#angstpril day three

[fanfictasia]

Angstpril Day 3

Broken-Hearted

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from Turn Back Time

“You can leave if that is what you want to do,” Anakin tells Fox, meeting his gaze firmly. He already knows the answer, but this is a choice he has to offer. He wished for years that someone would be willing to give him the same. He longed for someone, for there to be someone who loved him enough to free him, or maybe even someone who tried because they were foolish enough to believe it was the right thing to do.

For decades, he had nothing, no one, and every time he reached out, it just got… worse.

He knows he doesn’t deserve it, never deserved to be free, but now that he is, he’ll give the same chance to everyone he can.

Even to Fox.

Fox, who set everything in motion when he killed Fives.

Fives, who was the one person who could have saved everyone. He could have saved Anakin, the Jedi, the entire galaxy from the fate they endured.

Fives.

Anakin’s best friend. His brother. His – he may not have been the one always at his side in the same way Rex was, but Fives was Fives, and he was a friend. Maybe the only one who hadn’t held care for rank and status. Fives.

A genius, the one reckless and chaotic enough to match with Anakin’s perfectly.

There hadn’t been a single minute since his death that the image of Fives’ falling body, a hole in his chest hasn’t haunted Anakin.

That seeing Rex hold him, that feeling his warm presence fade away hasn’t burned in the forefront of his mind.

Fives, who died trying to free his brothers, all the ones that Anakin unknowingly helped enslave.

“You don’t have to stay here,” Anakin repeats, “I know you don’t know any other life, but you can learn if that is what you want. All of you.”

In a different lifetime, he killed Fox in a moment of blind fury. He’d failed and he nearly had Vader killed. He had the clones fight him, and Vader had been… angry.

It was so soon after Mustafar.

The rage and pain were smothering, and nothing could stop him from lashing out. He knew it was a clone, and that he shouldn’t hurt him, but that was just one of the many mistakes Vader made. He killed Fox. He kept him from the chance at survival and redemption – if the person who murdered Fives could truly be redeemed. That was Anakin’s choice, and Fives would want him alive.

He would never have wanted any of his brothers hurt, no matter who they were or how awful they were. He was the one who stood by Dogma the entire time after Umbara, no matter how he was the one insisting on Fives’ execution. Fives wouldn’t want Fox dead, and Anakin – knows what it’s like to kill people. He knows how it feels to kill those in his family, who deserve so much better than what he did to them.

He owes Fox this, and all of the Coruscant Guard deserve a chance at being free. They deserve a chance to live, and Anakin has to give them one. He’s the only one who can.

[whumpflash]

Penumbra: Unless

for Angstpril, Day 22: Shadow of Former Self

cw: war/death mentions, beating, referenced broken bones

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

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There was much to be done within the central city, even after Cerus was taken care of. Rebuild, relieve, reform. It was months before Tansy started looking toward home, and the journey there would be longer still, but eventually, as the summer came to a close, they turned to the road. It was time to do their own rebuilding.

The first sight of the coast filled them with a mixture of joy and sadness. How young they'd been, the last time they'd seen the ocean. A glance over their shoulder as they ran, blurred by tears.

Gone were the days when they'd spend all afternoon on their father's fishing boat, when they'd come home to their mother cooking, when they'd chase their siblings through the tide, splashing and looking for seashells.

Their grief for everything that could never be again wasn't as sharp as it had once been, now replaced with something hollow. An emptiness in their chest that could never be filled.

Tansy still had family in the little coastal village; people to come home to, which was more than some of their fellow soldiers could say. Their great-uncle's house was smaller than they'd remembered, but wasn't that how it always was with childhood memories?

Now that the war was over, it was time to try and settle down and remember how life carried on. Realize how many slow, small moments there really were in a day, so much more noticeable when you weren't just trying to stay alive, so much more beautiful.

Great-Uncle Aldon had managed to keep a fishing boat safely out of the reach of the war, and despite being well into his seventies, tended to the nets day in and out. Tansy mostly kept to the house; mending torn nets, cooking, and keeping things tidy. They weren't ready to climb aboard the vessel without their father just yet.

One evening, a fortnight or two from the day they'd returned, they picked up a parcel of clams from the market; a meal they were looking forward to, as the central city had been too far inland to receive any fresh seafood. It was dusk when they started the long walk back to the house, and a freezing, late-fall rain had begun. Tansy's cloak was heavy, but not waterproof, and they did their best to keep under the awnings of the merchants.

As they passed the shipyard, they paused to watch half-constructed vessels bob in the stormy water. Beautiful as it was dangerous. Were they not eager to get home and cook dinner, they would've found a better spot to watch the rolling of the dark waves.

They started off, but a figure near the ships caught their eye; stick-thin, in soaked clothing that didn't look at all appropriate for the weather, struggling under the weight of several wooden planks.

Odd. Most of the shipwrights knew the climate well, and wouldn't be caught in a storm without adequate layers. They watched as the figure stumbled, scattering their heavy load across the pier. Tansy started forward to help them, but another dock worker got there first.

A shock ran through them as the worker began to beat the person on the ground, shouting words that were drowned out by the storm. For a moment, Tansy was frozen in place. They'd never seen cruelty such as this, not in their village. Had the war really changed the people so drastically?

"Stop!" they shouted, their clam dinner forgotten as they charged out into the rain. The worker froze, looking more surprised than angry as Tansy moved to stand in front of the fallen figure.

"Leave them alone."

The worker shook their head, turning to leave. "Too cold out for this shite. Get a move on! Weather's no excuse." The last command seemed directed at the person on the ground, but the worker didn't wait for acknowledgement, disappearing into the dockside shack.

Tansy turned to kneel beside the person, who was still curled tightly on the ground, hands balled into fists, covering their face protectively. With a start, they realized what they'd assumed to be gloves were actually the person's bare hands, black as coal and crooked, like the bones had been broken and healed improperly—

"Cerus?" they said, barely able to hear their own voice above the rainfall. The man on the ground seemed to catch the name anyway, flinching away like it was a weapon Tansy wielded.

Oh gods, it was him. The Shadow King, the tyrant, trembling before them on the ground. The catalyst of the war, the thief who'd stolen Tansy's family— they wanted to run, forget they'd ever seen him here, but they couldn't bring themselves to turn away.

Because it was clear to them now that the Council had indeed sentenced Cerus to death. A slow, drawn-out death, to be carried out in silence, with no ceremony, no recognition. Tansy doubted the fallen ruler would live through the winter… unless he had help.

And who would help him? they thought, even as they knelt. Who would help him, if I turned my back?

"Cerus," they said again, taking a great effort to shape their tone into something resembling gentleness. A single gray eye peered warily at them from beneath dark hair. Someone had cut it, they realized, and not with a careful hand. 

Tansy sighed. "Do you have a place away from the rain?"

The response was a rattling breath, an almost inaudible, "I have nothing."

Those words, hollow and hopeless, pierced Tansy like an arrow. In that instant, it didn't matter who he was, who he'd been. In that instant, Cerus was just another human who was suffering, and Tansy was so tired of watching people suffer.

"Then come with me," Tansy said, holding out their hand. 

Without a word, perhaps because he thought he had no choice but to obey, perhaps out of desperate hope that someone cared whether he lived or died, Cerus took it.

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@whumpwillow @rabbitdrabbles @kixngiggles

[the-little-moment]

Angstpril Day 22: Little One

Prompt: Drained

Words: 745

Summary: When everything becomes too much, Cadet Hunter, his brothers, and their favorite doctor help Tech through a meltdown.

