#no. 15

[abstracteddistractions]

Mark Rothko, No. 15 (Two Greens and Red Stripe), 1964,

Oil on canvas,

93 x 69 in (236.2 x 175.3 cm).

Courtesy: Christie's

[fitsofgloom]

[zrllosyn]

I had, Kikoru brain rot. SO have her and also no. 15

(does it make any sense? no. but also. big sister kikoru 🥺)

[quietlyimplode]

Everything in Transit

An accident leaves Natasha without her memories, without anyone to guide her, and the Red Room chasing after her, the odds are not in her favour… unless those that love her find her first.

Whumptober 2025: Day 15 - failed rescue attempt

Warnings: death of a widow, trauma

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: death and fear plague Natasha in a way she doesn’t know how to cope with.

Whumptober Masterlist/Masterlist of Fic / ao3

.

LONDON / OCTOBER 03 / 23:11PM

Francesca falls, shock on her face.

She can feel the metallic taste of blood and the knife embedded.

Surprisingly though, she doesn’t feel any pain.

There’s movement on her left, but she just wants the knife out of her.

It’s counterintuitive, because she knows that once she pulls it out, she’ll bleed out quicker, but really, what does it matter.

She feels Natasha’s presence before she sees her, and her hands grip over the top of her own where the knife penetrates into her chest.

She was warned.

The black widow will get you somehow.

She had no grand delusions that her death would be anything more than it is now, so she feels strongly at peace.

With a last effort, she pulls.

The knife is free and she feels weaker for it.

“Why?”

The one question she can’t answer for Natasha.

She doesn’t even know why.

A lifetime of sunk cost fallacy of working for the organisation that had found her starving in the street.

The only place she’d ever known and called home.

She didn’t regret her life.

Or anything she’d done.

She had thought that time may give her a different perspective but it never had.

Natasha grasps at her hand.

“What’s your name?”

She smiles.

“Francesca.”

“Do I… did I know you?”

She nods.

It’s harder to breathe.

“Once upon a time.”

“Who am I?”

She wasn’t lying.

“You’re one of us.”

It’s the truth.

She feels so tired.

The other woman is calling an ambulance, but it’s too late.

She knows.

“The two most powerful warriors are patience and time,” she whispers.

Neither of which she has.

.

Natasha sits back on her heels. The pressure she was holding on the knife wound released as Francesca takes her last breath.

“She’s dead,” Natasha whispers.

Diana nods, still in the position that Natasha caught her in and lowered herself to the floor.

She looks terrified.

“The ambulance is coming,” she croaks, her throat still reeling from the pressure of it being crushed.

“Good,” Natasha nods,

“That’s good, they can see to you, keep pressure on that hip, okay?”

Diana nods; watching Natasha as she stands, back towards her.

“You’re leaving aren’t you?”

Natasha nods.

“You’ll be in danger if I stay, and this was too close. What if Willow was here?”

Diana tries not to panic at that thought.

She closes her eyes and opens them.

“In the kitchen cupboard, there’s a backpack, it’s got food and water bottles and some money in it. It’s a go bag.”

Natasha turns to look at her, tears on her face.

“I can’t…”

She starts.

Diana shakes her head.

“I had it ready in case he ever came back, it’s got a first aid kit and some clothes in there too. I can make another one, but you need that one now.”

Natasha looks at her and Diana nods.

“Take it. Please.”

Standing, Natasha makes her way to the kitchen, finding the backpack exactly where Diana said it would be.

“Take some fruit, and maybe a Gatorade.”

She orders Natasha to take a couple more things that she can foresee needing.

Once the bag is full.

Natasha crouches next to her friend.

“I’ll find a way to repay you. I promise.”

She kisses her on the forehead and stands.

“Thank you,” Natasha tells her.

“I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you, and now I’m leaving you in this mess.”

Diana shrugs.

“What’s life without a little excitement,” she half smiles.

“I think we’ve both had enough for our lifetimes,” Natasha returns solemnly.

“Promise me you’ll be safe?”

The sirens are audible now, and Natasha knows she needs to leave. Anxiety curls in her stomach as she looks down at her friend.

