#angstember2021

[greenfiredragonfly]

SHOULD I create another angst prompt list for this May? I have so many prompts that I've come up with already, so.... Would anyone be interested in a sequel to Angstember? ..Mayngst..? (Does that work as a name 🤔🤔)

[forthetaintedsorrow-whump]

"I can't move"

Dang, I don't know how old this is, so apologies if it's taken me forever to answer this!! Thank you for the prompt!!! <3 <3 <3

I was working something in conjunction with a prompt from Angstember 2021: “Help will be here soon, I promise.” The whumper in this case is @strahlenderzynismus 's OC Amos, but could just as easily be your favorite BSD whumper XDDD

Contents: electrocution, shock collars, escape attempt

“Help will be here soon, I promise.” 

Chuuya gazed up with unfocused eyes, Dazai’s face swimming in his vision and mixing with the rain.  He lay gasping in a puddle, his muscles shot, fried from the unending bout of electricity, iron-handed punishment for being out of his invisible cage.  They still twitched from misfiring nerves and the pain that threaded them.  It had only stopped when Dazai had taken a tazer to the collar to overload and fry the system. 

“Can’t…can’t move.”  Chuuya’s voice was little more than a cough and mouthed words.

Rain pelted down on his face as he watched Dazai mill over him, seemingly uncertain of what to do, or where to place his hands.  He looked over his shoulder and shouted words, incoherent to Chuuya’s ears, to someone off in the distance.  Chuuya tried to focus on Dazai’s brown eyes – more words were spoken, Dazai’s mouth moved, and then Chuuya blinked and he was gone. 

No.  Chuuya struggled, tried to sit up, see where Dazai was going.  But none of his muscles cooperated.  Come back, Chuuya wanted to yell.  But the only thing past his lips was a pained whimper against the rough brick sidewalk.  He’ll come for me!  All he needed was a moment of opportunity, and then he – Amos – would find him again and take Chuuya away. 

The splashing of footsteps was all Chuuya could hear before he lost consciousness.

[anonymousdandelion]

In a Demon's Clutches

A quick, fluffy drabble, written for one of @greenfiredragonfly‘s Angstember prompts.

“Got you in my clutches now, angel.” Crowley squeezes, suiting action to word. He sinks onto the sofa, pulling Aziraphale with him. “You’re trapped.”

Aziraphale’s own arms tighten in response, subtly nudging Crowley’s embrace into a more secure hold. “So I am. My, how dreadful.”

“You’ll never escape.”

“No,” Aziraphale agrees cheerfully. “This is my fault. I should have known not to trust you. Wily, tempting serpent that you are.”

“Mhm.”

“Whatever will I do.”

“Stay in my clutches?” Crowley suggests.

“Hm.” Aziraphale pretends to consider. “Not a bad idea.”

“Terrific.”

“I’ll thwart your wiles,” Aziraphale promises, cuddling in. “Later.”

Also posted on AO3

(See more of my Fluffy Angstember fics here!)

[prettybirdy979]

Angstember Fic: Aziraphale/Crowley - They told me you were dead

Doing the Angstember prompts from this post. No apologies! Please feel free to send me any prompts. More of my fics here.

Warnings for injury mention

‘Crowley!’

That’s all the warning Crowley has before he has an arm full of angel. He manages to swallow the groan the half tackle, half hug causes, instead letting himself sink into the hug.

‘They told me you were dead,’ Aziraphale whispers as he holds Crowley, clinging tightly to the demon. ‘They said such awful things about… about how. Described in detail what they did to the Black Knight...’

Crowley clings back just as tightly, despite the way moving makes him want to grit his teeth and scream. ‘Can’t kill me angel,’ he mutters, ‘I’m too sneaky to kill.’

Aziraphale pulls back, then lets go with a gasp. ‘You look half dead already!’ he cries. ‘Oh, Crowley why did you let me hurt you?’

‘Like you could,’ Crowley lies, though by the look Aziraphale gives him it is not a successful lie. ‘I’m fine.’

‘And I’m a demon,’ Aziraphale snaps, pulling Crowley down onto his bedroll. 

‘What?’ Crowley tries to keep the panic from his voice. ‘You’re a what?’

‘Oh, I thought we were lying to another.’ Aziraphale pulls out a bowl of water that is far too warm to have been lying around. ‘How badly are you hurt?’

Crowley winces as Aziraphale tugs at his shirt. ‘Some of those things they were saying might’ve been true. Those arseholes hit hard, for the ��good guys’.’

‘Being a ‘Good’ guy does not mean being kind,’ Aziraphale says with a sigh as he helps Crowley get his shirt off. ‘Nor does it always mean being good, in a moral sense.’

