#angstober 2022

[thesparklingwriter]

(psst: today it's angstober. )

truth

“You’re not a product of your circumstances, and you are not defined by the misfortunes you’ve been privy to.”

tags: pet names, Zhongli is very pure, soft Zhongli, fem!reader, Zhongli and reader are in a relationship, reader has a traumatic past, Zhongli doesn't know but he has his suspicions, i think this is hurt comfort but idk

content warnings: seasonal depression, nightmares (pls let me know if there's anything that should be added)

masterlist | ao3 link | taglist | next

please do not repost or edit my work without credit. reblogs are greatly appreciated!

i'm also taking requests for the rest of the flufftober days, PLEASE leave any suggestions, cause i am running out of ideas... i'm also considering adding a taglist, so send me an ask if you want to be added :)

Zhongli knows you more than you realise he does. He knows you like staying up late and sleeping in, and he knows you hate sweet things.

But it’s what he doesn’t know that worries him the most—when he can see the terror and pain behind your eyes, when he knows you’re in pain, but he doesn’t know what is causing it.

He knows that when winter comes around, and temperatures plummet, things seem to get harder for you, but he doesn’t know why. You shiver and fold into yourself, as if to conserve heat, no matter how much he heats the house. Your smiles are forced and your energy low.

At night, you thrash in bed trying to escape from some nightmare you can’t ever seem to disperse. The first time he tried to console you, you shot up, suddenly awake , a muttered a groggy “who are you?” escaping your lips as you scrambled away from him.

Since that night, he leaves a dim lamp on in the room, one you can use to identify him when the dreams start chasing you. He’s also had to accept that he can’t try to console you, no matter how heart wrenching he finds your sobs. He has to wait until you seek out his touch, and most nights you do, sliding your shaking hands around him. He doesn’t sleep until they’ve settled, and he knows you’re peacefully sleeping.

Sometimes, when you’re walking around Liyue together, he feels you grab onto his hand tighter, although he can see nothing that threatens him. He eyes scan the crowd to see who’s threatening his beloved, but he can’t find anything but the evidence—you digging yourself into his side. He doesn’t ask any questions except the obvious—“Do you want to go home?”

He knows that loud sounds and sharp movements put you on edge, especially if it’s in a place crowded with men. He’s pieced together that they are the problem, but he can’t do anything but avoid them whenever he can until he hears it from your mouth.

It hurts him to see how you’re suffering on your own. He promised he’d help you with anything you were struggling with, but you won’t let him help you with this. All he can do is try his best to keep you happy when the ghosts of pain and terror begin to reflect in your eyes.

“What do you want for dinner?” You ask him, one mild afternoon. Zhongli looks up from his book, only to see you reaching precariously for the plates. He’d meant to have that cabinet lowered for you, but he’d hesitated because it stopped you from bothering with menial tasks like putting the dishes away. He didn’t like burdening you with things like that.

“I’ll cook, don’t bother yourself with the plates,” he says softly, watching you with unrestrained curiosity.

“No, I want to—” The plates Zhongli told you to not bother yourself with clatter to the floor in a spray of ceramic shards. He calls for you, telling you to not move so you don’t cut yourself, but the commotion is too much for you, and you panic. Tears bunch up in your eyes, and you scurry away, narrowly missing the shards that surround you on the way out.

He wants to rush to you, to check that you’re okay, but such smothering never really does anything good, so he settles for cleaning up the plates—just so you have enough time to calm down. He makes quick work of the shards and sets to finding you.

He knows you aren’t downstairs, and upstairs is almost as hopeless. Too many rooms and doors to look behind. If you’re not in the obvious places, the only thing he can do is sit and wait for you to come out. He decides to start with the simplest option: your room. When he doesn’t see you in there, he tries the adjacent bathroom.

“Are you in here, love?”

You don’t respond for a long time. “Go away.”

He backs away from the door until he hears your lilting voice again.

“Are you mad at me?”

“Of course not,” he says softly. “I’m just worried. Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” you sniff. Usually, he’d take this at face value, but today, he doesn’t.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what’s wrong,” his chest constricts as he whispers the words. He almost sure you don’t hear him, until you yank the door open.

“Do you even want to know?” You ask lowly. “Do you even want to know how messed up I am?” Tears start readily streaming down your face, as you stare at Zhongli, your arms wrapped around yourself as if to make yourself smaller. “Do you want a reminder that the girl you’re dating is well and truly—”

Zhongli gently pulls your hands away from your sides. “My perception of you is not influenced by your circumstances or your appearances. Nothing you tell me could ever make me change my mind about you.”

You look away from his earnest gaze. It’s embarrassing, admitting that you’re not okay. Admitting that it’s all been an act, that you’re terrified he’s going to be like the rest of them. Admitting that despite years of being together, you’re still terrified that he’ll snap and take his stresses out on you. Admitting that you’re terrified that he’ll turn out to be just like them.

