#aaaaaaaaangst

[andthekitchensinkao3]

Pspsps @redheadsramblings 🫡💚💀💜

PSA: don't f-ckin' try to use gdocs on your phone to upload a chapter it does not work 😭😭😭

But! One hour later! Chapter 4 of The Two-Mage Job is LIVE!

Go read it on AO3! Tell me what you think 🤪😘

[hxroic-wxlls-fxrever]

Why…why is she hearing things, again… She closed her eye, she knows she did! She SHOULDN’T be hearing this stuff, again! This ability…this ability that made her despised by others… The ability that made trying to just go outside a trial by fire…

Haha…at least here, in her room, she’s all by herself. With no thoughts to read. No thoughts to bring back such awful memories… None at all… She’ll just stay right here, in her room…

“ Sorry, sis… G-guess I’m not getting any shopping done, today… “

She’d whisper to herself, as she buried herself even further under her covers.

[bookloverdream-blessedindeed]

Measure of a Man— Narcissa

Chp 25 @inadaze22 MOAM

"You have no idea what this has been like for me Draco. None!" Narcissa's clenched fists were shaking at her sides. "There are days I wish I did not wake. Some days I wake and I do not remember anything for several minutes. I have moments…"

She trailed off, taking breath after breath, trying to grasp control of herself.

Hermione didn't move, just let her speak.

Finally.

"I have spent months trying to cope with the fact that I am dying and I have little say in the matter and even less control over what will happen to me. One day I will leave and not return to myself as I know it. Yes, the symptoms are better, but nothing will stop this. I will still forget and one day I won't remember anything. I will still have tremors and they will worsen. I will still end up in rooms and places I have no recollection of going into! And no matter what, I will still—" Narcissa paused with difficulty. "Draco, I have done everything I can to remain normal through it all. I am owed this bit of grace and dignity to choose how I decline."

"No one is asking you to maintain normality." Hermione kept her tone neutral. "Normal is finished. You are in an entirely new world now and you need people. You need Draco more than anyone. I know that's not what you're used to—"

"No, it's not, Miss Granger. I have admitted to struggling and you both want me to give up more control—"

"It's not about controlling you." Hermione placed her hands on the table placidly. "This is about protecting you. Keeping your body strong—"

"While my mind continues to deteriorate with no hope for reversal."

"Mother—"

"Fine, I will take your treatment option."

Hermione's heart leapt in her chest too soon. Narcissa wasn't done.

"But only if you take remarrying more seriously, Draco. Attend marriage dates. Officially court one of the witches on the list. You don't have to like her or even make it official, just make an effort."

[ketchupkio]

You got any Wars and Legend angsty headcanons?

Um YES????? The question is, WHICH ONES CAN I SHARE????????? I think I'll talk about their lost loved ones. That's fun right? /sar

So in the context of the AU, Legend and Wars are both people that have lost a lot of things, notably a lot of family.

Legend only had Alfon growing up, who died when Legend was pretty young (see Counterpart) and he has Fable now, but... still. He lost Marin too, and he never really stopped being broken up about that?? Still has nightmares and stuff about his whole life being a dream.

Wars only had his mom Stella, and she died when he was 16. He had a friend named Mavi that helped Wars pick himself back up after he lost his mom, but then he died and Wars joined the army. Wars has a lot of mental health issues and it started with losing his mom.

Oh! Speaking of mental health stuff!! Let's throw in a little of that for fun.

Legend has severe anxiety. He has panic attacks when shit gets bad. He's bipolar and when he's manic he can experience some psychosis (hallucinations). Also has an intense phobia of the ocean and lightning!

Wars has..... I'm thinking impostor syndrome and BPD (social kind I think, if I remember my reading correctly. Gonna try my best to portray those accurately *crosses fingers*) on top of depression and associated things. The man has Trauma too, but I'll leave specifics for later.

Mind the content warnings, friends.

[spell-cleaver]

Flash Fiction: Star Wars

When I was doing the fanfiction trope mashup thing, @azalea-scroggs gave me the prompts “Locked in a Room & Twenty-Four Hours to Live”. The end result of that was pretty dark, much more so than I originally intended, and while this is by no stretch of the imagination angst free (it’s a pretty angsty prompt), and also diverged from the idea I was trying to write, it is marginally closer than whatever came out in the original version.

So... enjoy. 