With a sigh, Crowley submits to the angel’s tender, and human, healing acts. ‘Yeah, definitely got that impression angel.’

Aziraphale sighs too. ‘At least you’re in one piece,’ he says softly, cleaning the worst of the wounds. ‘I doubt this place would be as interesting without you.’

After that compliment, Aziraphale does not meet Crowley’s eyes, but his hands are gentle as he binds Crowley’s wounds and, when Crowley wakes, he is still sitting by the tent door, as alert as any guard as ever been.

Kindness, after all, does like to be silent about itself.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Another cheeky request

9/4 -Don't let go, with Scott

Maybe in space with John being the rescuer?

Split Second

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rated: Teen Genre: Angst/Family Characters: John, Scott

It was one of them or neither of them. Angstember prompt 4: Don't Let Go

Nothing cheeky about that request! I like requests :D This is actually my second attempt at writing this one, because the first one was more whump/h/c than angst. Might still finish off and post the first attempt at some point because I like the premise, but for now we're staying on the angst train (with a side dish of whump, admittedly), so you guys get this.

Angstember 2021 Prompts - I only plan on writing prompts if I get a request for them, so request away :D Doesn’t have to be TAG - characters from any fandom can be requested (although I can only guarantee I’ll work with ones I know)

John was trapped, wreckage collapsed all around him. By itself, that wasn’t necessarily a problem, just an inconvenience, but there was another factor involved. A factor that changed everything.

He wasn’t alone.

John was used to solo missions, dipping in and out of Thunderbird Five to local ships and stations in distress with his exosuit. It was unusual to have company – usually Alan – and even rarer that his company was his big brother.

Scott had been up on Thunderbird Five when the call had come in, an unusual circumstance in and of itself, and if he was honest John had been enjoying the rare company of just his big brother. Of course, said big brother refused to sit back and do space monitor duty while a little brother darted out solo, so they’d gone together.

There was no way there were any survivors now. The freighter had, somehow, imploded, John had been in the worst spot possible by sheer misfortune, and Scott was no luckier.

Except Scott wasn’t stuck. Scott had the opposite problem, with a mangled jetpack that had taken the brunt of the damage for him, but not enough to prevent a smashed arm and a vacuum determined to fling him out into the far reaches of the void. From what John could tell, his brother’s suit had held, but there was a hairline crack across his oxygen supply. His own HUD was warning of damage, too. As it stood, neither of them had enough air left to wait for Thunderbird Three to launch and find them, even if they assumed EOS had alerted Alan the moment of the implosion.

The only free limb John had was fully extended, hand clutched like a vice around his brother’s and keeping him from being sucked away.

The problem was that they each only had one good arm. Scott’s broken arm was out of reach, too injured even for Scott to fight against the vacuum dragging it away. John only needed one arm to dig himself out and patch up wherever the breach in his suit was.

Except that one arm was the only thing tethering Scott in place. In order to free himself, to save himself, he’d have to let go.

The realisation occurred to them at the same time. John saw it in the widening of his big brother’s eyes, large and blue and a little afraid, for all that Scott would never admit it. A beat and sky blue hardened to sapphire in a way that was painfully familiar. Scott, big brother, Commander, had made a decision.

John’s anguished heart cried out.

“No!” he exploded, desperation lacing through the single syllable. “Don’t let go. Don’t you dare let go, Scott.” They’d find a way out of this. Together. They had to.

The fingers entwined with his slackened. Tracy Stubbornness ran through them all, but like so many things, Scott had inherited the lion’s share. Still, hard sapphire melted into something softer. No regret, because of course Scott didn’t have any room for that when there was a brother’s life on the line, but the same love that coursed through every action he made.

The love that would lead him to sacrifice himself, if it meant he could save a brother.

Scott’s lips moved, but there was blood rushing through John’s ears, drowning out everything else. Whatever Scott had to say was lost to the void of space, but he was smiling, the stupid, stupid idiot.

John tightened his grip on his brother’s fingers, white-knuckled below the neoprene gloves of his suit, but Gordon had learnt his slippery nature from somewhere. Strong fingers, safe fingers, seemed to vanish, ghosting out of his hold no matter how hard he tried to stop them, and then he was alone.

“Scott!” The scream that tore itself from his throat was raw, flooded with emotion – grief, fear, fury.

He couldn’t see his brother anywhere, the tall, strong figure that was always there gone in the blink of an eye, stolen by a venting ship and the unforgiving vacuum of space.

But John was a Tracy, through and through, and he had that same old Tracy Stubbornness. Self-sacrifice might have been the answer, but it was still the wrong answer, and John refused to let things end that way.

Refused to let Scott go the same way as Dad, lost forever without even a body to bury.