Senna straightened from her computer in shock when the small clone burst into her office, dark curls escaping from his bandana. 

“It’s Tech,” Hunter panted, looking like he’d run all the way. “There’s something wrong with him. Can you come?”

The doctor rose immediately to join him by the door, her unfinished forms forgotten. “Where is he?” She bent to meet the boy’s wild eyes. “Is he conscious, breathing?”

“Our barracks. Yes, it’s—it’s not like that.” The cadet’s face twisted in dismay, fingers tense and fidgeting at the hem of his tunic. “He—I couldn’t get him to come with me. Crosshair and Wrecker are watching him.”

“Come on then.”

Senna snatched her travel kit from the couch as Hunter practically fled her office, leading her out of the medbay and down the hall towards the cadet barracks, dodging past older clones who parted, wide-eyed for the doctor in his wake.  

Inside the boys’ room, she paused while her eyes adjusted to the dimness. “Over here!” Hunter beckoned from the edge of a bunk across the room where the object of his panic sat, knees to forehead, skinny arms wrapped tight around his legs. Wrecker and Crosshair were looking up at her with frightened eyes. They made room for the doctor on the bed beside their brother.

Senna lowered herself onto the bunk next to the young clone, setting her kit on the floor. “Tech, sweetheart, can you tell me what’s wrong?” He hadn’t moved as she’d sat down, not reacting at all to the sound of her voice. She looked him over for any obvious injuries.

“What happened?” She turned to the others.

Hunter bit his lip. “He just shut down like that. He was angry that he couldn’t get his pad to work and then he went all quiet. We didn’t…do so great in training today.” The last part was almost a whisper. 

“But he didn’t get hurt?”

“I don’t think so.” Senna could see frustrated tears building in the boy’s eyes as he tried to answer her questions. Behind him, Wrecker shook his head in fervent confirmation. Crosshair was quiet, eyes fixed on Tech.

She laid a hand on Hunter’s shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Tech?” Turning back to her patient, Senna lightly touched his arm, pulling away when he made a low moan. He suddenly began to rock back and forth on the bunk, pulling in an occasional gasping breath. As she watched, his grip on his sleeves grew alarmingly tight. 

Oh.

“Boys,” the doctor lowered her voice as she faced the others, “you’ve done a great job, but if you could go sit at the table, I think your brother could use some space.”

They obeyed, and Senna shifted to the other end of the mattress. “Sweetheart,” she murmured to the small cadet, “I’m right here. Everything is fine. You’re safe.” The lights are down, it’s quiet, just give him some time.

She leaned back against the wall, smiling calmly at the three brothers on the bench and continuing in the same soft voice, “We’re just gonna be quiet a little while for Tech, okay?”

Their heads bobbed earnestly.

Ten minutes passed while Senna willed herself to exude serenity. When a shaky sigh was heard, she turned back to Tech. He’d stopped his anxious movements, but his head was still buried in his arms. “Tech?”

“I’m sorry, Senna.” His thin voice was worn with exhaustion.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, little one. I understand.” She raised her hand, then paused, “Do you mind if I touch you?”

The boy unfolded, revealing a tear-stained face beneath his large goggles. Tech wiped his nose on his sleeve and shook his head, still not meeting her eyes. Senna touched his shoulder gently, pleased when he didn’t flinch. “It’s alright, dear.” She was surprised when he turned and pressed himself into her side, his forehead against her collarbone. His delicate hands were tucked between them and she sighed in relief as her arms came up to hold him. 

Senna stroked Tech’s soft, brown hair as his brothers made an apprehensive approach. Bolstered by the doctor’s smile and lifted arm, Wrecker immediately snuggled into her other side. Hunter took his place next to Tech, one small hand on his brother’s back, and Crosshair climbed onto the far end of the bed, not touching anyone, but still wanting to be close. 

“You boys did such a good job.” Senna sighed again as she let her eyes close, just for a bit, she told herself. Then she’d go back to those karking forms. “Thank you for helping me.”

This one was more whump or hurt/comfort than angst, but that's okay 😅. I love the little Batch so much, especially little Tech.

8 more days of Angstpril! 😳 As always, the rest of the fics from this collab can be found by following our hashtag, #littlekyberthoughts, and by visiting @kybercrystals94, @just-here-with-my-thoughts, and my blogs.

Happy reading. 😬

Taglist: @clonethirstingisreal @lightwise @freesia-writes

[nyamadermont]

This Isn't Going to Work

Angstpril 2024: Day 6 (1368 words)

“Lin, this isn’t going to work. I only have a couple of days in the city and I can’t predict when the baby will come. If you can’t take a day or two off to spend with me, I’ll just stay on the Island and not interrupt your schedule.”

“But Kya, I want to see you. It’s been months, and I miss you. We’ve been planning this raid for six months. I would risk my officers’ lives if I just took vacation time right now. Never mind what the council would say.”

“Oh, don’t bring my brother into this, Lin,” Kya groused.

Lin scoffed. “Your brother would be mad at me, but more for making you unavailable. He’s been on my back for three years to take a vacation.”

“Tenzin and I agree on something other than the fact he’s lucky Pema puts up with him.”

Lin froze.

Through a clenched jaw, she managed to respond. “No, I’m sorry, Kya. You’re right. This visit isn’t going to work out.”

click

***

Lin frowned at the timetables and weather charts spread out over Katara’s dining table. She was nearly in tears as she said, “Kya, this isn’t going to work. I have been gone for two weeks already. I’ve got to get Saikahn back to his usual duties. This election is in two months, and I have security to work out across the city.” She dropped her face in her hands. “I want to stay.”

Kya reached over and pulled one hand away and gave it a kiss.

“Lin, dear, you hate it here.”

Lin scoffed.

“I don’t hate you,” she muttered so softly Kya nearly missed it.

Kya kissed Lin’s hand again before settling her cheek into Lin’s palm.

“I don’t hate you, too.”

Their eyes met and they laughed.

Kya sighed.

“Well, if this isn’t going to work, you’d best pack. You know what Tenzin is like when he’s decided a problem is not going to fix itself. I’m sure he is going to have Korra on a meditation regime like none we’ve ever seen before.”

There was no laughter over the fate of two benders going home without their bending.

The door nearly broke from its hinges as Mako came bursting into the room. “Chief! Korra’s back! Everything is going to work out!”

***

“This isn’t going to work. We should just go home,” Lin growled, her stomach churning. Her feet were encased in soggy leather rather than her standard uniform boots. Everywhere, the riotous green growth was oppressive in its pervasiveness. They could only see so far ahead before yet another tree turned them aside from their best guess of a path.

The earth under her feet was saturated, and the water blurred her seismic sense. Kya, meanwhile, seemed almost to tiptoe through the reeds and rushes.

Lin paused a moment to admire the one spark of beauty in this spirits-forsaken swamp.

Except, of course, the spirits had not forsaken this awful place. They had both had visions the night before, and Lin was embarrassed by what Kya had heard.

“Lin, I have a good feeling. I bet Toph is just past that tree over there. Trust me.”

The cackling laugh seemed to come from everywhere but above them.

“Trust? Kya, you should know better than that. Lin won’t trust her own two feet.”

The tiny, wizened form of Lin’s mother emerged from behind the very tree Kya had indicated. 

“Hey, Chief.”

Lin shook her head and sighed. “Hey, Chief.” 

A few minutes’ worth of backtracking brought them to Toph’s small abode. She negligently raised two stools for sitting, then returned to her own reclining seat.

