#angstpril 2023

[whumpflash]

Penumbra: Uncertain

for Angstpril, Day 24: Trauma (alt)

cw: whump aftermath, wound cleaning, mentioned weight loss, non-sexual nudity, discussed death wish/suicide attempts

prev ///// masterlist ///// next

note: please mind the warnings. If you'd like to read a version of this chapter without a specific element, feel free to PM me and I'll send you an edited version. Stay safe, everyone!

•§•§•

It was a mile's trek back to their great-uncle's house, made all the longer with the pelt of the rain on their back and the weight of the injured man in their arms. Cerus had begun the journey upright, stumbling along with a thin arm wrapped around Tansy's shoulders, but it had soon become apparent that he was in no condition to walk. They'd lifted his shaking form, trying not to think about how light he was, how his flesh radiated heat even through the wet clothing. How the shipwrights had him working out in the cold anyway.

Neither of them spoke a word throughout, and when Tansy spared a glance down to check on Cerus, his eyes were closed. For his own sake, they hoped he was unconscious.

Aldon was still not home when they opened the door, but that was perhaps for the better. They weren't certain he'd be all too happy at the idea of sheltering the former tyrant. For now, Cerus would have to be their secret.

Tansy carried him upstairs, to the sparse room their uncle had set aside for them, and lay Cerus on the bed. Their shoulders burned from the effort of getting him here, but now was not the time to rest. They discarded their waterlogged cloak, and began to cut away Cerus's soaked rags. The man seemed to be awake now; half-lidded eyes above hollow cheeks, staring dully at the ceiling. He made no move to struggle, or even speak.

He was considerably thinner than he'd been at his trial, the sharp outline of ribs and hip bones jutting against pale skin. Scars and bruises, old and new, covered his body, and when they rolled him onto his side to check his back, they were met with a horrific number of whip marks, some still oozing blood, darkening the bedsheets.

Though his eyes were open, Cerus responded to Tansy's examination as if he were unconscious, offering neither remark nor resistance, and Tansy was left wondering if it was the fever that had left him numbed to the world around, or if it was simply how the man protected himself from the constant maltreatment.

"I'm going to clean your wounds," they said, watching for a response. To their surprise, Cerus's eyes sharpened.

"And wh—" He let out a cough that shook his body. "Why would you do s-something like that?"

Why indeed? Wanting to help the suffering was human nature, but when the sufferer himself was the cause of so much misery, what was one to do? They did not reply, rolling Cerus onto his stomach.

"Wait here," they said, though they doubted he was capable of doing otherwise, and walked down the stairs, toward the kitchen.

Why indeed. The strangeness of the situation was starting to take hold of them. How could they do something like this? Saving the very person they'd sworn to depose, bringing him into their home, tending to him. Would anyone else in the village, in all of Feyadel, do the same, or was Tansy mad for making such a choice? What would their comrades in the battalion think of their decision, were they here to see it?

More than why they'd done it, another question was heavy in their thoughts; what were they going to do, now that they'd chosen to help? Cerus was under sentence. He lawfully belonged to the shipyard, regardless of the abuse he'd suffer there. Even if they could grant him a reprieve from the rain, he couldn't very well stay here; eventually someone would come looking for him. Still, they couldn't in good conscience just hand him back over to the docks, not when he was clearly ill, not when he could barely stand.

For now, they'd try and curb their worries, and think only of tonight. Whatever tomorrow brought, they'd handle it in the morning.

They gathered linen cloth and water from the kitchen, tucking a small bottle of brandy under their arm as well. Tansy was a soldier, not a medic, but they'd still treated their fair share of wounds. The parcel of clams watched them forlornly from the wooden counter, and Tansy cast a glance back at it as they climbed the stairs. First they'd tend to Cerus, then get a start on dinner before their uncle returned. And hopefully, he wouldn't notice if they cooked for three.

Cerus flinched when they opened the door, as if startled from sleep, and Tansy knelt by the bed, depositing their supplies beside them.

"This will sting," they warned, as they wetted a cloth with brandy, then wondered why they bothered. Couldn't they at least find catharsis in the necessary pain that came with cleaning his wounds?

Cerus inhaled through clenched teeth as Tansy touched the cloth to his back, his next breath turning into a whimper when they began to gently scrub the torn, feverish skin. As much as they wished they could, Tansy found no solace in his pain. They finished cleaning and binding the cuts without another word, then covered Cerus with a blanket, trying to ignore the way he stared at them.

"You're not a priest," he said bluntly. "Nor a healer."

Tansy lifted their chin. "I'm a soldier," they replied. "I fought to end your reign."

He showed no reaction. "And you did. So why?"

Tansy turned away. They didn't need to have this conversation with him, of all people.

"Y-you should've left me."

That halted them in place. "To die?"

Cerus let out a bitter laugh that rapidly degraded into a coughing fit. "Do you think I don't desire an end? Do you think I fear death enough to cling to a life such as this one?"

Tansy frowned. "If that were so… would you not have found your own end?"

 "If I throw myself into the sea, they haul me out. If I cut a vein, they hold me down and send for a healer. I am not allowed to escape. All I can do is wait for my body to fail."

"You'd rather I'd left you to be beaten, then."

"I have received more beatings than a man can count. What's one that goes unfinished?" His words dissolved into another vicious cough. "You were a soldier. Certainly, you saw friends felled by my troops. Family."

"You'd have difficulty finding a soldier who hasn't," Tansy answered, their tone flat. Why would he bring up such a thing now? Did he wish to turn them against him, to drive them to throw him back out into the rain?

"Then you have as much reason to hate me as everyone else," Cerus said. "Why bring me here? Why not leave me to die, or even end me by your own hand?" He tried to push himself up with shaking arms, but fell back onto the bed with a cry. "Y–ghnn—you've lost family by my hand. This very village burned by my hand. Why let me draw another breath? Why not strike me down?"

Tansy shook their head. It seemed that Cerus was trying to goad them into anger, but why? Whatever the reason, they would not allow themselves to be persuaded by him.

"I've seen enough bloodshed for one lifetime," they answered.

"And I am at fault for that," Cerus protested.

They closed their eyes against his words, reaching for the door. "Rest."

"I felt no remorse, no regret," Cerus called after them, voice rising, shaking. "Will you not take vengeance?"

Tansy closed their fingers around the door's handle, clenching it tightly. They almost wished they could, and certainly wished they didn't feel this odd, misplaced pity. But it wouldn't be vengeance anymore, it would be simple cruelty. An honorable execution was seven months too late, and they could never bring themselves to raise a hand against someone as weak and sick and hurt as Cerus was right now, especially not at his behest.

