Mar 1, 2023
Angstpril 2023
Hi everyone!
It’s that time of year again! We are excited to announce that we are hosting the event again this year!
All prompts, FAQs and rules can be found in the graphics and below the cut!
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Angstpril 2023
Hi everyone!
It’s that time of year again! We are excited to announce that we are hosting the event again this year!
All prompts, FAQs and rules can be found in the graphics and below the cut!
Abandoned
For Angstpril, Day 6
cw: aftermath of torture, mentioned hand whump, death mention
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Hero was troubled.
It wasn't the fight. He'd gotten better of the five supervillain-wannabes without breaking a sweat, stripped them of the tech they were using, and watched as they were all led away in handcuffs.
He'd dusted himself off, briefed law enforcement on the scenario, then started collecting the gear the criminals had used so it could be turned in as evidence.
It wasn't until he was holding the first piece—a cuff that let its wearer manipulate electricity—that Hero's blood ran cold. It was inch-for-inch identical to something he'd seen Villain use.
He collected the rest of the gear in a hurry, giving each item a quick once-over, and each piece further confirmed his suspicion.
Villain had made the tech that outfitted the aspiring criminals of the day. Dammit. He should've realized this was bigger than an attempted robbery. Villain was always a step ahead.
And he'd been missing for months. Plenty of time to plan something big. How many other petty criminals had he outfitted in that time? Would the city see a spike in crime? Or…
A chill washed over Hero as he remembered the last time he'd seen Villain. Running away, tail between his legs after a crushing defeat at Hero's hands.
Was this revenge? Had the robbery been a distraction?
He handed the rest of the gear off quickly, trying not to let the worry show on his face as he took off.
What if Villain had attacked his base? His team? His family? Even in route, he called back to the team's headquarters in a hurry.
Bar Stools
Summary: After Obi-Wan’s funeral, Anakin goes to a bar. He encounters someone unexpected. (Angst April, 2k words)
“I was surprised to see you there,” Anakin says, without really knowing why he’s saying it. “At the funeral. It was invitation only.”
“And obviously, I was invited,” Satine replies. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well, weren’t you and Obi-Wan…don’t the Jedi kind of…?”
"Obi-Wan was right, you are a bit awkward about all this, aren’t you?”
Keep reading
Angstpril 2023 Day 1 Prompt: Liar
tw: character having trouble breathing, open ending
Obi-Wan knew, from the moment that he agreed to take on this mission, that it would be difficult.
Faking his death, having to pretend to be someone he wasn't for the sake of his own survival, having to interact with the likes of Cad Bane and Count Dooku himself without getting his cover blown…
Well, he knew from the beginning that it would not be easy.
But none of that was as difficult as it was to return.
The transformation from Rako Hardeen back to his own body was uncomfortable — painful, leaving him shaky and somewhat feverish. The vocal emulator wreaked damage to his vocal chords, and Master Che had confirmed that there was likely some infection in his throat that she'd like to monitor over the coming days.
Which obviously meant that he was stuck in the Halls for now. It wasn't ideal, but considering the fact that he couldn't keep down most foods because of his throat and his entire body ached any time he tried to move at all, he supposed it made sense.
Obi-Wan didn't exactly like it, but even that wasn't the worst part.
Penumbra: Unchained
for Angstpril, Day 5: (alt) Serious Injury
cw: torture, hand whump, general brutality, broken bones
previous ///// masterlist ///// next
§•§•§
Two priests, each trained in truth and the magic of the mind, were but a few days' journey away, and Cerus remained as stubborn as ever.
The fallen king had been a prisoner for weeks now, denied all but that which kept him alive and under constant abuse at the hands of the guards. Beaten and tortured, then healed only to have the cycle start anew. And despite it all, he refused to yield even an inch.
Every time Nisha removed the bit, they were met with curses and threats and insults. It didn't matter if they were asking questions or offering sustenance. Cerus would not bow.
Though they knew the soon-to-arrive priests would take care of the kingdom's worries of blood magic, Nisha still felt as if they'd failed at their task. Granted, they knew it wasn't wholly their fault. Breaking a man took time, especially someone so steeped in pride and immorality as Cerus, but despite that, they wished they could've given the holy mages someone more…pliable to work with.
Perhaps they still could.