Kya’s stomach gurgled, so she started opening their pack. “Toph, we brought some food with us. We thought you might like something other than wet mushrooms. We just need a little larger fire to cook everything.”

“That isn’t going to work. The swamp and I have an arrangement, and that fire doesn’t get any bigger. It’s either good enough, or it’s not.”

***

Kya was perplexed by the instructions in the note in her hand. Lin told her to arrive at a very specific hour at the delivery entrance to the Republic City History Museum, and to wait for her.

After a short wait, she began to regret dismissing the cab, because she didn’t see anywhere to sit and wait for her wife. The shadows were shifting, and Kya had other things she wanted to do other than watch the birds flit about the alleyway.

Just as she was about to give up and leave, a police van pulled up and parked next to the dock. Lin exited the passenger side, bent over to speak to the driver, then walked to the cargo doors at the back. Her hand was hidden by the open doors, until she backed up and a large crate floated out and settled on the ground behind the vehicle. Kya presumed there was something metal inside that she was bending.

Lin closed the doors to the van and tapped the back twice. The officer put the sato into gear and drove away. 

Lin bent the crate up onto the dock, then walked over to where Kya was waiting with an arched eyebrow and crossed arms.

“You were very specific, Lin. Why have I been waiting here so long?”

Lin had the decency to look slightly abashed. “The people we are here to meet got caught in traffic and couldn’t let us in on time. I’m sorry.”

With a wave, Kya dismissed the concerns, and leaned over to give Lin a kiss.

Kya was fascinated to get to see the back offices and storage areas of the museum. Even as the child of dignitaries, she had never gotten to see the parts of the museum where all the work was done. It seemed to be a busy place, even on a day when they were closed to the public.

She waited in the chair she was led to while Lin managed the crate under the direction of one of the curators. She rummaged through her bag for a book until she remembered having finished her last one from her last trip to the library. A glance around the room found very little to distract her, so she settled on the floor to meditate.

“Kya, dear. We’re ready.”

Kya was prepared with her side-eye for Lin, who somehow did not seem surprised. Or put off in the slightest.

She was almost smug.

Kya frowned, but got up from the floor to follow Lin.

They emerged from the employee areas into the main visitor gallery. Hand in hand, they walked through an open doorway with the phrase “The Story of Our City” marked out in a cheerful red overhead.

It had been years since the last time Kya had brought the niblings, so she could see a few places where things had been updated and rearranged. Lin took a turn Kya didn’t recognize, only to be confronted with a larger-than-life statue of Toph. Which thankfully was not the size of the statue at headquarters.

Lin guided her through a small hall dedicated to the police force from its establishment under the original council through the rise of the triads, the terror of Yakone, the two chiefs after Toph, to Lin’s own promotion to the top job. There was a memorial wall for those killed in the line of duty, whether in what Lin called the ‘quiet years’ or specific historic moments like the Equalist Uprising.

“Kya, darling. Close your eyes, please.”

Kya looked at Lin first, but slowly and deliberately closed her eyes, and wrapped her arm around Lin’s elbow. It was only about another twenty steps before Lin asked her to stop and turn around. She heard a click that sounded like a storage case closing.

“Open your eyes.”

Behind a glass case, a dressmaker’s form supported one of Lin’s uniforms. The plaque overhead read, “Chief Lin Beifong served Republic City for forty years before retiring in the twenty-fourth year of the Korra Era.”

Kya blinked. “Retired?” She looked at Lin in confusion.

“Retired." Lin pointed at the uniform. "This isn’t going to work.”

She smiled at Kya.

“Ever again.”

[kybercrystals94]

The Last Time

Read here on Ao3!

Angstpril 2024 | Day 30 | Prompt 30: The Last Time

Rated: G | Words: 1562 | Summary: “...it was the last time…” | Character Focus: Hunter, Tech, Crosshair, Wrecker, Echo

“Are you awake?” Tech’s voice asks, right at the edge of Hunter’s bunk. 

Hunter doesn’t know how anyone can sleep with the hurricane raging outside the walls. It sounds like the entire city might topple under the weight of its rampant fury. Not that Hunter’s scared. His blanket is only pulled up over his head because the flashes of lightning burn his eyes. But the thin blanket does not protect his frayed senses from the bone rattling thunder and the constant barrage of torrential rain lashing against the walls and windows. 

“I’m awake,” Hunter says, voice muffled into his fabric sanctuary.

The edge of his mattress dips as Tech sits down next to him. “Excellent. Would you like to see the weather radar I have accessed?”

No, Hunter thinks, but he hears the slight tremble in his brother’s voice. With a sigh, he leaves the small comfort of his makeshift barrier and sits up. “Sure, Tech.” 

It is the middle of their sleep cycle. Their barracks should be dark, but the incessant lightning keeps the room lit with a flickering, white light. Tech does not wait for further invitation before he scrambles the rest of the way into Hunter’s bunk, putting himself between Hunter and the wall. He props his data pad between them, the screen a mass of twisting colors. “We are here,” Tech says, pointing to a tiny blip amongst the chaos.

“What do the different colors mean?” Hunter asks. He already knows. Reading weather maps is a basic part of their training; however, he also knows that Tech finds comfort in over-explaining even the most rudimentary facts. 

Hunter becomes so engrossed in the rambled explanation of weather patterns, that he doesn’t notice the shadow prowling across the room until it speaks almost directly into his ear.  “What are you doing?”

Hunter won’t admit if his nerves also leapt bodily in surprise, but Tech startles, the small jerk of motion jarring against Hunter’s side. 

Crosshair stands there, arms crossed tightly over his chest, shoulders hiked just a little towards his ears, waiting for an answer. 

“Tech’s showing me his weather map,” Hunter says. 

Crosshair shifts his weight, sharp eyes cutting away. “I want to see when this karking storm is gonna end,” he mumbles. Like Tech, he does not wait for an invitation to clamber into the bunk. Crosshair puts himself between Tech and the wall. Hunter shifts a little to make more room, Tech tucked snugly in the middle.

Tech starts his explanation all over again, moving the data pad to rest in his lap so that all three of them can see. 

“Hey!” an indignant shout comes from across the room. There’s a loud thump, the thudding of feet running across the room. Wrecker looms over Hunter’s crowded bunk, blanket wrapped around his shoulders like a cape. “No one told me we were sharing a bunk tonight. I don’t want to be alone either!” 

“We aren’t sharing a bunk,” Tech corrects him, “I am showing Hunter and Crosshair the storm’s progress on my radar.” 

Wrecker grins. “Then I want to see too!” 

He dives into the bunk amidst shouts of protest, wedging himself into the nonexistent space between Crosshair and the wall. Hunter is nearly shoved out of his own bed, clinging to Tech’s arm to keep himself from toppling to the floor. 

“We can’t all fit!” Crosshair squawks.

“Yes, we can!” Wrecker says, sounding all too pleased with himself.

“Wrecker,” Crosshair wheezes, “your elbow is digging into my ribs.” 

“Oh, sorry,” Wrecker says. 

Another pause. 

“Wrecker, your elbow is still digging into my ribs.”

“I know, but I’m really comfortable,” Wrecker sighs.

Tech huffs. “At least one of us is.” 

Hunter is halfway off the bunk. “We can make this work,” he says, “but not like this.” He drops to the floor and stands up. 

“How?” Crosshair asks. 

“Sideways,” Hunter says. “Now move.” 

“We’re too tall to fit sideways,” Tech points out. 

“Do you want to share my bunk or not?” Hunter asks. 