When they glanced backwards, the former tyrant was wearing an expression they couldn't quite place. Was it anger? Fear? Simple disbelief that Tansy would dare tend to him?

"Will you not take vengeance?" he repeated, his voice now barely above a whisper, and Tansy shook their head.

"What vengeance is left to take?" they murmured, and finally opened the door, stepped through, and pulled it closed behind them.

§•§•§

@whumpwillow @rabbitdrabbles @kixngiggles @honeycollectswhump

[befuddled-calico-whump]

Is It Enough? (Tower: Day 99)

for Angstpril, Day 19: Breaking Down

cw: imprisonment, beating, strangulation, vague noncon implications

prev ///// masterlist ///// next

•×•×•

"See to it he never does this again."

The command, spat at the guards, was the last thing Alexei heard before they threw him back into his cell, ears still ringing from the punch he'd taken. The door locked, and for a while it was quiet. In the cell, in the hall. Quiet everywhere but in his head.

The dread building inside him was so potent he was sure he'd be sick, and try as he might, he couldn't direct his thoughts away from it.

Cold blue of a clear sky—

(What are they going to do?)

Flaking rust, crumbled iron—

(What are they going to do to me?)

Clear, cheer, deer, fear, gear, hear—

(What are they going to do to me?)

He'd been stupid. He wasn't going to pretend otherwise. The city council had been invited on a tour of the prison, something about securing funding, or acquiring votes for a new bill. Wade had told Lex about it beforehand as he hosed him down, forced a comb through his hair, a toothbrush into his mouth.

"Even the mayor will be there. Be good, or else."

They'd unchained him from the wall and had him stand in the doorway, flanked by two guards. The warden had thought he was helpless. Half-starved and wearing power dampeners and missing his fucking arms. His mistake.

When one of the council members had reached out to touch him, like a child on a double dare, Lex had fought past the dampeners, focusing until he thought his very blood would boil, and set her expensive silk blazer on fire.

 And now he was about to find out exactly what 'or else' meant.

The cell door opened before long, guard after guard pouring into the small space. Lex knew what was coming; he curled into a ball and ignored them, waiting for the blows to start flying. And when they inevitably did, he tried to find a poem, or even a rhyme to cling to, make it all more bearable, but every boot in the gut only served to scatter his thoughts, and in the end, he was resolved to simply waiting for it to end.

The beating was the worst one he'd taken since coming here, leaving his body shuddering, blood oozing from his lips, breath coming in short wheezes—he'd felt several ribs crack during the assault.

The voices above him were fuzzy. He didn't care. He didn't need to know what the guards were going on about—

"But is it enough?"

That pulled his attention, shoving him into a cold-blooded clarity, words sharp enough to cut into his skull.

"What do you mean, 'is it enough'? Look at him."

"They get beaten all the fucking time. Lopez said—"

"What do you suggest? We're not supposed to do permanent damage."

"That's what the healer's for."

The conversation was quickly turning to argument, and the words were bleeding together. He could only catch scraps.

"...strung up." (Shut up)

"Nothing to tie on…" (Bygone)

"...in the break room." (Doom, plume)

An arm curled around his torso, pressure on newly-cracked ribs, and he bit back a whimper as more hands latched onto him and lifted his body. His instincts screamed at him to fight back, but it hurt to move. He could only hang there limply as they carried him out of the cell and down the hall. Going where? Why? (Cry, pie, lie, die.)

Movement stopped, a switch was flicked on, and Lex squinted as bright light flooded his vision. He could hear garbled words from a TV, music coming faintly from a radio, the slight squeak of boots on the floor.

Break room.

"Stand him up!" one of the guards called. Lex blinked away the spots in his vision, letting his eyes adjust to the fluorescent lights. As he did, he saw that the guard's number had dwindled down to three.

"I don't know if he can—"

"Well he'll remember to really fucking fast."

Hands held him up on either side, and something was looped around his throat, pulled tight against flesh and knotted. (Spotted, clotted, dotted, no no no—)

He was vaguely aware of the other end of the thing around his neck being tossed high, over a metal ceiling beam, and caught, yanked.

Lex's body jerked as it cinched on his throat, and he choked, trying to take in air, finding he couldn't unless he stood perfectly straight, and even then it was only barely. All his body wanted to do was curl in on itself, and his ribs throbbed as he tried to hold position, closing his eyes against the harsh lights. 

"Fucking hell man, this is gonna kill him."

"He passes out, you let him down. Hand me the whip."

"You sure we're allowed to touch it? Rentals—"

"Rentals won't give a shit as long as we return it clean."

A whistling sound pierced the air, followed by a sharp slap across his back. Lex arched forward reflexively, cutting off his own air with the movement.

"Dude. That was weak as shit, let me try."

Lex braced himself, but it wasn't enough. The whip cracked as it hit the air this time, striking him on the shoulders. Another was right on its heels, lighting a line of fire that ran parallel to his spine.

With every blow, it was getting harder to hold himself up, to keep breathing. It was only the fear that kept him awake, that animal terror that struck him when he couldn't reach the air.

A strike cut across several marks at once, and Lex cried out, his knees buckling.

"Maybe we should stop—"

"He's fine."

He managed to get to his feet, gasping, tears streaming down his cheeks. Wasn't it enough? How could this not be enough?

The next lash pulled a scream from him, cut off rapidly as he stumbled and the rope closed his throat. He didn't even have the energy to hold back a strangled sob. How could this not be fucking enough?

Another strike, and he lost his footing, the pressure on his windpipe crushing, legs shaking and useless and failing.

"For God's sake."

The rope suddenly went slack, and he crumpled, gasping, unable to choke down the whimpers that came crawling up his throat.

"Jeez, David. Buzzkill much?"

"I'm not losing my fucking job for your entertainment."

The linoleum floor was cool on his face, and Lex clung to the feeling, trying to focus on anything other than how much it all hurt.

"He literally tried to kill Senator Collins. He should count himself lucky right now."

"Lucky? He's practically dying at your feet."

"Yeah, we're supposed to ensure this never happens again. Gotta make sure he never forgets." Lex heard fabric shuffling above him, the faint click of metal on metal.

"Fucking hell, dude,"

"No one's making you stay and watch."

"He's already had the shit beat outta him."

Another sob escaped Lex. They were done now, right? Fuck, he'd hoped they were done, they had to be done—

"But is it enough?"

•×•×•

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing

[hellowkatey]

duty and sacrifice

Summary: Obi-Wan's first night back at the Temple after Melida-Daan. Angstpril day 4: "why did you leave?"