It’s humiliating.

“Talk to me, love.” Zhongli whispers. “Please.”

You resist for a while, minutes turning into hours as you spend the rest of the day pointedly avoiding the subject matter. Zhongli doesn’t press you, or expect you to say anything. At the very least, he’s glad you’ve cheered up slightly.

In the evening, when nightfall rolls around and you curl into bed next to him, he feels you clear your throat.

“Are you alright?” he whispers into the dim room. You swallow.

“I’m…sorry,” you whisper. “For not telling you. For making you navigate all of this with no explanation. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You are entitled to your own choices. My existence shouldn’t threaten that.��

Zhongli rolls over to hug you close to his chest, and with your face pressed again the man you’ve grown to love, it’s then that you finally get the courage to tell him about everything you’ve been through—everything you can remember about your family, your past, and the horrible memeories that you’ve kept packed away in some quiet corer of your mind—until your voice is hoarse, and your eyes are swollen from tears.

Zhongli is mainly quiet, stroking your hair to remind you that he’s still listening. His silence is scary–you’ve stripped yourself naked for him, so he can see deep into your mind and your thoughts, and his lack of response… It doesn’t bear thinking about.

“Do you want to me to leave?” You whisper softly. “I understand if you do. It’s a lot and–”

“I don’t want you to leave.” He replies, pulling you closer to his chest. “I would be content to follow you for the rest of my life is that was what you wanted.”

“But they–”

“You’re not a product of your circumstances, and you are not defined by the misfortunes you’ve been privy to.” Zhongli says, returning to stroking your hair. “I love you regardless, and I always will.”

a/n anon i hope this is good enough, i tried my very best <3

[formalmess]

and what if mario was the one with horrible anxiety

[starr234]

Luke focused his magic and the wind focused with him, changing directions to fill his sails and send his little boat skimming across the tops of the waves. It would take the Executor longer to come about and pick up speed, and even then–

The next cannonball didn’t miss.

[spell-cleaver]

Day 10: Apathy

(Also Day 19: Cowardice)

@angstober​ 

Luke crashed and woke up in luxury. The bed was genuinely one of the softest things he’d ever lain on, and the room itself was even more indulgent. A wide set of glass double doors opened onto what looked to be a balcony; a blue sky and a lake glittered beyond the wrought-iron railing. Plants sprung green and fresh from every corner, and he could hear the low hum of conversation just on the other side of the door.

He sat up in the bed. The heavy sheets fell down to his waist, and he noticed the delicate, handstitched pattern of rose trellises that flowered over the throw.

“Hello?” he called shyly. The conversation ceased.

“Is that him?”

“He’s awake—”

The door to the balcony creaked open; two women stepped inside. A sliver of buttery sunlight fell on him before they fixed the gauzy curtains back in place; it seeped into his chest like something close to affection.

He studied the women who hovered at the foot of the bed, apparently too shy or awkward to speak first. One was older than the other, but their resemblance made him guess they must be mother and daughter. The mother had silver hair tied back in a neat bun and a long, dark blue dress with wide sleeves. The daughter looked to be in her forties, with curly hair that fell around her face and a pale blue tunic. Both of them were staring at him intently.

“Are you Luke Skywalker?” the mother asked first.

His name was a dangerous thing to bandy around, but if they were enemies of the Alliance they’d probably have killed him already. Or, at least, called the Empire on him. So, he nodded. “I am.” He looked around. “What happened? The last thing I remember is flying to assist a Gungan call for aid—”

“Your ship crashed in the lake,” the daughter supplied helpfully, sitting down in an armchair that faced the dressing table. “We’re holidaying here and found you half-dead, clinging to a scrap of driftwood.”

“Sorry to ruin your holiday,” he croaked.

“Far from it, Luke,” she said, and, against all reason, smiled.

“My squadron,” he said slowly. They’d been flying to the Gungans’ aid, and then the TIEs had roared out of nowhere. They’d cut through them with an almost insulting ease, driving plenty to the ground for capture before shooting them down, and— “I need to go, my men—”

“They’re not your concern.”

“I’m their commander, of course they’re my concern.”

The two women exchanged a look. “He does remind me of her,” the daughter said to the mother.

“What does that mean?” Luke asked, a little heatedly. He caught himself. “I mean—I’m sorry. Thank you for rescuing me, and for your hospitality. But I need to go.”

“Please,” the mother said, sitting down on his other side. “Not just yet.”

“My name’s Sola Naberrie,” the daughter said. “This is my mother, Jobal. We knew Anakin Skywalker.”

It was slightly embarrassing how quickly that got his attention. “You did?” He leaned forwards eagerly. “How well did you know him?”

