#it's finally here time to nap

[sicklyjelly]

​Brewed coffee with a shot of espresso on top, also known as ‘a shot in the dark.’ 

Red Eye Coffee, a 99 page collection of shuake comics from 2020 to 2023 (with 60+ of those pages being brand new) is available now for $10!

Enjoy comics about masks, dreams, death, washing hair, dates (?) and incredibly gay feelings towards a supposed rival. ☕️💖

content warnings: Major spoilers for Persona 5 and Persona 5 Royal Minor spoilers for Persona 5 Strikers blood, violent imagery, slight gore, death, eye strain, suggestive themes

[temeyes]

everyone adores you, at least i do.

[sapphicherri]

i am the sleepiest girl alive, sleepy at all times, using all spare moments to sleep

[xskyll]

Todoroki: Baggage? This is a topic I can talk about. My friends always stop me when I try to discuss baggage…but they aren’t here. So…

Prev / Next

First

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Both my parents actually suffer from HORRID emotional dysregulation and are prone to snapping and going into rages. My sister is the same way tbh. I am now realizing this is why they are constantly baffled by the question of whether or not I am mad at them.

I don't have external meltdowns.

I could. I don't let it happen.

I keep my rage on the inside and stay pretty quiet about it. It's just as strong as theirs [physically shaking nose bleed from high blood pressure kind of bad], but like as a kid I saw how terrifying it was to be around [dad breaking dishes, mom putting our lawn chairs into walls] and I just internalized that I wasn't going to wear that anger on the outside.

So my mother genuinely cannot tell if I am just being quiet or if I am silently hearing the dial-up noises of pure rage. This has lead her to both making strong and confident statements like "You are a pacifist who would never hurt a fly U.U" but also acting like I am secretly dangerous maybe... It's because she has never seen me snap.

She knows what her temper is like [throwing chairs through walls], she knows what my father's temper is like [pick up child and toss out door], and she can tell I am being tested, but she doesn't know what happens when I snap or where that breaking point is.

Her -perhaps unhinged- solution to this, my whole life, has been to do things that should obviously enrage me or shut me down completely, like ignoring important boundaries, repeatedly, punishing me for expressing emotions or needs at all, etc... And then to constantly ask me if I am angry with her when I get too quiet [right after near directly telling me to shut up].

It has occurred to me now, they have never once seen me lose my temper, so they literally just can't tell if I am angry at them. My sister is easy, my mother fights and screams with my sister constantly, my mother understands this. My mother doesn't have any grasp of feelings or boundaries that are not screamed at her [apparently, and I fear my sister is the same way]. Her and my sister are close despite constant fucking fighting because they understand each other.

They are trying to get me to engage the same way and it is not working. I realize now that this has been hard for them.

I was so successfully taught to suppress my emotions, by being punished for any outburst, that rage quiet looks the same as any other kind of quiet from the outside. To them anyway.

I did tell her. For the record. I used my words. I did tell her very calmly that my response to rage, in order to avoid doing the things that terrified me as a child, was to simply leave [the autistic urge to GTFO]. When a situation or person causes too much of the dial-up rage noise, I simply extract myself from that situation, up to and including never speaking to a person again. I explained this calmly. I explained it calmly 100 times and I explained that I explain myself calmly as my rage response 1-5 [also pretty much every other negative emotion tbh], and I told her that what came next was me simply opting out and fucking off. I told her this. I couldn't understand why she never took me seriously, or why she never fucking understood.

I couldn't understand what made her like this.

But it's the same problem I have with everyone else multiplied by a factor of 10.

If I am explaining myself calmly, they can't understand that it's actually serious or that I am actually upset. ESPECIALLY because they read me as "female" and women "aren't that rational" so if I am not screaming and crying about something, which I never do, people assume I can't be upset and it isn't serious.

And then after having my boundaries ignored too many times despite having calmly explained how and why it's a problem [shaking inside or not]... I leave. I leave and everyone gets upset like this is unexpected behaviour, even though I told them 50 times that is how I would respond if they kept doing *the thing.*

And for neurotypical people especially, they are expecting there to be a disconnect between what someone says they need or feel and what their actually boundaries and feelings are, and they expect the latter to be demonstrated with emotions. Telling them bluntly you do not function that way somehow never helps?

My mother isn't just looking for normal yelling or a few tears to know I am serious, whether or not I do those either [I don't], she's looking for an explosion to know there's a problem at all.