At that, his brothers don’t argue, quickly rearranging themselves. Sitting up as they had been, their feet - with the exception of Wrecker - come just to the edge of the thin mattress. They leave space for Hunter between the head of the bed and Tech. Hunter climbs into his allocated spot, and they situate his and Wrecker’s blankets over all four of them. 

“Now,” Tech says, taking out his data pad. “Shall I start again?” 

They listen to Tech talk about the storm, hardly noticing the stark flashes of lightning or the grumbling of the thunder or the endless onslaught of rain, until one by one they fall asleep. 

But it is the last time the four share a bunk. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

"Stop looking at my cards!” Wrecker cries, holding his splay of cards against his chest.  

Crosshair scoffs, sitting back. “I would if you’d stop waving them directly in my face.”  

“Maybe if you stayed on your side of the table...”  

“Can we play just one game without an argument?” Hunter asks, the patience in his voice becoming transparently thin. 

A brief moment of silence. Wrecker puts down a card. 

“Wrecker, that is an illegal play,” Tech says.  

“Is not,” Wrecker says. 

Crosshair picks up the card and flicks it back at Wrecker. “Is so. Take it back.” 

Wrecker grumbles, but puts the card back in his hand. 

The game continues without further incident until Crosshair wins the round. 

“How did you know I was bluffing?” Tech asks as Crosshair sweeps his winnings of spare bolts and screws into his pile. 

Crosshair grins. “You’ve got a tell.” 

“Really? What is it?” Wrecker asks eagerly, squinting at Tech. 

Tech rolls his eyes, gathering the cards to shuffle. “I do not have a tell.” 

“He does,” Crosshair says to Wrecker, ignoring Tech, “but I’m not going to give it away. It’s my strategy. He counts cards, and I read his tells.” 

Hunter groans. “Tech…” 

“That is not cheating!” Tech cries, indignant. 

“With your enhancement…” 

“Now wait a minute–” 

“Yeah! Using enhancements is cheating!” Wrecker declares. 

Tech huffs. “Then Crosshair shouldn’t be able to read my tells,” he says, then adds, glancing at Wrecker, “not that I have any.” 

“How the kark am I supposed to play then? Blindfolded?” Crosshair cries. 

Tech shrugs indifferently. “If necessary.” 

The table erupts in a tangle of arguments, rational and irrational alike. 

It is the last time they play cards before Echo joins the Batch. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“Here we are,” Hunter says cheerfully, stepping into the clearing and removing his helmet. He takes a deep breath, enjoying the inhalation of pure air, rich with the scents of primitive wilderness. The only electromagnetic signals his senses can pick up are from the Marauder an hour’s march away, and the faint output of Tech’s data pad and their gear. 

“If by here you mean the middle of nowhere, then you are correct,” Tech grumbles, shrugging out of his pack and putting it against a tree. 

“It was Hunter’s turn to pick our shore leave,” Echo says diplomatically. “So middle of nowhere it is.” 

“I like it!” Wrecker booms, scaring away a bird that had been watching them from a nearby branch. “We haven’t been camping in ages!” 

Crosshair sighs. “What do you call what we just did on our last mission?”

“Just ‘cause we had to sleep outside doesn’t mean it was camping,” Wrecker says. “Camping means we have a campfire and don’t have to worry about getting our heads shot off by clankers.” 

“Now we just have to worry about our heads being bitten off by wild animals,” Crosshair retorts. 

Tech immediately cuts in. “There are no predators on this planet capable of such a feat. I made sure of it.” 

“See? I feel safer already.” Echo chuckles, pulling off his helmet and grinning at Hunter. “I think I’m gonna like this shore leave. We’ll have some peace and quiet if we can get these two to quit their whining,” he says, nodding at Crosshair and Tech. 

Echo receives twin expressions of indignation in response. 

However, that night, around the crackling warmth of the campfire, the complaints of the early afternoon are forgotten. The soft sounds of nighttime embrace them, soothing chaotic nature for something tranquil. They watch the stars overhead as things unreachable, winking pinpricks of light against a velvety, black canopy of sky. 

Hunter takes first watch, eager to enjoy the serenity they’ve found. Crosshair comes to sit next to him once their brothers have fallen asleep. He bumps his shoulder against the Sargeant’s, and Hunter nudges him back. They don’t speak for long, peaceful minutes, appreciating one another’s quiet company. 

“Do you think we could live like this? After the war?” Hunter asks at last, voice hushed. 

Crosshair doesn’t answer right away, leaning forward and bracing his forearms on his knees, watching the flames of the fire dance and spark. “We’re soldiers,” he says, “we don’t know anything but war.” 

“We could learn,” Hunter says. “Adapt.”

Crosshair chuckles. “I’m always up for a challenge.”

It is the last time they have shore leave before their mission to Kaller. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Hunter tries to remember the last words he said to Omega.

The last meaningful words. 

The last words she might remember him by. 

In case this mission goes wrong.

In case it was the last time he ever saw her. 

But he can’t remember. 

END

That's a wrap! [[On the eve of the Bad Batch series finale too!! 🥲]] 30 angsty prompts fulfilled in 30 days! I am honored to have gotten to collaborate alongside the endlessly talented @the-little-moment and @just-here-with-my-thoughts this month!

A master list post is coming soon with links to all 30 stories/chapters completed this month! So keep an eye out for that ☺���

Happy last Bad Batch eve, my lovelies! **sob**

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Tag List: @followthepurrgil @isthereanechoinhere96 @amorfista @mooncommlink @arctrooper69 @nagyanna424 @proteatook @ezras-left-thumb @maeashryver @merkitty49

[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

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"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

[phoenixthemenace]

Coming Home

Angstpril 2024

Day 1 Homesick

Three days. You've been sleeping for three days and the faces around you grow more grim the longer you do. The medical staff grow weary, I think, of telling everyone no change, no change, no change.

No change. 

Except for some reason I can't figure out, it feels like everything has changed. My stomach has been in freefall ever since you shoved me clear and bore the brunt of the falling beam alone. 

But it's more than that. 

It's waves of hollowness that's settled into my bones and joint causing a dull constant ache. It's a strange sense of melancholy, of yearning for long ago summers and holidays and echoing laughter. 

It's not grief. It can't be grief. You're not gone. You're just…sleeping. There's still hope. As long as you draw breath and your heart beats there is still hope. 

It hits me at two o'clock in the afternoon on the fourth day. I'm lugging our equipment from the squad up three flights of stairs to a cardiac victim. I'm rounding the corner of that third flight when out of nowhere I'm winded, doubled over with the shock.

Homesick.

I'm homesick. For you.

Somewhere in the whirlwind of training and getting the program up and running you became my home.

My temporary partner was at my side in an instant, stopping the flow of revelation. It didn't  take much fancy talking to get out of Bellingham calling another squad and carting me off to Rampart. At least it wasn't Brice. Thank heavens for The Animal.

It wasn't until lights out that I had the uninterrupted chance to think, to wonder what this homesick feeling means. I started with the day we met and go over everything I can remember up until you were hurt. When the wake up tones sounded the next morning, I was still empty, except for one consuming thought.

To be by your side as soon as possible.

*****

I'm here. After a call out just before shift change and interminable delays, I'm here. And after endless fussing by Brackett, Early and Dixie, we're finally alone. I stare at you, disappointed that the ache that wears your name doesn't ease just by being near you. It's worse, in many ways.

I glance at the door, double checking that we are alone before taking your hand. I lean in close. My voice, which was meant to be warm and encouraging, comes out in a whimper.

“Please wake up. I want to come home.”

[awaytobeunshaken]

Angstpril 2023 - Day 16: 'You have to let me go'

Essek lifts his hand to conjure the door, but hesitates.

