#wow this is dark right

[awhoreintheory]

Katie Holt; Status? Deceased.

TW: Major Character Death and graphic violence. Continue at your own digression.

-

Pidge. 

14 year old Pidge. 

Pidge, the child of the group. 

Pidge Pidge Pidge Pidge Pidge. The girl who fought with every part of her, the girl who broke into the government for her family, a girl too smart for her age, a girl who was awkward around new people but never hesitated to help. A girl. A child. 

She lay there, this child, on the cold metal floor of a random Galran ship in the middle of nowhere. A meaningless battle, worth no lives, no information, no resources. A ship on its last legs, only bots on board with simple coding. She'd — she had just been talking — she was giving Lance shit, she was barking out laughter and poking fun at him for tripping. She'd been alive. She'd been there — just behind Shiro, just fucking behind him when it happened. A sentry — not an enemy, not a general of the empire, no Zarkon, not Haggar — a sentry; a sentry who got a couple of lucky shots. 

Well. One lucky shot, really. That was all it had needed.

Pidge lay there, motionless. Her body rapidly cooling, her unseeing eyes boring into Lance's, usually sparking and honey-coloured and filled with endless curiosity now dead and blank. A round hole, carved into her forehead, straight through her skull. Bloodless. The empire used plasma powered weapons. Right. Instantly cauterized words. Her eyes— eye, Lance realized belatedly, one eye, only the one — would haunt him. A shot through her left eye at an angle. An amateur shot. Bo finesse, no skill, just programming. 

Pidge died to a fucking sentry. 

Pidge died without seeing her dad and brother safe and alive. Pidge died before she could save them and take them home to her mom. Pidge died. Pidge died. She was dead. She was dead, in a random Galra cargo ship, in the middle of dead space. She died.

Pidge is fucking dead. She’s dead. Dead dead dead dead dead —

A shot through Hunk’s right arm, followed by a pained grunt, snaps the team out of their stupor. Right. They are in the present. 

(3 seconds. That's all it took. All the time it took for Pidge to be shot through the brain, a faint spattering of the little amount of blood that managed to escape on Shiro's face and floor.)

Preoccupied by the fighting, Pidge’s body is left on the floor. No one pays full attention to their fight. Just silence. Allura and Coran's worried questioning is left unanswered and unacknowledged. They can see her heart monitor. They can see it is flat. They can put two and two together. 

But denial isn’t just a human emotion. Once the last bot falls by Keith’s hand, the team — slowly, painfully, full of disbelief — makes their way to Pidge. Face pale, with a good chunk missing, body cold and growing stiff with her bayard still tightly clenched in her hand. Shiro is the first to drop down, hesitantly reaching a shaking hand to caress her pale cheek. 

"...Katie?”

Of course, there’s no movement. Not even a twitch. Somewhere, Shiro knows this, but he seems incapable of stopping himself, desperate to keep trying.

“Katie. Katie, please." 

Katie. Katie Holt. Her name is — was — Katie Holt. She was a 14 year old kid who would've barely been graduating from middle school had she been a normal kid. No one let their tears drop — not yet, not while in enemy territory, not while they're not safe, not while nothing felt real. Not when Katie was just a child in a war she had no part in. Not when she had been so alive just moments before. Not now. Not here. 

Not her. Gods, why did it have to be her? Why was it them? Why were they chosen? Why did Pidge have to bear the consequences? Why was it always the children? Why couldn't Shiro ever protect the people he loved? Why was Shiro such a failure? Why did Shiro have to fail Sam and Matt? Why couldn't Shiro get them back to Colleen? Why was he so incompetent? He'd been right in front of her. He'd been right in front of her. 

He's the leader. He's the pilot of the Black Lion. Why, as a leader, could he not even protect Pidge? Why, as a part of the universe’s only hope, had he been so powerless? Why why why why why why why why why why why why why?

"...We're heading back to the bridge. Coran, prepare a pod." 

Shiro’s normally powerful voice is reduced to a quiet whisper, hoarse and barely eligible. 

"Shiro —" Coran starts, hesitant. 

"A pod, Coran. I said "prepare a pod." Shiro’s voice cracks. 

The team stares. They stare and stare, even as Shiro gingerly slides an arm under her leg and lifts her up. She weighs barely anything. The automatic doors opens and closes without a sound. 

The first to move is Lance. He jerks forward, as though he'd been yanked by an invisible force, stumbling toward the door with his hand outstretched. 

"...Pidge..?" 

His voice is behind a crack, it’s splintered and ripped apart and lost. It’s broken. Just so, so broken. 

Fighting out of the cargo ship, Green doesn’t follow. Hunk wordlessly grabs the shut-down lion, trying to gently place her down in the hangar only for her to collapse like a marionette with the strings cut. It was only the safety of the Castle did the team finally move with some sort of urgency, somewhat grasping the situation. 

Pidge is hurt. She’s hurt really bad. She’s hurt so bad... they’re sure if the pods can bring her back. 

(They’re not. Of course they’re not. They’re machines, not miracle workers. What can machines do to bring back the dead?)

But they will try.

[lara-cairncross]

some quick notes about Mikey :D

The quality and quantity of the light in his environment can have different effects on him!

I exaggerated the emotions a bit here, but lighting *does* have an impact on his mood. It’s typically not a super extreme effect— more so just, like, overcast days will make him moodier than usual or slightly more fatigued— but he’s still a lot more sensitive to the light in his environment than other light-talent fairies :]

im debating making refs for each of the boys which some little notes about their appearance/powers, but that might take a while lol

[toobusybeingdelulu]

steve harrington says this:

and then we have billy hargrove in s3 with a skull tattoo:

which could mean nothing.

[ponchcronch]

Just watched this preview and I need you all to understand something…one of the main storyboarders working on this is KEVIN MOLINA-ORTIZ. And for those of you saying ‘who?’

HE STORYBOARDED THIS, AND THE REST OF THE ROTTMNT FLYING-THROUGH-THE-AIR MOVIE SCENE. AKA, HE IS THE ABSOLUTE GOATTTT.