Fucked if I know how she proceeds through life this way in general or if this is just her expectation of her own kids???

And I couldn't get why my mother couldn't read my emotions and didn't seem to think I have any. It's because she's testing for the rage limit to see where my 'actual' limit is instead of taking my word for it. Never the fuck mind that she could simply *not* test at my boundaries instead of letting me have them. Separate issue.

I couldn't figure out what made her *like this*

She's expecting me to throw a giant meltdown violent tantrum at people when I have 'actually' had enough. Maybe she got away with those being like 5'4" in another time, but I am the size of the average man, I do not get to have giant screaming rages, whether or not people perceive me consciously as a woman, and least of all because a lot of people -at least unconsciously- read me as 'masculine' or at least always "they guy" of the situation compared to all other women and some men [bigger stronger and more rational, more able to just absorb the damage and let it go so the less rational screaming/crying one doesn't have to be dealt with]. Even if it was in me to be willing to terrify people [usually never], there are such limited instances where it wouldn't just blow back on me. Potentially very dangerously.

I am going to be the quiet calm one. You are going to have to let me use my words, bitch.

So she kept ignoring my boundaries until I had to cut her out of my life, and she probably doesn't understand and probably thinks it feels sudden -after 36 long years of bullshit- abrupt and unfair.

But I told her hundreds of times.

I probably should have just screamed at her.

[demigod-of-the-agni]

Forgive me, forgive me. I ask, I beg, I pray, but it never comes.

You know I find it incredibly bewildering to see just how much kalki reflects myself in him like YEAH Duh of course he does, he’s my little guy it’s like his full time job. But at the same time he is a fully functional facet of my being and he is at the mercy of my whimsies, and whatever he discovers in his arduous journey of self realisation is ultimately a reflection of what I discover in the real world. It’s also incredibly funny because ffxiv lore for dark knights is really baked into the idea of (re)discovering yourself amongst the bloodshed and continuing to live and love and thrive despite the world working against us. who would have thought such a raw message could come from an mmorpg side quest about edgy emo boys of all places

also adamantite armour of fending i would lay down my LIFE for u

variant + phone bg version + ID below the cut

tch as if you guys are actually going to use artwork of my little guy as your phone background. i know. how dumb. let a girl dream. i should make an alternate version but it's of Fray and Myste

[START ID: A picture with a red background focusing on the character's bust that is placed to the left of the image's centre. He is coloured with a dark blue overlay, contrasting with the red background. He has brown skin, long black hair that falls over his shoulders, and is wearing blue and gold armour and earrings. He is looking at the viewer, right eye dark brown and the left an glowing unnatural red, with an expression that looks determined and angry and yet bitter and forlorn. In the foreground and on the right side of the piece, a miniature version of the character stands coloured in a light blue overlay and wearing the same blue and gold armour, looking as if he is glowing. He is facing towards the left of the piece, or perhaps at the character bust, his expression unreadable. Above the miniature character's head is the symbol representing the FFXIV dark knight, coloured in gold. END ID.]

[wickerwax]

Stars Out (Haunted armour Bad Ending)

Quinlan grumbled under his breath as he scooped another armful of ‘padds to reshelve. Helping out in the Archives wasn’t the worst punishment but oh, Force, was it tedious, and all for a harmless little prank! Almost none of the Masters had been caught up in the laundry mishap, which usually meant some level of lenience as then they could freely laugh at the Knights, and the Initiates had really enjoyed their sugar-fueled colouring quest, and Tholme had absolutely been laughing on the inside, Quin knew it. And anyway, boring tasks just gave him more time to plan more dramatic messes, so the joke would be on them eventually. He would have to bring out the heavy blasters next time – he would need to source glitter.

“Ahem.”

He froze and checked his shields, but they were in place so he must have been making faces. Quin turned to Master Nu. She had on her least amused face. Which was still better than any of the actively disappointed ones. Quinlan had a scale.

“Are you having trouble with your task, Padawan Vos?” she asked, looking at the unsteady pile he was clutching. “You may borrow one of the small trolleys, if you would like.”

It had the cadence of a recommendation he should take. He didn’t think he ought to refuse despite the usual contrary urge rising in him, so he nodded and thanked her when she pointed out where the nearest free one was tucked away. He escaped with an awkward bow and scuttled to the trolley, doing his best to tip the ‘padds in gently while he could still feel Master Nu’s attention on him.