Obi-Wan wasn’t asleep for long before being lulled awake by the bed beneath him shifting.

(Or rather, the couch. He had only been back at the Temple for a few hours and didn’t feel comfortable reclaiming his old room. Not while he was on probation.)

The living room was dark, but Coruscant’s nightlife brought enough of a blue-tinted glow to illuminate the outline of a familiar Jedi Master perched on the edge of the cushion near Obi-Wan’s feet.

“M’ster Jinn?” Obi-Wan muttered while wiping away the sleep. For the first time since they arrived back from Melida-Daan, Qui-Gon made eye contact with the boy.

“Why did you leave?” the question was not laced with bitterness or accusation like Obi-Wan would have expected it to be. It was soft. Uttered with the cautious cadence of someone who laid awake choosing each word with careful intention.

Even more surprising was the bitterness that Obi-Wan felt. His gut reaction was to respond with sarcasm. “You should know why. You were there,” felt favorable on his tongue. “Technically it was you who left me,” followed close behind.

Despite the small truths they harbored, neither was allowed to be spoken into existence. Obi-Wan had spent his own sleepless nights in deep thought over the morality of it all and knew exactly his answer.

“I didn’t leave,” he said, ”I stayed.”

Qui-Gon hummed with mild interest. “Is there a difference?”

“Well, yes. Staying meant fulfilling my duty. Leaving meant walking away from it.”

“So you believe your duty was to the Young?”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I know it was.”

“How?”

“Because I could feel it in the Force, Master Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon looked away again.

“So what do you think I chose?”

“What?”

They were staring at one another again, but Qui-Gon’s gaze had hardened again. “Did I stay? Or leave?”

That was the question. The dilemma the Temple was buzzing about. The critical decision the Council had to make a verdict on. Was Qui-Gon’s primary duty to the Jedi and his injured friend, or to his padawan that was making rather radical decisions a few months into his apprenticeship?

The problem with the question was there wasn’t a clear answer. Even Obi-Wan fluctuated his positions. He understands the reasons that Qui-Gon had to return. He knows he didn’t exactly give his Master a choice. Time was running out. Obi-Wan was stubborn and Qui-Gon— whether he was willing to admit it or not— was scared.

“I think you did what you thought was right.”

“Leaving you on Melida-Daan was right?” Qui-Gon whispered. His tone was too neutral for Obi-Wan to deduce if he was being sarcastic or genuine. No matter the intention, Obi-Wan shook his head with matching neutrality.

“No. But staying with Master Tahl was,” The couch shifted with Master Jinn’s shift in weight. His lip twitched a few times as it struggled to decide which emotion would surface. When the silence started to become uncomfortable, Obi-Wan cleared his throat and fiddled with the seam of the blanket that was not there when he fell asleep. “How is Master Tahl, by the way.”

It took Qui-Gon a moment to snap out of his daze. “She’s doing… better. It’s been a long road since… well, I’ll let her tell you the story.”

Obi-Wan swallowed the lump in his throat. He had assumed the worst when the days began to turn to weeks and Qui-Gon hadn’t turned back up on Melida-Daan. Though he relinquished his apprenticeship by not getting on the ship, he assumed— he hoped— his master would return. When he didn’t, Obi-Wan prayed it wasn’t mourning that kept Qui-Gon from finding him.

Learning Master Tahl was alive was a relief.

Realizing Qui-Gon did not come until Obi-Wan pleaded for assistance sent a new wave of dismay through his mind.

“It’s late,” Qui-Gon said, even though it was he who awoke Obi-Wan in the middle of the night. “Get some sleep, Obi-Wan.”

And then he was gone.

Obi-Wan settled back down under the blanket that usually rests on the end of Qui-Gon’s bed. It smelled like the laundry detergent used in the Temple washroom and Qui-Gon. Home wrapped around him like the hug of a stranger. His senses were torn between the comfort of familiarity and the dread of having to let it go all over again.

Despite his physical exhaustion, sleep refused him.

[solar-siren]

Angstpril 2023 Masterpost

A belated masterpost of my Tron Angstpril fics. You can also read them all on AO3.

Day 1 - Liar

Day 2 - Trust Issues

Day 3 - No Escape

Day 4 - “Why did you leave?”

Day 5 - Crisis

Day 6 - Abandoned

Day 7 - Sleepless Nights

Day 8 - Mind Games

Day 9 - Devastation

Day 10 - Sacrifice

Day 11 - Self-Sabotage

Day 12 - Confessions

Day 13 - Recovery

Day 14 - Cruelty

Day 15 - Lost In My Mind

Day 16 - “You Have to Let Me Go”

Day 17 - Running Away

Day 18 - Exhausted

Day 19 - Breaking Down

Day 20 - “I Can’t Go Back”

Day 21 - You’re On Your Own, Kid

Day 22 - Shadow of Former Self

Day 23 - Failure

Day 24 - “I Was Wrong About You”

Day 25 - Nothing Lasts Forever

Day 26 - Storm

Day 27 - Heated Argument

Day 28 - Loss

Day 29 - Cast Away

Day 30 - Lost Hope

[psychologeek]

Unconditionally

Part of my "Jason's poems during his muordertour during Lost Days". You're welcome to leave comments/fake replys to add to the "Tumblr " I'll do once I'm better.

day 25: Nothing Lasts Forever.

Thaey say that love is a given

It's a free present you can't untake

(Unconditionally)

When I stand in front of you

Bloody hands

Sweaty palms -

Will you be my refuge on the hawling, stormy night?

Will you feed me, 

Keep me shelter from the haunting crowd?

When the fork lifters and the flame throwers

Stand upon your castle

Will you keep me?

(Or will you let them take -

Every pound of my body -

Pay my bills with blood

And pain?)

# Frankenstein #monster #real question #poem #sad

...

For more:

[fanfictasia]

Angstpril Day 3

No Escape

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from Breathing Ashes

To even say he wants to be out from this would be lying to himself. He did that before. He wishes he hadn’t, but it… needed to happen. If Anakin hadn’t finally stepped forwards to demand more, something, they never would have made it to where they are now. At least here, they have… something. Some semblance of equality.

“That’s not what I treated you as,” Obi-Wan objects. Anakin glances at him, wordlessly – he could argue endlessly to that, but he… won’t. There’s no reason to, anyway. He catches Anakin’s look, anyway, and sighs. “That… was not what I meant to treat you as.”

“But you did,” Anakin tells him, quietly. “Everyone did.”

