#septangst

[dingoat]

So I’ve had a lot going on and missed a few of my favourite months of prompts, and the only one I could find for September was one that I found reasonably uninspiring. Enter SEPTANGST, wherein I was delivered this absolutely delightful list of prompts and while I’m not sure I’ll actually follow through with creating every day, or if it’ll be more art or more words, I’m definitely looking forward to having some fresh (and angsty!) thoughts to play with.

AND Y’ALL ARE WELCOME TO PLAY TOO, by all means. You can use these prompts however you see fit, challenge yourself daily or weekly or just try to combine them all into a single epic piece, ask your friends and followers to send you their favourite prompts to respond to with their favourite characters, take the theme and make your own list, I’m just here to encourage creativity. And if you tag your stuff there’s a good chance I’ll find it and get excited about it, too.

[askshivanulegacy]

Septangst 22: Irrational

He was proud of her. She’d found a job. She’d found something to do, something to break up the monotony, something to keep herself occupied with, something to contribute to. He went with her the first few times. Not that there was anything he could do. But he could watch. He could also get out. Most importantly, he could still protect her.

It’s what he told himself.

He didn’t notice the other Bothan at first. He didn’t notice when the other entered the picture. When they started talking. When they started chatting about more than just the job she’d been hired for. 

But one day, he blinked, and the other Bothan was helping her carry something, laughing with her, and she - she was laughing with him. With his deep, chocolate brown - almost black - fur, and the reddish pattern so equally dark you’d miss it but for the sun casting a shiny gloss across it, he made a striking figure in his Mandalorian red and black armor.

Blakk got to know his boots the most. The way they glinted in the sun as he walked with her back to the speeder. They way they sounded, clap-clap-clap, across the wooden floor when they approached her at her painting booth. The lines, smooth and angular, with their heels toward him as they leaned over the table and worked the design together. 

And his voice. As he laughed. As he brought her coffee in the morning and asked about her progress. As he complimented her on her colors and shapes. As he dropped her name from his lips when he congratulated her on the festival’s finished graphic, the colors chosen to represent it. All things Blakk might have said, had he been able to say it. As he asked her to the Springturn Eve dance.

His smile, too. The way his pearlescent teeth caught the light when he looked at her. The way they flashed when he spoke or laughed, when he snarled at the belligerent smith who happened by once, when he did all the things that Blakk couldn’t.

Blakk doesn’t remember his face. But his teeth, and his voice, and his boots. Especially the boots.

As much as he tried, he couldn’t find fault in them.

Eventually, she stopped taking him to town with her.

She seemed ... happier.

Now that she was leaving him.

[lordtraco-fanfics]

Septangst 2: Impermanence

For Vincent: the Secret of Myers

Inspired by this tweet (warning for major character death in tweet and in drabble below)

At one time, Victor had known the terror of losing his beloved. It plagued him for years that another car crash could happen any moment that Vincent was out of his sight. Those days without him, of thinking he was gone, were unbearable. Perhaps that was why he so quickly made peace with his own mortality.

If he died first, he wouldn't have to lose Vincent a second time.

Still, standing on a balcony next to his husband and watching a sunset in silence made him think. Was that all they were? Was their life together a short display of beautiful colors? Was it made all the more special and memorable because of its impermanence?

Victor imagined his hands would have been thin and veiny by now, softened with age. There was no softness in metal, no matter how gentle he was to compensate. Yet Vincent seemed not to mind when that metal hand brushed against his cheek.

Outlined in reddened hues, Vincent was a stark monochrome against the world's colorful beauty. Much like a tree darkened by the coming night, he would outlive most if simply left to grow. The thought made Victor smile. He was no less mortal or real simply for living longer. His lover was still part of the wonderful world. No amount of metal could strip that away from either of them.

Vincent didn't smile at the touch, but his eyes softened to the same effect. While his faked smiles were beautiful and his more common smirks were adorable, Victor liked those neutral frowns most of all. It was proof that Vincent didn't feel the need to change for him.