I NEED YALL TO UNDERSTAND THAT WE ARE SETTT. IT IS TRULY THE YEAR OF SHADOW OML

[goosewriting]

Underneath

summary: after getting stationed at the fortress inquisitorius, it seems a certain inquisitor takes an interest in reader.

relationship: inquisitor Cal Kestis x gn!reader

warnings: (18+) me being absolutely delulu, slow-burn-ish??? as it can get at 7k lol, making out at the end and fade to black, sexual tension if you squint, psychometry 

word count: 7.6k

A/N: started writing this back when i restarted JFO and got cal’s inquisitor clothes, so it’s been in the works for quite some time. also i had made pancakes back then and was sad about having no one to share them with, so i shall share them virtually with all of you <3

there's a second part now! go read warmth after this :)

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

As long as you can remember, you’ve always been fascinated by the way people communicate with each other. Now, as a linguistics and behaviour expert, you count yourself lucky to be one of the probably few people who actually like their job. Stationed in an Imperial office on your home planet, you mainly monitor comms and analyse the occasional security holovid in an attempt to weed out any suspicious activity. 

In fact, it was thanks to you that a rebel cell was found, since you caught a suspicious exchange on unused frequencies, which earned you a promotion. You were content with that already, but then your superior said he’d put in a good word for you, as he’s always felt like you were far more capable than just listening to comms all day, and that you could use your skills better in service of the Empire. 

Fast-forward three months and lo and behold, you’re now stationed at Fortress Insquisitorius. 

It’s the first day and while you’ve got the grand tour of the place by a group of stormtroopers especially assigned to you (you still can’t quite believe you get your own little squad of troopers), there’s still some time before dinner. After dismissing the men, saying you’ll catch up to them later at the mess hall, you walk around, further checking out the place. 

As you turn a corner to a hallway you haven’t been to yet, you notice it looks rather deserted. You check the small sign on the wall; this leads to one of the bigger residential wings, but not yours. So you decide to turn on your heels and head the other way. Except that before you can even take a step in that direction, you’re stopped in your tracks by an invisible force and turned back around again. This hold around you isn’t so tight that you can’t breathe, but you do feel the pressure keeping your arms at your sides and your body suspended in the air, the sole of your boots hanging barely an inch over the polished floor. Unable to resist your captor, you’re met with an Inquisitor, of all people, who slowly walks towards you with one of their hands in the air, holding you in place.

They come to a halt before you, the helmet tilting slightly to the side as the eyes under the red visor study you, out of your view. 

“Who are you?” comes the distorted voice. Despite the modulator, you can tell by the tone and body language it’s a man. You’ve heard stories about Inquisitors, and despite being stationed at their base, you hoped you wouldn’t have to interact with them. Just your luck, and in an empty hallway no less.

Nonetheless, you tell him your name, station and even your office’s room number. Just in case. 

“I’m new,” you add, as if it wasn’t obvious by now. He remains eerily calm and still all the while. With a polite smile, you throw the question back at him, “And you are?”

His helmet tilts the other way ever so slightly as if your question took him by surprise.

“Inquisitor Kestis,” he replies after a second. “Cal Kestis”

“Well, nice to meet you, Inquisitor Cal Kestis,” you say. If you could move, you’d stretch out your hand towards him out of habit as a greeting, but he probably wouldn’t take it either way, so you’re glad you don’t get the chance to embarrass yourself. Yet, anyway. 

For a few moments, he just stands there with you in his invisible grasp. Is he looking at you? Did he space out? You suddenly feel your stomach complaining about its emptiness.

“Uhm, could you let me down again?” you ask, looking down at the floor tiles and back up at the red visor. “I’d like to go get dinner.”

Without a word, he places you back onto the ground surprisingly gently, then takes off in the direction he came from, disappearing from your view as he turns a corner. Well, you think to yourself with a satisfied nod as you make your way to the mess hall, I think that was a solid first impression. Good job, me.

The next day, you officially start your new job, and you’re all sorts of excited and nervous. You’re still intercepting messages, decoding and translating encrypted communications, but on a much higher level this time. These are important people you’re monitoring. You’re also called as an interpreter when there’s holocalls with parties who refuse to have droids in the room. Besides, the officers and generals seem to actually enjoy having you around, with your happy and optimistic demeanour in this otherwise cold and sterile building. You know that Imperial staff can be rough sometimes, but you’re convinced that the kindness you put out into the world eventually comes back to you. So you make sure to treat everyone equally, with kindness and respect, wearing a smile whenever you get the chance.

The days go on, and you see all sorts of people around the place. You do see some Inquisitors from time to time, mainly in the hangar. Occasionally they make an appearance in the mess hall as well, but they usually sit alone and for a very short amount of time on one of the round tables in the far corner of the mess. You never see Inquisitor Kestis there, though. 

As you sit with your little trooper squad, you chew on a stringy piece of meat deep in thought, not really paying attention to the conversation. This Kestis has you intrigued if you’re being honest with yourself. You still don't understand why he talked to you. The other Inquisitors seem to ignore you, as well as everyone else, most of the time. Besides, Kestis could have just talked to you. There was no need to Force-hold you or anything. Was he trying to show you he’s in charge or something? Doesn’t that mean that he felt threatened? 

With a light scoff at yourself — because the notion of an Inquisitor being intimidated by you is pretty silly — you take another bite of your food, your gaze scanning the mess hall without looking at anything in particular. The thing is that, since you don’t see Kestis in the mess hall like, ever, you only catch fleeting glances of him here and there when you see him slip into the elevator or turn a sharp corner at a hallway. You furrow your brows. It’s almost like he’s avoiding you. And that makes you just much more intrigued in what his deal is.

When the squad is in a good mood, you try to slip a question into the conversation about the Inquisitors here and there, asking if they ever saw their faces or what they’re like, and what they do. The troopers can only tell you the rumours you’ve already heard in a thousand different versions, the details getting more violent and out of hand every time you hear them. You dismiss most of those stories; you’ve noticed that a few Inquisitors walk around without a helmet. And others are pretty direct in their attitude towards others, getting into arguments or even physical fights when something bothers them. So they all want the rest to know who they are and be scared, many even seem to enjoy the fear in people’s faces. But Kestis? The few times you’ve seen him, he moves like a well-oiled machine. His face is always hidden, every movement is calculated, and he doesn’t waste his breath on any unnecessary syllable. That’s just proof that he has a carefully curated persona he wears when he’s out and about. But once he’s alone, when he gets to peel back all those layers? You truly wonder what lies beneath. 