There has never been a way out. Not for him. How many others is that true for? And to think this is what he wanted so much to end that he left everything just to try. Because he had to try. But he failed that as everything else.

Obi-Wan reaches out, touching his arm. The sensation is… comforting at least.

“What do you want?” he asks. “If you could choose?”

He never wanted to reach this place, but he has. He’s become what all slaves try never to be. “I don’t know. It’s… unachievable, and irrelevant.”

[katierosefun]

so . . . i actually partook in angstpril this year. here’s my first fic, one that covers the first three prompts of @chaos-company‘s angstpril 2023: (1) liar, (2) invisible wounds, and (3) no escape.

please mind the tags on this one!!!!!

now we’re just liars  (star trek: aos, 5.8k words)

There’s nothing in Iowa,” Jim says.

“Yup, did my research. Miles and miles of corn and snow, if the weather’s freakish enough.”

“Bones,” Jim says quietly. “I mean it. You don’t have to come.”

[or: one year into the academy, and bones tags along with jim on a trip back to iowa. because reasons.]

[diracsea]

yeah it kinda goes like that.

[catgirl-catboy]

Angstpril day 2: invisable wounds

~1200 words | read on ao3

Mondo, after the accident.

When Mondo promised to lead the gang in Diaya’s honor, he didn’t know all he was committing to.

In the heat of the moment, the promise between men was the only thing that mattered. Unfortunately, the heat of the moment doesn’t last fucking forever.

He first noticed it when informing the gang of his “victory”. Hah! He got his ass whooped, and now he has to play it off like a victory.

He thought he couldn’t breathe due to his guilt. That the words he was forcing out, the first lies of many, were causing his chest to constrict. Nope.

Once he finally managed to wave his gang away and get some fucking space, he wanted to take a shower. Unfortunately, when he stripped to get in, he found that the back of his shirt was soaked through with blood. Fucking fantastic. He didn’t need another reason to feel terrible, thank you.

His bathtub looked like a murder scene when he was done, and washing the wounds out fucking hurt. Gravel fell out of wounds he didn’t even know there was gravel in. He wouldn’t let himself cry out in pain. He didn’t deserve to.

Since he smashed the bathroom mirror during a fit of rage, he can’t get a good look at his back. He needed to get around to repairing that. Or finding the money to hire someone else, now that there was one less mouth to feed.

He’d have to throw away the shirt, since there’s no way to get that much blood and grime off.

No, he thought, I should go into the woods and burn it. But that would take time he didn’t have at the moment. He needed to get clean, and then he needed to fucking pass out.

He wasn’t sure why the shirt was such a big fucking deal to him right now, with his brother’s blood on his hands and the weight of the promise on his shoulders. It just felt like a huge thing at the moment.

It was near impossible to dress his own wounds, but he’d have to get used to it now that he was alone. He got all the power and respect he’d wanted. He was still alone.

He settled for tying bandages around his chest, and hoping they covered it well enough. He knew he had to be careful. If this got infected, he’d have to go to the hospital and come clean about what happened. And he was taking this shit to the grave.

(It got infected. He managed to fight through the pain enough to avoid having to pay for a doctor. He still went riding, because a leader has to set a standard for the rest of em.)

Being injured fucking sucked.

He didn’t mind the pain. Some days, he even came close to enjoying it. It was what a bastard like him deserved for what he did. He was lucky that he didn’t get worse.

He disliked that he couldn’t move the way he used to.

Not only did raising his arms above his head hurt, they got slow and shaky. Doing his hair took twice as long, and he didn’t fucking bother on days when he didn’t meet up with the gang.

(He can’t think of it as his gang. Not yet anyways.)

He had to get a shitton of sleep medication. He didn’t think he got any sleep at all the first night after the accident, and that wasn’t just because he tried to sleep in Daiya’s bed. Saying he tossed and turned all night would be misleading. He was in too much pain to fucking move, but his mind raced a mile a minute.

He tried to ignore the odd looks he got when picking up multiple bottles of the stuff. He couldn’t punch his brain to get it to shut up, so this was the only option.

The shitty desks at his school made his back feel like it was on fire. Slumping in his seat did not fucking help. Eventually, he just sat on his backpack as a makeshift cushion, and cussed out the shortstack behind him that couldn’t see because of it.

He trained himself not to grimace when he got on his bike. He needed to do this, for Daiya. His body would just have to fucking deal with it.

Everyone chalked up the lack of fights to the recent change in leadership. Thank fucking god.

He can’t get injured again. They’d find his wounds and figure out how he got them.

The pain got better, but it never completely went away.

The guilt did not get better.

Eventually, he stopped running from fights and started winning them. He never stopped running though.

Chihiro was a determined little brat. Practically dragged Mondo to the gym today, because fuck his own plans, right?

His own plans happened to be to sit in bed all day and try not to think about the pain.

He always forgot how much his back could fucking hurt until it got bad again. And it got bad for no damn reason! At least when he ached after a fight, it was for something he did.

Every rep he did with Chihiro hurt that day. Spotting for him hurt that day. Someone looking at him wrong hurt that day.

Chihiro was bold enough to trust him with his secret, and someone like Mondo wouldn’t return the favor, even though not telling him fucking hurt.

He’s spent enough time hanging around Chi to be sure that if he knew, he’d immediately demand Mondo go home or go to a doctor. He was surprisingly forceful about other’s wellbeing for such a quiet person. But Mondo still couldn’t bring himself to open his mouth.

He really was a cowardly piece of shit.

The only surefire way of relief was heat.

When Mondo first figured this out, he practically lived in the bathtub. He didn’t even mind the burns he managed to give himself, just because different pain felt so much better than what he currently dealt with.

He did, however, mind the fucking water bill. Holy Shit.

It took a long time before he felt safe enough going to the Sauna again. He specifically chose right before it closed, when the place’d be a ghost town.

He checked which of his shirts didn’t get transparent when wet before going. Even though it’s probably empty, you can’t be too careful.

Once he realized that something about the sauna magically made the pain in his back lessen, he never wanted to leave.

He managed to convince the gang that wearing clothes into a fucking sauna was a feat of badassery and not cowardice. Some of the dumbasses even copied him. He can appreciate thoughtless loyalty like that.

Before the fight with one of Daiya’s fiercest rivals, he pulled Michi aside.

“If I die… Bury me in this jacket.”

Michi wasn’t the type to question orders. It was a valuable trait in a second in command, but not a leader.

“Boss, don’t worry about it! You’re too strong to die here.”

Mondo’s glare shut him up far too quickly.

“You got it. Buried with the jacket.”