“You’re afraid.” Caleb’s voice is clear behind him, yet somehow it suddenly feels distant at the same time. “Of what?”

“Afraid it won’t work. Afraid that it will.”

A hand comes to rest on Essek’s shoulder. “We agreed to work on this together. We’ve been perfecting it for decades. It will work.”

“You have said that before. And again I wonder if this is truly for the best, or if it will only make it harder, in the end.” He turns and places a hand on Caleb’s cheek and just looks at him. Caleb’s hair has gone almost all silver, and though the lines on his face are well hidden under the scruff, Essek can still feel them beneath his thumb. And he loves Caleb like this, and finds him so beautiful, as he always has, but after so many years of believing that one should simply acknowledge and accept death when it comes, he finds himself thinking, not for the first time, —except for him—.

Caleb puts his own hands to Essek’s face, and kisses him, kisses him, kisses him, and Essek drinks the kisses down like fresh spring water and the ache that has gripped his heart lessens just a bit. “I remember when you used to call me ‘young man’, do you think me so old already?”

“Never.” And he returns the kisses, one, two, three, and lays his head on Caleb’s shoulder. “But time is one of my specialties, and I am intimately aware of the inevitability of its passage.”

“Then let us not pass it in grief for what is yet to come. I only wish to leave this for you, when the time comes. And even if you decide you would rather not enter without me, I hope you will still remember the years we spent building it fondly.”

“All my memories of you are fond. I can’t imagine that will ever change.”

“Then I expect to give you many more years of them.”

And with one more kiss, and a stroke of his hand along Caleb’s jaw, Essek steps away, raises his hand again, and brings up the door to the demiplane and steps in. The entry of Widogast’s Nascent Nein-sided tower lays before him, with a few additions of his own, but there was little he could do to improve on Caleb’s aesthetic choices.

Caleb steps in to stand beside him, takes Essek’s hand and speaks the word ‘up’, and they rise together, hovering in the center of the tower. “It worked. You were able to get in here all on your own, and you can come here whenever you choose, as long as you have the magic available.”

Essek takes the lead now, guiding Caleb to the salon where they have spent hours, days, researching and discussing theory and engaging in certain other pursuits. And they settle onto the couch and make short work of those pursuits.

ao3

[katwritesshit]

angstpril '24 day 1 — homesick

Aeven runs into someone he thought he'd never see again.

Word Count :: 817 (longer than the Monachopsis prologue!!)

——————————☆——————————

Aeven, Malachi, and Catalina didn't visit the town often. They didn't need to, none of them had any friends or any other family. They went there for jobs, groceries, and once a year for Catalina's birthday.

Today, they needed groceries. It was Mal's birthday in two days and Catalina insisted on having his favourite meal made for him when he got back from his latest job in Oshana.

"Ven, hurry up!" Catalina peeked out from behind the doorframe again.

"Coming, coming," Aeven muttered. He finished pulling on his boots and got up to follow her out the door.

It was a quick walk to the towns center. The three of them lived in a small cabin a ten minutes walk from the edge of the woods, and then it was only two minutes to the town. Catalina chattered the whole time, her white cape fluttering in the wind reminded Aeven of the dress his sister wore on her wedding day.

Before he had the time to acknowledge why he was thinking of those things, Catalina announced their arrival at the bakery.

The bakery was a small building, made of off-white bricks with a spruce wood roof. The bell rang as Catalina pished the door open.

Aeven was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of fresh bread. They must have just taken a new batch out of the oven. It smelled good. Not burnt. It smelled like... it smelled like home. Like the slatkuh his mom would make on holidays, and when his cousins came over. It smelled like something he would never have, ever again.

Catalina grabbed his wrist and led him over to the display case. There were all sorts of fancy pastries they couldn't afford, as well as some more common things like loaves of bread and some day old cookies.

As Catalina bartered with the woman behind the counter for some bread, Aeven couldn't help but let his mind wander back to his family.

He remembered his cousin. The way she would always talk to his as an equal, even though he was ten the last time he saw her. The way she protected him, against both his father and the creatures lurking in the forest. The way she took care of his hair, brushing and braiding it while she told him stories.

He thought about his parents. His mother, working with steady hands, sewing clothes to make them a living. His... his father. That was a subject Aeven wouldn't touch no matter how nostalgic he was feeling.

"Aeven!" Cataline said.

Aeven blinked and turned to face her. "What's up?"

"Let's go! Could you not hear me?"

He forced a smile. "Sorry, Cat."

Then the two of them were off, back out into the town. As they got further away from the bakery, Aeven felt his stomach drop. What the hell was wrong with him?

They got to the market and Catalina gave him a piece of paper with a short list scrawled on it. He could just barely read her handwriting after two years of practice. She skipped off to go get her half of the list, leaving Aeven back alone with his thoughts.

And what horrible thoughts they were becoming.

He shook his head as he approached a produce stall, taking grim notice of the way his short, choppy hair bounced as he did so. He made quick work of purchasing some carrots, potatoes, and spring onion. He looked up at the lady and froze.

It was his mom. It had to be. She had the exact same brown eyes, the same sunny blonde hair Aeven remembered. She was about as tall as she was when Aeven had been exiled.

If the look on her face was anything to go by, she recognized him too.

"Aeven?" She asked.

He did the only thing he could think of. Aeven turned back towards the entrance to the market and ran as fast as he could. He ran, and he kept running until he saw Cat's distinct blue headscarf near another stall. He slowed down to a jog and came up behind her. He put a hand on her shoulder to grab her attention.

"Cat, we have to leave," he said.

She turned around. "Aev, I'm..."

She trailed off. Aeven wondered if he was pale.

"Yeah, okay, let's go." She said something to the vendor and turned around, discretely grabbing his hand as she led him away.

Aeven frowned. Cat never was one for touch, even if it was just holding hands. What was up with her?

When they were a decent ways away from the market, she turned to him.

"Aev, what's wrong? You look like shit, like you've been crying..." She kept walking but her eyes were on him.

"I'm... huh?"

"Crying."

Aeven put his left hand up to his face, brushing softly below his eye. Wet. He hadn't noticed.

"I'm fine. It's nothing."

——————————☆——————————

End Notes :: I'm not sure what happened to the end there, I was doing so good but I kinda rushed the ending. Sorry!!!

slatkuh = sweet bread, sort of like a pound cake maybe?

[lifblogs]

Hello, new followers! My blog is a crazy place, so time to talk about some tags to make it easier for everyone. Though I feel as if I must begin with a disclaimer.

I love Supernatural, and tag that as #spn. If you are here for another reason, you can block that tag.

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Be warned, I am a huge fan of whump. If you don't like whump and don't block the tag you will see some things that might make you uncomfortable. Please, feel free to block the tag if you need to.

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Other tags are #music, #The Lord of the Rings, #lotr newsletter, #The Hobbit, #httyd, #rtte, #doctor who, #mcu, #good omens, #grishaverse, #tdp (The Dragon Prince), #atla (Avatar: The Last Airbender), #tlok (The Legend of Korra), and #toa (Tales of Arcadia). May occasionally talk about #sjm (Sarah J. Maas) and #tog (Throne of Glass) while doing rereads.

And apparently I blog about #pjo now!

If you're looking for my writing (if the tumblr search function ever actually works again), that can be found under #my writing.

And below the cut I have a masterlist of my writing!