*

The first thing Luke was aware of when he awoke was heat.

It was sweltering. Luke lifted his groggy head—it felt like someone had stuffed it full of bantha wool—and almost immediately pressed his cheek back to the stone he was lying on. That surface was persistently cool, at least; the rest of the cell was too warm, stuffy, and he found it difficult to breathe.

It was not pleasant.

He supposed that was the point.

But it was doubly unpleasant because even amidst the groggy heat, the hard floors, the erratic beat of his own panicked heart. . . it was cold.

Not in any material way, that could hope to combat the nauseating heat, but in a metaphysical way. The cold froze his blood, chilled his guts, he felt. . .

. . .fear.

Anger.

Hate.

He knew where he was.

The memories flooded back. Alderaan—no, that horrid Death Star, after stopping off on Alderaan to send the plans to the Rebellion. Master Obi-Wan's pained expression, and that awful, awful, gut-wrenching sensation that was the death of that wonderful planet. Hoping the plans reached the Rebellion in time; rescuing Leia; the firefight in the detention level; and—

He squeezed his eyes shut, for all that it was pitch dark in here.

Vader.

Vader, furious that Master Obi-Wan had escaped on that smuggler's ship, and turning on the padawan who'd been shot into unconsciousness moments before—

He tried to calm himself, his lungs seizing up with how much air he was gasping in, but it was a futile endeavour. The dark side was thick around him.

He didn't know how long he lay there, knees to his chest, staring out into a darkness he couldn't see an end to.

At least he knew why it was so hot, now. He knew what Vader did with captured Jedi.

What had Master Jarrus and General Syndulla told Obi-Wan, all those years ago?

Mustafar is where Jedi go to die.

He tucked his chin into his chest.

He knew it was a long time he spent in that darkness, if only because the light stung when someone cracked his door open. Even with his limited access to the Force—what was it about this cell?—he could feel Vader's chilling presence.

"What do you want?" he tried to snap. It came out weak and pained; tired. Vader didn't look impressed.

"I want you dead," he said bluntly—there was even a hint (or more, to be honest) of malicious glee in his voice. Anticipation. "But I want Kenobi dead more, for now."

"And that stops you from killing me because. . .?" It came out stronger that time, which Luke was grateful for.

"He has twenty-four hours to rescue you. He knows where I am. He'll have to come here himself to save you—I made that very clear in my message—and he knows he does not have the strength to face me." The dark anticipation in Vader's voice was only growing. "Once I have his head, then you will die."

Luke swallowed. His throat was dry. "How generous of you."

"Indeed." Vader was already turning away. "Twenty-four hours, boy."

The door slammed shut again, leaving Luke in the hot darkness.

He struggled the breathe, but not for the heat, this time. He curled up again. He placed his head against the cool stone.

A tear tracked down his face to pool on the floor. More heat.

Once more, time seemed to barely exist as he lay there, staring at nothing. All he could think about was Vader's words.

Twenty-four hours to live.

He and Master Obi-Wan were the last two Jedi in the galaxy, with Kanan dead and Ezra missing.

Twenty-four hours to live.

Except for Master Yoda, wherever he was, but Obi-Wan had said he was old. He wouldn't survive ten years; that wasn't enough for him to train a padawan into knighthood.

Luke had always been alone. The last Skywalker; the last Jedi. And now he was going to die.

Twenty-four hours to live.

What did most people do, when given an ultimatum like that? Throw a party, so they could enjoy life to the fullest? Talk to their loved ones, make sure they knew how much they meant to them?

Another tear joined the first; another. It was forming quite a puddle, now.

Luke had no loved ones.

His mother had died in childbirth, Master Obi-Wan said; Luke barely even knew her name. Master Obi-Wan was his teacher, his master, the man who'd raised him. . . but he preached the Jedi doctrine of non-attachment so fiercely that sometimes Luke wondered if he loved him at all.

He would come to save him; Luke was sure of that. But because Master Obi-Wan was the most selfless, compassionate person Luke knew. Not necessarily because he loved him.

And that just left. . .

Father.

Father, I'm sorry.

He was aware that he was crying out into the Force, well aware Vader could probably hear him, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

I'm so, so sorry.

A Jedi sought no revenge, and Luke was trying not to be the exception. He had sworn not to face Vader with anger in his heart; if he ever killed him, it would be out of righteousness, not rage.