Pressing a kiss to that frown, Victor felt the same rush that their first had brought. Ever the same, his Vincent. It was returned slowly and Victor felt warm, gentle hands against both of his cheeks.

Bliss, pure bliss. Yet just as the sun must set, so too must their kiss end. When he opened his eyes again, it was to a darkened world and the eerie, familiar glint of green behind Vincent's eyes. This time, however, it didn't register as proof of his inhumanity, but as a tree. Something so full of life and time.

He could feel his own slipping away, but that could be addressed later. Surely, the world would grant him one more sunrise with the love of his life.

(end here on a hopeful note

Or look at this tweet for extra angst)

[cinlat]

Septangst 30: Kalopsia

Previous drabbles: Hiraeth | Sharp | Abandon | Twinge | Torrent  | Rift  | Threads | Exhausted | Scintilla | Irrational

So I’ve been crazy busy lately and missed a lot of the prompts that I really wanted to write. Maybe I still will, but now we’re moving into whumptober. Anyway, so enjoy this little peek at how Sith Fynta ended up with her iconic tattoo.

Thank you all for reading along as I fleshed out Sith Fynta’s backstory, and to Tish, @kunoichi-ume​ @dingoat​ and @sleepswithvillains​ for letting me borrow their lovely characters to do so.

Word Count: 566 Guest Appearance: @tishinada​‘s Ucevi

The needle bit into Fynta’s flesh again, and she giggled. It was a strange sound, not one that she’d heard before, but Fynta had enough presence of mind to know that it was definitely hers. The Miralukan’s lips twitched, but he didn’t speak. Somewhere in the back of Fynta’s mind, Verin roared with laughter, though she knew that wasn’t real.

Colorful dots danced against the wall in time with a beat that Fynta felt, but couldn’t hear. She watched them, vaguely aware of the whirring and steady jab of tiny spikes into her cheek. The Miralukan sniffed, and Fynta was caught by how symmetrical the studs below his eyes were. She wanted to touch them but knew that would be taboo. Somehow, she knew that those lines, the beautiful additions to his eyeless features, were the reason that she’d chosen him for the job.

The door swished open, a pleasing sound that let in the music from across the street, making the lights more vibrant now that Fynta heard their rhythm. “What the fuck?” Those deep tones resonated in Fynta, and she grinned at her Sith Blooded friend.

Ucevi stormed forward with one hand gesturing wildly between the man with the bejeweled cheeks and Fynta. They were arguing, but the undertones reminded Fynta of an old war song that her father once sang, and she began humming along.

The Miralukan snorted and rolled back from Fynta’s chair. “Too late. Pay up, and get her out of my parlor.”

Muttering, Ucevi tucked one strong arm behind Fynta’s back to help her sit up. “What the hell were you thinking?”

Fynta’s grin felt lopsided, and she couldn’t resist the urge to run her fingers along Ucevi’s brow stalks. They were soft and fierce, like the woman who wore them. Absolutely beautiful. Fynta’s fingers drifted to the piercings that Ucevi had recently gotten, and her grin widened. “We match.”

“Not quite.” A hint of amusement with equal touches of exasperation slipped into Ucevi’s voice as she hauled Fynta over to the mirror. “Mine are removable.”

Fynta blinked at her reflection, now altered by the brilliant blue pigment encircling her right eye. She squinted, turning her head from one side to the other. “Shab.” The color matched her eyes, which looked glassy and wide with excitement. Her face was flush from the adrenaline of...something Fynta didn’t remember. Finally, she nodded and lifted a thumb to her blind artist. “Masterful work, my friend.”

Sighing, Ucevi pulled Fynta towards the door with assurances that she’d paid the tattooer. “You didn’t go to the medcenter, did you?”

The woman’s accusation fell short of its mark when Fynta caught sight of the sky. It was black velvet with lightning sparks of color from the buildings surrounding her. She sighed, enjoying the pleasant sense of wellbeing. “Sure did.” Granted, it had been a local man selling kolto out of the back of his speeder; Fynta had never trusted the medcenters on Dromund Kaas. She’d need to recommend him to some of the others. The quality was much better than anything the Empire offered.