First, he needed to get himself out of the wreckage. With one hand stuck and the other gripping onto his brother’s hand, it had been impossible. Now, he had a hand free, and while the knowledge of why his hand was free made the nausea swell, John had always clung to logic.

Logic dictated that he use his free hand to dig the rest of him out.

The red lights blared across the HUD, reminding him that his suit was torn and would vent faster the moment there was no more pressure keeping it pinned. Patching that would take valuable time, time that was fleeing like sand from a broken hourglass. Could John risk it, explode on his way on empty lungs and not breathing until he’d caught up with Scott?

His gut said he had to.

Logic told him no.

His brain told him the longer he thought about it, the more time he wasted.

John’s family relied on their gut. Seat of the pants decisions was a requirement for International Rescue, when a split second made the difference between life and death. John himself could make logic-based decisions in a snap second, but a snap second still wasn’t a split second, and he didn’t have time.

He exhaled. Tensed.

Heaved.

The vacuum claimed him the moment he was free, hurtling him through the void of space faster than he could calculate. Far faster than he could control.

Immediately he could feel his oxygen depleting, suit venting atmosphere rapidly enough to kill him in seconds.

Time was not on John’s side.

Physics was.

The suction had hurtled Scott away. The same suction had control of John. A little extra momentum, a kick in the right direction…

His exosuit was battered and damaged, but just like John, it wasn’t dead yet. One final spurt, a splutter of a thrust, and the uncontrollable rocket that was John Tracy sped up.

Vision blurred, darkened, and that could be the lack of air or just space at high velocity. He didn’t have the mental processing available to decipher which it was. He had nothing, except Scott, somewhere in hopefully this direction. Had to be in this direction, because there were no second chances.

Was barely a first chance.

He didn’t see what he slammed into, but it was something and running on nothing but autopilot he clung on. His lungs were burning, he needed to breathe, needed to cut the exosuit’s acceleration, needed to patch the breached neoprene.

Needed to cling on tightly to the object in his arms, and pray that it was Scott.

[aceraphale]

angstember fifteen: “i’m scared”

Aziraphale, over the years, had grown accustomed to Crowley’s pacing. He was always bursting with too much energy, too many ideas and questions and doubts that didn’t fit in his body, always spilling out. 

It was endearing, in a way. But Aziraphale was far too nervous and in need of concentration to find it anything other than a nuisance.

“Please, Crowley, sit down,” he said for the third time, sighing and trying very hard not to sound as tired as he felt. “Or at the very least tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Tell you what I’m thinking,” Crowley repeated, but he did stop his pacing to look at Aziraphale. “And what good would it do to us?”

“I’m… I’m not sure — but I want to know.”

“You want to know?” Aziraphale nodded, despite the danger in Crowley’s tone.  

Crowley sat down on the couch next to him, giving Aziraphale one long look from behind his glasses.

“I’m scared,” Crowley spat, but his anger couldn’t mask the shaking of his voice. “I’m scared that all of this won’t be enough, that… that I won’t be enough.” 

There was a beat of silence. Just enough for Crowley’s words to sink in and claw their way towards Aziraphale’s useless heart.

“I lived without you once, angel, I can’t do it again.” 

And they didn’t do this — but Aziraphale couldn’t help it. He wrapped his arms around Crowley, one of his hands coming up to let Crowley’s head lay on his shoulder.

The reaction was almost instantaneous. All the tension seemed to vanish, Crowley all but melting into the embrace, grabbing handfuls of Aziraphale’s coat in a desperate attempt to get closer. 

“Crowley, my dearest, I promise you we’ll get through this.” 

There was a response, muffled by his coat. Aziraphale’s hand drew circles on Crowley’s back.

“You’ve taken care of me for so long, my dearest, let me take care of you,” the demon mumbled a complaint, but Aziraphale shushed him. “I’ll come up with a way to get us out of this mess. I’ve already chosen a side, choosing a face can’t be that hard…”

Aziraphale’s eyes lit up. 

“Oh. Oh.”

[supergeek21]

Welcome to “Angstember” (Sorta)

Anyone familiar with my writing knows angst isn’t really my thing. When I heard about the angstember prompt list I thought I’d hate it, but then I read it and thought I’d give myself more work. Welcome to Not-So-Angsty Angstember, an anthology fic of mini fluff and humor stories based off the “angsty” prompt list!

First up: “They Told Me You Were Dead”

[goldenzingy46butwriteblr]

got a secret (can you keep it)

It was time for a reckoning. For Tom to tell his deepest secrets, the one that sat, stale, inside him for too long and curdled, the one that rotted him from the inside out. For Tom to see if Harry could still love him, even knowing what he’d done.