He knew Tholme wasn’t actually worried about the pranking, and Quinlan had a very deliberate image to maintain so it was more likely that his Master was simply hoping he would find something to research that would keep his mind busy during their current off-time. Or he was being pranked back in a very staid, stereotypical Jedi Master sort of way, which actually was sort of diabolical because Quin could hardly say that without his agemates looking at him like he was insane and his Master doing that blink-and-miss-it smirk he did only when no one else was looking – oh stars, he was being trained by an evil genius.

This was reinforced when he picked up the next datapadd to shelve and found himself holding a copy of “Spiritual Intimacy and You: A Guide to Exploring the Unseeable With the Untouchable”, which was either nonsense or absolutely something he wanted to get the checking history of, directly below which was “Worms. Do You Have Them?” and “A Treatise on Alderaanian Alpine Flora and Their Adaptations Against Cell Wall Damage in the Upper Climes”.

Actually he wanted to know nothing and no one.

*

It took so long to reshelve all the day’s ‘padds. He was going to be dreaming about classification numbers for weeks from all of the walking back and forth, hunting.

He had abandoned the trolley once he’d gotten down to the last five or so, and now he was on the last one, only it wasn’t from a popular up-front section. No, he was well into the shelves, deep into the more esoteric sections, past several different sets of little seating areas with their own displayed artifacts, and rapidly approaching another with no luck.

Groaning as he reached another useless, cosy nook, he stopped and glared down at “Amorous Armory” which, first? Awful. Terrible name. It had a cultural tag he didn’t recognise, and since the title didn’t specify, that was absolutely no use either. He couldn’t quite tell if it was fictional or instructional, and wasn’t sure which would be worse. (Would an instructional come with diagrams? How literal was the amorous? Why armory instead of armour? How comprehensive was this? No. No, he didn’t want to think about it.)

The current reading area had a few little clusters of cosy seating, and one upright display stand – but, to his surprise, this one was not transparisteeled in.

It was, notably and regrettably, given the situation, a suit of armour.

Frowning, he stepped closer. It was sort of pretty, he guessed, with the white and gold colour scheme with touches of brilliant blue, but mostly it looked cool. He didn’t feel any inclination to get horny at it though.

It was standing, or well, he guessed, “standing”, proud and tall (though actually, it was only as tall as he was and that was because of the stand), with the gauntlet-bits tucked against the forearm whatevers like a lot of Jedi would do to hide their hands in their sleeves. Whatever material the tabards and hood and whatnot were, they didn’t seem to have deteriorated terribly, and he found himself squinting at the way the metal pieces were segmented. There were a lot of segments and scaling, and generally adaptations for range of movement (he thought).

The mask – or perhaps whatever was holding the hood up? - was tilted slightly, giving it a sort of quizzical air despite the blankness of the molding. He leaned in slightly, peering at the gold detailing at sort of reminded him of the current Guard masks, and caught a flash of that bright blue through the eye holes.

Without really thinking about it, he reached out to touch the mask.

It was cool under his fingertips –

and then he was sprinting through blasterfire, his blue ‘sabre spinning bolts away, choking on the smell of battle with his filters overwhelmed and shunting that away to focus on the red-bladed foe racing to meet him through the smoke – he was laughing in a much younger Room of a Thousand Fountains with his mask in his belt and green things growing and jubilant all around – he was drowning on his own lungs and desperately pushing that aside to try and save the children – he was alive but everything was ashes and sand and heat that burned well before it warmed – his master was dying and he wasn’t going to make it – his blue blade was locked with a red one and the children were behind him so he would not fall, he could not-

Quinlan’s knees hit the floor and the last thing he knew before he blacked out was a very careful voice saying, Hello there? And then, much more panicked, No! Star’s sake, how far are the healing halls from this Forceforsaken nest?

*

Waking sucked. The flashes he’d seen upon touching the armour seemed blurry and distant – like they’d been a billion years ago, which jolted him into opening his eyes.

Luckily, it seemed like he hadn’t been out for long, maybe not even multiple minutes, since he was in the middle of being hauled up into a carry. Quin squawked and flailed and a voice he didn’t recognise was cursing and his stomach swooped as he fell-but-didn’t. He found himself hauled firmly against a metal chest as the armoured being balanced with one knee down and said waspishly, “Are you quite finished?”