My AO3

Fics by Fandom:

Supernatural

Star Wars

Chilling Adventures of Sabrina

The 100

Lucifer

Tales of Arcadia

'Teen Wolf

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Good Omens

Multi-Chapter Fics (Completed):

Don't Call Me Sammy

How to Get Rid of Nightmares

Bleeding Reality

Deathless

Lockdown

The Sins of Heaven

In the Dark

Day & Night

Book One: Spirit

It's Time We Had the Talk

Don't Call Me Sammy (Rewrite)

Multi-Chapter Fics (WIP)

The Wail of Dying Stars

Blackout

Livin In You

Three Birds, One Stone

Imperium

Brother, Hold Me Up

Series

The Ascendancy Trials

SPN Hiatus Creations 2018

Take Me to Church

Where

SPN Hiatus Creations 2019

Whumptober 2019

#SpnStayAtHome

SPN Hiatus Creations 2020

Whumptober 2020

Banned Together Bingo 2020

#SPNAdventCalendar2020

Angstpril 2021

Whumpay 2021

Whumptober 2021

Angstpril 2022

Sam Week 2022

Whumptober 2022 As It Should've Been

AI-less Whumptober 2023

Post-Plan 99

Lipstick

TechPhee Smut

Tech Tuesday

[numerousbees1106]

I Wanna See Why The Birds Are Silent At Night

Angstpril Day 13 - Learning The Truth

Read on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/55184803

I Wanna See Why The Birds Are Silent At Night

It haunted him, the knowledge he held, the shared, collective, horrid truth that infiltrated his mind and the minds of his brothers. It circled him as worked and as he breathed, hovering just out of reach but still far too close. It stalked around him as he ate, as he talked, as he breathed, digging claws deep into his chest where he had long ago shoved all the broken things inside him, down until they were safely hidden out of sight, out of mind, a graveyard living in his soul. It drew close as he slept or lay awake at night, baring its teeth. Sometimes Kix could swear he saw his own reflection in its eyes, the night-gleam of an animal flashing and in the darkness Kix could make out his own face.

It haunted him, the knowledge. It haunted him to know the fate of all the Jedi who had been on Coruscant during the purge. If they were lucky, they had been killed, as horrid as that was to say. If they were unlucky…

Kix had heard the stories, had seen the broken corpses and the far-off look in their ex-commander’s eyes. He knew that the Inquisitors rarely Fell on purpose, knew that they were broken down and tortured until they snapped, like a bone finally cracking under a ceaseless, building pressure, that same cracking that happened to his brothers caught under tanks or rubble, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time and stuck there until death.

Or, alternatively until their General found them and dug them out, pulling away metric tons of rock and steel to save lives considered expendable to anyone but him. His resolute kindness and courage had always been their saving grace in the face of certain death, of unavoidable disaster and unrecoverable tragedy. It pained him to think of that kindness being snuffed out, either through death or through a fate much worse, and so he hoped, despite the hopelessness of the situation, he hoped that somehow, some way, his fears were unfounded.

His hopes crumbled to dust with three short words.

“Kix,” Rex breathed, his voice taught and fraught with tension. “They found him. The General, they found him.”

Kix froze, pausing his current task to consider. It hardly seemed real, after having been searching and hoping and dreading for so long.

“And?” He said cautiously, his soul fraught with tension as his desperate hope warred with his logical side, and he finally turned around to face Rex head-on. “What’s his status?”

Rex’s face was pinched, his brown eyes bright with distress. Kix’s heart sank.

“He was on Coruscant when the Purge happened, Kix,” he murmured, and that was all he needed to say for Kix to get the memo.

After all, it was a well-known fact what happened to the Jedi on Coruscant. If they weren’t killed…

How? He wanted to ask, how could our sweet and caring General possibly become like them?

Except, Kix already knew the answer to that - he had seen the tortured bodies of the Inquisitors, their mutilated corpses and haggard forms a sure sign that they hadn’t Fallen easily.

General Kenobi had once said that someone can be tortured into Falling, and more recently Tano had confirmed that was what was happening to the Inquisitors.

Kix wondered whether that was happening - or more likely had already happened - to their General, whether he was in agony as he wilted under the Empire’s cruel claws. When had it happened? How had it happened? Had he been scared, in those final moments? Had he wished for them, had he been wishing for them?

“There’s more,” Rex murmured quietly.

Kix closed his eyes as a wave of grief crashed over him, raising his hand up to Rex, silently asking for a moment to collect his thoughts.

“Okay,” he sighed, pushing down the anticipatory despair he felt. “Okay, I’m ready.”

Rex licked his lips, glancing around the empty room quickly before pulling Kix in even closer.

“He’s Vader,” the other clone whispered, his voice hollowed out with a thousand emotions Kix couldn’t even begin to decipher.

“What?” Kix choked out, a jolt of horrid horror piercing through him like a blaster wound.

“Vader,” Rex hissed.

Vader. Vader, with the four mechanical limbs, with the awful respirator mask, with the life-support suit? Vader, the so-called ‘mechanical monstrosity’?

What had the Emperor done to him?

He and Rex held each other for a long time, offering silent comfort to each other, both feeling the sharp sting of grief. Even if they could somehow, some way save their General, what would be left? If his body was in such a poor condition - a body that, Kix mused, was probably even more fucked up than anyone knew about - what condition would his mind be in? His General wouldn’t have Fallen easily, he knew that. Would he even recognize them?

The truth was a bitter poison, Kix thought. The truth was a toxin that was hard to swallow and harder to digest. It would have hurt even if there was some way to change the past, to fix what had happened.

But there wasn’t.

And they would just have to learn to live with it.

[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.”

[pat-the-togorian]

Pat's Angstpril Day 19: Breaking Down

The affectionately-named Milk Battalion had just come off of their biggest bust yet. Thousands of enslaved souls were set free, many of them receiving immediate care from the Clone medics aboard the Gruyere even as the crew set out to celebrate. Pat’s ship, the Beholden, and his own actions on the ground, had brought about the traffickers’ capture. All night, he soaked up commendations from the officers and the Clones. Aheka and Sinvulkt looked so proud. 

He flashed his trademark grin until his jaw hurt, sipped the drinks they bought for him, and altogether, did his best impression of himself all night. But unlike the big-wigs and the adoring public, he had been in the trenches, with Clones shot out from right beside him. He was in the blocks of cells and the webs of chains, slicing the bonds off the emaciated bodies of the underworld’s worst victims. He saw their wounds and scars up close. Too close. 

Some days, it all got to be too much for Pat. 

People enthusiastically pointed out, thanked, and praised Pat all night. He was honestly thrilled that he was recognized for doing something great. At the same time, though, he grew more and more anxious and queasy. Why could this be celebrated when it couldn’t take place without suffering? Surely they don’t know what I had to see… I just want to be with my pack right now…

Eventually, the four weary warriors stepped away from it all, the merry buzz of the party carrying them back to their quarters. Pat tried to just keep walking, make it to his room before dropping his facade, but it was no good. Rema, Sinvulkt and Aheka noticed immediately as they looked at him more closely.

  “Pat, what’s wrong?” Rema asked, spotting the signs of distress rapidly. Aheka and Sinvulkt stopped cold, also looking at him with concern. He gave a heartbroken smile. 

“You saw things down there, didn’t you,” Rema murmured. 

Pat’s eyes welled up. I’m ruining this night for everyone, his mind wailed. 

Sinvulkt acted first, rushing to wrap her wings around his shaking form and gently letting him down as he fell to his haunches, sobbing. 

Aheka placed her hands on his shoulders, being careful never to touch his neck. “You can talk to us,” she assured. “About whatever you saw down there.”