Sometimes, Tom wondered if Harry could taste the decay and the poison on his lips when they kissed, if the darkness inside of him tasted bitter, soured their love. Tom wondered if Harry already knew, or at least suspected, and still loved him.

Tom hoped that Harry could still love him, even knowing the truth.

Written for Angstember day 6: And what happens when I tell someone else?            

I’m well aware that it’s the 5th of September. Anyway,

[greenfiredragonfly]

Angst!! Angst and Hurt/Comfort!!

They’re some of the most fun fanworks to both create and consume!! In the interest of inspiring some lovely, lovely angsty works, I’ve come up with a month long prompt list starting on September 1st! Welcome to Angstember!!!

This prompt list is multi-fandom, and if you’re interested in participating and sharing, please use the tag #angstember2021 (I really want to be able to see all of your stuff)!

I’ve also set up a little collection on AO3 for anyone who’d like to add their works! https://archiveofourown.org/collections/angstember_2021

I can’t wait to see all of the glorious, glorious angst that we come up with!! (also a huge thanks to @moveslikebucky for making the beautiful graphics for this event!)

[anonymousdandelion]

A Traffic Jam of One's Own Making

Continuing backposting the fluff ficlets I wrote based on @greenfiredragonfly’s Angstember prompts! Enjoy a dip into the time-honored tradition of Crowley Crowleying himself.

A Traffic Jam of One's Own Making, rated G, 400 words

“I’m sorry,” Crowley said wretchedly. He stared out at the lanes of stalled traffic, stretching ahead of the Bentley as far as the eye could see. “Think we’re gonna be here awhile.”

“Oh dear.” Aziraphale followed Crowley’s gaze. “I should have brought a book.”

A moment of silence, as the line of traffic scooted approximately three inches forward and then stopped again.

“I should’ve taken us a different route. Sorry,” Crowley said again.

“You had no way of knowing it would be like this.” Aziraphale patted his hand on the steering wheel. “Don’t apologize. It’s not as if the traffic jam is your fault.”

Crowley discreetly avoided commenting.

Not discreetly enough, though. Aziraphale’s hand lifted off Crowley’s, eyes, voice, and aura turning suddenly suspicious. “Dear boy.”

“Yeah?” Crowley said warily.

A short distance behind them, a car honked uselessly. The car directly ahead of the Bentley honked back.

Unfortunately, the noise failed to distract Aziraphale. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

“Ngk,” said Crowley. He fumbled for a sufficiently distracting, non-incriminating answer. “Sure. Yeah. Lots of things. Didn’t tell you yet about those symphony tickets I bought yesterday, for instance…”

“Symphony tickets?” Now the angel sounded interested.

Temptation accomplished! “Yep,” Crowley said, a little too enthusiastically. “Front row seats, two weeks from Friday. They’re playing Tchaikovksy, the conductor is—”

“That sounds lovely,” Aziraphale interrupted pleasantly. “I’d love to hear more about it later. I’m looking forward. Now, you were saying, about the traffic?”

Bless. Well, it had been worth a shot.

Crowley sighed. “Got bored this morning, that’s all. Seemed like fun. Passed the time, anyway.”

“It seemed like fun.”

“Forgot we’d be coming this way later. [1]”

“I see.”

“...Should I say sorry again?”

This time around, Crowley noticed, Aziraphale very noticeably didn’t instruct him not to apologize.

And yet, the angel’s irritated shake of the head a second later looked like it was more for show than anything else. And there was something closely resembling a glint of interest in Aziraphale’s eye when he sighed loudly and said, “Fine, then, tell me how you did it. Since there’s nothing else to do. And then you can tell me about that symphony.” A beat. “We do have plenty of time, after all. Might as well make use of it.”

Crowley grinned. Maybe it wasn’t so terrible, after all, having an excuse to spend some extra time with Aziraphale.

~

[1] Actually, he hadn’t forgotten. In fact, it was exactly because Crowley had known they’d be coming this way that the road had been the first one to come to mind. He just hadn’t thought through the consequences.

Also posted on AO3

(See more of my Fluffy Angstember fics here!)

[prettybirdy979]

Angstember Fic: Aziraphale/Crowley - I’m scared

Doing the Angstember prompts from this post. Please feel free to send me any prompts. More of my fics here.

They’ve gone through outrageously drunk, crept through hilariously drunk and blasted past unspeakably drunk with the sort of noise that would wake the dead - or the neighbours, if Aziraphale’s bookshop hadn’t long since had the sense to never let a peep of noise escape the bookshop. 

But now Aziraphale feels himself slipping into morsley drunk. The sort of drunk that has you looking at your future and realising, with a stomach clenching fear, that you have one and it’s completely in your hands.

‘-ngel?’ Crowley slurs, rolling over to look at him. ‘-u’re alright?’