One evening you find yourself thinking about him yet again, suddenly concerned about his eating habits, wondering if he’s okay and eating well. For some reason that you still can’t quite comprehend, you decide to just go to him. After all, if he didn’t want to see you, he’d just send you away, right? By now you’re very well aware about what the Inquisitors are capable of, but you’re both on the same side, so surely there’s nothing to worry about. 

At least that’s what you tell yourself as your feet carry you to the mess hall that evening.

After you’re done eating (the food today is better than you would have thought), you order a second portion to go. You start walking down the hallway, looking for a console or a droid. You know where the residential wing is, but you don’t know what floor the Inquisitors’ rooms are, and doubt there’ll be specific directions towards them. It isn’t long before you do find an R4 unit, and you ask where the Inquisitor quarters are. The cylindrical droid beeps and jumps a little with a startle, at first unwilling to tell you, afraid that if it does, the droid will be sliced in half. But you promise the droid that you won’t tell on it. So after some more convincing and promising the droid you owe it an oil bath, it finally brings up a holomap of the place, showing you where you want to go with a blinking dot. 

With a pat on the head, you say your thanks and go to where the map said. Soon enough, you find yourself in a wing of the building you’ve not only never been to, but one you didn’t even know existed if it wasn’t for the droid. The design of the walls is even sleeker here, and the sound of your boots echoes through the hallway. The further you walk into this wing, the fewer people and troops you come across. Even the constant rumbling of machinery behind the panels seems to be quieter here. 

After some more minutes of walking, you finally reach the door you’re looking for. There are no signs or name plaques, but you remember the number on the door from the droid’s map. The lettering is almost the same shade of black as the door, so it took you a moment to find the right one. But you’re fairly sure this one should be it. 

Taking one final deep breath, you knock on the door. In the seconds waiting for a response, you suddenly feel silly about being here. He’s a full-grown man. An Inquisitor. Why did you think he’d need you to bring him dinner? What if he didn’t like it anyway–

The door opens with a whoosh, and you look up. For some reason, you were expecting to be met with the red visor of his helmet. Which now that you think about, doesn’t make sense; if he’s in his quarters, he wouldn’t be walking around with his full uniform on.

Instead, you’re met with a pair of intense yellow eyes, and equally fiery red hair on his head. Your breath hitches and you’re not sure if it’s the surprise of seeing his uncovered face or the realisation that he’s incredibly handsome, and it just caught you off-guard.

He gives you a quick once-over, momentarily looking at the box in your hands, then bringing his eyes back to yours, boring into your very soul.

“Why are you here?” he asks in a flat voice.

“I haven't seen you in the mess hall today. Or, any other day, really,” you explain, unable to tear your eyes away from him. “Ever since I've started working here. So I brought some food in case you haven't eaten yet…” Your voice starts trailing off at the end as you once again realise how dumb that sounds out loud.

He holds your gaze a little longer, narrowing his eyes at you as if to scrutinise whether you're being honest or not. While you hope he’ll accept the food in case he actually hasn't eaten yet, that's all you expect to happen. You’re counting on him taking the box and leaving you be, so you can go back to your quarters and continue reading your novel, which you are actually looking forward to.

To your surprise, the Inquisitor takes a step to the side, silently inviting you in. You walk past him, slightly bowing your head as a thanks, and take in his quarters. You're not sure what you were expecting, but it's surprisingly… normal. Bigger than the barracks and other quarters you've seen, including yours, but still normal. There’s a banner with the Imperial emblem hanging on the far wall, a couch on the other side, and a round table with some chairs in the middle, as well as a kitchenette. Everything is neat and clean.

You hear the doors close as you walk to the table and place the box on it, turning back around to Kestis, who’s eyeing you curiously.

“It’s still warm,” you tell him, pointing at the food.

He walks by you to pick up the container, and that’s when you notice he’s still wearing his gloves. It strikes you as odd to be wearing them in the confines of his own room, but to each their own. Kestis walks to the kitchen and pours the food onto a plate and throws away the take-out container, then rummages in a drawer for a fork.  After walking past you to sit at the table, he takes off his gloves and places them neatly next to him on the table.

“Sit,” he orders without looking at you, and takes the first bite. You sit down across from him.

“Have you already eaten?” he asks.

“Yes, Sir,” you give the honorific a try, and he seems to like it. “At the mess hall.”

“I wouldn’t have any food to offer you either way,” he states, and lifts his gaze to look at you. “This visit is… unexpected.”

“I’m sorry for intruding, Sir. I didn’t mean to. I just–”

“You just what?” He shoots you a look akin to a glare.

“I was just worried, I guess,” you say. He scoffs.

“Please don’t act like you care,” he retorts. “If you need or want something, just tell me upfront.”

“What? No, I- I’m not acting,” you reassure him, raising your hands slightly to underline you’re being earnest. “I’m not trying to gain something in exchange. I was genuinely worried about not seeing you in the mess hall.”

His fork stops mid-way from the plate to his mouth, and the intensity in his eyes sends a shiver down your spine.

“Why?” he asks. You squirm slightly in your seat.

“I’m not sure myself, to be honest,” you admit, and you can’t help the defeated slump of your shoulders. “You were the first one who talked to me when I got here out of their own volition and not because of work. After our chat, I was hoping to see you around or something…”

The pause that follows lasts for a couple of seconds only, but it feels eternal. Until finally, Kestis lets out a short sigh and continues eating.

“I usually avoid the mess hall,” he says, his voice much more gentle now. “Too many people. Too much noise.”

“I see,” is all you manage to reply. 

Taking the two last bites of his meal, Kestis sets down the fork. That’s my queue, you think.

“Well, I wouldn’t want to keep imposing,” you say, rising up to your feet, and he does the same. Before turning around, you search his eyes one last time. “That’s really all I wanted to do: to bring you the food. I’ll be going now. Good night, Sir.”

The Inquisitor walks you to the door, and just as you walk past the threshold, his words surprise you.

“Next time you could bring two portions.”

You whip around, but the door whooshes shut with a hiss.

— — —

After that, you two fall into a strange routine where you get dinner to go and bring it to his quarters so you can eat together. The conversations start out as polite small-talk, but soon enough you can broaden your topics, ranging from work to anecdotes and fun facts you picked up here and there. 