Angstpril 2023 Day One: Liar
There were very few things in life that Eadwulf insisted upon without any chance of compromise. Choosing battles was a matter of survival under the tutelage of Master Ikithon; incurring punishment was easy enough to do even without the added risk that stubbornness presented. To resist bending only made it inevitable that one would eventually have to break, and as far as Eadwulf was concerned, the world offered little of great enough importance to justify tempting that fate.
It was not an oath made lightly, then, when he promised that he would return every day that he was able to one particular cell in the depths of Vergesson Sanatorium.
Astrid refused to speak to him for weeks after the incident, after what he did that night to save her from a fate far worse than a scar. So, with no one there to swear it to, he made his promise to the gods themselves.
He knelt on the floor of his bedroom, hands clasped together in his lap. Outside the small window above his bed, the cool light of the nearly-full moon fanned out across the skies, setting the shadowed room aglow with the night’s ghostly haze. His gaze settled on the nearest mountain peaks; ancient and immense and unmoving, he thought they must be the closest things to gods he would ever lay his eyes on. When thoughts of his past, of his people, of his own actions that night threatened to creep to the front of his mind, he pressed them back into the darkness of memory. They were gone now; there was nothing more to be done for them. Instead, he turned his thoughts again to Bren, to bright red hair and wild eyes and roaring flames and the crack of rock against bone.
“If I condemned him to this fate,” he whispered, so quiet it was more thought than speech, “let me be the one to see him through it.”
Freedom
Sansa Stark x Sandor Clegane
Freedom from Ramsay and freedom to choose who she wants.
Notes: Set after Theon and Sansa escape Winterfell. Sandor finds them on their way to the Wall. Sansa is a woman, not a little bird. She is savvy and traumatized at the same time. I haven't written Sansan in a hot minute so I hope you enjoy.
For Angstpril Day 19, Breaking Down.
CW: This is SFW. Mentions of past abuse. Implied dog death.
ASOIAF Masterlist
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Sandor
Sandor was with Brother Ray’s community when he heard about Sansa’s marriage to Ramsay Bolton. The small family that had joined them at the fire that evening had no idea of the effect of their words. Before the sun had set Sandor was on his way North. He knew, despite their years apart, that Sansa would never agree to marry into the family that had betrayed her own with the Red Wedding; and if she didn’t agree then she was forced. Never again. A changed man he may be, but that only made his sins stand out all the more in his mind. Being complicit in her abuse was one of his worst, and he had never been able to erase Sansa from his mind.
In the end, Sansa escaped Ramsay on her own, with the unlikely help of Theon Greyjoy. When Sandor finally found them, they were nearly frozen and surrounded by growling hounds and brutal men. Sansa was backed against a rocky outcrop with Theon before her, wielding a torch. There was terror in Sansa’s face, and it was enough to make him see red, but there was determination too. As he watched she reached down to grip a large stone in each hand. He thought she wouldn’t be taken without one hell of a fight. So, the little bird had grown talons. Good.
He jumped from his mount and slew two of the bastards with his axe before they even knew he was there. Theon took up a dead man’s sword and helped, swinging clumsily but with grim intent at dogs and men. In a matter of moments it was over. Blood soaked the snow, and the remaining hounds had fled.
Sansa looked up at him, dropping her rocks as her eyes widened in recognition. He stepped toward her, wanting to reassure her, but before he could speak Theon stepped in front of Sansa. This close the size difference between the two men was almost painfully obvious. Nevertheless, Theon stood his ground, “I know you. Cersei’s Hound. Back away from Lady Sansa.”
Sandor would have laughed under different circumstances. The boy looked half-starved, yet when Sandor stayed his ground Theon raised his sword. Sandor took one step backwards, “I don’t work for the Lannisters anymore. The Lady has nothing to fear from me.”
Sansa gave him an appraising stare. She was thin and pale, but she looked him right in the eye. Then she stepped up to Theon’s side, touching his shoulder, “It’s all right Theon. He won’t hurt me.”
She took another step forward, standing tall, “Thank you for the rescue. Seems I’ve said those words before.”
“Aye.” No time for the past now. “We need to move. It’s not safe to linger here. This meat will draw back the dogs, and men as well.”
Sansa nods, accepting him without further questions. They mount on the Bolton men’s horses and Sandor looks at her. “Where are we going?”
“The Wall.”
Sandor simply pulls his horse’s head around, clicks his tongue at the animal, and they move out.