“Take my car, and leave it at the station, I’ll pick it up when I can; just lock it and leave the keys under the wheel.”

Natasha nods.

She’s crying now, Diana too, as they look at each other for a moment before Natasha runs.

.

Clint stares at the food, contemplating if Natasha buys streaky bacon or maple and which one her sister would like.

He’s ninety percent sure though, when he gets back she’s going to have left.

His phone buzzes, and he answers on the second ring.

“Hey Steve.”

“Clint?”

“Yeah? Who’d you think you called?”

Steve pauses.

“We hadn’t heard from you… we thought… are you okay?”

Clint isn’t sure what to say.

He doesn’t want their help. Well. Not Steve’s help.

Even though likely it may come in handy.

If Natasha was with the Red Room he’d be calling in the forces.

But knowing she’d run and hide and all he had to do was find her?

He feels like this is his mission.

“How’s Tony?”

Steve sighs.

“He had to go in for another surgery on his leg. They think they can save it though. Infection. Pepper is doing well though, trying to talk him down. I think she’s bought a wing of the hospital.”

“That’s good. I’m uhhh, I’m a bit busy at the moment, can I call you back?”

Steve makes a noise, that Clint can’t decipher.

“What?”

“What’s going on?”

Clint’s eyes narrow.

“What do you mean?”

“The red room, who are they? Why did you react the way you did? I want to help. Let me help.”

There’s a pause. Clint often feels that sometimes it feels easier to let people carry on their own conversations.

Clint’s silence tells Steve all he needs to know.

“Make sure Tony is okay, that’s all the help I need. Take care of everyone there. I can’t… I can’t be thinking of them too.”

“You’re going after her alone.”

Clint picks the streaky bacon and heads for the checkout, stopping and getting some cans of Coke, and extra bag of pasta, tasty cheese and a few other things that he feels may come in handy.

“Send me anything you’ve got?” he asks, as he scans the items at the self check out.

“Clint.”

“Steve. Look. I don’t need a lecture. Work with Maria. Find me information. I’m boots on the ground already. Keep an eye on Tony and take care of Pepper. There’s enough going on. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

He curses at the stupid paper bag as it refuses to open.

“Look I’ll call you back, or maybe call me in the morning.”

Steve sighs heavily, his usual gesture when it comes to Clint and agrees.

“But you have to agree that if you need help, you’ll get in contact. Just send a message or share your coordinates or something?”

Clint nods and agrees verbally then hangs up the phone and heads back towards Yelena.

.

[sondersalem]

throwback to all the times i read smut in class because i figured out how to get on ao3 despite the firewall

[piplupfluffwritingstuff2]

Whumptober 2024 No. 15- Painful Hug | "I did good, right?"

“Hero!”

Superhero pulled the young crime-fighter into a bone-crushing hug. Hero winced at the impact.

“Don’t ever do that again!” Superhero scolded.

“Sorry…” Hero said.

“I am so proud of you!” Superhero continued.

“You are?”

“I am not letting you out of my sight for a second from now on!”

“Getting a lot of mixed signals here…”

Hero started to go limp in Superhero’s hold. Superhero felt something wet against their torso. They pulled away just enough to see red seeping from Hero’s suit.

“I did good, right?” Hero asked weakly, “I didn’t mess it up?”

“No,” Superhero said quickly, “no you didn’t mess anything up. You did good, you did great. But hey, Hero, you gotta stay awake. Stay awake for me all right?”

Superhero turned to the civilians at the scene, scanning the crowd for the paramedics. They practically flew over to the nearest ambulance.

“Help! Please!” Superhero said, laying Hero on a gurney.

“Wha’swrong?” Hero slurred.

“Nothing, everything’s gonna be fine,” Superhero said, “you did so good, Hero, you gotta keep doing good. I need you to keep staying awake. Stay awake, Hero.”

“Okay…”

Hero’s head lolled to the side as the paramedics strapped an oxygen mask to their face.

“Hero? Hero!”

Hero didn’t hear them. They had completely passed out.

…

Superhero sat by Hero’s bedside, holding their hand and rubbing circles into it. They were still asleep, the heartrate monitor and the rise and fall of their chest the only signs that they were still alive.

“Mm…”

“Hero?” Superhero asked.