While the tone remains polite and all in all pleasant, you do notice that he’s very careful not to touch you. You think it’s because he’s being respectful, but unbeknownst to you, it’s because he wants to get to know you organically, and not pry into the echoes of your belongings. Even if he knows he could, and you’d never even know, and despite his growing curiosity, he feels… compelled to try. For you. Because you bring a refreshing factor into his otherwise stale life, like a gentle melody in the cold vastness of space. 

It’s rare to run into Cal, as he’s recently allowed you (and only you) to call him, in the halls or in the hangar. As fate would have it though, you’re just about to get into a ship with your trooper squad to leave for a job off-planet, while Cal happens to be getting off his own ship at the same time.

You don’t want to disturb him. Even if you want to wave at him from afar really badly, or even call out to him. But you think he’d appreciate it if you keep your relationship, whatever it is, a secret. To your complete surprise however, once he spots you in the ever moving crowd of the busy hangar, he comes to you.

Beelining towards you, he comes to a stop in front of you, sporting his full uniform. And while the group around you stiffens up and some even take a precautionary step back, you feel very at ease in his presence, greeting him like you normally would with a smile. If you’re being completely honest, you feel kinda proud that one of the most feared Inquisitors on base came to you, and that everyone seems so scared of him while you are completely relaxed, though still remaining respectful of course. 

“Welcome back,” you greet Cal with a genuine smile. “I hope your mission wasn’t too eventful?”

“It all went according to plan,” the distorted voice says with a static crackle.

“That’s good to hear,” you reply. 

Cal’s head shifts ever so slightly, the visor looking past your face to something behind your back.

“Is there a problem, trooper?” the Inquisitor asks, standing a little taller as he addresses the soldier who’s shifting his weight from one leg to the other.

“With all due respect, Sir, we’re on a tight schedule-“

The trooper next to him elbows him in the side.

“Is that so,” Cal asks rhetorically, and you can’t really read his tone because of the distortion. Still, you decide to intervene.

“It’s okay, we can still make it on time,” you assure him and shoot the trooper a pointed look while whispering to Cal that he’s new. “But yes, we should probably get going. I’m glad I got to see you, though. Thanks for stopping by to say hi.”

Cal nods and makes room for you to walk past, while the others keep a noticeable distance between the Inquisitor and themselves as they walk around him. When you reach the ramp to the ship, you turn around one last time. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you’re still surprised to see Cal standing there, hands behind his back, facing your direction. You give a little wave with your hand, then hurry up the ramp and take a seat. As the ship takes off, you’re checking the data on your holopad. You suddenly feel something on your cheek, like the faintest caress of a summer breeze, and you could swear you just heard a voice in your head.

‘Come back safely.’

As the ship activates the hyperdrive, your hand involuntarily comes up to touch your cheek where the skin still prickles from what you can only describe as a ghost’s touch. 

— — —

Ever since then, you notice a shift in the way everyone treats you, even your superiors, but especially the troopers. Some seem to get out of your way completely when you come walking down the hall, while others are especially attentive to your needs, offering to help you whenever you look like you’re lost or are searching for something. That one trooper who had spoken up to Cal, you haven’t seen him around at all. In fact, it isn’t until two weeks after the incident that you decide to ask one of your other squad members where he is, and she tells you that he got reassigned to not only a different squadron, but an entirely different planetary system. You have a hunch about who’s responsible for that, but you're still not quite sure why he would go to such lengths. Had he really felt that disrespected? You should watch your tone with him from now on, lest you also be sent to some backwater planet…

However, Cal still acts as he always has around you. You still eat dinner in his room, like you’ve been doing for a while now. And while it may just be your wishful thinking, it seems like his whole body language has finally started to soften too. When it’s just the two of you, his shoulders are not as tense, his jaw not as tight, his eyes not as harsh. Even the way he talks has changed. Others may not notice, but you’re literally trained for this. His choice of words has shifted to a less strictly professional lingo, allowing himself to articulate more freely, as well as use more face expressions, voice tone changes and hand gestures, compared to how he acted when your dinner routine started. At some point, he even stopped wearing his gloves around you all the time.

On one hand, for the past couple of months, dinner has been the highlight of your day. You get to spend time with someone who actually listens to you, not because of work, not because you have data they need, but because they just like to spend time with you. Or at least you hope he does. 

On the other hand, you’ve been noticing a slight knot in your stomach whenever you stand in front of Cal’s door, waiting for it to open. As well as the prick of heat on your cheeks when he reacts to your jokes (you haven’t seen him properly smile or laugh out loud yet, but you’ll get there). And let’s not forget the involuntary hitch of your breath accompanied by the skip of your heart when you discover him in the same room with you when you weren’t expecting to see him. 

Somewhere deep within you, you know what all of those mean. But you like the relationship that you’ve built with him, no matter how weird it is, too much to listen to your gut right now. So you just push all and any thought of that kind waaay back into the darkest corner of your brain, hoping it’ll pass.

— — —

One day, you’re feeling a little blue, and it doesn’t go unnoticed by Cal. He asks what the problem is, and you tell him you miss something from your home planet. He assures you, whatever it is, he can get it for you. So you write down some things and he orders them. Only two rotations later, the package is at his door. 

He's really curious to open it but decides to wait for you to get there that evening. When you’re finally in his quarters and he shows you the box, you’re super happy and unpack everything: it’s candy, some fruits he’s never seen before, a jar of what looks like herbs, and another jar with a blue spread of sorts. 

You hum, thinking about what to show him first, and decide to go for the jar with the spread. Picking it up, you’re about to start explaining what it is while you open it, but whatever you plan to say gets cut off because of your fruitless effort to screw open the lid. You give it a second try, but it just won’t budge.

With a sheepish look, you wordlessly hand him the glass and when he takes it, there’s a cocky smile on his face that you’ve never seen on him before. You bite your tongue just in time to stop some witty remark, because it would have been a jumble of sounds and no coherent sentence anyway. For in a split second, all those feelings and thoughts you have been repressing come back all at once in one massive wave that crashes over you, drowning everything else around you.

If that small of a change in his face has such a big effect on you, you wonder what else there is. What would a proper smile on him look like? Would he ever properly smile at you? With you? For you? And if it was the other way around, if it was you wearing a cocky grin, looking down at him, how would he—

Oh, oh no. You’re in it bad. So bad. 