“Finished?” Quin croaked, staring up into the faceplate of the display armour. “Mate, I think I’m dead.”

The mask tilted sideways but, unlike when it was on the stand, this tilt somehow communicated deep disdain. “A joke in very poor taste, padawan.”

Quinlan gaped at it. And then slapped at a gauntlet, which sparked grief-love, and scrambled to his feet, staggering at the blood rush. He ignored the headache sharpening a particularly rusty blade on his left eye socket. The armour let its gauntlets rest on its raised knee but otherwise remained in place, mask lifting to follow him. It seemed expectant.

Jokes on it, Quin had nothing useful for this situation. Hey, Master Nu, one of your display pieces has a prissy accent and no sense of humour – yeah, just up and started talking – no, no, of course I didn’t do anything!

Time to be less than useful then.

“That’s the name of my sex holovid.”

Ooh, maybe that was too not-useful.

The armour rocked back slightly. It slowly regained its...boots, he supposed. He needed to know more armour terms, this was the worst.

“Well,” it said, thoughtful, “I suppose they can’t all be winners. My condolences to your partner. Or partners.”

“Oi!”Quin snapped, feeling his face heat terribly, “My partners have no complaints, thank you! I was making a joke, I suppose you haven’t heard of those.”

“This may come as a dreadful shock, my dear, but not only have I heard of them, I have made them. Recently, even.” It sighed, surprisingly audible, and the shoulder bits slumped. “I- Are we in the Temple?”

The situation suddenly reasserted itself. Manners did not. “How are you even moving? Who are you? Are you secretly a droid installed in the armour?” Why had a tiny little touch made it move? Surely he wasn’t the first person to touch it – Jedi typically weren’t that cautious, not when it probably wasn’t a darkside trap, and gravity was a suggestion. And anyone could be down here poking at things! Like him! ...unless it was a darkside trap. Quin backed up a few steps.

The armour didn’t move but it did seem. Sadder.

“I am Senior Padawan Obi-Wan Kenobi, of the-” it paused, broke off entirely. Shuddered slightly. “Or...I suppose I may have been Knighted at – at the end. I don’t entirely remember.”

It waved a hand as if dispelling mist, and he caught that blue gleam through the eye holes again. “I don’t know how long I’ve been...gone. But I suspect the time span is significant. If only because-”It “looked” about. “-the Archives appear to have grown immensely.”

*

Quinlan was dreaming.

He was in some sort of very basic watercraft, with a wooden pole loosely held in one hand, propped against his thigh. The sun poured down until he felt like he was baking in the very best way, and the river lapped against the hull of the boat gently.

It felt like meditation to sprawl there, sunbathed and idle, all the galaxy far away with any worries. The water gleamed brilliant and blue and sparkling. He pillowed his head on a strong shoulder and let his eyes close.

There was no hurry, no rush.

The boat rocked, and Quinlan slept.

*

Obi-Wan, the weird moving armour, had been convinced to keep his new walking status on the downlow once Quin had realised how uncomfortable it was talking about itself -and realised how much help it could be in pranking. It almost seemed relieved, honestly.

He found himself slipping into the Archives nearly daily. The armour – Obi-Wan – who eventually muttered something about being a man, death aside – always perked up when Quin appeared. He started getting good at reading the various small shifts in body language that the armour managed to emote, managed to open himself up to that faint, fuzzy Force presence enough to get an idea of Obi-Wan’s moods.

Although, often he didn’t really need to, Obi-Wan was fantastic at talking.

“I cannot believe none of you wear anything armoured at all. It simply isn’t tenable – how are any of you surviving?”

“Well, the Temple Guard has armour-”

“But they guard the Temple, yes? What of you that must needs travel the galaxy? Unprotected?”

“We have the Force, Obi.”

“Obi-Wan. And the Force is a wonderful ally – but that does not mean you cannot help it along with a well-smithed cuirass!”

Obi-Wan’s gauntlets were in motion at lot when he was speaking, and he gestured widely enough to knock his armour stand. They both lunged to stabilise it before it could crash and cause a noise that Master Nu wouldn’t be able to ignore. (She was already suspicious of Quinlan’s far more regular visits, although he’d managed to avoid seeing her at all today.)

“Be mindful of your surroundings, padawan.” Quin snarked as they settled the stand back in place.