Aziraphale stares ahead, looking at his eternity. Alone. No more Heaven. No more angels, as cruel as they were. No more of well, everything he’d ever known.

‘Angel?’ Crowley asks, sounding a lot more sober. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m scared,’ Aziraphale says before he can help himself, the words slipping out in his drunkenness. He grimaces as he sobers up, getting rid of the worst of it. ‘Crowley, I’m scared.’

Crowley is there an instant later, pulling Aziraphale into his arms. ‘Why?’ he asks, even as he holds Aziraphale, his mere presence a comfort before the warmth of his body sinks into Aziraphale.

‘Everything’s changed,’ Aziraphale whispers, burying his face into Crowley’s shoulder. ‘I’ve never had to face change alone.’

Crowley freezes for a moment, then sighs. ‘You’re not alone angel,’ he whispers. ‘You have me.’

Oh.

Oh.

‘I do, don’t I?’ Aziraphale looks at his future, open and terrifying, and imagines Crowley’s comfort beside him as he faces it.

It seems a little more doable, with that.

But for now, he decides, squeezing Crowley tighter, now I can be here, with Crowley.

It’s a nice thought. A good reality.

A promising future.

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

Justice

Written for the first prompt of @greenfiredragonfly 's Angstember event: "They Told Me You Were Dead."

(Will reblog when it's posted to AO3)

Warning: Definitely angst, made myself cry a little.

--

“They told me you were dead.”

Aziraphale took another hesitant step forward, but still Crowley didn’t even look at him.

“I didn’t believe it at first. How could I? I’d seen you just the night before at the bandstand. You were so alive. So angry. Did I ever tell you how breathtaking you are when you’re angry?”

If anything, the scrawny figure huddled in on himself and turned farther away.

“You wanted me to run away with you. To the stars. I sad no. I—I never wanted anything more in my life, but… I said no.” He closed his eyes and shuddered. “The next morning, I told Gabriel everything.”

The Archangel had clapped him on the shoulder. Thanked him for coming clean. Promised that things would start looking up soon.

He opened his eyes again and for a moment Crowley was nothing but a pale blur, a mix of shadows and moonlight.

“I wasn’t going to fight.” One step forward, the scuff of his foot echoing off stone walls. “You know me. I hate violence, hate killing, hate—”

The next step sent a pebble skittering across the floor. Crowley flinched, pressing his hands to matted hair. Aziraphale froze, crouching a little more than an arm’s length away.

“Then I got the message. One of Michael’s spies had… had seen you in Hell. Being taken to…” He swallowed, pressing his fist to his mouth. “They brought back what was left of your glasses.”

At the word, Crowley shifted, not quite turning towards him. Shafts of moonlight danced across protruding ribs, highlighting deep festering wounds.

“I fought after that. Harder than I’ve ever fought before. Oh, Crowley. You should have seen… demons falling before my blade, like… like wheat before a…” He paused to let the echo of the screams die down again. Just enough to hear himself think.

“I expected it would make me… sad. Torn up by what I did. That’s how it’s supposed to work, isn’t it? Gazing into the abyss and all that? But there was none of that, no regret, only…” In his mind’s eye, another Lord of Hell dropped, a smoking ruin on the concrete floor. “Justice.”

Crowley shifted, folding himself into a new position. Aziraphale had often joked that he had liquid legs, no hip bones, but he could see them now, sharp and pointed, pale skin stretched over them like a drum.

“In the end I had… Beelzebub… Dagon… Princes and Kings of Hell. They demanded a trial before their execution. I asked if they gave you the same.” For the first time, Aziraphale smiled. “That’s when I learned the truth.”

Outside the window, the clouds parted, revealing a floor covered with glittering holy sigils.

“I needed a new plan after that. I’ve never been good at clever plans, not like you. But it turns out Archangels fall to a holy blade as easily as demon lords.”

Not just Archangels. Every time Aziraphale looked at his hands, he found blood caked into the nail beds. They would never be clean again.

But justice, at last, had been served.

“They didn’t know what to do with me, after things settled down. Didn’t know if I was a hero or a monster, if I should be rewarded or punished. But I only wanted one thing, and that… that made it simple.”

As the moon grew shrouded once more, Aziraphale crept forward, reaching out, barely brushing a lock of hair, red just visible below all the dirt. Crowley flinched again, but he also turned, golden eyes sightlessly searching.

“Angel?”

“Yes!” Choking back a sob, he threw his arms wide. “Yes, it’s me.”

The gaunt, trembling figure unfolded, reaching out fingers that were little more than twisted sticks, carefully tracing the angel’s cheek.

“A… Aziraphale?”

“Yes.” Hardly more than a breath.