“I only met him once or twice,” Sola admitted. “He probably wouldn’t mention me. He would probably mention my sister, though.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Luke said. “He died when I was a baby.”

Jobal stared. “Then who raised you?”

“My aunt and uncle.”

“Who?” She sounded offended.

Luke grew hot with offence in return. “My father’s stepbrother on Tatooine. Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru. I grew up there—Ben Kenobi kept an eye on me.”

“Why didn’t you grow up here?”

“What?”

Sola looked just as angry. But she calmed herself before Jobal could carry herself away in her rage. “Do you know who your mother was?” she asked.

Luke shook his head. “Aunt Beru remembered meeting a woman my father visited with once, but she wasn’t sure it was her and struggled to remember her name.”

“What was her name?”

“I said she couldn’t remember.” Luke furrowed his brows. “Something like— Pam. Pad—”

“Padmé,” Jobal finished, her voice shaking.

“Possibly.” The name tasted strange on his tongue. He couldn’t tell whether that was a good thing or not. “Padmé.”

Jobal said, “Padmé was my daughter.”

Luke’s mouth dropped open.

Sola added, “At her funeral, the morticians made her look like she was still pregnant. Probably to protect you. But we had no idea you had survived.”

Luke swallowed. “You’re sure that she was with my father?”

“I never saw her act like that with anyone else,” Jobal said with a fondness that seemed to hurt.

“I did,” Sola said. “But not for a long time by the time she met Anakin again.” She nodded. “You’re my nephew.”

“Why weren’t you brought to us?” Jobal asked sharply. “We— we had the resources to take care of you! We could’ve cared for you!”

“We couldn’t have hidden you,” Sola realised. “That was why you were sent to Tatooine.”

Jobal glanced at her. “This is an injustice, Sola. The Jedi—”

“Were trying to protect me,” Luke said fiercely. He blinked. This was surreal. Even if something told him it was the truth, his brain refused to comprehend it. “I… yeah. I’m sorry we haven’t met before, Jobal.”

“I’m your grandmother.”

“Grandmother.” That tasted strange on his tongue, as well. Grandma Shmi had died before he was born, and Grandpa Cliegg not long after.

But he smiled. She teared up, smiled, and took his hand in return.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he said.

“When we saw the bounty for you… Anakin Skywalker’s son… My galaxy changed. Twenty years without her. But you lived.” She squeezed his hand. “Anakin’s brother raised you, you say? Can I meet them?”

Luke’s throat went dry.

“No,” he said. “They’re dead too. I didn’t think I had any family left.”

Sola went white. “Dead?”

“Stormtroopers executed them.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. “They bought the wrong droid.”

“So, you joined the Rebellion,” Jobal said. Her tone was a little dull.

“Well, events spiralled, then I blew up the Death Star. There wasn’t really much going back.” He shivered at the memory. It had just been one trauma after another for several days. “Even Biggs—my childhood friend—died at Yavin.”

“Everyone died? You had nowhere else to go?” Sola asked. Luke shook his head.

Jobal patted his hand. “Well, you do now,” she decided. “You should stay here. The queen gifted us this manor after Padmé died—we holiday here to remember her, when we can, even now that my husband’s gone—and we have plenty of room for you. This,” she glanced around sadly, “used to be Padmé’s room.”

Another shiver ran through him. He didn’t know how to feel about that, knowing he was lying in his dead mother’s bed.

“I’d love to come and visit,” he said. “But I—” He faltered at Jobal’s look. “I need to get back to the Alliance. My ship must be destroyed, but I know a few codes to get back, they need me—”

“Another one,” Jobal muttered.

“Mum,” Sola warned.

“My squadron—that’s the first thing I need to do.” Luke swung his legs over the bed. “How long have I been out?”

“Three days,” Sola supplied. “You had a lot of cuts and bruises, but bacta fixed them up.” He could feel the tenderness of the skin around his torso and limbs. “Mainly it was exhaustion that took you out, I think.”

“Three days? They’ll either be with the Gungans or executed already. I need to—”

Jobal closed a hand around his wrist. “You don’t need to do anything,” she said sternly. “You’re injured.”

“Not anymore, you healed me—and thank you for that. I really appreciate it.”

“It’s dangerous, Luke.”

“That’s exactly why I need to go, Grandma”—he saw her face harden at the title, fixing her resolve—“my men need me.”

“Your family needs you,” she hissed. “We only just recovered you—we’ve barely discovered you’re alive. We haven’t even taken a blood test to prove it yet!”

Luke stilled. “You don’t believe in the Alliance,” he said slowly.

“It’s not that, Luke,” Sola tried.

“Even after the Empire killed your daughter and her partner.”

“Don’t condescend to me. I know what the Empire is.”