The sound of your name snaps you back to reality, where Cal is offering you the now open jar, waiting for you to take it. You blink a couple of times, your eyes moving from his face to the jar, then back to his face. One of his brows rises to give you a questioning look. Heat spreads on your face, ears and neck at the multiple images that appeared in your head. You give him a quick thanks, grab the jar, and turn around to hide from his gaze. Already familiarised with his kitchen, you walk up to the counter to rummage in the drawer for a spoon. Taking a deep breath to try and calm your racing heart, you turn back around. Cal is still standing by the table, following your every movement with his yellow eyes. And for some reason, you feel like all the walls you had managed to pick away at ever so slowly have been pulled up again around him.

You’ve heard stories of Force users being able to read minds, and right now you really hope they’re not true. What if he can sense your thoughts? Is he… disgusted at you? 

Somehow managing to regain your composure and willing away most of the prickling heat on your face, you explain to him what this spread is called in your mother tongue, which translates to something like “sweet of milk”, and how delicious it is.

You’re still by the counter, not really wanting to get into Cal’s space, and you take a spoonful of the jar’s contents and put it into your mouth.

“Hm, it’s so good,” you say, offering him the spoon to give it a try himself.

He suddenly seems to revert to his normal self and approaches you, grabbing a new spoon from the drawer. Ah, you should have known, he doesn’t like sharing cutlery. Or cups. Or… anything, really. Odd, but you’ve always just attributed it to him being scared of germs or the like, which is very valid. It’s probably the same reason why he’s wearing gloves all the time, especially outside. 

As he twists the spoon in his mouth, you see Cal’s face light up for the first time; he likes it. You’re relieved.   

“So glad you like it! Alright then, let’s make some pancakes. You’re going to love them,” you exclaim. 

Seeing the rest of the imported goods on the table, you tell him to try some candy while you work. You take off your bracelet, leaving it next to the box, and roll up your sleeves to get to work.

While the pancakes are cooking, you watch Cal’s reaction to the sweets. He first inspects it closely in his fingers; it’s shaped like a short stick with stripes in different shades of pink. You tell him the wrappers have trivia facts about animals, but they’re written in your native language. So while he chews on the soft candy, he walks over to you, holding out the wrapper for you to read.

“What does it say?” he asks, and you can’t help feel extremely endeared. Your eyes fall to the paper in his hands.

“It’s about banthas. It says that both females and males have a pair of spiralling horns, and they grow a knob a year. So you can tell the age of banthas by how curly their horns are,” you read out loud. “Huh, I didn’t know that.”

“Interesting,” Cal remarks with a short nod of his head. He chews some more on the candy while inspecting the drawing of the bantha on the wrapper. He seems to like them a lot. In fact, he goes back to the table and takes a second one. He asks you what they’re called again, saying he will probably order some more for himself. 

Flipping yet another pancake, you tell him their name and smile to yourself, glad you managed to introduce something nice and colourful into his life. Not that being an Inquisitor wasn’t fun… was it? Truthfully, you have no idea how they feel about what they do out there. You’ve tried getting something out of Cal, but whenever the topic of his work comes up, he shuts you out. You also try not to listen too closely to the gory details of their work that are talked about in quick whispers in the hallways. Either way, you like to think that you broke whatever monotony there could be for Cal, even if only a little bit. Maybe he even looks forward to your moments together, as you do.

The Inquisitor asks what the other jar with the herbs is. You explain that it’s actually leaves for an infusion, and ask if he could put the kettle on.

Suddenly this whole moment feels strangely domestic, and you reprimand your heart for yet another beat it just skipped. It’s just a normal hangout between… colleagues. Making pancakes and having tea. Absolutely normal, strictly professional behaviour, yes. 

You flip the last pancake and watch as Cal stands up to get back to the kitchen, but when he puts the jar with the tea leaves back on the table without really looking, his bare hand grazes your bracelet. With a sharp breath through his teeth, he suddenly tenses up, and his gaze is fixed on some spot behind you, without really focusing on anything. You’re not sure what’s happening, but he’s completely frozen up, and you start panicking.

After turning off the heat on the stove, you hurry to stand in front of the Inquisitor, unsure what to do. You call his name repeatedly, but he doesn’t react. Your hand comes up to the side of his arm but you hesitate, stopping just before touching him. Looking up at him, you try calling his name again; still no reaction. So you don’t really have a choice. You place your hand on his upper arm and give him a gentle shake.

“Cal,” you call yet again. “Cal, what’s wrong?”

He takes a big gulp of air, as if he had forgotten to breathe all this time. After blinking a couple of times, it seems he’s back with you, and his eyes dart back to yours, boring into your skull with an intensity that takes you off guard. You’re quick to remove your hand from him and instinctively take a step back to give him some space.

“A-Are you okay?” you ask. “You just spaced out really hard for a moment.”

“Yeah I’m- I’m fine,” he replies, and it’s the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter. “It was… something occurred to me that really took me by surprise, is all.”

“… Right,” you stretch out the word, waiting for him to explain what he meant further, but he reverts completely back to normal in an instant. 

“You asked me to put the kettle on, right?” he asks and is already on his way to the kitchen. 

“Uhm, yeah,” you follow him with your gaze, confused, then remember an important detail, so you join him in the kitchen. “Oh, but don’t let it boil. That will ruin the leaves. Just gotta heat up the water.”

“Got it.”

— — —

After some more preparations, you’re both sat at the table, and you show him how to eat the pancakes. They’re not like the thick, small pancakes he knows. These ones are larger in diameter and very thin. You demonstrate how to evenly apply the blue spread, stack the cubes of fruit you prepped, then roll up the pancakes like a tube and pick it up in your hands.

“Ta-da,” you exclaim. “And now, enjoy.”

Taking a big bite, you squeal at how good it tastes. It’s been ages since you’ve had this! 

Cal imitates what you did earlier, putting together his own pancake tube, and takes a bite as well. Even he can’t help the low moan that escapes through his nose at this fantastic combination. You giggle at the sight, enjoying it immensely that you get to see all these sides to him that probably no one else has seen. Once more, your brain is invaded by the thought of what else there might be to Inquisitor Cal Kestis. If he allowed you to lower wall after wall, layer after layer… what would you discover? 

You shake your head to rid yourself of the images starting to form. Nope, can’t go there. 