[diracsea]

nhìn cái list mê quá nhưng tôi lại sắp thi huhu bây giờ mà nhảy vô cái hố này là chắc chắn không có điểm dừng =(((((((((

được rồi, để xem có cân được đến hết tháng không nhé :(((((((

Angstpril 2023 Starts Tomorrow!

Hey y’all! Just a friendly reminder that Angstpril 2023 starts tomorrow! You can find the prompt list and rules here. Please be sure to tag your works with the event tag and with all necessary content warnings. 

You can also submit works to the Ao3 collection here or by typing in angstpril_2023_chaos_company when posting your works.

Feel free to send in an ask if you have any questions!

Happy angsting :))

[christina-stark-skarlet-stileto]

Angstpril Day 1 Liar

Liar: Day One

There were days when it was rough, and he barely felt like fighting at all. When all he could think about were the lies and the pain from his past. There was a time when he thought the world was good and he had loving parents. Until that day. He was five years old walking down the street with his parents. They had told him they were taking him to a summer camp, and it would be fun. They had told him it would only be for a week, and that they would come get him. They dropped him off at a building. It was black and red, with silver accents. He was surprised he remembered it. When they went inside he was still naive enough to think that it was a summer camp. Then his parents left. He soon found that this was not a summer camp at all. He would train or he would be punished, so he trained his hardest to be the best. A year later he met Christina, his light in the darkness. They escaped five years after they met. He wondered where his parents were. What they were doing. So he researched them, and with the help of Christina and Tony he found them. What he found hurt. They were Hydra agents who had willingly given him to Hydra. He wasn't just taken by accident. They lied to his face, and as far as he could tell they had no remorse. He went downstairs and found Christina. He really didn't want to go anywhere, but they had school today. If he didn't get moving they would be late. She was standing at her dresser debating on what to do with her hair. He went and stood behind her putting his arms around her waist and resting his head on her shoulders. She looked up at him.

"You've been dwelling on it again haven't you."

"It's hard not to. I feel like I must have done something wrong to make them give away like that. Was I not good enough for them?" Damian replied.

" No Dami, they weren't good enough for you. They left you, it is their own fault not yours." Christina said, standing up and tilting his chin up to look at her.

"You are amazing, wonderful, trustworthy, my soulmate, my best friend, and technically my husband. Therefore no more putting yourself down. I love you. You're way better than they'll ever be."

Damian smiled,

"It's a good thing we found each other then, but today is just one of those days. School is going to be rough." He said. He started braiding her hair, and when he was done they walked out the door. They arrived at their school thankfully on time. Flash is still going to school even though he is still being sued by them. His ego is the only thing bigger than his attitude.

"If it isn't the little Parker and her orphan boyfriend. What happened? Did someone else leave you?" Flash asked, stepping closer to them.

"Flash stop, I just can't today." Damian replied, trying to deescalate the situation.

"What, did I hit too close to home? Oh wait, you don't have one do you." Flash taunted.

"For your information, Flash, he has a home. He lives with me at Stark Industries. He is, after all, my soulmate and fiancé. He also has family, so take your nonsense somewhere else." Christina interjected, Damian grabbing her hand for comfort. He was that close to flipping out and having a mental breakdown. Of course, Flash couldn't take the hint.

"Oh poor little West needs his girlfriend to stand up for him." Flash continued, ignoring the static growing in the air, and the storm clouds growing outside, As well as the fact that Damian's eyes had lightning crackling in them. He also ignored the frost on the windows, the temperature dropping, and the icy stare Christina threw him . Peter walked into the room as this was going on.

"Flash, I'm going to say this once. It takes a lot to make my sister angry. It takes even more to make her boyfriend this angry. You might want to run. What did you say?"

Flash being Flash thought Peter was actually asking him what he said, opened his mouth and repeated what he said. That was a horrible mistake. Flash started talking trash about Peter. He was still blissfully unaware that he just angered a fire-wielding spider-powered superhero who had a flaming temper, pun intended. He also infuriated a water- and ice-wielding spider-powered superhero, and her fiancé, the heir of Asgard, a lightning storm spider-powered superhero. The only good thing for Flash was that the spiders were not allowed to fight him back. If they did, they could give him wiggle room to escape getting sued. If they caused an elemental storm, it could be disastrous. Christina was looking for a way out and to their place, so she could calm Damian down before he accidentally electrocuted something. Finally, Flash was distracted, and she pulled Damian away down the hall. She walked into her Aunt Carol's classroom. Carol took one look at them and dismissed her class to the library.

"Need help, Chrissy?" She asked,

"Yeah, Aunt Carol, Flash is running his mouth about Damian's family. He was already upset about it before we got here, and Flash just made it ten times worse." Christina replied.

"Alright, well, try to calm him down. I'm going to excuse you from Mr. Harrington's class. Is MJ here today? Peter is probably going to need her after he finishes his chat with Flash." Carol asked

"Yeah I'm pretty sure she's here. We're going into the safe room and enabling the soundproofing. If you need to talk with us, use Korean please. He probably is not going to understand, but it's better than the class understanding us. He's been speaking Italian, so you could use that instead." Christina said.

"Why is he using Italian?" Carol asked.

"He goes all angry-Italian-Hebrew when he's mad. It's adorable under other circumstances. He even does the Italian hands when he's ranting." Christina laughed.

"Got it, see you later." Carol replies, as Christina opens the safe room door. Christina nods and drags Damian through the door. Once they enter the safe room Damian walks over to the punching bag. After he's sure the sound proofing is enabled, he punches it. He gets most of his anger out, and now he's just sad. His parents were liars. He was so sick and tired of it. Now other people were lying to him. Flash included. It hurt him. Why did the two people who raised him til he was five turn out to be liars? He hadn't told Christina yet, but someone had reached out to him asking to talk claiming she was his mother. She said his father died in a Shield raid, and that she regretted giving him away. What if she was still a liar? What if he got close to her and she lied again. Damian was fully sobbing now. Christina was the only one who ever saw him cry. She was the only one capable of calming him down. He hadn't realized he had been talking out loud until Christina put a hand on his back and said.

"Dami, look at me. Your mother may be a liar, and if she lies to you again I will personally put her in jail myself. But you deserve to at least have hope that she isn't. If you want to meet her I will set it up, okay?."

"I want to meet her, Ari. I really do, but I'm scared that she will lie to me, and then leave me again." Damian said, He had finally calmed down enough to speak. All the anger was gone, only the hurt remained.

[whumpflash]

Penumbra: Unspoken

for Angstpril, Day 2: Loss of Control (alt)

cw: torture, nonsexual nudity, death mentions

masterlist ///// next

§•§•§

"The Shadow King has fallen."