“You’re stoned,” Ucevi countered while Fynta curled herself around the other woman’s body. She should tell the Sith Blood how lovely that material looked against her skin, maybe suggest some ideas for what to do with it, but Ucevi spoke over her. “Come on, that hangover is going to be a bitch.”

[dingoat]

Septangst 13: Longing

[dingoat]

Septangst 25: Iridescence 

[dingoat]

Septangst 4: Frozen

Just a little frost spell mishap, it’s... it’s definitely reversible. Right?

....right?

[dingoat]

Septangst 30: Heartache/Kalopsia

One word for the feelings that drove her to this point, another for the feelings of those that look upon her. Also, I guess, a companion piece for Iridescence from earlier in the month.

[dingoat]

Septangst 8: Hiraeth

[Stepping back from the wolf girl for a moment to offer a little bit of soft angst to @kaosstar, borrowing her Inquisitor Chandra to give my Ulfran some more painful and awkward times during his undercover Imperial days. Nobody does broody melancholy quite like him.]

“Where is it you’d rather be?”

The question caught Ulfran off guard, and when he lifted his pale eyes to meet Chandra’s bright marigold gaze, he found an expression that made him profoundly uncomfortable with its gentleness.

Lying came as easily to him as breathing; his life had been nothing but deception for the last decade, and anyone that he had difficulty lying to was a liability.

What a foolish indulgence, to have accepted her invitation to share a drink, as though it might distract him from news he’d have rather not heard. He should have shut her down years ago, cut off their gentle conversations and… and whatever undefined feelings fluttered around them. She made no sense to him, not like the Librarian who at least had some common interests and a sort of… casual roughness that was easy to shrug off the next day.

Chandra had potential that was so miserably squandered under the Empire’s thumb, and it was everything that he should be conscientiously avoiding if he were to keep his cover intact.

This could only ever, ever end with him hurting her, all the worse the longer he allowed it to string along.

Just like with Lyrisal, and look where she was now.

“No place that exists,” he murmured, the soft cadence of his voice so proper, so reserved.

“Not Tython…?” she pressed, ever so gently.

His origin was no secret amongst the Sith ranks in any way acquainted with him, but still Ulfran was a little stung by her acuity. He paused, and the creases in his brow grew a little deeper. He never enjoyed lying to her, but this time, at least, he could speak plainly enough. “Not as it is now. Perhaps… I find myself missing what I’d hoped it would be, once upon a time. But the home I’d imagined in my youth is not what Tython turned out to be, and Coruscant was a magnitude worse. That ‘home’ does not exist, even if I catch myself homesick for it at times.”

She tutted sympathetically, and how such dark tainted eyes could hold something so genuine baffled him. He should leave. This was a terrible idea. A terrible-

All it took was the brush of her fingers at his elbow to prompt him to linger. “So there isn’t any place you could go, to feel comforted?”

He closed his eyes and drew a long, slow breath, centering himself. Oh, Chandra. This is exactly the reason I’d let myself visit you. Being here is a comfort of the most painful sort. 

“No,” he lied.

[dingoat]

Septangst 15: Figment

A figment greets me at the door I step aside For where you ought to be

The curtains still rest where your soft little head Would push through, to watch, to wait

I’m not ready to set them straight

A shadow follows me to the kitchen Scraps set aside for nobody I know the sound of your claws; Too long Your bones sore, your walks slow You don’t wear them down on your own any more

Your dish is nearly dry But I’m not ready for a world where it can stay that way

A memory sleeps soundly In the hallway Under the desk

Do you know that I still look for you

I still listen

Just in case

You’re ready to be let inside again

[dingoat]

Septangst 2: Impermanence

She tried to remember his face.

Her pencil moved across the page with quick, rough strokes, light enough to be layered over the top of one another until she thought she was approaching the slope of his jaw.

She tried to remember his smile.