“Ow…” Hero cracked an eye open, “did I fall asleep?”

Superhero nearly burst into tears. They shook their head, smiling.

“It doesn’t matter, you did good. You saved everyone. I’m so proud of you.”

“Yay…” Hero smiled.

Superhero meant everything they had said. Hero did good, but they were never letting them out of their sight again.

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@mythixmagic @infinityshadows @fishtale88 @thelazywitchphotographer @the-beasts-have-arrived @princessofonwardsworld @surplus-of-sarcasm @memepsychowhowantsuperpower-blog

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[small-sinclair]

Unfavored Cards

Whumptover 15: Childhood Trauma

Post Void!Gambit x Villian!reader

Tw: Gambit being a bit violent, blood, broken bones, sudden attack, being held down, Plot Twist Ending

Moment of Clarity

He hunted you down in the void like a rabid wolf looking for a squared meal. You were the reason why he got here in the first place, and it was your fault that he wasn’t home. He wasn’t sure if his cats were alright or know if Rogue was waiting for him. He longed for him more than he wanted to admit, but it was clear to everyone whenever he would wake up screaming out her name into the cold night air, flinging a card into the darkness to explode at nothing.

It was your fault.

All. Your. Fault.

So, hunting you down was like a little reward for him, and getting the satisfaction of watching the light leave your eyes was the most rewarding thing he’ll ever settle for in this wasteland. The moment he got a lead on you, he took it; no one was going to stop him no matter how hard they tried. Hell, even Johnny tried to stop him but ended on the ground with the business end of a charged bow staff. The glow in his red eyes screamed danger as they burned in bright embers and coal, making Johnny shuffling away from the ground to his feet. The anger that raised from Gambit’s blood to his stare was enough to warn off any creature, mutant and human alike. He was going to hunt you down without mercy, without thinking. He hated the way that you’re still breathing and not six-feet-under yet. For you, he’ll make it twelve feet.

You’re about to become a body that’ll never be found. Even in the land of the forgotten, no one will ever remember you. Show him a good time while he ends your life, though. It would be the cherry on top of his sundae.

So, when he found you at your makeshift campsite at the bottom of a haler, living your life as if you weren’t in danger, only brought more heat on his breath. How dare you hum a familiar tune. How dare you act as if you did nothing wrong! You were the main reason why he felt empty, felt hollow without his love! Whenever he closed his eyes, he would envision her in all her beauty, all her grace. Rogue was the true Mississippian Bell of the south, and he a fool of Louisiana with a heart of coal and swamp water. The more he thought of her laughter and her smile flashing in his memory, the more possessed he felt on putting you down. If he were a puppet right now for someone’s game, he only hops he was pulling the strings and breaking free from your grasp.

He gripped staff tightly and felt a few cards beginning to hover by his face, up by his eyes, and alongside of his free hand. Gambit wanted nothing more than to hurt you, break you until you were begging him to stop. This ends now; today! It may not bring back his love or free him, but it would bring him temporary comfort knowing you’re gone. With a flick of his wrist, his cards flew past him and hit you in the back. He earns a surprised yelp from you, but it wasn’t good enough. He towered over you from his spot, his shadow casting over your campfire with only his bright red eyes glowing in his darkness.

“You,” he snarled, his eyes narrowing down. “You took her from me!”

He saw you were about to open your mouth, but he silenced you with an ace card. It hit you in the chest and knocked you back, slamming you into a log. He didn’t give you time to get up as he slide down the little hill and slung another card at you, the charge stronger than the last. It knocked you to the ground within a snap, and he didn’t give you time to get back up on your feet; he pinned you to the forest floor, his legs on each side of you and a strong hand holding your hands above your head. He brought back his fist and landed it on your face, breaking your nose in the process.

With each hit from his gloved hand, each blow and broken bone under his touch, his thoughts flooded of Rogue in the sundress, the one with lime slices and honeysuckle. He heard his voice, singing sweetly and bright, as she stirred the pot for dinner. Everything he did, every he landed blow on your face and skin, felt like justice for himself. No matter how loud you screamed at him to stop, how many pleas and begs, he didn’t hear them Gambit knows what he wanted, and it burned his skin like wire over a flame. He wanted to free; he wanted to get out faster and sooner! Even if you can’t bring him back to his world and back to the swamplands, this will be the closest thing.