“But Quinlan, my dear, you’re such an effective distraction.” The mask angled coquettishly at him and made to rest his chin on his gauntlet in the manner of tooka-eyed ingenues everywhere. It should not have been effective. (It was.) He didn’t even really have eyes. (The blue gleam winked at him, bright and flashing.)

He wasn’t phased by a set of armour and a ghost flirting with him. Ridiculous. It was all a joke anyway – he could literally feel Obi-Wan’s amusement. (It was a nice voice though. Quin wasn’t stupid.)

(He should really mention the haunted armour to someone. Probably. Quin was maybe a little stupid, very occasionally. It was fine – Obi-Wan wasn’t hurting anyone.)

*

Quinlan was dreaming, again.

The boat rocked. The sun lay warm over his skin. There was the perfect amount of breeze, brushing coolness past just when the sun was on the verge of too-warm, and nudging the boat into that gentle rock and sway... rock and sway... the quiet susurrus of the water lapping against wood made his eyes hard to open.

An arm settled around his shoulders as the next cool swirl of air wound past and he snuggled into a warm body. The sun seemed a little lower, a little less intense, and made the warmth next to him that much more inviting.

“All is well, darling, all is well.” a familiar voice murmured. “You deserve some peace and quiet yet.”

He cracked an eye and saw a tumble of bright copper blazing against pale skin, saw the curling smile of the young man he was tucked up against, saw that the brilliant blue flash of the water had taken up residence in his eyes.

The rest of the galaxy was so far away. It was just the two of them in the boat, on the river, water lapping.

The boat rocked, and Quinlan slept.

*

Quinlan lounged in his favourite nook-seat, despite it being extraordinarily unsuited for such things, being a high-sided sort of scoop. “Look, Obi, just because you made a wild guess about numbers that turned out to be correct, doesn’t mean-”

“Obi-Wan, and a wild guess? Quinlan, don’t insult me, my education is centuries old and yet it was sufficient for the math here.” Obi-Wan was sprawled across the floor, back pressed to another of the nook-seats. “It just goes to show that unarmoured-”

“Oh- no, no, no! You can’t claim armour is the sole reason, you single-minded-”

“I have to be single-minded, it’s rather all I have left of me-”

“Don't-! Don’t fucking tilt your head at me like that – you can’t keep playing the dead card to win arguments!”

“My dear Quin, if you’re losing arguments you need to improve your tactics, not blame the other player.”

“There’s tons of other reasons the Order is so much smaller, you karking metal menace.” Quinlan jabbed a finger at his friend. “I’m gonna prove it. You’ll have to eat your words.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan purred, “Do you promise?”

Quinlan snarled and threw “Amorous Armory”(still unshelved, in the process of making a permanent home jammed between the side and seat of a chair) at the gleaming painted mask. The armour caught the ‘padd and wheezed a laugh. “I’m getting mixed signals here, are you annoyed or should I be worried about this text and your intentions?”

Grappling a suit of armour was for sure not a version of hand to hand that he was practised in but he was improving quickly. His notice-me-nots were also bloody stellar by now. They had to be for their constant bickering to avoid notice. It was a good workout.

He didn’t lose but he was pretty sure Obi-Wan let him win.

*

Quinlan was dreaming, again.

How many times had he dreamed this?

The sun was slowly shifting lower, the sky starting to turn vibrant oranges and pinks at the horizon. He basked still in the fading rays, tucked in his gently swaying craft. The water shimmered and hushed against the wood.

Obi-Wan shifted beside him, running his fingers gently through Quinlan’s hair so that he couldn’t help but sigh into the crook of his neck and press close. “Feels nice.”

He could hear Obi-Wan smiling. “I’m glad, Quin. You should always feel nice.”

Quinlan nuzzled at his throat, sleepily pleased with the sudden bob of it. “Can’t always. But here. With you.”

Fingers tightened slightly in his hair, then resumed the stroking. “Here, yes. We’ll watch the sun go down together.”

For a moment, the air was clammy and frigid. The water was slushy with frost.

Quin shuddered and started to lift his head but Obi-Wan turned his face and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead – and the sun glowed warm, warm, warm. It was always warm here, always just right. The breeze was never too chilly, never too strong.

Obi-Wan drew away and Quin stopped him with a hand on his jaw. Nudged him back down.

The galaxy didn’t even exist here. Obi-Wan’s mouth was so warm and soft and Quinlan rolled into him, trading kisses and nuzzles. The light tinted orange and he didn’t notice, too caught up in the push-pull of exploring this new privilege. He tucked his hands along his shoulders, and grinned up at smiling blue eyes, and let Obi-Wan kiss him quiet and drowsy.