They ride hard for the rest of the day. Theon leads, as he grew up in the north, and Sandor takes the rear. Finally, late in the night, they make camp so the horses can rest. Theon glares at him when he moves toward Sansa with the intention of helping her off her horse, but strangely he doesn’t touch her either, allowing Sansa to slide off the mount herself, and only steadying her when her legs threaten to give as she lands. They aren’t near a road and after finding a place surrounded by boulders, they decide they can risk a fire. No one can see the smoke at night and none of them relish freezing to death. They drink snow and Sandor passes around jerky for them to chew on.
After a moment Theon stands. “I’ll take first watch,” He looks to Sansa. “Call if you need me. I won’t be far.”
“Yes, thank you.”
Theon nods and moves outside the ring of boulders.
Only the crackling fire breaks the silence for long minutes. Sansa stares into it, and doesn’t look up when she asks, “Why are you here?”
Sandor sees no reason to deny it, “I came for you. Knew you would never wed a Bolton willingly.”
If Sansa is surprised by this she doesn’t show it. “Why?” she asks again.
How can he explain it? That he has never stopped thinking about her. That he hates himself for what happened to her. It sounds foolish at best. He settles on a simple truth. “I want to help you. I should have done more for you, before.”
Sansa glances at him, and the corner of her mouth turns up, “So, you thought of me?”
Thought of her! Gods, if only she knew the countless hours he spent thinking of her. He thought of her as he lay alone at night, looking up at the stars. He thought of her as he decimated trees with his axe. She was his last thought when he was dying under that cursed oak. Arya… No. He would tell her what he knew of her sister soon, but not now. They have their own business to deal with first.
He takes so long in answering that she continues, “I’ve thought of you. Your voice, your advice has been with me. Thank you for that.”
He scoffs, “Don’t thank me, woman. I was a coward drowning in wine when you knew me last.”
She stiffens at his response and turns to face him. “Fine. You don’t want thanks. What do you want?”
Sandor meets her eyes, his voice deep and even, “I want to see you safe and well.”
“Safe and well?” Now it was her turn to scoff, “I’d say you’re far too late for that, ser.”
He doesn’t correct the title, taking it for the slight it was intended to be, and he turns back toward the fire ashamed. In truth he would see her more than safe. If the gods were good she would have been happy. She would have remained innocent; her pure, rare goodness untarnished by abuse and captivity.
Sandor is distracted by his guilt, but his head whips up at a tiny sound from Sansa. He is shocked to see her stony façade has cracked. Her hands are trembling where they lay in her lap, and as he watches tears pool in her eyes. Before he can stop himself, he moves to sit beside her.
“Who hurt you? I’ll kill them,” he growls.
*****
Sansa
She doesn’t answer. It all comes back to her. Littlefinger’s unwelcome touches; the fear, humiliation, and pain Ramsay brought. It is too much and Sandor is too near, the warm bulk of him recalling a security she hadn’t felt since her father passed. It was the safe and solid presence of a male who wouldn’t hurt her. She knows Sandor would never hurt her. He had the opportunity during the Blackwater and even drunk and frightened he didn’t do it. He offered to take her away. And Sansa feels herself giving in at last. She is so tired, and she has been strong for so long. Unable to mourn for so long. As the first hot tears run down her cheeks Sansa leans into him and presses her face against the leather of his shoulder. She feels him stiffen at first, but soon he draws his cloak around her shoulders and pulls her close as she cries.
After a time, Sansa wipes her eyes and lifts her head, but stays close under the cloak. “When we reach the Wall, Sandor, I would like you to stay.”
He tightens his arm just a fraction, “I am yours, my lady. For as long as you’ll have me.”
Sansa nods before resting her head against him once more, “Good.”
*****
Theon
When Theon hears a sob he stands abruptly, ready to die if he must, but the scene is not what he expects. The Hound, a man of fearsome reputation, is cradling Sansa gently in his arms. Sansa is actually allowing herself to be touched by a virtual stranger. He doesn’t understand. But if he has learned anything it is that he is a fool, so he merely turns back toward the darkness and takes up his watch again.
technically
for Angstpril Day 1: Liar Obi-Wan is asked to take on another facial transformation mission that may ruin his already-strained relationship with Anakin.
For the hundredth time, Obi-Wan wondered if he was doing the right thing.
By this point, Obi-Wan knew this thought was becoming performative. A dilemma posed for his own sanity. This was because he had precedent for this particular type of betrayal.
His relationship with Anakin never fully recovered from the last time he died.