If anything, he was happy to see the blinking collar around your neck, showing that your mind powers were off and not tricking him. Where did you get it and who put it on you? He didn’t care. He won’t care.

He felt the strings around him break as his mind finally breaks into clarity. He wanted to see you bloodied and beaten under him. He held his fist over your head and watched as blood dripped from his knuckles; your blood never looked sweeter.

He quickly dug into his coat pocket and pulled out the Queen of Hearts. He felt all his energy, all the static around him, build into the card and charged it up with bright purple and red energy. He wanted you to fell the burn and the swiftness of his powers. He wanted you to see how fast and easy he could end you with this single card.

The cards always be in Gambit’s favor—

“Remy.”

As soon as the blood in his ears stopped roaring and his eyes were cleared from his anger, he looked down at the person beneath him. His heart nearly stopped as he looked at the woman looking back at him. His heart began to break, and his lungs filled with pained regret. Looking back at him with bright green eyes was Anna Maria, Rogue; his world. Her face swollen and bruised from his hits, eye swollen and too blue and purple for his stomach to handle, her throat with his mark, his handprint, that will forever be burned into her skin just under the blinking collar, shutting off her strength. The cut on her cheek bleed with the cut above her eye. The shattered look in her eyes only made his heart erupt in pieces. Her lips, beautiful and so soft, was plumped and bruised, cracked and bloody. The clothing he thought you were in turned into her green and yellow jumpsuit, and her hair a mess and matted from being held down for so long. He physically felt the string around his throat snap and break free from his skin, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

She looked like an angel whose wings were torn off and left for the gators to finish off.

His charged card quickly stopped glowing, and he got off her. His touch made her flinch away as he scooped her into his arms. His emotions flooding his lungs as he cradled her in his arms, holding her tightly as if he was the duct tape trying to keep his world together. It all felt so real when he told Johnny to stay behind. It all felt real when he found your campsite. He was so sure that he was there beating you until your lungs stopped and he had your heart in his hands, but he wasn’t. The world he thought he was in wasn’t there at all; the void surrender him months ago and brought him back to Rogue, back to her arms.

He let her see the side of him he never wanted to show. How could he do this? How could he let himself—

You’re a good puppet, Gambit. Your voice began to echo in his head, causing him to look wildly around the forest clearing until he saw you standing in your shadows and cloak. Such a good tool for me to use.

“Get away from us,” he breathed, shielding Rogue with his bruised hands. His red on black eyes were sharp as he glared at you. “You get away from us!” As he raised his voice, Rogue flinched in his arms, curling into a ball. “Shh, mon chere. Gambit ne vous fera pas de mal. I won’t—”

He heard your cold, heartless laugh, which only made him growl. You’re a fun one, Remy LuBeau.

He growled as he felt his powers begin to build back into the cards in his coat. “Ya don’ getta say my name!” He snapped. When Rogue’s tears touched his skin, it felt like acid burning through his bones and his skin. Every cell in his body felt like it was dying. “Never say my name!”

Do you know how easy it is to shape your vision? How easy it was to make you believe you were attacking me? It’s almost as if you were mocking him as you swirled shadows around your finger. It was so careless and thoughtless; he hated it. You really thought that New Yorker was going to stop you? Gods, you’re so stupid.

“Get outta my head.” He took a card from the ground and charged it until it glowed bright and strong. “Laissez-nous!”

You smiled sweetly at him as you opened your lips, letting luna moths escape from your lips and flutter around him. “I’ll always find a way to hurt you, Cajun. Never forget me. Never.”

“I’ll make ya pay! Hear me clear—I swear!” Gambit held Rogue protectively as he readied his card. “Swear it t’ya. I’ll never stop until you’re dead!”

“Oh, Remy,” you said his name with empty emotion that it nearly made a vein pop in his neck. “I look forward to it.”

With a yell, he through his card and hurled it towards you with as much as he could muster, with all his energy and power.

The fireflies danced with the sound of your endless tango with Remy, and what a dance it’s become.