The boat rocked, and Quinlan slept.

*

The Temple seemed quieter now that Obi-Wan had made his hypothesis and Quin’s researching had -very unfortunately – backed up at least the numbers. Or maybe there were just a lot of missions happening at the moment. It seemed like a lot of classes had been cancelled too – or maybe he was timing it right to miss the padawan horde at switchover. He didn’t have very many in his courseload right now and it was all electives anyway since he would be Knighted soon.

He couldn’t quite remember if he’d seen Master Tholme yesterday or the day before. His Master didn’t need to check in on him every day at this stage, of course. It probably hadn’t been that long.

He hurried down to the Archives. The couple of Knights he did pass seemed tense and their Force signatures were coiled around them protectively. He did not envy them for whatever mission they’d picked up.

When he reached their nook, Obi-Wan was already sitting on the floor. His legs were splayed out and he had a hand resting on his abdomen like he was too exhausted to move. He lolled his head back to look at Quinlan and Quin found his hands fluttering anxiously. After that first - unpleasant – wake-up, he’d made sure to keep his gloves on. But the lethargic way the armour was regarding him made him want to pull his gloves off and check for whatever had him so floppy.

He managed to stop himself, as Obi-Wan fluttered his fingers at him in a wave, and the dim Force presence coiled inside lit up pleased to see him.

“Napping on the job, I see.” he tossed out instead.

“Mmm.” The sound was low and satisfied, and something tensed low in his gut.

“You look like an overfed tooka.” Obi-Wan was mad on dignity, except when he wasn’t, and Quinlan had a number of sticks to try poking with. This one earned him a rumbling sort of chuckle, and a languid come-here gesture.

Quinlan frowned at him, but strolled forwards and flopped onto the floor beside his hip. “Happy?”

“Incandescently.” Obi-Wan murmured, pulling himself slightly more upright. “You are such a wonder to me, Quin.”

His faceplate was very close. He felt that tension curl tighter, felt his pulse jump. “I am wondrous, it’s true. Possibly the eight wonder of the galaxy, really.”

“Hmm.” Now Obi-Wan sounded considering. “I could make an argument for that, yes.”

He tried to swallow and his throat clicked. Dry. Obi-Wan raised the hand from his stomach and gently ran the backs of his knuckles down Quin’s cheek. He leaned into the coolness of the metal without thinking.

“Could you, darling?” the armour said, painfully gentle. “Could you make that argument? How brilliant you are, but all tucked away, hiding in the shadows. Spending all this time down here with me, and I’ve nothing to offer but dusty old stories, when you’re perfect.”

“No,” he croaked, wrapping his hand around Obi-Wan’s, glove to metal. He hardly knew what he was saying, so keyed up by proximity that he could smell the sharpness of metal and ozone. “No, you’re – You make everything better. You understand. You’re helping. I’m going to do all this research and figure out the problems and save the Order.”

He ducked his head closer and pressed his forehead to the mask. The cold was hardly a shock. Blue glowed through his eye holes and Quinlan closed his eyes against the brilliance, against the cool red undertone of a light somewhere throwing strange shadows.

His other gauntlet curled around the back of his neck, holding them together. “I believe you, Quin. You’re doing so well, and you’re so close on the trail. I know it.”

The faith in his voice, the touch of his hands, the low buzz of his Force presence, it all made Quinlan dizzy. “You’ll help me research?”

“Of course.” his voice was so low. “Of course, I will. Anything for you, darling.”

*

Quinlan is dreaming. He feels like he’s been dreaming for awhile now. Has he always dreamed this?

The boat rocks. The water laps. The sun is burning orange on the very edge of the horizon.

Darkness is creeping across the sky, and the stars have yet to show their faces.

He clings to Obi-Wan as the wind kicks up, and the other man wraps him up close, pressing kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, his nose, his eyelids. “Stay with me, dearest. It’s not too long now.”

“What’s happening?” he begs like a child, hands fisted in Obi-Wan’s tunic – and that’s not right, he shouldn’t be barehanded. “Where did the sun go?”

The river surface is choppy now, reflecting red light from the sky. The shadows darken.

There are no stars.