Crowley collapsed again, a slow-motion folding of gangling limbs, this time coming to rest against the angel’s chest.

“You… you came?”

“I did.” Aziraphale gently wrapped Crowley in his arms. Rocking him, holding him close. Stroking his hair. Kissing his cheek and marveling to find that anything in Creation could still be so soft, so warm. “I came for you.”

Behind them, the cell door shut, plunging them into darkness again.

“And oh, my dear fellow.” He hardly even heard the lock click into place, so entranced was he by the perfect being in his arms. “I’ll never leave you again.”

[tsarisfanfiction]

Hello! Angstember 9/9 Virgil and Scott if it sparks anything! Cheers.

Penance

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Angst Characters: Scott, Virgil, Gordon

He'd failed to protect him. He didn't have the luxury of walking away. Angstember #9: Being With You Is Too Hard

Ouch. Ouchie, ouchie, ouchie, that is a mean prompt! It took me a while to find an angle I was happy with, because finding a scenario where one of them would think that to the other was hard!

Angstember 2021 Prompts - I only plan on writing prompts if I get a request for them, so request away :D Doesn’t have to be TAG - characters from any fandom can be requested (although I can only guarantee I’ll work with ones I know)

Hospitals hurt. Scott would never dare claim they hurt him more than they hurt Gordon, who couldn’t stay in one for any significant length of time before needing to get out, but they hurt him nonetheless.

It wasn’t his own stays that bothered him, at least not beyond the forced dependency and associated weakness that worried his family. The worst stay he’d experienced himself his mind had blocked out almost entirely, and he knew better than to poke at that if he wanted to keep his wits about him. No, the stays that bothered him were the ones where it was his family stuck in the bed.

Gordon was the classic, obvious example. Months upon long months seeing little outside of the four white walls containing his broken little brother, fighting first to live, and then to live. Fresh on the heels of his own trauma, those memories, too, were best kept shut away.

If only they would stay shut away. Unlike his own, locked away securely to be never revisited again, the images of Gordon pale and unresponsive, then depressed, angry, grieving before he finally dragged himself into stubbornness and a refusal to let the world defeat him, reared their heads again, and again.

This time, it wasn’t Gordon in the bed. That didn’t stop the memories crashing over him, suffocating him with the despair that had choked up his lungs and strangled his breathing when he’d thought he’d lost a brother. Didn’t stop the panic attacks threatening, kept back by a force of will that couldn’t hold up forever and would make him regret it when he inevitably crumbled under the onslaught.

Somehow, hospitals had never been a place of death for him – Mom had been lost on the side of a mountain, and Dad to an explosion. Hospitals were a place of miracles, of survival and recovery and pulling themselves back together one painful moment at a time. And yet, all he ever seemed to feel in them was despair. Dread, that this time their strength wouldn’t be enough. Terror that any day would be the day another irreparable hole tore its way through his heart.

Failure, because if only he was better, if only he protected his family like he was supposed to, like Mom and Dad and everyone had always asked of him since the day he first found out he was going to be a big brother. If only he’d somehow managed to prevent yet another little brother ending up in hospital with machines the only thing keeping the reaper at bay.

Virgil was as pale as the sheets he lay on. Still as an alabaster bust, and just as lifeless. More of him was wrapped in linen than wasn’t, in an echo of Gordon those years earlier.

His chances were just as slim, the doctors said.

Scott hadn’t given up on Gordon – hadn’t been able to give up on Gordon and let a little brother slip away. He wasn’t giving up on Virgil, either. Couldn’t give up on Virgil.

It was Scott’s job to keep his family together. To stay strong, for his other brothers, facing their own nightmares all over again – John and Alan had their own memories of Gordon’s stay, and for Gordon it was as though he was looking in a mirror. None of them could stay for long; Scott wouldn’t let them stay for long.

He also wouldn’t let himself have the luxury of leaving. No doubt he looked wan, hair unkempt and stubble taking hold. The one time he’d caught sight of himself in a restroom mirror, his eyes had been sunken and bloodshot – just the same as the early days of Gordon’s stay, before Gordon himself had yelled at him for daring to look a mess when he wasn’t the one suffering.

Those words had hit harder than he’d ever let on.

He’d need to clean up before Virgil woke up, but he couldn’t leave him. No matter how hard it was to stay, constantly assaulted by memories of Gordon’s suffering superimposing themselves over the present. No matter how much it killed him to stay in that room, once again staring at a brother he’d failed to protect.

Being with you is too hard. The uncharitable thought flittered through his mind, not for the first time, and not for the last, either.

But if staying was too hard, leaving was impossible.

Someone had to be there. Virgil needed to know someone was there, that he was there. That he wasn’t alone. That the big brother who had failed to protect him hadn’t failed him entirely.