A phrase on everyone's lips, passed around like a greeting, a blessing, a well-wishing.

"The Shadow King has fallen, and we are free."

General Nisha was at the head of the makeshift procession that paraded through the city, enemy shields and helmets held high like banners.

The war for the kingdom had been waged for five years. The fields outside the city were red with blood. But they'd won, they'd won. The undead legions had met their defeat, and their dark king had been imprisoned and was awaiting trial.

There was little doubt what his fate would be.

But before he could be executed, certain matters needed to be addressed. There were whispers in the streets, rumors of secret blood rituals, fail-safes emplaced by the Dark King to ensure he'd always be able to rise to power again. And if these rumors were true, they must be destroyed.

There were holy mages in cities further from the capital, wise men who could draw truths from a person's mind, but it would be weeks before their arrival. For now, Cerus the Shadow King would face Nisha.

They held a meager feast in the reclaimed castle; the city was still suffering from being besieged. Knights and lords and commoners dined together in celebration. Once the evening had turned to drinking and song, General Nisha took their leave, making the long journey down the stairs, to the dungeons.

Cerus hadn't moved an inch from the spot he'd been left in, Nisha had seen to that personally. The ex-king was blindfolded, chained spread-eagled on the ground with an iron bit in his mouth. Knight's gauntlets had been fitted over his hands, their joints fused together to form immobile metal gloves.

One could never be too careful when dealing with a mage, especially one as powerful as the Shadow King.

Nisha said nothing at first, unlocking the cell door and circling the prisoner inside.

Cerus's breathing quickened at the sound, his long black hair plastered to his face with sweat. He wore nothing but his restraints, leaving the multitude of wounds he'd sustained during his capture plainly visible.

How should they proceed? Normally, allowing a captive mage to speak would be exceedingly dangerous, but Nisha had taken precautions. One of their mages had crafted a runed cuff that would sap Cerus's power. The real question was, how would they get the man to respond?

They knew appealing to Cerus's morality was a lost cause. The former king had no issue razing whole villages to eliminate a single rebel. He'd executed entire families, burned the crops of his own people. There was no hope of finding any humanity in him.

Pain could be a motivator, but it would take time. And they had time, but pain alone wouldn't be enough. Someone like Cerus would need to be wholly broken before he'd give them anything worthwhile. Now fear… fear would be a useful tool, but how to employ it?

Nisha supposed they were already making some headway with their silent circling. Now to heighten it…

They eyed the rack of implements that lined one of the stone walls, selecting a slim wooden rod that looked like it had been freshly cut. Someone had stocked the dungeon for the occasion, then.

They tested it, watching Cerus's chest hitch as it cut through the air with a swish. Good. Instead of bringing it down on his exposed flesh, Nisha resumed their circling, letting the anticipation rise for a long moment before hovering over one of the deeper wounds on the chained man's torso and slowly, slowly forcing the tip of the implement into it, increasing pressure until Cerus was screaming around the bit.

Then without a word, they withdrew, the tip of the rod now slick with blood as they continued circling.

How would it feel, they wondered, to be in the Dark King's place? Dethroned, rendered powerless, in the hands of enemies who were hungry for blood. A prisoner in his own dungeon. They imagined it was terrifying. They hoped it was terrifying.

Nisha stopped, found another wound, and repeated the slow, pressured prodding. None of the cuts that littered Cerus's body were too deep; a few still oozed blood, and a few looked like they'd require stitches—or at least they would were Nisha inclined to grant the man any sort of medical aid. No, if Cerus were to be healed, it would only be to allow more pain. He deserved no mercy.

Nisha allowed themselves a few more jabs, a few more screams elicited from the tyrant, before even bothering to lock the runed cuff onto his wrist. They already knew they'd be up well into the night, whether Cerus elected to respond to their questions or not.

Whatever answers they were granted, they couldn't deny that they were going to enjoy this.

[befuddled-calico-whump]

One Warning

for Angstpril, Day 27: Til Death Do Us Part (alt)

cw: alcohol/intoxication, stress position, noncon strip, noncon touch, manipulative whumper, fear/anticipation of and referenced noncon

previous ///// masterlist ///// next

•×•×•

Alexei's head was still spinning when he reached Titanium HQ. Not a new occurrence. Grabbing a drink or two after a mission had been normal before the Tower; nowadays it was practically a ritual.

Or in this case, a drink or six. Or seven. Maybe eight. He'd lost count. Lex would pay with a headache the next morning, and normally it would be worth it for the dreamless sleep and numbed thoughts, but tonight Spyglass had ruined his shaky grasp on tranquility.

Pestered him with talk of being good, of fighting back against Uriah, until he was ranting about his year in prison. The last thing he wanted to talk about, the last thing he wanted anyone to fucking hear about, but in the moment, he couldn't stop himself.

Lex tried to forget it on the way home, and it had all but trickled out of his thoughts as he trudged through the hall to his room.

Ball, call, doll, fall, he thought sleepily. As soon as he hit the bed, he'd be out like a light, and tomorrow the memory would be all the fuzzier.

But he could see light coming from under his bedroom door. And before he even reached out to push it open, he knew Uriah would be waiting for him on the other side.

"You ran into Spyglass." It wasn't a question. Uriah was reclining on Lex's bed, a narrow, stiff thing that looked sleek and futuristic but wasn't the least bit comfortable. His room was peppered with similar furnishings; the modern, fashionable stuff rich people liked to use in decorating. No carpet on the shiny wooden floor. No windows.

Lex stayed in the doorway, giving a sharp nod of acknowledgement. He really, really didn't want to do this right now. But what choice did he have?

"You didn't call me," Uriah continued.

"You never said that was part of my job. M' I supposed to notify you every time I see someone jaywalking too?" He made an effort to enunciate, to stand up straight, but the wry look that crossed Uriah's face told him it wasn't enough.

"Drunk again, Alexei?"

He didn't bother denying it. "Got a problem with that? I finished your fucking mission."

The other man shook his head, pushing himself up off the mattress. "Liquor always seems to sharpen your tongue. I'm not sure I like that," he said as he crossed the room. By now Lex knew not to try to shrink back when Uriah reached up to take a fistful of his jacket, pulling him closer until their faces were almost touching.

"Why didn't you tell me about Spyglass?"

"Y'figured it out on your own just fine. What, you need me to hold your fucking h—"

Uriah slapped him. Nothing hard, it barely stung, but it wasn't meant to hurt. It was just another way for Fox to remind him who was in charge here.

