#septangst2021

[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.

[cinlat]

Septangst 13: Twinge

Septangst2021 prompt list

I missed a couple over the weekend, but enjoyed jumping into this bit about @tishinada​ Ucevi and Fynta during their academy days

*art by @chaosandwonder​ Word Count: 263

“Stop moving, or I’ll restrain you.” Though the threat might be real, the voice behind it carried more amusement than irritation, though barely. 

Fynta snorted, then winced at the pull in her side. “That’s only allowed in the bedroom.” She hated the breathy quality of her voice that betrayed how much the burn stung.

Fynta was draped across Ucevi’s powerful thighs with one arm looped around the woman’s shoulders so that she could examine the wound. The muscles in Fynta's side spasmed when Ucevi spread more slave over lightning marks tracing Fynta's ribs. 

“You should stop provoking them,” Ucevi added in a more serious tone. With a final swipe of her fingers, the tightness from the singed skin relaxed enough for Fynta to unlock her muscles. 

Fynta started to rise, but Ucevi pushed her down again. She didn't fight the Sith's hold, relaxing into the warmth of an ally who had veered dangerously into more intimate territory in recent months. “It worked for us. Imagine all the fun we’d have missed if I hadn’t provoked you.”

Ucevi’s unwillingness to be charmed played out in the twitch at the corner of her mouth. “That was different. I never had any intentions of killing you.”

Fynta waved her hand in what was meant to be a dismissive gesture, then sucked in a breath at the twinge of pain that slipped through the numbing effects of the kolto. "I'll do better," she amended when the Sith woman lifted a single brow stalk in challenge. Fynta plastered on a crooked smile. "Next time, I'll take back up."

[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.

[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

[cinlat]

Septangst 19: Threads

Septangst2021 prompt list  

Previous drabbles:   Hiraeth |   Sharp |   Abandon |   Twinge |   Torrent  | Rift

Word Count: 503 Guest Appearance: @dingoat​‘s Ahuska (direct followup to her drabble Torrent) *art by Dingoat (it was either this or the one of them pummeling each other. Not sure which is more accurate at this point in their relationship but this one shows their faces. hah.)

Sore muscles and the ache of a broken rib slowed Fynta’s steps. She’d been overconfident, letting her target go for his weapon instead of dispatching him the way she’d been trained. The low-level Sith Lord had fallen in the end, but the entire situation could have been avoided. Fynta took her wounds as a lesson and moved on.

Out of habit, Fynta reached out through the Force for signs of a threat. Her target had been alone, concluding the unsavory business that had put him on her hit list in a private grove. It came as a surprise when her search brushed against a beacon. The light flickered in the corner of Fynta’s mind, warm and inviting, beckoning to the savage creature that she tried so hard to subdue.

Fynta paused and tilted her head. This thing wasn’t of the Dark Side, though there was no denying the desperate need for freedom in its tone. Instead of color and temperature, these threads vibrated like a melody that deepened in pitch when she touched it. Fynta followed, wrapping herself in the protective shield that she’d learned to form in the academy, cloaking herself to sight and mind.

The snap of a twig broke Fynta’s concentration as she pushed into a thicket. Leaves fluttered in every direction as silent feet scattered. Only a single being remained in the clearing, and Fynta felt exposed to the ice blue eyes that glared out of a snarl.

Fynta registered the armor first, a full suit of beskar'gam that marked the Bothan as an active member of a clan. Anger burned through Fynta's blood the same way it did each time she interacted with her kin, the ones who'd sold her to the Sith. Then the resonance that had drawn Fynta in peaked in time with the pinned ears and curled lip of the woman she'd accidentally cornered.

Raising one hand with deliberate slowness, Fynta suppressed her emotions. “Su cuy'gar.”

Pale tufts of fur quivered when the Bothan’s ears flicked forward in recognition. Fynta let out a humorless laugh at having stumbled upon another Force-sensitive Mandalorian, one who didn't appear to have been driven from her clan.

Fynta didn’t wait for permission to join the woman, and neither spoke as Fynta eased herself to the ground with a groan. Every muscle protested, but it didn't seem as bad as it had, not while sequestered in this green haven with the air humming at an octive that appealed to Fynta's primal nature.

“Sorry about your friends,” Fynta murmured as she leaned against the moss-covered tree trunk and closed her eyes.

Neither spoke after that, and eventually, the woman’s presence grew less vivid. Fynta followed the Bothan's passage through the undergrowth for as long as she dared. The final filament of their connection snapped, leaving her in the heat of her own irritation once more. However, it didn't burn as hot as before. Fynta smiled at the silence surrounding her and sighed. She'd need to take the scenic route more often.

[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.”

[cinlat]

Septangst 20: Exhausted

Previous drabbles:   Hiraeth |   Sharp |   Abandon |   Twinge |   Torrent  | Rift | Threads

Going a little further into Fynta’s future and exploring how she got out from under Darth Nox’s control and started working for Ucevi.

Word Count: 343 Guest Appearance: @tishinada​‘s Ucevi *Art by @chaosandwonder​

“If you think this is hard,” Uveci pushed a few strands of sweat-slicked hair out of Fynta’s eyes and leaned into view. “You’re going to hate the next part.”

“I’m fine,” Fynta argued, though her position above the toilet told another story. The effort of speaking weakened her knees, dropping her nearly into the water that filled the durasteel bowl. Fynta swallowed and clenched her teeth. “I can do this.”

The frayed mass of Fynta’s hair gathered into a single point along her spine, then Ucevi crouched beside her. “Better?” Fynta managed a jerky nod of thanks, and Ucevi sighed. “I know that you can do this; you must. I only want to be sure that you’re strong enough.”

Fynta managed a pitiful growl, and the Sith woman lifted her hands. “Poor choice of words. I simply mean that you should rest before we continue. These things take time, and Nox did a thorough job.”

The reminder of her former master churned Fynta’s stomach in a way that had nothing to do with the intense detoxing. She hated him with a passion she hadn’t known existed. If Fynta could muster the strength, she would leave Ucevi’s home and begin the hunt now. The mere thought of moving caused Fynta’s arms to give under her weight, and she slumped against the toilet again. With a weak nod, Fynta consented to Ucevi’s request.

“Good.” A sharp bite of a needle punctuated the word. Fynta shouldn’t be surprised that Ucevi had brought a sedative. The woman had always been prepared.

Fynta listened to the deep bass of her former lover’s voice as the meds worked through her system. She felt the ground drop away, and the familiar warmth of the Sith’s arms around her.

No doubt whatever Ucevi said was inconsequential, but Fynta tried to listen anyway. She gleaned a few words that made her want to laugh, mostly playful insults about Fynta’s added weight and stubbornness. Then, feathery blankets replaced firm muscle, and Fynta slipped into the first dreamless sleep that she’d had in years.

[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.