#no. 22

[lostwhump]

"Желание... Ржавый..."

@whumptober | Day #22: "Oh that's not good" Captain America: Civil War (2016)

[emmak0]

I love my cheap chinese pens

[shachormet]

[ramatetsu]

Chapters: 1/1 ~750 words Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: No. 21 & No. 22 (NieR: Automata - YoRHa Boys) Characters: No. 22 (NieR: Automata - YoRHa Boys), No. 21 (NieR: Automata - YoRHa Boys) Additional Tags: Shounen YoRHa Stage Play | YoRHa Boys (NieR: Automata), During Canon, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Fear of Death, POV First Person Summary:

No. 22 prepares for the inevitable, again.

Not tagged "Major Character Death" because they do not die during the fic itself.

[theultimatespicysandwich]

Whumptober No. 22: “All the battles I want to win, nothing matters but giving in.”

Self-Sacrifice | Collar | Hunted for Sport

"Don't move."

Hero held up their fists, crackling with electricity, as they cornered Villain in an alleyway. Their teammates stood behind them, each wielding their various powers, ensuring no escape was possible this time.

"Should I put my hands up?" Villain asked sarcastically. "Beg for forgiveness for my actions?"

"I'm sure you'll have plenty of time to think about that in prison."

"See, I understand why you think that. But I assure you, I have no intention of going to prison today." Villain flicked their finger, snagging a tripwire. With that motion, dozens of tranquilizer darts shot out from holes in the alley, hitting Hero's teammates. They tore their glance away from Villain to see their friends collapse, still awake, but unable to move, speak, or use their powers.

"I can still take you down," Hero said, trying to remain confident.

"Oh I'm sure you could," Villain mused. "But would you be able to stop me while also saving your teammates?"

Red dots appeared on the collapsed figures, from unseen snipers Hero presumed.

Hero kept their fists up, but didn't make any moves towards Villain. It wasn't supposed to be this way. This was supposed to be the moment they caught Villain, a true moment of victory for the team. Now, Hero could either have their victory, or have their team.

"Call off the snipers," Hero muttered.

"Little louder please?" Villain smirked.

"Call off the snipers! Let my team go, and I'll let you go."

"Tempting offer," Villain said. "But I'm going to need a bit more assurance that you'll follow through on that promise." They reached into their pocket, pulling out a power suppression collar. They set it on the ground and gently kicked it towards Hero.

"Put this on, and I'll let your team go."

"Why don't you try and put it on me?"

"Believe me, I know how...shocking your powers can be. I'm not an idiot, Hero. Now, do we have a deal, or not?"

Hero looked away from Villain and towards their teammates, eyes wide, seeming to tell Hero to do their job, to not worry about them.

"I'm sorry," Hero whispered, then reached down and grabbed the collar, snapping it into place.

The electricity dancing on their fists died as the sniper lights moved from Hero's teammates to Hero.

"Don't worry," Villain brushed themself off as they escorted Hero back out of the alley towards a waiting van. "The paralytic will wear off after a couple hours. Plenty of time for us to get acquainted with each other."

[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 22 - Self Sacrifice

Warnings: self harm

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Suddenly some questions have answers and things fall into place.

Whumptober Masterlist/Masterlist of Fic / ao3

.

PARIS /OCTOBER 05/ 1:02AM

A loud bang in the hotel room adjacent breaks Natasha from her reverie, a glance at the time gives another realisation that she’s been out of it for at least a couple of hours.

She should have stolen a phone instead of printing out the information she found.

The phone is too easy to track her. She knows that, but the information it could hold might have been worth getting caught.

For now though, old school paper it was.

They are strewn around her.

It was the picture of her a child that made her dissociate.

Sad eyes staring.

Memories came thick and fast and she hated every one.

The ones with the avengers aren’t as vivid.

Not as… traumatic, perhaps. They feel more like wisps that she can’t hold onto, sometimes she can see people smiling at her, nodding and working together but it never stays long enough.

The other memories do.

Natasha checks through the peep hole that it’s just drunk Europeans and sighs in relief.

She paces the small room, shaking her hands to release the energy.

It’s unlikely that the trains would be running now, and she wants to take the first one out.

If she gets to the train station at 6am, it means that she can be there in time.

Hopefully she can get away with the flash of her stolen passport, and a sleepy attendant.

She can’t afford to lose more time.

Can’t afford to be as zoned out as she has been.

It means she needs to sleep.

Who she is, the very core of herself hangs in the balance, maybe not good or evil but certainly what side she belongs.

She has a quick shower and changes her dressing on her shoulder, looks at her face and reapplies make up.

She checks the backpack, repacks and lays down clothed on the bed, making herself sleep for the next four hours.

.

“This is a nice car,” Yelena observes, touching the leather and the display.

“Why are American cars always so big? The seats though, always seem smaller.”

Clint half smiles.

“Why would she go to Paris?” Yelena asks.

She opens a container of watermelon and picks some out, the juices coating her fingers.

“I don’t know,” Clint replies honestly, “maybe she recognised she needed to get out of London and it was the easiest way.”

Yelena takes a bite, considering his words.

“I would go from London but then move to Paris and then to Germany. From there I have some contacts who could get me to Sweden.”

Clint nods.

“Do you think she remembers anything yet? Did she have any memory problems before this?”

“No,” Clint answers, staring at the road.

“And I don’t know, I hope she is, but my worry is… when you remember things, what memories come to you first?”

Yelena thinks.

“The bad ones.”

“Yeah. It’s the same for her. I… when she dissociates, it’s hard… I need to remind her of good things. But now, what if all she has are the bad memories? That the ones of me… maybe of you, they’re too far buried and all she has is the Red Room or all the bad things she’s done?”