Instead, you decide to show him how the tea is brewed. You grab a small cup and pour some tea leaves in there, which are chopped much more finely than other loose tea Cal has seen. Then you place the special straw that came in the box in the cup. Cal has never seen something like it; it’s essentially a metal tube that is flat at the top and ends in a bulbous shape at the bottom full of little holes.

“So, let me get this straight,” he starts once he understands the mechanics behind your concoction. “Instead of putting the contained leaves in water and then removing them to drink the tea, you just put loose leaves in the water and filter it through the straw to drink the tea?”

“Essentially, yes!”

“That’s so many extra steps…”, Cal sighs, bringing his hand up to hold his temple.

“It’s literally the same,” you laugh. “Just in a different order.”

Pouring hot water into the cup, careful not to overspill it, you offer the cup to him.

“The things you make me do…” he says under his breath, taking the cup and giving it a tentative sniff. 

“Oh please,” you say teasingly, and a grin spreads on your face as you prop up your chin on your elbows. “As if you’re not having the time of your life today. I saw how many candies you ate earlier.”

Cal’s eyes dart down to your lips and back up so quickly that you miss it. With a defeated sigh, he gives the tea a try, grimacing at the bitter taste. You chuckle.

“It certainly is an acquired taste, but give it a chance. It gets better with time, trust me.” Kinda like you, you think.

He looks at the cup and back at you, kinda lost on what to do now.

“You’re supposed to suck on the straw until there’s no more water left, then you pass it back and I pour another one,” you explain.

“So many extra steps,” he repeats with a playful shake of his head, but he does as you said, if only to humour you. Once the straw makes the typical noise of there not being any more liquid at the bottom of a cup, he passes it back to you. With a smile, you pour more water into it, and have a drink yourself. He seems a bit shocked about that.

“Oh yeah, this is a drink passed around in a group, and everyone drinks from the same straw…,” you explain. Not to sound like a 12-year-old, a voice in your head says, but that just was an indirect kiss with an Inquisitor. You clear your throat. “Sorry, I guess I should have asked for a second straw so we could both use one each. I was going to offer another round of tea to you after I’m done with this one, as it usually goes, but if it makes you uncomfortable…”

Cal straightens up in his seat in surprise at your words.

“Why would it make me uncomfortable?”

“You don’t like sharing cutlery and stuff like that, right?” you ask, now confused as well, thinking back to when he clearly grabbed another spoon to try the spread. 

“Oh, uhm, that’s… never mind.”

He fidgets with his fingers for a second, but when he notices you watching him, he hides his hands under the table. You merely hum in response, taking another sip. Is he… nervous? The mood seems to have shifted again and now you’re completely lost as to what’s going on. All those years of training and studying, yet this man before you remains a mystery.

The rest of the evening is spent eating pancakes and drinking tea, holding a pleasant conversation, albeit a superficial one. At times, it feels like his eyes are completely fixed on you, but within seconds, it’s like he can’t even look at you. 

Concluding you’ve overstayed your welcome, you offer to quickly wash up, then be on your way. He merely nods and helps to bring all the dishes to the counter, then goes back to the table. You assume it’s to get another candy from the box. But you don’t mind; you offered to wash up after all. 

Silence envelops the whole room, the only sound being the water coming from the tap. As you’re putting the last of the dishes on the little drying rack, you sigh. Maybe this whole thing was a bad idea after all. Full of questions and doubts, you dry your hands on the towel, fully set on ending the evening by thanking him for getting the things in the first place, saying you had a good time and keeping your goodbyes short. You aren’t even sure if you’ll manage to appear here with a straight face for dinner tomorrow after everything that happened today, the problem being mainly the things playing out in your own head.

Being so deep in thought, you don’t notice the presence behind you, so when you turn around, you’re almost nose to nose with Cal. You can’t help the surprised little “ah, kriff!” that escapes you at his sudden appearance. With the counter behind you though, there’s nowhere for you to back away to, and Cal isn’t budging from where he stands. 

“Don’t forget this,” he says in a low voice and holds up your bracelet, which you had left on the table earlier. He’s so close that you can feel his soft breaths on your face.

“R-right, thanks.”

Looking anywhere but at the Inquisitor, you take the piece of jewellery and put it on your wrist. It takes you a couple of tries though, because your fingers are trembling. In fear, anticipation or something else, you don’t really know. You fumble for a moment until you finally manage to secure the clasp. Cal however, is still standing right in front of you, his hands now coming up to rest on the counter on either side of you. You don’t dare to breathe.

“Uhm, what’s going on?” you ask in an impossibly small voice. 

“I think you know.” 

It takes every last drop of courage in your body, but you scrape it all together and put it into lifting your eyes to look at Cal. And when your gaze meets his, the breath is knocked out of your lungs entirely. He’s looking down at you so intensely, so hungry, you can’t even begin to describe what you’re feeling. Your brain is long gone, you realise, so now you’re entirely at the mercy of what Cal does and whatever physical reaction that gets out from you. And it seems he’s very much aware of this, enjoying the state you find yourself in, if that tiny side smile is anything to go by as he leans in next to your head. You go completely stiff. 

“If you want me to back off, tell me now,” he says directly into your ear.

You take a shaky breath, and the last of the voices in your head all but screaming at you to get out of there is abruptly shut up. Anything and everything in your mind and body is Cal Kestis right now, and for a split second, you wonder if he’s using some Force mind trick on you or if this is all you. That thought dissipates instantaneously though when you feel Cal’s breath tickle your ear, still waiting for your response. You merely shake your head, and it’s so subtle he probably wouldn’t have caught it if he didn’t have his face right next to yours. 

With his cheek now against yours, you can feel him smile. Properly smile. 

“Good,” is all he says, and before you know it, his lips are on yours. 

His arms snake around your waist, pressing your body into his, and he devours you with such ferocity that you need a moment to regain control in your limbs. Once you do, your hands are all over him. One fists the shirt at his back, the other goes into the hair at the nape of his neck and you give it a gentle, tentative pull. The groan that leaves his lips is intoxicating, and you know right then and there that there’s no going back from this. Not tonight, not ever. This is all it took for you to know you’re officially addicted to Cal Kestis. 