“I’m sorry, darling, really I am.” Obi-Wan cups his face in warm hands and tips his chin up. His eyes are soft, soft, soft, the blue glimmering. Red light plays over his face. “Or, whoever I was would be very sorry, I’m sure.”

Quinlan’s heart is beating much too fast, and he’s dreaming, he’s dreaming, he’s waiting for Obi-Wan’s face to melt into something horrible. The man just looks beautiful and sad and Quin can’t quite seem to force his hands to unwrap from his shirt. “Obi-Wan- What-”

When Obi-Wan tugs gently at his face, he goes. He lets him kiss him, claws frantic at him when he pulls back. “What does this mean?” he demands, and his voice cracks. He sounds desperate.

He is desperate.

“Obi-Wan would have loved you.” the man whispers against his mouth. It feels deliberate. It feels like a wound. “But I’m afraid I only wear his face.”

The boat rocks wildly in the bloody sunset.

Quinlan wakes.

*

He runs through the empty halls.

He cannot feel his master through their bond, cannot feel his crechmates, cannot feel other Force presences at all.

Just one. Dim and fuzzy and flickering weakly several levels down, where he’s visited. Constantly.

The lights flicker and for a moment everything is cast in red, his shadow thrown huge and violent against the wall beside him. It’s so quiet. It’s too quiet.

Quinlan is sick, sick, sick.

He doesn’t stop running.

*

The Archives are just as empty of life as everywhere else. There are dropped datapadds in several places and, horrifyingly, some of them are dusty. How long has he been- How long -

He finds a cart overturned and he knows that he came past here yesterday and didn’t see it. He wishes that gave him any kind of hope. He doesn’t know when he last ate or drank because he’s shaking too much to make sense for this level of activity running and he can’t be sure – he can’t remember the last time he spoke to anyone else. Master Nu had given him a look as he slipped by – how long ago was that?

How long has the Temple been too-quiet?

*

Obi-Wan – the armour – is sitting in Quinlan’s favourite chair.

Quin skids to a halt, shaking, panting, stabbing a finger at him while words refuse to come. The head tilts, curious.

Quinlan curls his hands into fists, synthleather creaking. “What have you done?”

“What have I done?” the armour sounds amused. It gestures playfully at itself like, who, me?“What have you done, my dear? My precious eighth wonder of the galaxy, single-handedly opening the door to destroying his Order, and not even a token effort to close the thing, let alone anything effective. You were perfect, Quinlan.”

He stumbles back a step, mouth opening and nothing coming out.

The armour stands and swaggers forward. “Now, to be fair to you, that psychometry of yours does leave you terribly vulnerable, my darling. It would be dreadfully remiss of me not to give you that, and haven’t I been good to you, Quin?” It croons at him and he staggers backwards, slams into a shelf.

It steps into his space and he can feel the wrongness now, warping around that fraying presence that was so pleased to see him. He can smell the rot.

“Haven’t I, Quin?” it says, and that blue gleam is nearly all bloody now. “Don’t you want to be good back for me, Quinlan?”

He bares his teeth. There are no lights left here, only him, only the mud under this thing’s carapace, and he doesn’t even have his ‘sabre -isn’t, actually, sure where that is, hasn’t seen it in days – but he’s Quinlan fucking Vos. Even stupid and deceived, he’s not going down with a fight.

A gauntlet touches his cheek, and Quinlan braces himself and slams his fist up into the armour’s jaw.

He’s hoping to knock it back, enough to slip out sideways.

What he does is knock the mask off.

It does snarl and back off slightly, but he doesn’t move to escape, too shocked by the space revealed – by the kyber weakly glowing in a circle of bleeding runes at the back of the neckguard. Protected by so little. Force, he’s so karking stupid.

The armour’s laugh is so much worse with the faceplate gone.

“You’re too late, Quinlan Vos.” It rasps at him. “Your Order is gone and soon forgotten and you are the cause .”

And it makes him hollow because it’s right, and he has no excuses. He is drowning in emptiness where there should be light. “I can still try and take you out.”

“Revenge is not the Jedi way, padawan.” it sneers, and spreads its arms wide. “Batter yourself to death all you desire.”

Quin lunges.

He bruises his knuckles on the cuirass to make it laugh, then shoves his hand into the maw of it and rips the kyber free with everything he has. Blue flashes.

It screams, the armour screams, he screams.