 “N-no… I’m okay,” he pleaded. “Please… keep having fun and don’t lose sleep over me…”

Each of them looked outraged at the suggestion that they should leave him alone with everything he’d seen. “We aren’t going anywhere,” they all asserted.

“I-I don’t deserve this! I deserve to be a slave myself! It should have been me… oh, now I sound so ungrateful…” he curled even tighter, writhing with humiliation and grief. 

“Easy, Pat, let’s all breathe together, okay?” Aheka urged everyone to join in and they walked Pat’s breaths back to normal. 

“I-I-I couldn’t save everyone… I can’t bear what I saw… I’m such a disgrace…” he hiccuped through the words. At least he was breathing. The three looked ready to go to war against Pat’s feelings. 

“We’ve all seen the horrors of war, Pat,” Aheka reassured him. “And we’re all here for you.” 

“I’m supposed to be happy…” he whispered, brokenly. Sinvulkt’s wings tightened protectively around him. 

“Talk to us, my Padawan,” she whispered. “Don’t hesitate.”

“All of the captives were… in such bad shape,” he choked out. “We took out the guards but before we could stop all of them they started to shoot people… one after another…” 

He couldn’t stop a sob from tearing out of his throat. 

“A-a-and… I was trying to pull this girl… out from under a huge pile of chains… d-d-died in my arms…”

Aheka looked heartbroken, though unsurprised, that one of her children had to witness such atrocity. Sinvulkt looked like she’d never let Pat leave the safety of her wings. Rema clamped down on her own flashbacks to keep on rhythmically stroking the top of Pat’s head. 

“It hurts,” he finally whispered. 

No one disagreed. 

Eventually, Aheka stood, gradually letting the others help Pat stand up. The three were bone-tired, but Pat’s eyes looked like they’d be open until the end of time. “You know where to take him,” she whispered to Sinvulkt and Rema, herself sneaking away to Pat’s room to grab his favorite blanket. 

The next morning, any other Jedi walking through the common room would have stumbled upon quite the sight. Aheka’s outstretched arms and Sinvulkt’s wings curled around Rema and Pat, who’d both fallen asleep curled around the other. The former two had been awake for hours, but would do anything not to wake their sleeping charges.

Whenever it got to be too much, they deserved every moment of comfort they could provide.

[the-little-moment]

Angstpril Day 25: Out of Place

Alt Prompt: Paranoid

Words: 1,150

Summary: After a freak accident prevents him from joining his brothers on the front lines, clone trooper Bern begins training to become a medic, years later than the standard. Every mistake has him sure of his swift decommissioning. 

“Hey!” 

Reflexes dulled by exhaustion, Bern didn’t fully register the voice before a pillow flew across the dark room to smack into his glowing datapad. 

“Go to sleep!”

“Leave ‘im alone,” an identical voice hissed from a different bunk. “He’s behind, remember?”

“Yeah, but he’ll never pass if he faints during exams.”

With a sigh at the unnecessary reminder, Bern chucked the pillow back to his fellow medic-in-training across the barracks aisle. “Thanks, Jab.”

His first test was in two days, and woefully unprepared didn’t begin to cover it. Bern rolled over to face the wall, dimming the brightness of his pad and trying to dim the panic inside too. If he could just finish the next four chapters, he could squeeze in a little sleep before class. Bern’s head felt like it was going to explode, and not just from the text he was burning into his eyes. Cadet training had nothing on what he was trying to do now, switching lanes to become a base medic just weeks after graduating from trooper training. Clones were almost never retrained; there just wasn’t time for it. And he’d been so ready to be a soldier. Talking to his old squad out there on the front lines, Bern wasn’t sure who was more worried about each other, him or them. At least his brothers were doing what they were made for, what they knew. If Bern didn’t manage to pass these tests, well, that was it. He’d already gotten an impossible second chance. If he blew it now, it was maintenance duty, or worse. He couldn't let himself make mistakes.

The Jedi had officially put an end to decommissioning clones, but that didn’t mean it didn’t still happen from time to time, when no one important was looking. And what he'd done had been worthy of it, Bern had no doubt. 

He realized he had been reading the same paragraph for several minutes now, pressing his fingers into his aching eyes with a muffled groan. Lying down was shit for his concentration. If only he could go down to one of the classrooms to access some training modules. If only he could sleep. Digging deep for his endurance training, Bern sat up in the bed and pulled his blanket over his head to hide the light. Just three more chapters. Just three more chapters…

Bern jerked awake at the sound of the barracks alarm signaling the start of the day cycle. He couldn’t remember falling asleep, but apparently he’d been hugging his datapad through it in some kind of cursed delirium. He sat up in bed with a groan, wiping the crust from his eyes as the lights came up and fighting the urge to launch the hateful thing across the room. Sleep didn't mean much when it was just nightmares.

“Good mooorning.” Jab was waving from his own bunk, unforgivably cheerful in the face of Bern’s suffering. 

“Go to hell,” the trainee grumbled, rummaging in his footlocker for a clean uniform. He heard a huff and, when Bern looked up, Jab was standing over him. 

“That’s no way to talk to your best friend.”

“You’re not my best friend.” Bern’s best friend was his batchmate, Ori, and he was lightyears away from Kamino now, like Bern should be.

Jab only scoffed, leaning down to ruffle Bern’s regulation haircut while he resisted the urge to sweep the younger man’s feet out from under him. “Whatever you say, bestie. See you at breakfast.”

Bern finished his meal in record time, disregarding everything they all knew about methodical chewing in favor of inhaling his gruel and protein before snatching up his datapad and heading towards the lab. 

“Hey!” The irritatingly familiar shout had Bern clenching his jaw, refusing to slow his brisk pace to wait for Jab.

“Go back and eat.”

His “best friend” appeared at his side, matching his stride to Bern’s. “I’m done. Going down to the lab?”

Obviously. Bern spent every spare second of the day with his eyes glued to some training module or another. When he was buried in virtual procedures, he could almost forget about the massive weight hanging over his head, the long, slender fingers wrapped around his neck.

The two medic trainees were almost to Lab 4, Bern’s usual haunt, when a sneering voice called him out of his anxious haze. “Well, look who it is.”

A deep breath and the four, red-clad cadets were there in front of him, bizarrely different from any others in the facility. Bern groaned internally as the skinny, grey-haired one who had spoken crossed his arms over his chest. He didn’t have time for this. 

“Hello, reg.” The cadet gave Bern a cold smile as he felt Jab shift at his side. The others flanked their brother. They were all as tall as Bern or taller, except the leader with his long hair. He was looking at Bern evenly, sparing a glance at Jab before he also folded his arms. Behind them, the big one with the scar and the bad eye grinned down at the trainees. The last defective cadet seemed significantly less interested in his brother’s feud with Bern, looking up from his datapad to roll his goggled eyes. 

“We are already late. Let him go, Crosshair.”

Bern felt his insides melting when Jab laughed a little laugh. “Crosshair? Hey, Crosshair, what’s your problem? Don’t you know it’s not smart to get on a medic’s bad side?”

That only made the tall cadet smile as he stepped forward slightly to leer down at Bern. “Just reminding this one that he shouldn’t be here. Don’t worry, when he fails and gets assigned to maintenance, you can find someone else to follow around.”

Bern felt his own hand tightening around his datapad as Jab tensed beside him. He didn’t have time for this. If Crosshair wanted to fight, good for him. Bern had studying to do. He shouldered his way past the short one on the right, mildly surprised when they let him go. 