Glaring silently at the other man, Lex toyed with the idea of killing him. Right here, right now. He could do it. Might even be able to set the building on fire before they shocked him and beat the shit out of him and dragged him back to the Tower…

He inhaled a little too sharply at that thought, and he could've sworn Uriah flinched at the sound.

Ah. He knows it too.

"You said the rogue team was off the table," Lex said, dropping his voice to a low growl in an effort to seize onto the other man's momentary fear.

But Uriah was already back to his smarmy, composed self. "Hm, perhaps I wasn't clear enough. I won't send you after them, but I still expect you to report any sightings. They are a slippery bunch."

Lex clenched his jaw as Uriah reached for him again, this time smoothing the front of his jacket. "Noted."

"Excellent. Now why don't you take this off? You look uncomfortable."

He knew it wasn't a suggestion. Metal fingers fumbled for the zipper, and he dropped the jacket, making a point to ball it up and throw it into the corner as hard as he could. He left his tank top on, and Uriah didn't say anything about that. Not yet.

"Before I let you sleep, I have one more thing I'd like to discuss. Come have a seat."

As he followed Fox to the bed, a dozen worst-case scenarios flashed through his head, a growing sense of unease momentarily sobering him up, but making the twisting in his stomach that much worse. He sat at the foot of the bed, as far from the other man as possible.

"What were you and Spyglass discussing?" Uriah asked. "I was only able to pick up one half of the conversation."

Lex tried to recall what he'd said, if there was any way he could twist the topic into something that wouldn't give up any of the woman's plans to Uriah, assuming he didn't already know them. He shrugged.

"I was a few drinks in. Kinda fuzzy."

"I see. Then I suppose I'll have to remind you. It sounded like she was asking for your help."

(Kelp, whelp, yelp.) Lex swallowed. "Maybe."

"Well fortunately for you, you turned her down spectacularly," Uriah said. "If the conversation ended there, I'd be in here to reward you for your loyalty."

The mention of loyalty was enough to spike Lex's nausea, but worse than that was what came before. The 'if'.

"But you warned her when you left, Alexei," Uriah continued. "You told her I was listening. You told her to run. And while I can forgive the mistake of not reporting her in the first place, I can't overlook a deliberate sabotage."

Lex could barely hear the last few words over the blood rushing in his ears. His mouth had gone dry. It wasn't enough, was it? One warning wasn't enough for Uriah to send him back, was it?

He wouldn't go. He'd go down fighting, he'd take Uriah with him, he'd burn Titanium down and let it collapse over him. He wouldn't go back. He couldn't go back.

He flinched as Uriah laid a hand on his shoulder, barely able to restrain himself from grabbing the appendage and crushing it.

"You're trembling, Alexei. Are you so afraid of discipline?"

(Flayed, braid, delayed). He didn't dare to look up. "Don't send me back," he whispered. "I-it won't happen again. I'll follow orders."

Uriah chuckled. "Send you back? No. You're still of use to me, and besides, I like you."

The stomach-turning slickness of his tone was nothing compared to the wave of relief that washed over Lex. It took a lot to not slump forward and hold his head in his hands.

"But this kind of incident can't go unpunished," Uriah continued. "Stand up."

Lex did. The sudden wave of fear had sharpened his wits, but his body was still sluggish and swaying, and his head spun as he got to his feet.

"Strip," Uriah said, and he fought through his discomfort as he obeyed, pulling his tank top over his head, fumbling with buttons and zippers until his pants fell, and stepping out of his boots. Better to not dwell on it. To not think at all. Not give Uriah a reason to do anything else.

"I said, strip."

A moment's hesitation, and then Lex was removing his boxers as well, tossing them with the rest of his clothes, then just standing there. Too aware of Uriah's eyes on him, too proud to try and cover himself, no matter how much his skin was crawling.

"Come here." Uriah patted the mattress beside him. This time, the hesitation lasted longer, and when Lex finally began to take small steps towards the bed, he had to resist the urge to squeeze his eyes shut.

There was a small jingling noise as Uriah thrust a hand into his pocket, retrieving a heavy pair of handcuffs. He gestured with his head. "Up to the headboard. Hands behind your back."

Lex bit down on the inside of his cheek, seeking anything to distract himself. It's fine, it's fine, it's not the Tower, it could be worse, it was worse there—

Uriah locked one cuff on. Lex couldn't feel it, but he could hear the clash of metal on metal.

"If you fight me, I'll make this worse," Uriah said, and Lex almost laughed. How many times had he heard that one?

The other man stood on the bed, pulling Lex's arms back and upwards, until his own weight was a strain on his shoulders.

He heard the click of the other cuff locking, but it was a distant sound. He was too focused on the wrinkles on the bedsheets, scattered across the mattress like cracks on cloth.

But the unwanted touch he was bracing himself for never came. Uriah's weight left the bed, and for a moment he just stood beside it, looking Lex over.

"I hope this gives you plenty of time to think about where your loyalties lie," he said, patting Lex's bare thigh. It seemed more condescending than anything else; an odd thing to feel relieved over.

Now that the threat had passed, Lex was becoming aware of the building tension in his shoulders. The only way to ease it completely would be to stand up on the mattress, and even then he'd be forced to duck his head to avoid hitting the ceiling.

"I hope you never forget again," Uriah said as he stepped out, pulling the door after him. "You're mine, Alexei. Goodnight."

It was only a few minutes before his residual arms started to go numb. This punishment would be hell for the night, and he'd probably need to see the company healer for his shoulders in the morning, but he'd take it over others.

Over so many others.

•×•×•

@whumpacabra @enteredin2eternity @kixngiggles @whumpsday @kiichu @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @shywhumpauthor @distinctlywhumpthing

[monthly-writing-challenges]

About the Blog!

This blog is an attempt to collate and collect all the non-fandom-specific (writing) challenges hosted annually during specific months posted on tumblr - it is not an attempt to take credit for any of these challenges! Please follow the actual blogs of the challenges you're interested in participating in and check out their individual prompt challenge rules!!

There are many, many more writing challenges out there than these monthly challenges, if you're looking (daily prompts, yearly prompts, fandom specific challenges, etc.). If you know of a challenge that hasn't made it to this blog and fits the above criteria, please let me know, I'm happy to share it.