It bubbles corrosive black ooze all over his glove as he throws himself away, as the armour crackles with red light and comes apart in a shrieking wind, as he trips over ‘padds tumbling everywhere from broken shelves, as it burns-

it burns, it burns, it burns-

He drops the thing and rips his glove off, strips away skin and flesh with it, catches a glimpse of white amidst the red and his throat is raw, it burns-

He grips his wrist with his good hand and weeps with the pain, blind with it and shaking apart like the armour did – he thinks it did – he might be dreaming still except for how much this hurts.

He finds himself folded in half on the stone floor, choking on tears and snot and dust. He can’t make himself look at his hand, or the mess that used to be a glove. He can see scattered chunks of white and gold and -

He bows his head. His eyes stream and he can’t seem to stop. There’s a blue haze over his eyes, flickering and fragile, and he gulps for air and shakes his head to try and clear his vision. He can’t use his hands. He can’t use his hands.

The kyber has rolled free and is lying in front of him. The ooze is all gone, busy eating through what he can’t think about. It is only very faintly blue, and not at all red. He can see the cracks in it.

He slumps further, and his forehead makes contact.

That pale colour blooms.

Obi-Wan kneels with him. He looks almost like he did in the dreams – more lines around the eyes, the scruffy beginnings of a beard. I am so sorry.

Quin wheezes at him.

The ghost smiles. It is very, very sad. It makes Quinlan’s teeth ache, and he’s kind of already at a premium for pain.

A translucent hand reaches tentatively forward, and when Quin doesn’t do anything more than stare glassily at him, settles over his hands.

He’s not looking. He can’t look.

I am sorry for what was done to you and yours. I am sorry for being used to do it.

He can’t.

Be strong, Quinlan. The Force is with you. They are with you.

He can’t look and the pain is easing and his fingers are spasming and it hurts but less but different and he - When he forces himself to glance down, the white of bone and tendon are no longer visible – he’s just clutching a hand at a normal level of horrifically mangled. He’s too afraid to try and bend it.

I promise.

He hears the tiny chime of the kyber as it cracks completely. It echoes. The Archives are cavernous empty.

I promise you.

Obi-Wan vanishes.

[benetnvsch]

Did the bsd chapter come out yet or am I just seeing wild leaks

[hello-delicious-tea]

(Angrily) “I’ll paint all the bathrooms pink. You will never have green again. I’ll paint the downstairs pink. All pink. I’ll paint my bed so so so pink. No green for you. And no lello.” -Teaschooler

(My favorite color is green)

[icewindandboringhorror]

recent things

[cosmicharm]

In levitating secret dreams I dream of you

[orcelito]

Despite all odds, I have arrived home safely👍

Turns out that the earlier goop was the better goop. The adderall goop. The adderall has worn off now though. So I am. Very incredibly out of it.

But I am home. And I will take my quick shower. And then I will climb into bed.

I do need to eat. But... later...

[thormanick]

Wait

Wait

If the sky is fake who’s to say that Celestia isn’t fake

Like yep sure it’s 3D modelled whatever bUT WHAT IF IT’S STILL FAKE. LIKE I’M SURE SOMEONE OUT THERE IN TEYVAT WOULD BE ABLE TO CONJURE A FAKE ONE UP NO PROBLEM

WHAT IF THE TRUE CELESTIA IS OUTSIDE AND RUINED-

(incoherent and long yapping in the tags bc I want to sleep and my head hurts)

[screambirdscreaming]

ok this is a long fucking shot but does anyone out here know anything about. Allergies but rather than having itchy runny-nose symptoms you just feel systemically like shit. Like fatigue, nausea, vague headache, moderate-to-severe excercise intolerance, that sort of thing. But correlated to like, pollen exposure. Or just air quality in general?

The best ballpark diagnosis I have is asthma, but I've never actually had An Asthma Attack so I don't know if that's.... right. And even if it is, I can't really find good research or resources on managing systematic effects of asthma at this like... non-acute, non life-threatening severity.

Sometimes with weird medical shit like this, there's information that exists if only you can find the right keyword to search.... maybe somebody's got something?

Or even just, it'd be nice to hear if anyone elae deals with this and I'm not, like, completely insane*

*for this. other insanity unspecified.

[figuerockfaeth]

I NEED TO MOVE OUT NOOWWWWWWW

[illdothehotvoice]

I got distracted looking at vacuum cleaners online last night because I want to make a poltergust very badly (specifically G00) and now I gotta take this final on 6 hours of sleep whoops