He tilts his head to deepen the kiss further, his tongue pressing against your own and pushing both your hips into the counter behind you. You can’t help the low moan that escapes you. Any other day you would have felt embarrassed, but today you don’t care. You’re making out with a kriffin’ Inquisitor and it’s great. As if he could hear your thoughts, Cal gives your bottom lip a nip, starting to leave a trail of bites and licks along your jaw, while his hands slide to the backside of your thighs. Before you can process what he’s doing, you're being lifted onto the free counter space like you weigh nothing, with Cal standing between your legs. One of his hands slowly moves further up your thigh, and your whole body feels like it’s on fire. 

Suddenly, something occurs to you, and with a breathless “wait” you tilt your head to the side to take a breather and try to regain any rational thought you may have left. You’re both panting heavily, and while he looks openly annoyed at your interruption, he places one last kiss on the corner of your mouth, then backs away a bit to let you take a break. 

“What,” he finally says, and it’s less of a question and more of an impatient bark, as you still haven’t said anything.

Your brain is going at a thousand miles an hour, there’s too much input from everywhere, but you still manage to find the words somehow.

“I just- This is- Not that I’m not enjoying this immensely, but… why? All of a sudden?” you ask, finally feeling like you’ve caught your breath again.  

Cal huffs with a slight roll of his eyes, running a hand through his hair, and while you probably should be a little bit offended at his gesture, you’re suddenly way too focused on what you have the chance of witnessing: the way his hair messily falls into his face once he drops his hand. The clear blush adorning his freckled and scarred cheeks, nose and even the tips of his ears. The puffy lips, mouth still parted. The backlighting coming from the main room behind him almost gives him an ethereal glow, making the golden hue in his eyes stand out even more. You commit the image to memory. 

“The bracelet, when I touched it earlier,” he starts explaining, but when he sees you just as dishevelled as him, he decides he can’t be bothered right now. “It’s called psychometry, I’ll explain it to you later.”

With an impatient grunt, he just picks you up and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Right now there are more pressing matters,” he mumbles into your shoulder.

You realise you’re being carried towards the door that’s always been closed every time you come over. When you both approach, they slide open with a hiss and you’re met with his bedroom, as you’ve always speculated that’s what lies behind it. 

Letting you fall backwards onto his large bed rather unceremoniously, he starts climbing on top of you, but before putting any weight on you, he stops and looks down at you with a serious face. 

“Last chance to back out,” he offers.

You can’t help at chuckle, and grin up at him. 

“As if.”

Your hands shoot up to hold him by the collar. You have no idea where the confidence even comes from at this point.

“I want you, Cal,” you say breathlessly, and that’s all it takes for him to be on top of and all over you again. Let’s just say pancakes and tea aren't the only treats you’ll be getting today.

— — —

A/N 2: inq!cal has a sweet tooth, honk if you agree

A/N 3: where my palitos de la selva gang at B)

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @dybynyght, @galaxtic-writings, @kalea-bane, @soka-writes-things, @padawancat97, @riddikulus-obsessions, @optimisticprime3, @starilicious, @ivelostmyabilitytoeven, @alternatescififandomelover

[mitskiluvr]

replaying mystic messenger is so crazy because why am i gentle parenting these grown men and teaching them how to handle their feelings

[carlycrays]

You can't tell me that Sabrina Carpenter's Please Please Please isn't the perfect song for Galadriel and Sauron. I still cannot believe that this is an actual ship and that I'm having so much fun with it!

[coconut530]

DIVORCE BEGIN *STARTS CRYING*

[nestofthorns]

*spoilers ahead*

maybe it's because i was reading orv before reading dod but debut or die feels like a love letter to idols and fandom the way orv feels like a love letter to readers.

i just keep thinking about the world of the screen. keundal receiving strength through gun134's fancams, despite never meeting. moondae receiving keundal's wishes and help through the system screen.

idols and fans live in two worlds, but they meet through the screen. what connects them? what makes the two worlds connect? why do idols keep performing, why do the audience — the fans — keep watching?

it's fun.

just like testar's concept — it's because it's fun.

because it's fun, because it makes you laugh, because it makes you scream, because it makes you cry.

because you share those emotions, the two worlds are connected.

and when you meet the idols live, those two worlds overlap for a moment and those emotions spill out.

gunwoo, who captured idol videos just to make money. gunwoo, who helped keundal during the worst time of his life through the screen. gunwoo, who lived in an isolated world but still touched others' hearts through the videos he uploaded.

and when they met outside the world of the screen, he once again helped keundal. keundal who cast the wish to help the one who helped him and became the screen itself.

because ryu gunwoo was his idol even before he was park moondae. because park moondae (ryu gunwoo) saved his heart, even before everything.

gunwoo gave him the world of the screen that saved him, and then keundal cast a wish to give him a world that loves him through the screen

idk i keep thinking about how much moondae loves his fans and how much they love him. how their prayers and hopes reached him when he was comatose. how he's always planning to make sure the fandom is having fun and not tired to support testar. how he may not be the og "park moondae", but he's undoubtedly testar's park moondae.

[blue-eli]

Ink October day 3: Sophistry

An argument that seems plausible, but is fallacious or misleading, especially one devised deliberately to be so.

[cerise-grenadine]

older Snape fans, what are your oldest works like?

i’m curious 🤭

found the old display book where i stored my second (and longest)(and unfinished) fanfic and i’ll have you know the highlight was Severus stabbing a dragon in the throat with a poisoned dagger to save Hogwarts, in front of everyone 🙌🏻

he was able to jump on the dragon because he had ✨angel wings✨ black covered in ebony feathers, of course 🖤

and every chapter had deep poetic introductory quotes bc i was a dramatic teenager.

[beanghostprincess]

Sabo still struggles with memory loss. He had his childhood back, of course, he remembers Ace and Luffy and everything they did together. But he doesn't remember some stuff. Some anecdotes Luffy tells oh so excitedly? He can't recall that those happened. And if he does, it's all blurry and never at all like Luffy says. But he never says anything because that would break his brother's heart, to know his older brother isn't fully back with him, so he nods and smiles and pretends he knows what Luffy is talking about every time.

His room is filled with Post-it notes. Stupid, really. Dumb stuff. But he has all the meetings he needs to remember and the missions he has to do, along with everything he wants to write down at some point properly. The walls are covered in pictures of the people he loves (Luffy, Ace, Koala, Robin... All the others that have ever meant something to him because he refuses to forget somebody again).

He keeps writing dumb stuff down. Anything. He refuses to forget. He denies the possibility of doing it again.