Monthly prompt blogs for the next three months (Feb. 2025 - Apr. 2025):

February 2025:

@febuwhump! Category: whump. FAQ. Running since 2022. 2025 status: prompts are posted. [Type: prompt-a-day]

@feveruary! Category: sick fics. FAQ. First year running! 2025 status: prompts are posted. [Type: prompt-a-day]

@femslashfeb! Category: romance (specifically F/F romance). Running since 2017. 2025 status: prompts are posted. [Type: prompt-a-day]

@fluffyfebruary! Category: fluff. Running since 2021. 2025 status: prompts are posted. [Type: prompt-a-day]

@fluffruaryprompts! Category: fluff. Running since 2024. 2025 status: on hiatus this year (previous prompts are re-posted). [Type: prompt-a-day]

@fluffbruary! Category: fluff. Running since 2022. 2025 status: prompts are posted. [Type: prompt-a-day]

@februaryficletchallenge! Category: quick ficlets - prompts are released day of. Running since 2019. 2025 status: will be returning. [Type: prompt-a-day]

Finding February by @monthlywritingchallenges! Category: discovery. First year running! 2025 status: prompts are posted. [Type: prompt-a-day]

18+ only challenge. @kinkuary! Running since 2021. 2025 status: prompts are posted. [Type: prompt-a-day, 18+]

FLUFF-uary by @ir0n-angel! Running since 2020. 2025 status: prompts are posted. [Type, prompt-a-day]

March 2025:

The Whumps of March by @storyweaverofgondor! Category: themed whump. Running since 2024. 2025 status: prompts are posted. [Type: prompt-a-day]

@whumpthemusical! Category: whump. Running since 2024. 2025 status: unknown. [Type: prompt-a-day]

Multiamory March by @polyamships! Category: romance (specifically polyamory). Running since 2021. 2025 status: prompts are posted. [Type: prompt-a-day]

@marchwhumpness! Category: whump. First year running! 2025 status: prompts are posted. [Type: prompt-a-day]

@marchofpain! Category: hurt/comfort/whump. Running since 2024. 2025 status: uncertain. [Type: prompt-a-day]

Match March by @monthlywritingchallenges Category: relationships. First year running! 2025 status: prompts are posted. [Type: prompt-a-day]

April 2025:

@whumpril! Category: whump. Running since 2023. 2025 status: will be returning. [Type: prompt-a-day]

Angstpril by @chaos-company! Category: angst. Running since 2021. 2025 status: will be returning. [Type: prompt-a-day]

@aprilisthecruelestmonth! Category: whump. Running since 2024. 2025 status: prompts are posted. [Type: prompt-a-day]

Check out the active and inactive challenge lists for other months!

[solar-siren]

Angstpril Day Thirteen: Recovery

“I think he’s coming around,” a voice says. Tron’s inputs reboot too slowly; he can’t make out who that is or their location on the system. 

A hand touches his shoulder, gentle, and suddenly he has more power. The world comes into sharper focus. His User smiles down at him.

“Welcome back,” Alan-One greets.

Tron whirrs, still lagging. Back? Had he gone somewhere? 

“Just take it easy. The medics said it’ll take some time for the new code to sync properly. Try not to move around too much.”

Everything seems to ache in agreement. Tron sits up, carefully, taking in the stark whiteness of the room. He’s in a med center, then. He tries not to sigh. He hates these places. 

“What happened?” he asks. 

“You lost a fight.”

Tron startles at the second voice. He hadn’t noticed Sam was here—a testament to his damaged state. Far more alarming than that, though, is the expression on his counterpart’s face. Sam is reserved somehow. Distant. Crammed into a chair in the corner, he can’t seem to look Tron in the eye. And he doesn’t sound happy. 

Alan looks between them. 

“You were injured,” he says, carefully. “There was a virus on the Grid. You managed to take it out, but…” He’d been outmatched by sheer brute strength. He remembers now. He almost wishes he didn’t. Alan doesn’t bother finishing the thought. “What matters is that you’re alright now.” He smoothes a hand through Tron’s hair, oddly paternal, and the program is too tired to resist leaning into it. “I’ll let you two talk,” Alan says. And then he leaves, taking every trace of warmth with him.

“Sam?” Tron says. His voice comes out smaller than he means for it to. Sam steps forward, still eyeing the floor. 

“I’m glad you’re alright.” He takes Tron’s hand, and the contact is desperate for all that his voice is detached. “But I’m also… frustrated.”

“With me?”

“A little.” Sam runs an errant hand through his hair. It looks like he’s been doing that a lot lately. “Do you know what Klax said? That you were alone when you provoked that thing. You called it in, but you didn’t wait for backup. All the security programs we’ve brought in—there was no excuse for you to do something like that.”

Sam does meet Tron’s eyes then. Far more than he looks angry, he looks hurt. Tron blinks.

“I’m not designed to find threats and wait. My directive—”

“No. Don’t give me that. We both know you’re capable of thinking, Tron. You don’t have to throw yourself at threats blindly. Which is why I can’t understand why you did this.”

Abraxas, Tron thinks. That’s the answer, even if he hadn’t realized it at the time. 

“Clu’s attack started with a virus,” he says, before he can change his mind. “He released a virus on the Grid to create chaos before he turned on Flynn. It destroyed nearly all of the other system monitors. Including one that had just been rezzed that cycle in order to assist me specifically.”

Anon had been so young, had had such promise. Such personality, even though they couldn’t speak. They kept fighting for the Grid even after Tron fell. They died protecting the system. 

“I didn’t know that,” Sam says quietly.

Tron shrugs minutely. It hurts. “I never told you.” 

He doesn’t like to talk about it. He doesn’t like to think about it. It’s just one more failure to add to the pile. 

So was this; but he can still learn from it. 

“You’re right,” he says, squeezing Sam’s hand. “I realize now that I should have been more careful. But when I saw that virus I just—reacted. I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

Sam sits next to him on the bed. “I understand that. But I don’t want you getting hurt, either. I–I was stuck in a meeting when the medics pinged me. I didn’t see it until almost an hour later. Do you know what that felt like? To get a message saying you needed me right now , and realize nearly three days had passed already? I thought—” Tron’s core aches as his voice breaks. “You are not expendable. Do you hear me? If anything happened to you, I don’t know what I would do.”

He understands, feels the same way about Sam. But.

“My function is dangerous,” he says. That isn’t something he can change.

“I know. And I don’t blame you for that. But you can control whether or not you throw yourself into danger needlessly, without help or a plan.” Sam wraps a careful arm around him, nuzzles close as he lies back beside him. “Please don’t ever scare me like that again.”

Tron holds him back, but says nothing. He isn’t sure that’s a promise he could keep.

[psychologeek]

I DID A THING!

(well, another thing)

Or: jason share his feelings about "Frankenstein".

For Angspril23, day 14: Cruelty