“Then you know how important it is to fight it!”

“I know that it gets people killed for nothing,” she bit out. “My daughter is dead, as is her partner, as you said. My granddaughter ignored all my warnings and went to the Senate like her aunt to defy Palpatine, and now she’s locked away in some prison on Coruscant. For all we know, she’s dead. My husband is dead, from the stress of all this mess! And my other granddaughter—”

“Leave Ryoo out of this, Mother,” Sola ordered.

“—is just as reckless. Every time she goes to another one of those protests she risks discovery. I am not letting this war take more of my family from me.”

“You don’t care about the cause, then?” Luke stared at her. “The Empire is evil.”

“That doesn’t mean that you have to do something about it.”

Luke had never been one for politics as much as Leia had, but he’d heard her rants. Every time, he’d been shocked by what she said. By the main reason people didn’t want to join a rebellion they agreed with wholeheartedly.

Apathy.

Apathy and cowardice.

“You’re afraid,” he said.

“Of course I’m afraid! Only a fool wouldn’t be.”

“That doesn’t stop me,” he said.

She hadn’t risen from her seat, so he was taller than her as he stood, but somehow she still looked down her nose at him. “And you would have died had we not been there,” she said. “I do not consider that a sensible course of action.”

“Do you not care?” Luke burst out. “You don’t want anyone to bother to do anything? Do you not care about the people the Empire has hurt?”

“Luke, of course she cares—”

“I am one of those people, Luke,” Jobal informed him. “And I have reached my limit of empathy. I have nothing left to give.”

Luke swallowed. “Then I’m sorry for that, Grandma,” he said. “But I have much more to give.” He turned to Sola. “What did you do with my clothes?” He was wearing silk pyjamas right now, which were very comfortable, but not war-appropriate attire.

“Burned them,” his aunt said. “But I’ll find you some clothes. Darred always overpacks anyway.” She stood up. “Come with me.”

“Please, Luke,” Jobal pleaded. “Don’t make me bury you too.”

Luke paused on the threshold of the room, just behind Sola. Jobal hadn’t risen from her chair, but she was watching him with dark eyes.

“I’ll come back, Grandma,” he said softly. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll be the one who lives.”

Jobal hesitated, her face a rictus of disapproval. But she lifted her chin and pointed with it. “Open that drawer.”

Hesitating only momentarily, Luke opened it. It was full of scarves. He dug a little bit, and underneath them he found—

A gleaming silver pistol.

“That was Padmé’s,” she said. “If you intend to rescue your squadron from the jaws of Imperial imprisonment, you’ll need a weapon. May it bring you luck, as it did her.” She paused. “It had better be good luck, this time.”

Luke nodded and slid his hand around the grip. It was cool and light in his palm. “Thank you, Grandma,” he said, and slipped out of the room.

He didn’t see her again for another four years. But that was alright. By then, they had a lot to talk about, many tears to cry, and one more lost granddaughter to add to her family.

[silvereddaye]

Day 7: Never Again

Luke hugged Squishy Bear tighter as he looked across the city. He was sure, one-hundred percent sure, that he was looking at his home. 

He hoped. 

It was hard to tell. He knew it was a really tall building and he lived on the top floor. But there were so many tall buildings. But that one, that one far away, that was it. He knew it. 

Was Mommy there right now? It had been a long time since she left. A very, very long time. She had never been gone this long before. Something had happened. Something serious and scary. 

The night before Mommy had left, he sat with her on the veranda as they watched a building far away on fire. Mommy said that it was the Jedi Temple and she cried. When he asked why, she just said because she was sad. He hugged her. 

Daddy came sometime later. Mommy was so happy to see him. She ran and hugged him. He ran and hugged her too. Luke ran and hugged them both. Daddy picked him up and squeezed him tight. He smelled funny. It reminded Luke of burnt food. 

“Are you alright?” Mommy asked. “I heard there was an attack on the Jedi Temple. You can see the smoke from here.” 

“I’m fine,” Daddy said. “I’m fine. I came to see if you and the twins were safe.” 

“Captain Typho is here. We’re safe.” 

“And Leia? How is she holding up?” 

“Resting,” Mommy said sadly. “The new medicine leaves her tired.” Daddy nodded and gave Luke another squeeze. Mommy asked, “What happened?” 

“The situation is not good,” Daddy said. “The Jedi have tried to overthrow the Republic.” 

“I can’t believe that! Anakin . . . what are you going to do?” 

Daddy looked at Luke. Luke smiled at Daddy. He didn’t smile back. 

“I will not betray the Republic,” Daddy said. “My loyalties lay with the Chancellor and with the Senate . . . and with you and our family.” 

Daddy left shortly after that in his really cool fighter ship. Mommy cried. A lot. Luke patted her back and told her it was ok. 