But the fact was that the same man who killed his father was going to kill him too. It made him sob all the harder.

His entire face was sticky with salt, now.

Red and hot and flushed—

The door flew open, Vader's massive bulk looming in the doorway like death's shadow. Luke whimpered and shrunk back, curling back into his ball, but a hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked him upright.

He yelped. Vader threw him out into the corridor; Luke hit the floor hard. Even more tears flooded out and even with Vader standing there, judging him, he didn't have the energy to wipe them away. He flinched, and waited for the hum of that bloodthirsty lightsaber—

That had not felt like twenty-four hours.

"That— that was not twenty—"

"Kenobi responded more quickly that I expected."

The words chilled Luke to the core. He glanced at Vader's waist, half-expecting his master's lightsaber to be hanging there alongside Vader's own. It wasn't.

It gave him enough hope to snipe, "And what was his response?" Maybe he wasn't dead—

"He said," Vader informed him, the fury in his voice mounting, "that his padawan was called Luke Skywalker, and that if I held someone hostage, I should bother to learn their name before issuing my ultimatums."

Something inside Luke died at the words. Master Obi-Wan wasn't coming. He wouldn't have responded like that if he was.

Luke should be glad. He should be glad his master wasn't going to die on a fool's errand, trying to save him. At least now he could maybe train someone else, ensure the legacy of the Jedi lived on—

But he had left Luke to die.

If there was any hope left that his master loved him, it fled.

Luke was alone—

"He knew exactly what he was doing," Vader continued, entirely unaware that a part of Luke had just shattered, all the fight fled. "He knew I wouldn't kill you once I knew your true heritage."

Wait—what?

Luke blinked, lifting his tear-stained face to view Vader. The dark lord was doing the same to him: Luke could feel his gaze roving over him, from the dimple in his chin to his nose to the shape of his eyes.

"You are Anakin Skywalker's son."

Luke frowned, but—sure he was signing his own death warrant—nodded.

The last thing he expected was for Lord Darth Vader, scourge and terror of the galaxy, subservient only to the Emperor himself, to fall to his knees before him.

He reached out his hand. With the tenderest of touches, he cupped Luke's cheek and wiped his tears away with his thumb. Luke couldn't help but lean into the touch, even as his confusion only grew.

Nothing made sense.

Nothing made sense, but one idea was starting to emerge from it all. One possibility, one desperate, desperate hope:

He, Luke Skywalker, was not going to die today.

[snacmc]

New content coming...

Got a OS coming your way soon. And Tara’s only description of it?

HEAVY.

Look, we’re called “A Court of Angst and Smut” for a reason!

Keep an eye out for that in the next day or two.

[trash-by-european-villains]

I just came to your blog to see some quality garcy content and have a good time but I’m just feeling so attacked right now 😭😭😭 AHSHDHSJJS HES GONNA WALK AWAY I’m so distressed 😫

(thank you, first of all, for coming to my blog. Much appreciated.)

AND LOOK OKAY TIMELESS ATTACKED FIRST. IT HIT ME THEN WENT THROUGH AND/OR RICOCHETED TO Y'ALL. That’s what my blog is. A ricocheted attacks that THE WRITERS started. 

And this finale is gonna have us ALL in tears. In heartbreak. And in coffins. Six feet under. (Eurus is singing that song to me, mocking me.) 

Now we don't know for sure if is Garcia is the one walking away!! 50/50. However, I'm 99.9% positive I love you isn't between Garcy. And honestly I'm hoping Wyatt is the one that does BOTH instead of either or. 

I CANT HANDLE ANY OF IT. 

I'm so stressed. Anxious. Very anxious. So much stressing anxiety. (is that a thing?? It is now.)

[bourbonstreetdevil]

“No, no, no, don’t die on me!” ~ Aidan

Played My Last Card || Accepting

    “Kid- I... L’enfer.... A-ah,” he winces, gripping his chest. His eyes seem so dim, it’s odd. They seem almost glazed over, moving rapidly on occasion seemingly out of control. He gently cups his hand to your cheek, suddenly smiling dimly.

    “You.. You did good... God.. You grew.. So... fast.. I... I ain’t got much t-time left, an’ I know it..” he grits his teeth as another wave of pain hits him, tears finally falling from the corners of his eyes.

    “I’m so.. God damn proud of you, Aidan... Remember dat.”

     Then he dies..