When was the last time she’d seen him smile? Had he smiled at her, at the celebration, on the dance floor or the balcony? She’d been so lost in her feelings, so wrapped up in the moment, but had he once actually even smiled at her? Would it even have been his own smile, if he had?

An ill feeling writhed about in her stomach, as she tried to remember his eyes, but all that came to her were the dark rims and slit pupils of the fox’s eyes.

The sketch was smudged into oblivion before she managed to create something that she recognised, and her second attempt fared no better.

Had he been happy? Had he ever been happy?

She tried to remember their interactions during… during that time. Had he been happy, then? He’d been quiet, withdrawn, frustrated… he’d been afraid. She stopped trying to remember that time, because it made her hands start to shake so badly she couldn’t manage a solid line.

She tried to remember his voice, and though the soft notes of that blessed marketplace morning still whispered lullabies in the back of her mind, far stronger was his urgent cry for her to run, to be free, to leave.

He’d wanted to help her, then, she was sure that much was real.

But she knew, now, that he’d never intended to leave with her.

That he would have sooner faced death, than this life.

With her.

[dingoat]

Septangst 10: Abandon

Ahuska picked up on the tension readily enough, but it wasn’t in her nature to pry or question. Not to say she wasn’t curious, that she didn’t take in what snippets of conversation drifted her way, but she rested comfortably with the assumption that if whatever had all the senior staff on edge was in any way relevant to her, then she’d be made aware.

Oh, how wrong she was.

She was going about the most mundane of tasks, hauling bins of old feed down to the compactor, when a shadow dropped behind her and caught her up in a grip like a vice, clapping a hand across her mouth. A wise move, as Ahuska’s startled cry was muffled to a squeak.

“Don’t struggle. Don’t fight. If you want to see the end of this day, you’ll come with me quickly, and quietly.” The voice was so fierce yet cool, it shot shivers up Ahuska’s spine. She wanted to do anything but follow along with those forceful, phantom instructions. But what choice did she have?

Her heart was pounding and her mind was racing as she tried to find a way to signal for help. Yet her feet moved with her captor, her survival instinct strong, telling her not to do anything rash, anything stupid, because she had terribly little doubt that her life was currently being held in powerful blue hands. A Chiss, she was certain, not that the knowledge helped her in the least. Any resistance she offered was met with an uncomfortable pressure against her ribs, and before long they were at the outer edge of the compound.

What was happening?

The sound of rapidly approaching footsteps had the Chiss pause before keying in the code to open the first set of gates; a flick of her ankle sent Ahuska sprawling to the ground and a well placed boot held her there. But Ahuska had already glimpsed her saviour; one of the facility managers, one whom she only ever saw in passing, working as he did in the restricted areas. Surely, though, surely he wouldn’t let this happen?

“Cipher-” there was stunned recognition in his tone, but the blaster he held up didn’t waver.

“I abandoned that title some time ago. Is that news to you? How disappointing. Or perhaps it’s just old habits…?” Her own weapon was likewise trained on him, alongside a wicked grin.

“What are you doing with her?” Surprise had given way to a hard, wary edge, as he ignored the Chiss’ pleasantries.

She snorted. “Saving her life, I figure.” 

He saw the way her fingers flicked across her blaster’s settings, and decided it was ultimately for the best not to intervene as she lowered her aim, and fired a blazing blue stun bolt into the back of the Bothan’s head.

[dingoat]

Septangst 7: Bitterness

Despite the soft glow of dawn, there was a bitterness to the wind that swept through the woods that spoke to the loneliness in her heart.

[dingoat]

Septangst 22: Irrational

“What are you doing to the house!? I thought the property was listed, how can you…” Doctor Dominic Highbridge threw a brief, desperate stare toward his younger brother, but couldn’t long keep his eyes from the horror that was unfolding in front of him, as a great wrecking ball swung and took out another chunk of the old stone wall on the east side of their old family manor house.

Though furious at his brother’s unannounced arrival, it nonetheless gave Glen great pleasure to tilt his head and lift a brow, offering a light shrug. “No, it isn’t. I can do whatever I like with it.”