He wished Leia could be there to help Mommy feel better, but she was sick. Really, really sick. She had been given a special room with a special bed and lots of machines. She couldn’t get out of bed because she was so sick. Mommy and Daddy were very worried about her, especially Daddy. 

He couldn’t always visit them. He was busy. He was fighting in the war! Saving people! Though that meant sometimes he was gone a long, long time. Like Mommy had been now. 

He wanted to go home. He wanted to see Leia. He wanted Mommy. He wanted Daddy. 

But no matter how much he asked or cried or shouted or kicked and screamed, no one would take him to them. 

He knew Mommy had gone to look for Daddy. Obi-Wan had come over and asked where Daddy was. Luke was supposed to be in his room. This was an adult-only conversation, but he snuck out anyway. 

“Anakin is their father?” Obi-Wan asked. 

Mommy looked away.

“I’m sorry,” he said and then left. 

Then Mommy spotted Luke. He thought she was going to be angry. But instead, she scooped him up and took him to his room. She told him she had to go. 

“Where?” Luke asked.

“I need . . . I need to go see your daddy. I need to make sure he is safe,” she said. 

“What about Leia?”

“She . . . She’ll be fine. Your aunties and the medical droids and the doctors will watch over her. I won’t be gone long.” 

But she had been gone long. Very, very, very, very LONG. 

And what if she came back and saw he wasn’t even there? Sometime after Mommy had left some troopers and other men came and took him away. Luke didn’t even want to go with them! He wanted to stay at home! But they picked him up and took him to this stupid, stinky, bad place!

So now he watched his home from afar wishing for his family . . .

He felt something. 

It was hard to explain. Daddy called it the Force. That other feeling. It felt like a hand ruffling his hair. It felt like . . . 

DADDY!

It was Daddy! Luke was sure of it. One-hundred percent sure of it! 

He paused and tried to feel it again. Nothing but a lingering coldness. But that didn’t matter. It was Daddy. Daddy was . . . somewhere close. Maybe back home? Maybe looking for Luke and realized he wasn’t there? And he would be here soon! Luke could go home soon!

Luke jumped up and down a few times. He threw Squishy Bear into the air. He missed catching him, but he quickly snatch him off the ground. And he waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

He felt Daddy a few more times. They were all soft barely-there touches. But Luke did know Daddy was getting closer each time. 

And then he was close. Really close! 

Luke bounced around by the door. He heard the click of the lock and he dashed forward the moment the door started to slide open. 

“DADDY!” he yelled as he lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Daddy’s legs. Daddy was big and tall, and Luke could only hug his legs.

Something wasn’t right. 

The legs felt different. Hard. 

They weren’t the right boots. Daddy wore brown boots. These were black. 

Luke looked up. 

A black mask. 

Luke screamed. 

He backed away but tripped and fell. He landed on his bottom. The man slowly stepped forward, so Luke screamed again. 

“Luke,” a voice said. A deep voice. 

Tears started rolling down Luke’s face. 

This wasn’t Daddy! Where was he? He was so, so, so sure it was Daddy! He had felt him! 

“Luke,” the man said again as knelt in front of me. “It is me.” 

The tears burned Luke’s cheeks and made his vision blurry. He looked behind the man. Was Daddy there? But no it was just this scary man. 

The man reached out with a big hand covered in a large black glove. The man was covered in black. 

“It is . . . Daddy,” the man said. “It is me, Luke. It is Daddy.”

Luke blinked a few times as he tried to chase the tears away. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. But no matter what, he didn’t see Daddy. This man wasn’t Daddy. He didn’t sound like Daddy. 

The large hand landed on his head and gently stroked his hair. 

“It is Daddy,” the man repeated. 

And Luke felt it. Not the hand on his head. But in the Force. That feeling he had been feeling for a long time. Now it was here in this room coming from this man. The feeling of Daddy was coming from this man . . .

Luke scrambled up to his knees and crawled over to the man. He placed his hands on the mask. 

Yes. This was Daddy.

Again, Daddy put a hand on Luke’s head. His other hand rested on Luke’s back.

“Take this off,” Luke said. His voice wavered but it was strong, because he was brave. 

“I . . . cannot,” Daddy said. 

Luke frowned. “Why not? I don’t like it. It’s scary.” 

“I know,” Daddy said. He sounded sad. “But I need it to breathe.”

Luke’s frown deepened. That didn’t make sense. Daddy didn’t need a mask to breathe! 

“I want to go home,” Luke said. “I don’t like it here. I want to see Leia and Mommy.” 

Daddy stiffened, which was odd because he was already stiff. But now he seemed frozen. In fact, it felt colder in here. 

“They did not tell you?” Daddy said. 

Tell him what? 

“They did not tell you the fate of your mother or sister?” Daddy asked.