“You’ll regret that when he’s running this place!” Jab yelled over his shoulder when they were both past the squad, ignoring the big one's hearty laugh. “Don’t make me eat my words,” his irritating classmate added as they finally turned the corner into Lab 4. “You at least have to graduate so I don’t lose face.”

Bern had a few things he wanted to say about Jab’s face, but he swallowed them down as he lowered himself behind a console. He wasn’t sure if he and the younger clone could take the four cadets, even with all of his training, but he supposed it was good to at least appear to have backup. Even if that backup never shut up. Bern pulled on his headset with a sigh when Jab sat down at the computer beside him, resigned to the next few hours of ignoring unwanted company. He was never going to run anything, but he was going to graduate, and by then Crosshair and his squad would be long gone.

One kriffing day at a time.

Bern is my medic OC who crops up in "Carcass" and is an important character in "Burns". I thought I should spend a little more time on his backstory from his own POV, so this prompt fill is the first part of that.

Crosshair does have a semi-justified (from his point of view) reason to hate Bern and it's also the reason why the medic didn't get to ship out with the rest of his squad.

Jab features in an unfortunate way in my one-shot The Quiet Part. I thought I'd add him in here as Bern's bestie.

Just three more days of Angstpril, ahhh!! Check out @kybercrystals94, @just-here-with-my-thoughts, and my blog for the rest of the angst! We'll be putting up a full list of all we've written this month on the 30th.

Taglist: @freesia-writes, @lightwise, @clonethirstingisreal

[nyamadermont]

Year in review (eventually)

Thanks go out to @itsmoonpeaches for suggesting I give this a shot.

1. Number of stories posted to Ao3: 14, total, all LOK-based.

2. Word count in 2022: 96,206

3. Fandoms I wrote for: Avatar: The Legend of Korra

4. Pairings: Lin Beifong/Kya II (3); Lin Beifong/Reader (1); Lin Beifong/Pema/Tenzin (9); Other (1 - shorts with various pairs, if any)

5. Stories with the most:

Kudos: Lin’s Interview, part 4 of Give Us Your Hand (Pemlinzin)

Bookmarks: Two Pairs of Eyes, (Kyalin)

Comment threads:  Elemental Changes, Lin Beifong-centric multi-chapter

Word count: Elemental Changes 

6. Work I’m most proud of (and why):  I’m sure it’s cheating, but I have 3 answers. 

1: Elemental Changes: This started with an image in my mind, and I wrote the whole thing before I published any of it. And the art I commissioned from @slowdissolve kickstarted a whole new experience for us both.

2: The In-Between Years: I managed to take all 30 prompts from Angstpril 2022 and string them into a mostly coherent story, writing no more than 1000 words at a time. Not every day is a gem, but I am happy with the progress of the story from high angst to an amicable resolution.

3. Give Us Your Hand: What started as a 507-word @flashfictionfridayofficial prompt blossomed into a 46K-word, 9-part series (so far).

7.   Work I’m least proud of (and why): This is ‘least’ proud in a set of stories I’m really pretty happy with. I’m going to throw Now Is Not the Time under the bus, because in retrospect, it’s kind of a rewrite of I’m Sorry I Need You.

8.   Share or describe a favorite review you received: This isn’t quite what the question asks, but having @slowdissolve say she would have done my commission for free was right up there in the highlight reel. And those three little hearts from @mjsharizai are always an absolute treat.

9.   A time when writing was really, really hard: I’m still very new on the writing wagon, having just started writing for a hobby in early 2021. Thankfully, I’m old enough that when it’s hard, I just set it aside and come back when the ideas are ready.

10. A scene or character you wrote that surprised you: I just can’t answer the questions the right way tonight. Here, I’m going with the whole Pemlinzin ship. How little goody-goody two-shoes me wound up writing polyamory is something I should think through at some point in my life.

11. A favorite excerpt of your writing:  

This feels very odd to describe as a favorite. It engendered my first negative review which was so mean-spirited that it was, in its own way, the fire that helped me write the next seven entries in the series. From Mistakes (Give Us Your Hand, part 2):

[Tenzin] sighed. “About a week before he died, she came to visit. She was being Toph, trying to pretend it wasn’t that bad, that he wasn’t dying. Mom left them alone to talk and went to lay down for a little while.”

He shivered. “I wasn’t with them. I just heard Mom shouting. When I got to Dad’s room, Mom was healing him, and Toph was crying. She had punched him like always. But this time, her punch knocked him into the wall and he hit his head. It wasn’t terrible, Mom got him comfortable, but Toph didn’t come back after that. I know she and Mom saw each other at the memorial, and I know they basically made up. But then I hurt you.”

He squeezed Lin closer.

“They were best friends for over forty years. But one argument broke their relationship.”

12. How did you grow as a writer this year: This is a question I think will be easier to answer in retrospect. I was able to complete a couple of larger projects, even after I got so far into them that I kinda didn’t know what to do. I’m just so new at this I mostly can only see my weaknesses.

13. How do you hope to grow next year: Differentiating speaking styles and speech patterns between characters is a sore spot for me re-reading my own writing. I also know I’m not great at describing the interiority of characters. And starting fewer sentences with ‘and,’ ‘so,’ or an adverbial phrase {not an English major, I forget what the technical term is}.

14. Who was your greatest positive influence this year as a writer (could be another writer or beta or cheerleader or muse etc etc):

I think that should be obvious by now. I owe @slowdissolvee a lot of credit.

15. Anything from your real life show up in your writing this year: 

I’ve been married for 25 years and have 2 kids. There’s a lot of blood, sweat, tears, and memory in what I write.

16. Any new wisdom you can share with other writers: 

Be where you are. Sure, your readers are interested in seeing your updates, but your life comes first. #YourAudienceAwaits - and the patient ones are worth listening to. 

I’m going to offer a slightly different perspective than @itsmoonpeachessmoonpeaches, who was so kind as to suggest I take on this exercise. All while not disagreeing with her here:

Don’t be afraid to break out of your comfort zone. You will never grow as a writer if you continue to write the same things over and over again. If you have an idea for something very different, go for it! It takes a lot of effort and time to do something you don’t normally do, but you will end up being better after it.

I know I’ve already written the same story at least twice (see above), but it served me to write both of those stories. I clearly had some thinking to do on the topic.

17. Any projects you’re looking forward to starting (or finishing) in the new year: I cannot put into words how much fun I’m having on Red Jade. Between working with Slowdissolve and getting to read the other Linzolt writers’ stories, I have been grinning for months.

18. Tag some writers whose answers you’d like to read:

All in fun, friends. If it’s not fun, leave it be: @slowdissolve @orangepanic @master-sass-blast @pamplemousseparadox @superliz6 @chaoticnerdsstuff @wishingforatypewriter

And anyone else who wants to!

[sulevinen]

wait I'm so intrigued by what you put for that last sentence of your wip post, what's the context there? 👀👀

it was for an angstpril prompt (day 6: abandoned) in which a trooper dies alone, and lucid comes find him.

lucid is a clone oc of mine, a manifestation of the cosmic force, with the ability to communicate with the dead and join the afterlife every time she falls asleep. she can manipulate future events through lucid dreaming and that way has managed to save thousands of her brothers.

sometimes she fails, and comes too late. one of those times is when radar dies, left behind in the woods for three days, until he ultimately dies of bloodloss. lucid arrives to lead him to join the march, to somehow apologize for her failure, and radar can’t accept his death: he feels fine.

and lucid says, from experience, that the end of mortality (and thus gaining immortality through death) is an amazing thing. it can be. but it wasn’t for radar. he died alone and in pain, abandoned, and lucid came too late.