But he forgets. Sabo keeps forgetting important dates. Important parts of his life, like his past with his brothers (he forgets a random adventure they had that he swore he had talked about the day prior) and crucial things he has to do. He has a hard time picturing his memories. Putting them in his brain. Turning them into images. Saying it's frustrating is a huge understatement.

Koala helps him out, of course. She's hard on him so he finishes his paperwork, but she knows it's difficult sometimes. She's his personal calendar and diary. She informs him of what he has to do during the week and always tries to talk and talk about anecdotes that she knows he still remembers but knows he loves to hear again.

His mental health isn't the best either, but he refuses to acknowledge it. There's a revolution at hand, he can't stop working. And fighting. And doing more and more and more. But sometimes it's just too much. Sometimes he goes into depressive episodes he can't control, and the medication is either addicting or the worst thing that has ever happened to him. Sometimes he's a bit too intense. Koala says he needs to calm down, that he has a problem with his fixation on the revolution and his past. Sabo keeps saying that it's fine. But he sometimes forgets or has blurry images of the fights and the people he has killed, filled with energy and excitement and like he has the power of a God. He doesn't like those. Enjoys the moment. Hates to forget it. Hates to know what he did during it too, even if it was for a good cause. Despises the look Koala gives him, also. Makes her promise not to tell Luffy about all of this.

But it's fine, he keeps saying. Sabo will keep trying to never forget anything ever again.

[clovesandivy]

my brotherhood assassin, Lyra, in many outfits

[drowningparty]

Thinking so hard about Gabrielle in Seeds of Faith. I always love the scenes where Gabrielle and Ares are alone and he tries to tempt her with power. Obviously she never falls for it, she's too smart for that, but I like how much Ares respects her abilities & how much she's grown. Ares sees her potential to be a great warrior, even giving her a taste of godhood b/c he knows part of her does want the power to change the world and make it a better, kinder, safer place, and she's already spent all of S4 learning sometimes words aren't enough.

No one else is willing to see that side of her b/c no one else wants to believe sweet Gabrielle would choose violence, even though she's destined to eventually take Xena's place and succeed her as a warrior who fights to defend those who cannot defend themselves. Even Xena refuses to see it, reprimands her for getting too 'dagger-happy' b/c she still wants to think of Gabrielle as the peace-loving bard, even though she's not that woman anymore. Ares sees it, he's been paying attention. He thinks she could be a god. She could be anything.

[zopharooni]

"Fading"

A DMAU story, part 2/4 (start / previous / next)

Rain. The normally pleasant atmosphere and calming sounds...

Turned sour.

Why... Why are things always like this?

Why can things never stay nice?

Why can't people... live forever...

Gideon... He went missing a month ago. He said he would be right back, that relations with the local cultists were the best they have ever been. But gods... are never satisfied with what is. That's all they do. Take, and take, and take, until there's nothing left. Damned bishops...

Cliff and Spike returned from a raid a week ago. We need food, and we need those cultists gone. They attacked in the night, leaving no survivors of that cult. Not all of them were guilty, but our needs come first. However... They were infected with something terrible while out there. Our guess is a blight from the Bishop of this land.

Poor Cliff... He has been bedridden for the whole week. He doesn't even know his own name, let alone recognize us. Something is wrong in his head. Something... that we can't fix.

Spike also caught something, but it's different. Fatigue, fever, and he's getting skinnier by the day. What most concerns me is... when he coughs. He keeps a rag to cough into, as to not spread anything...

It's covered in blood.

They won't survive. If I stay... I won't survive either. I can't live like this. The bishops need to pay. I've heard rumors of cults worshipping chaos. I need that power, and I refuse to work under the other bishops. If I can get the attention of their god, I've heard that some followers are rewarded with a fraction of divinity. I can take the fight to the bishops and the followers that wronged us. Wronged me.

Damn Famine for our hunger and starvation, damn War for the fighting, damn Death for taking away everything we love, and Pestilence... for taking my family. When all is lost, Chaos reigns. This I know.

I pack my bag in secret. I can't let Spike know. He'll try to stop me. I grab any spare rations from the raid, as well as Gideon's old greataxe. I need these more. I take our only map, and leave in the middle of the night.

The rain feels almost... patronizing. As if trying to guilt trip me. It doesn't matter. I quietly stalk away from the cabin, the rain covering my sound. I take one look back, and...

Spike is there. Waiting at the door. Staring. He is leaning against the frame, looking disappointed. Sad, even.

No. You can't stop me. Not now.

But he doesn't. He simply turns back inside. Closing the door behind him.

I feel my throat start to constrict. Any tears rolling from my eyes invisible with the rainfall. Guilt.

I can't stay here. They will die anyways, and I'll be alone. Staying is meaningless. I repeat these words in my mind, as I journey through Ombros. Trying to convince myself.

The chaos worshippers are rumored to be in Rotwood. I use the map, waterproofed with tree resin, to find my way. I hack through the underbrush, it's beauty fading in my mind. Ombros. My home...

Not anymore... I can't stay.

After a week I find myself at the foot of Rotwood. The trees covered in moss, a fog always seeming to obscure the periphery. Moving forward, the ground feels vastly different than Ombros. The stench of decay seeming to perpetuate the air here.

After a day of stalking through, I start to lose whatever hope I had left, not for me, but my revenge. Then a cultist in green robes jumps from the bushes, pointing a dagger at me.

"You! Your sacrifice will nourish the god of chaos!"

Ah. Perfect.

I quickly spin my greataxe from my back, and ready for their attack. Then suddenly, they turn and try to run.

Coward.

My axe splits the back of their skull, putting them down instantly. So is that what it takes to be a worshipper? Just kill in the name of chaos? Easy enough. I quickly steal the robes from the cultist, their body very quickly withering into the ground. The hood is split and covered in blood, but I don't like hoods anyways, and I rip it off.

I rifle around the pockets, and find a small map, showing where this cultist's origin lies. I begin to make my way through Rotwood, with renewed vigor. Things are looking up! Any doubts in my mind are washed away, and any thoughts of them... obscured with my own malice.

After a day or two, I start hearing commotion. I think I've made it. The cult of chaos, indicated by the map. I stand up straight, and walk confidently into the cult, weapon at the ready.

Is this the first step of my journey? Was it the step I took outside from the cabin? Or was this all simply fate?

Ha... Fate.

A cruel mistress.

[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.]