He was angry. Luke didn’t like that. It was scary. 

He tried to step away, but Daddy’s hand on his back was hard, and didn’t move. 

“Daddy,” Luke said. His voice was no longer strong and brave. It was small and uneven. “Can we go home, please?” 

The mask tilted to look at him. 

“We cannot,” Daddy said. 

“But . . . what about Mommy? And Leia? When can I see them?” 

“You won't see them. Never again.” 

[weilaverdui]

Angstober - Day 16

Still going! This time I went for Zhongli/Tartaglia, because this relationship is probably... quite complicated right now. Also, I just really enjoy these two (and also, master of records, this is for you)

LOVE AND HATE

[myevilmouse]

Day 3: Angstober: Flashbacks

Fandom: Star Wars

Words: 100

“I’m not afraid,” Ben insisted, blue eyes flashing, confident. 

His son had Mara’s good looks, but had inherited Dad’s reckless streak. 

And my voice…Luke thought, Ben’s declaration taking him back to another time:  a waterlogged, stifling planet, a demanding master whose own stubbornness was more than a match for a cocky young Jedi.

“You will be…” 

Yoda’s promise echoed in his memory, refusing to escape Luke’s lips. 

Fear was the path to the Dark Side, and while Ben needed to understand that—be ready for it—Luke was not Yoda.

“Glad to hear it,” Luke said, and lightsabers clashed again.

[oonaluna-art]

Inktober 2022 Day 2!

“Crack in the Mirror” inspired by the Angstober 2022 Prompt List.

This composition is based on characters from a webcomic I tried making in my teens. (I’m never going to finish the project, but the characters have a special place in my heart.) The protagonist, Lumina, didn’t exactly import only her own soul into her new body.

—

[My Ko-Fi] [Patreon] [RedBubble]

[fanfictasia]

Angstober Day 1

Miscommunication

Spoiler: This is an excerpt from Fading

“You need to let it go,” Obi-Wan tells him softly, “There is nothing you can do about it now.”

“I promised I wouldn’t fail again,” Anakin says roughly, eyes squeezed shut. “But I did, didn’t I? And I failed you.”

He wishes he knew what to say to that. He doesn’t. “Maybe,” he concedes at last. “You made mistakes. We all did. And it wasn’t your duty to save her. I remember telling you – to stop trying to prove yourself.”

“How?” Anakin asks, anguished. “How am I supposed to… stop remembering? I’m always trapped there. I don’t understand it. I need… to know. I have to.”

“Know what, Anakin?”

“That… I can. That I’m strong enough.”

“Strong enough for what?” he asks, softly, stroking his hand down his padawan’s arm.

“To do everything you wanted of me. To be… the Jedi I should be.” He leans into Obi-Wan’s touch.

“But you were, weren’t you? I know you struggled with darkness, and I can see now that I… was oblivious to much of it, but I cannot understand this… desperation.”

Anakin huffs out a soft sigh. “I only ever wanted – to be enough to you. You asked me earlier what… happened with me. How it led to this. It was right after I spoke to Master Yoda that the Chancellor spoke to me about… being appointed to the Council.” Obi-Wan can tell that he’s uncomfortable, though he can’t quite say why. He doesn’t remember Anakin being uncomfortable this frequently. “I was… uncertain about it. I didn’t believe the Council would accept me, but he… insisted.”

“I thought you had requested it.” With a start, he feels ashamed for it, because throughout the years he’s forgotten the exact sequence of events, but he thought Anakin may have already been lost at this point. “I knew you wanted more… power.”

“Not… power, exactly,” Anakin replies, staring at the gravestone. “I was searching for a way to save Padme and most I only wanted to end the war. I can see how much it’s destroying everything we were fighting for. I wanted to bring peace and order. I wanted… to help like no one helped me or Mom. Palpatine gave me that choice. He made me feel like I was capable of something.”

“Palpatine doesn’t care about order,” Obi-Wan points out, “Only power.”

Anakin’s presence is stilling, tensing next to him. “His beliefs are not that different from the Jedi’s.”

Obi-Wan has been calm and unusually patient since the moment he nearly lost Anakin, but for the first time he actually finds himself getting angry. “The Sith are evil,” he snaps, “You know that. How can you question that?”

“The Jedi were corrupted too,” Anakin says, body tense. “They are – were afraid to lose power. And you were committing treason. Palpatine may have deceived me, but he never lied to me.”

The entire conversation is making him think more and more about Vader, and he thought… he doesn’t know, but somehow, he thought Anakin’s lightness meant all his darkness was gone, but it doesn’t. And he can see Vader’s mask in his mind, and it’s making him angry. “He’s a Sith, Anakin!”

“I know what he is! Do you truly believe I couldn’t see it or feel it?”