Yelena doesn’t answer, wiping her hands on her tac pants, the juices blending with the black.

“What if, she thinks, and because the only person she’s talked to is Francesca, that all she has, all she is… is the black widow?” he continues.

“She’d remember you at least?” Yelena asks.

Clint shrugs.

“You have to really think about happy memories when all you have are bad ones.”

They both sit with that thought, Yelena hands Clint some watermelon.

“You can put on some music-“

Clint’s thought is cut off mid-sentence, as he looks into the rear view again.

“What?” Yelena asks, looks around and seeing only the headlights of cars.

“I think we are being followed,” he tells her, the car behind him shifting as he does.

He speeds up, frustrated and looks around.

“We just need to get to the crossing before they do. Why don’t you have any of those flying jet things? Why is this so hard?”

He hits the steering wheel in frustration.

“Because they don’t trust you. Because I can’t cross country lines with a known fugitive. Because they think that I’m insane taking another chance on a widow that may or may not defect. Because I’m going to get my ass handed to me for even this; and not going through proper channels to get her back.”

She’s quiet.

“It’s not my fault,” she replies.

Clint softens, embarrassed at his outburst.

“I know it’s not your fault.”

He looks behind him again.

“The shuttle to cross between leaves at 2.57am, and we are twenty minutes away. Let’s just get there and get on the shuttle and hope that they’re shit at driving.”

He swerves again.

“Which they’re not,” he mumbles.

.

The Eurostar shuttle is not busy, even as they board and the attendants check them in, there’s probably only two other people travelling with them.

They’d lost the trail car somewhere before Folkestone with their lights off in the dark streets.

Stress had made them quiet, though he could tell Yelena wanted to talk.

His earlier jabs at her being the liability had made him want to apologise but he was just too tired.

He’s all out of words and just needs to think about his next steps.

He’s so worried about Natasha.

Clint sits with his knees pulled to his chest and thinks.

“How did you escape, Yelena?” Clint asks after a moment of silence.

“What do you mean? I told you.”

“Tell me again.”

“They sent a team after Natasha, I went alongside them…”

“How did you break the chemical restraint?”

She shrugs, “they mustn’t have dosed me as much?”

“Why?”

She sees where he is going and narrows her eyes.

“I took the trackers out, I got my knife and took out the two. Do you want to see where again? I got an extra one because of who I am related to. Alongside the special treatment.”

Clint nods.

“I know, you told me, but how can you know there’s not more? How can you know, that they didn’t put anything else in you? We’ve been tracked, easily… the car crash, the hospital, now here? I thought maybe it was just happenstance, that they were following the same leads as us, but now? How do we know they’re not using you to get to her?”

It’s a valid question and makes Yelena flinch.

“I…”

She hates it. He’s right.

She can’t believe she didn’t see it.

The arrogance on her, was always going to be her downfall.

They knew it too. And played her for it.

She tries to remember anytime before landing in London, and before the mission debrief.

She’d been so focused on Natasha.

So focused on herself…

She hadn’t thought.

Why was she even allowed to come? She’d just assumed… what? That she was high up enough that they’d let her go after Natasha? That after all this time she was strong enough to break free of the drugs that had held her in stasis for over twenty years?

He’s right.

She can’t breathe.

He’s right.

He’s right.

She tries to draw breath but it won’t come.

Panic grips her and her vision tunnels.

“Shit,” she says aloud.

“Yelena?”

“It is my fault,” she whispers.

She looks around but the boat is on its way.

There’s no escape here.

She can’t save her sister’s husband any more than she can save herself.

And Natasha.

She gulps.

“They’ll take her, they’ll kill her.”

She’s dead anyway.

She’s been played and he’s right not to trust her.

She looks around.

If she has another tracker, or anything that’s transmitting… she needs electricity.

There’s only one way.

“Electrocute me,” she tells Clint, his sharp eyes watching her, his hand in hers and she hadn’t even noticed.

“You have to, it’s the only way. It’s the only thing that might… if they put something else in me… You have to, you have to do it.”

“No,” he replies.

“No, listen, whatever they’ve injected me with or implanted on me, I don’t know, I would say cut it out but I don’t know where.”

The violations of her body run so deep that she doesn’t even have the presence of mind to comprehend this one.

“You have to short circuit it. It’s probably in my back. Somewhere I can’t get to. I don’t… I can’t… there’s no choice.”

She spots the AED and stumbles to get it.

“You need to electrocute me,” she tells him, calmer now.

Resigned.

“What?”

Clint pushes it back at her, “‘No.”

“I will not be the reason that they find her,” she growls.

“I don’t know where the tracker is, electrocute me!”

She pushes it back at him.

“That will kill you!” He half yells, half whispers back.

There’s no one around them but there’s still people here.

She laughs, dropping it on the seat and opening it up.

“It won’t, that would be a stupid way to die.”

Clint shakes his head, closing the box.

“We have time, we’ll figure it out.”

Yelena shakes her head, opening the box back up, as she presses the button and the AED charges.

“There is no time. They can’t know where we are going.”

Clint turns it off. Yelena turns it back on, she switches the manual mode and attaches the paddles to the machine.

“Do it, Clint Barton.”

“Yelena!”

She rolls her eyes, takes the paddles, rolls up her top and presses them to her chest.

“Clear,” she whispers, and 500 volts runs through her body.

.

[collectivelycreative]

THIS SYSTEM IS A MUSICAL PRISON. STOP LISTENING TO 50S GAY PEOPLE JAZZ (4/19/26)

PT under cut

This system is a musical prison. Stop listening to 50s gay people jazz (4/19/26)