So Scott swallowed back the tears, the despair, the heartbreak and memories. He put on a thin smile whenever his family called, promising that Virgil was doing as well as could be expected, that he was getting the best care and would come back whenever he was ready.

He crushed down the part of him that screamed and cried and begged to be released from its self-inflicted torment, because he didn’t have a choice.

Scott was their big brother, Virgil’s big brother.

He had to stay, no matter what it cost him.

[brighteyewrites]

Words as Weapons

With a part of me gone And it’s hard to hold on to the person that I used to know And it kills me inside I am buried alive I am nothing but flesh over bone - The Drug [Egypt Central] Angstember Day 11 | Fandom: Overwatch (Pre-Fall) | Angela / Gabriel

AO3 | FF.net | Works

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Angela,” Dr. Port said as she rose from his couch. Angela didn’t think they had made much - if any - progress, but he didn’t seem to be concerned about it. He’d insisted on daily appointments for the foreseeable future; since this was his area of expertise, and she wasn’t really in a position to argue, Angela had agreed. “Tomorrow,” she replied quietly, before making her way out of the office. Angela stayed close to the wall as she made her way down the hallway, keeping her distance from others and ignoring their confused - or pitiful - looks. The sound of something thudding against the wall had her jumping, automatically putting some distance between herself and the noise. Quickly, she realized the sound had come from the opposite side of the wall - partially because there was nothing there, but mostly because of the raised voices she could hear. The words were muffled, but she would recognize Gabriel’s voice anywhere. He and Jack were fighting. Again. Before, she’d barge in there and do her best to mediate - or at least separate them. But, as she was now, she didn’t think she was in a position to manage either. She’d already had bad reactions to their raised voices; she didn’t particularly want to have another. But, if things were slamming into walls, she might just have to, anyway. Things had never gotten physical between the two men - at least, not to her knowledge. Oh, they could be absolutely vicious with their words sometimes, but the damage was always verbal or emotional. Angela approached the door carefully, doing her best to assess the situation before involving herself in it. As she got closer, she realized that the door wasn’t completely closed - between that small opening and how loud the men inside the office were, she could make out their conversation. “—ell me to calm down,” Gabriel’s voice snarled from the right, making her tense. That partial statement, mixed with things slamming into walls, made it easy to guess what they were arguing about. If they were fighting - physically - Angela could assume that Gabriel was the aggressor and that she - or, rather, her kidnapping - was the topic. Despite her reservations and the absolute terror it inspired in her, she knew that this couldn’t go on. The last thing she wanted was for them to fight about her capture - to allow it even more power than it already had. Angela took a deep, steadying breath; if she was going to go in there, it wouldn’t help anything if she were a wreck when she did it. “I trusted you.” His voice was still an enraged snarl, but it cracked with something sad - grief or despair, she wasn’t sure. After a moment, probably of him composing himself, Gabriel was shouting again. “You were supposed to keep her safe.” Before, Angela might have bristled at the words - she had come a long way from needing a dedicated protector, or so she had thought - but now, a small part of her couldn’t help but agree. “I should have known better,” Gabriel snapped, spurring her into action. The words were accompanied by another thud that had her wincing even as she reached out for the door. “You couldn’t even protect Ana; I never should have believed you could protect Angela.” Angela froze, eyes wide, as his words chilled even her. That was a targeted, vicious attack and a horrible insinuation. “What happened with Ana has nothing to do with this,” Jack snarled, matching Gabriel’s anger with his own. “We took every precaution with Angela. We did everything possible—” “It’s not enough. Have you seen her?” Gabriel’s voice demanded, cutting him off viciously. “No, you haven’t,” Gabriel answered his own question before Jack could even try to respond, “because she’s barely left her rooms. She’s terrified.” Angela frowned, even if she couldn’t refute the fact; she was terrified. Hands balling into fists, Angela reached for the door again - it was time to put an end to this. “They broke her,” her hands froze again as she took a shuddering breath. It was one thing to think they thought that about her, but it was another to hear it aloud - and from Gabriel no less. “There is no ‘enough.’” He’d continued, unaware that she had heard him - but his continued speech made it possible for her to move. It was fortunate that all she had to do was push the door open - Angela didn’t think her shaky hands could manage an access card or doorknob. “Get ou—” Gabriel’s voice cut off abruptly as he realized who had walked into the room; it was an act of pure will that she hadn’t ducked back out of the door, but it was a very near thing. Silence fell, thick and heavy, as she stood in the doorway - Angela had barely managed to take the two steps it had taken to get her just inside. She could feel their shocked gazes on her, though she didn’t turn to look at them. “Angela?” Jack was the one to break the silence. “Is every—” He