“You didn’t feel it after a decade of knowing him,” Obi-Wan snaps.

Anakin jolts back, blinking, visibly stung. His expression hardens to anger and he jolts back, standing sharply and spinning around, turning back towards the homestead.

Obi-Wan has absolutely no idea why he just said that, but Anakin is already walking away. “Where are you going?” he calls after him.

He ignores him, disappearing inside, leaving Obi-Wan sitting outside alone.

Why did he just say that?

[sinvulkt]

Die A Hero, Or Live Long Enough To Become The Villain

Anakin Skywalker died on Mustafar.

Darth Vader rises from his ashes. Finished, 7k words.

@angstober

*** ** * ** ***

Padmé was dead.

Padmé was dead, and he was alive.

Alone.

Vader wondered if this was how vines felt, when you removed them from their tree. When they lost everything. He wasn’t really sure how he felt, truthfully.

He just felt numb.

✯ ✯ ✯ ꒰ঌ ⚔ ໒꒱ 𓆩⚔𓆪 ꒰ঌ ⚔ ໒꒱ ✯ ✯ ✯

His suit hurt.

His everything hurt.

Burning alive tended to do that to organic beings, he knew. Even monsters.

But his suit also hurt in ways it wasn’t supposed to. He would know. He had tinkered with droids and mechanics for longer than he could remember. The simple fact that his rebuilt right arm was the least painful part of him was proof enough.

The armor was heavy and awkward. The whole system to support his failing lungs was torture. The drugs supposed to reduce his pain didn’t seem to help at all. The control panel displayed on his chest’s whole existence was absurd. At least the metal was black, and the cape acceptable. The whole contraption looked like something to hinder rather than help him, and Vader hated it.

Plus, there was no place in the armor for his recovering wings. They were uncomfortably pressed between two metal plates, whose harsh edges sunk into the fragile skin. Every movement irritated the burned roots. Every movement singed his nerves anew. Every movement was agony.

It empowered the Dark. It made it swirl hungrily around him, eager to eat the next flash of pain. Nowaday the Force felt more like a beast waiting to devour him than a friend and ally.

Vader didn’t care.

All of his friends betrayed him anyway.

✯ ✯ ✯ ꒰ঌ ⚔ ໒꒱ 𓆩⚔𓆪 ꒰ঌ ⚔ ໒꒱ ✯ ✯ ✯

Read the rest here on Ao3~

[qtipcottonbuds]

𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙎𝙏𝙊𝘽𝙀𝙍 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟮.

SIDENOTE ;; i can’t find the credited blog for these prompts, but as soon as i do, i will link it here <3

DAY ONE // MISCOMMUNICATION,, 

WITH MIRAGE

DAY TWO // CRACK IN THE MIRROR,,

WITH ???

DAY THREE // FLASHBACKS,,

WITH ???

DAY FOUR // HEAT,,

WITH MIRAGE

DAY FIVE // HEARTS TO CINDER,,

WITH DABI

DAY SIX // INJURY,,

WITH FELIX HUGO FRLADARIUS

DAY SEVEN // NEVER AGAIN,,

WITH ???

DAY EIGHT // HAUNTED PET,,

WITH ???

DAY NINE // SCREAM,,

WITH ???

DAY TEN // APATHY,,

WITH GHOSTFACE

DAY ELEVEN // THE WRONG TOMB,,

WITH DIMITRI ALEXANDRE BLAIDDYD

DAY TWELVE // EYES,,

WITH OIKAWA TOORU

DAY THIRTEEN // WORTHLESS,,

WITH ???

DAY FOURTEEN // ASHES TO LIFE,,

WITH DABI

DAY FIFTEEN // DRUGGED,,

WITH SHIGARAKI

DAY SIXTEEN // LOVE AND HATE,,

WITH SEBASTIAN

DAY SEVENTEEN // THE ABYSS LOOKS BACK,,

WITH ???

DAY EIGHTEEN // FALSE DEATH,,

WITH SHANE

DAY NINETEEN // COWARDICE,,

WITH MAMMON

DAY TWENTY // DEATH’S COMPANION,,

WITH ???

DAY TWENTYONE // MEMORIES,,

WITH ???

DAY TWENTYTWO // CORRUPTION,,

WITH CHILDE

DAY TWENTYTHREE // SLAY IT WITH FLOWERS,,

WITH USHIJIMA

DAY TWENTYFOUR // SHIVERING,,

WITH KABU

DAY TWENTYFIVE // WASTELAND,,

WITH LEGION

DAY TWENTYSIX // DARK WATER,,

WITH ???

DAY TWENTYSEVEN // FRAGMENTS,,

WITH EIJIROU KIRISHIMA

DAY TWENTYEIGHT // REUNION,,

WITH GHOSTFACE

DAY TWENTYNINE // SAND TOWERS,,

WITH ???