“But it’s… I saw… I have a copy of the papers! It’s… it’s a heritage house, it’s supposed to have…” Been safe. I never would have let you take the deeds entirely into your name if I hadn’t thought it was safe!

“It’s nothing of the sort. It was re-evaluated by the committee, and they-”

“You bribed them.”

“Dominic!” He set a hand to his chest in mock offence. “How could you suggest such a thing? You just need to know how to talk to people, you know that was always your problem…?” Besides. Why bribe when you can blackmail?

The older brother glowered, and winced as one of the ancient stone sculptures that had used to jut proudly from the southeast corner crashed to the ground. The gargoyle’s head, now free, clattered across the courtyard. That was an Old Kaas carving. That was priceless! It should have been preserved, the whole house should have been… “How can you do this?”

“If you cared so much, you should have insisted on a share of the property. You took the lump credits and now you can enjoy living with that.”

“Glen, please. We grew up here. Doesn’t any of this mean anything to you…” He faltered at the ice cold glare that was cast his way.

 “Get out.” Everything politely jovial dropped from Glen’s countenance. Here was a man that Dominic no longer knew. He didn’t know when, exactly, his brother had strayed beyond the point of recognition, but there was something in that expression that moved well beyond the detached surliness of his teens, the aloof chill of his early adulthood. The hair at the nape of his neck stood up as Dominic suddenly realised he was looking at a dangerous man. Who was his brother?

“What?” He tried to soften his tone, desperate to reach him. “No, look, don’t be irrational-”

“Irrational? Oh no, no. No. Irrational is everyone who just carried on with their lives as though nothing ever happened. Get out. Get off my land, and don’t bother coming back unless you’re capable of having a conversation rather spewing criticism. I will do exactly as I please and I do not take kindly to interference. Get. Out.”

[dingoat]

Septangst 9: Sharp

My ears are sharp.

I hear you there. You are a ghost, your heart is dead, but your breath betrays you in the dark. No matter how soft you step I hear you.

Come closer.

My eyes are sharp, but you cling to the shadows. Are you ashamed? Why do you try to hide, when you have already bared your worst self to me? I know you are there.

My nose is sharp.

Your scent is ill. You scrub yourself sterile but you cannot mask the nerves and the stress, you will never rid your hands of my blood. I smell you there, where you hide and tremble, why are you here if you will not face me plain?

My teeth are sharp.

Are you afraid? Are you afraid of me?

Is there anything I could do that is worse than what you have done? I could take your throat and snap your bones, would the hurt even compare? Or would I bring you relief.

Come closer.

Come closer and look at me.

Look at what you let happen.

Are you still proud?

Is this what you wanted?

I hate you.

.

.

.

I love you.

[dingoat]

Septangst 11: Side Effects

Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw when he woke the next morning. He could barely hold his tongue, for all that he wanted to cry out in shock and revulsion… but such behaviour was beneath him, and he would not let himself be so reduced again.

Not even by…

He grabbed a long robe and threw it over himself, even though he was alone, even though his door was shut, he couldn’t he couldn’t he could not risk the chance of anyone, not anyone at all accidentally looking in, catching a glimpse… not until he’d had an opportunity to properly assess the extent of...

He cradled his arm under the folds of silk, sweat beading his brow before he even finished the few short steps to his ensuite. Mirrors surrounded him, and for the first time in his life he wished for a different arrangement. He glanced over his shoulder and caught his own harried expression countless times over, stress and uncertainty so ill-fitted to his features he wanted to smash them all.

Keep yourself together, Highbridge, he chided himself, jaws tight, stomach churning. He’d come too far to fall to pieces now. He’d been through enough, and whatever it was he thought he’d seen, it surely couldn’t be so bad. They’d warned of side effects, he knew things could go a little awry before he could be his old self again, this must just be temporary…

Gingerly, he pulled back his robe, and he felt the rush of draining blood as his face turned white.

Try as he might, he could not completely stifle his moan of despair.