cut himself off swiftly, changing the question. “Do you need something?” His voice was cautious and far more gentle than she’d expected him to be capable of, considering Gabriel still had him pinned to the wall. Angela balled her trembling hands into fists, trying to build up her courage to speak - and feeling foolish for it. She had been the one to force herself in here, after all. She could have left them to it; this new Angela was far more okay with avoiding conflict – with easy – than the old one. “I—” Angela swallowed, trying ineffectively to bring moisture to her dry throat. Instead of addressing the more painful words, the ones that cut just as deeply as anything her captors had done, she forced herself to focus on why she had come in here in the first place. “You need to stop.” It should have been a declaration - the old Angela could have shouted it at them, glaring with arms crossed as she dared them to argue. This new Angela could barely raise her voice louder than a whisper, incapable of looking in their direction as she gestured at the two of them with shaking hands. “Angela,” Gabriel started, voice notably softer as he addressed her. This wasn’t the first time she’d barged into one of their arguments - but she’d never been as fragile back then. That Angela could stare them down, hands on her hips, as she gave as good as she got. This Angela could barely keep from bolting out of the door at her back. “You didn’t need to come in here,” Gabriel told her carefully; he could clearly see her terror in her shaking hands and haggard breathing. Angela shook her head, a silent argument that was far less effective than her words. There were so many things she could say, but she couldn’t seem to get her voice to work. “I’m alright, Angela,” Jack offered into the silence. Angela glanced their way, eyes briefly resting on Gabriel and then Jack. Gabriel looked frazzled, but he had put some space between the two of them. Jack was straightening his shirt as if nothing had happened. “I’m not hurt.” Assured that they were both whole, Angela dropped her eyes back to the floor before her. Neither looked any worse for wear from what she could tell; hopefully, she had stepped in before any physical damage could be inflicted. Angela knew she had been far too late to defend any of them - herself included - from the psychological blows. “This fighting…” Angela started, voice quiet as she tried to figure out what she wanted to say - and what she could say. “It isn’t helping.” Angela hated to play on their pity, but she could handle it if it kept them from each others throats; the fighting was far worse and would be more than she could bear for long. Besides, it was close enough to what the Angela of before would have said - their fighting really wasn’t helping anything. All the arguing did was make it harder to work towards their common goals; their pride made them nearly impossible to work with some days. Angela wasn’t sure how Ana had managed them for so long, but it was exhausting. “Angela, you don’t understand,” Gabriel said, some of his previous anger tinting his voice. She bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself to remain still; he wasn’t yelling at her. It was fine. Instead, her eyes flashed back to his as anger filled her. “I understand what happened to me far better than you do, Gabriel.” The words were ice-cold despite the tremor in her voice. Gabriels’ jaw clenched against the reminder - as if he wasn’t the one who had started the fight in the first place. “Just,” Angela sighed heavily, the anger leaving her just as quickly as it had come, “please.” The plea in her voice had them both looking away from her shamefully. “Fighting about it will not fix anything.” Angela doubted anything could fix what had happened to her - especially if Gabriel thought she was broken. The two men were silent. Neither was willing to offer a promise of a ceasefire to her, not when they knew it would probably be broken. It was a courtesy they may not have extended to her before, but they both knew she was far too fragile to deal with broken promises on top of her wounded heart. Angela’s shoulders slumped. It had been worth a try, even if she had known it was fruitless. “If you must argue,” Angela muttered darkly as she turned towards the exit, “at least do it where no one can overhear you.” The last thing she wanted was for other people to hear those vicious words Gabriel had snarled at Jack. It was bad enough that she had heard them. “Angela,” Gabriel’s voice stopped her before she could leave the room. “What did you hear?” There was a quiet desperation in his voice. It hadn’t occurred to him until now that she might have heard what he had said. “I heard enough,” Angela replied, voice heavy with far too much emotion. Before he could offer any kind of apology or excuse, Angela stepped through the door and closed it firmly behind her.

One | Two | Three | Four | Five

[ruthiesrambles2]

I did finish writing before midnight technically!

Something something Melanie and knives

[forthetaintedsorrow-whump]

Angstember: Chuuya and Amos

9-9: Being with you is too hard

“Being with you is too hard.” Chuuya turned his face away from Amos, curled up on his side.  His collection of scars grows by the week.  “It’s never enough, what I do.  Whether I obey you or not, it’s always more, more pain, more humiliation, you’re never satisfied.”  Chuuya laid there in silence for long minutes.  Then he clenched his fists and turned back, orange hair bouncing and framing intense blue eyes.  “Humans aren’t meant to be forced into animal roles, it’s unnatural, they need room to expand and think their own thoughts, be themselves.  I’m human.”