where they sat. Opened the book to the last page written on, and scrawled in large writing
This is what was destroyed when the Brotherhood Declared War On the Commonwealth.
They stood. Left the book open on that page. Gave the Prydwen one last glance. Then turned and began to make their way back towards the Old North Church.
#fallout#fallout 4#sole survivor#gender neutral fanfic#elder maxson#brotherhood of steel#discussion of death
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III. Public Relations
In which Alex makes a friend.
Masterlist | Previous | Next
Contents: discussion of death, partying
.....
“He’s really good at kissing ass when he wants to be.” Alex lays sprawled on her dorm mattress, Thomas Mallory’s charity event playing on her laptop.
Cass blows a raspberry as she picks through her closet. “Why don’t you like him?”
“We’ve spoken maybe five times since I met him at mom’s funeral. I think he regrets taking me in. I’m not a big enough charity to be worth his time.”
“Look on the bright side,” Cass says. “You’re rich now.” She shakes a skimpy red dress in front of her in question.
Alex shakes her head. “He’s rich. I’ll be rich if he dies.”
“When.” Cass holds up another dress.
“When what?”
“When he dies. You’ll be rich when he dies. No one lives forever.”
“That’s rather morbid.”
“Sorry. But it’s true. Okay, time to stop moping. We’ve got life to live.” Cass tosses something at Alex.
Alex guesses it’s meant to be a dress, but she can’t figure out how the scrap of fabric is supposed to cover all the important bits.
Cass helps her into it and slaps her hand away as she tugs at the short hem.
“Why can’t I wear my dress?” Alex asks, not deterred from tugging. “Mine fits me.”
“Because,” Cass says. “You’ve been wearing the same one dress for eight years. It still has the fake blood stains. You’re rich now. You could afford to buy a new one.”
“I’m not -” Allex cuts off as Cass levels a Look at her.
“Just accept it. You look great.”
“I’m going to freeze.”
“Beauty is pain.”
“Right. I forgot. At least I’ll die pretty.”
“Now you’re getting it.” Cass grins. “Let’s go make some friends.”
…
Alex can hear the party before she can see it. Tuneless music pours into the street.
Cass disappears almost as soon as they arrive, leaving Alex to mingle with drunk strangers. Her favorite activity.
Alex stands by a wall, holding an empty red cup to avoid unwanted attention.
“You’re supposed to make friends,” Cass says in passing before she disappears again in the crowd.
“Hey! Baby billionaire!” Some guy, Charles or Chad or something, pushes his way over.
Alex grimaces.
“Hey,” Charles-Chad says again when he’s closer.
Alex gives a curt nod and stares at his feet. They stand awkwardly for a beat. Charles-Chad is clearly waiting for Alex to say something.
When she doesn’t, he says, “Bet you’d have great parties, Baby Billionaire.”
Alex tilts her head. Charles-Chad is distracted by someone in a dress somehow smaller than Alex’s.
Despite the cool air, Alex makes her way to the back porch. It isn’t quiet, but the crushing noise from inside is dulled. A couple makes out in a dark corner, and someone is passed out one of the deck chairs, but the porch is otherwise unoccupied.
Alex leans against the railing and fiddles with her cup. She glances over as she is joined by deck chair guy.
“Did I wake you up?” she asks, though she knows she can’t compete with the noise from inside.
He smiles and ducks his head. “Not many people make it out here,” he says to the yard. “I’m here to give you your next quest.”
“Oh noble messenger,” Alex plays along, “I’m not sure I’m yet ready for a quest.”
“Never fear. I have procured items to prepare you.” He shrugs off a bright flannel shirt and holds it out to Alex.
“I can’t take your shirt!”
“Yes, you can. You’re turning blue, and I’ve got three more layers to spare.”
Alex nods reluctantly but is grateful for the warmth.
“I’m Roger, by the way. Roger Lemmings. Certified quest bringer. I live here, if you want to return the shirt. Once you’re properly attired for your adventures, that is.”
“Roger Lemmings.” Alex stuck her hand out from the too long sleeve. “Alex Mallory. Certified bringer of … of something cool. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
…
Alex can’t stop smiling. Walking back to the dorm, trudging up three flights of stairs, getting ready for bed. Her face is sore from smiling.
She hadn’t expected to have so much fun at the party. But Roger Lemmings. He was a surprise.
Alex falls asleep thinking about next time.
Cass gets back early the next morning, looking tired but content. Her eyes light up when she sees Alex.
“What is that?” she points to the flannel hanging over the back of Alex’s desk chair and gives a little shimmy.
“That’s a shirt,” Alex teases. “I’m sure you’ve encountered them before.”
“This one’s new.” Cass grins, all traces of tiredness gone. “You didn’t have it last night. Tell me everything.”
Alex grins back. “I did what you said. I made a friend.”
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