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!)
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
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.
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.
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.
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…”
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”
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
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,