DAY THIRTY // FAILURE,,

WITH SUN AND MOON

DAY THIRTYONE // THE LAST GOODBYE,,

WITH ???

[formalmess]

posting these semi-staggered, just kind of going where the inspiration takes me. here’s some mr. L musings.

[starr234]

His outward face, the mask of humanity he let the galaxy see, looked down at the boy with compassion and understanding.  But inside, where his true self consisted of only power and the force of his will, he was thrilled.  This was what he’d been looking for - the boy’s fear that he would misstep, his worry about triggering Lord Vader’s infamous temper.  Likely he did not even know how deadly his father’s temper could be.

[spell-cleaver]

Day 11: The Wrong Tomb

(Also Day 16: Love & Hate)

@angstober​

Luke wondered at what he felt. It was a peculiar lack of feeling. Absolutely… nothing.

He had not known this woman. He would never know this woman.

Senator Mothma, who’d told him gently about who she suspected his mother to be when he’d come back from Bespin so shaken, had said that Padmé Amidala Naberrie still had living relatives on Naboo. There were people to tell him about her, what she’d been like. To add some flesh to the bones of the stories Leia had told him, so his perception of his mother was more than just Aunt Beru’s shadow or a skeleton dancing on a string. If he wanted, he could approach them.

He didn’t want to. He’d be going back to the Alliance immediately after this visit. It was already impossible to stay too long—anyone he interacted with could have recognised him and reported him to the garrison. He might already have brought Vader down on his mother’s home planet. His mother’s family—in his head he couldn’t be rights call them his family—deserved better than to find a grandson only to lose him to war again.

But he had wanted to sit in front of his mother’s tomb for a little while, if he was in the Chommell sector already.

He sat on the bench in the public memorial gardens and closed his eyes. Reaching out helped nothing; there was no lingering presence of her, here. At least, not one he could recognise. Leia had mentioned before that she had been adopted, with only trace memories of her birth mother, but Luke didn’t even have that. Thousands of sensations, impressions, emotions pressed upon his consciousness when he sat there and felt the life of the garden thrum through him. But if any of them were the ghost of his mother, dead for twenty years, he would not have known.

After a trembling moment, he stood. Stepped forwards, under the canopy and the shine of the stained-glass windows. The Naboo sun wasn’t nearly as intense as Tatooine’s suns, but the red, blue, yellow light seemed to burn through his fatigues, through his skin, his bones, through to his blood and heart and DNA as he stood in the light of Queen Amidala’s image. The slash of lipstick on her lip, the red headdress, made it look like she was swimming in her own blood.

But when he looked back at the image of her carved on her tomb, exactly as she’d looked at her funeral, he was told, she was at peace in the water, gentle and drifting. The weather of twenty years had worn the grooves soft, but when he knocked his head against the flowers sticking out of her hair too hard, they still drew blood across his knuckles. He tilted his hand and let it drip out, let it latch onto her forehead, like that blood connection could somehow make the one they already shared any stronger.

He had wasted his time. His mother wasn’t here—only cold stone, cold glass, and cold bouquets of flowers, wilting untouched at her feet. If she was here, it was only the bones of her, walled away from him.

She was even more distant than his father, in his own cruel tomb. Trying to reach the legendary Senator Amidala was worse than trying to grasp the legends of Anakin Skywalker. Water, sand—both trickled through his fingers all the same.

But he still had so many questions.

How had they met? Had she known what he was? Had she known how far a hero like Anakin Skywalker had fallen, how it happened? Or had she died too soon, Luke stolen from her cooling body, and that had been the moment Anakin Skywalker had been lost?

Had his father even loved her at all?

There was only one person he could ask. But sitting here was easier: sitting and staring, answerless, at the stone cell that held his mother was easier than having to face the durasteel one that held his father.

“What happened?” he whispered. “How did he become a monster?”

Slowly, as if from a great distance, he noticed it began to rain. The patter of droplets on the stones behind him made his mind itch; even though he was under the canopy beside the tomb, water slipped down his cheeks.

“How could you have loved him?” he said, even more hoarsely. There was Death Star-sized lump in his throat. “Did you love me?”

No answers came. Only a serene, unchanging face—one that he despised for a few, intense seconds, even as he loved and adored this unknown, untainted parent for several more—and the chilly fall of rain. And Luke knew, in a deep-hearted way he couldn’t deny, that he was standing at the wrong tomb.

Trapped in darkness or not… he would have to get his answers from someone else.

[alexversenaberrie]

[weilaverdui]

Angstober - Day 22

A bit late today, but still. This time I went for Jamil Viper after overblotting. This guy is so handsome, I just can't, in addition to being cunning and smart - I totally dedicate this one to master of records. This day and next.

CORRUPTION