#quinlan is around too!

[ninjigma]

Obi-Bun Scene - 'Darkness on Umbara' Track: 'Hell or High Water' - The Rescues (Spotify / YouTube)

I apparently was not going to know peace until I made this, so, a little over 8 hours later, we have it, for better or worse. Started as "Wow I love this scene I am writing" and then "Oh, why not warm up with a different art style then usual?" and then... A scene from an AU where Obi-Wan is turned into a rabbit. Yes, you heard that right, and yes, it has turned into a full blown, in depth, I have six chapters roughly written already AU. And the Umbara arc is just as important in this world as any other, so it deserves some spotlight and I was just plain obsessed with this image in my mind, literally crawled its way out of my soul so I couldn't finish anything else today, which I won't say unfortunately because I actually love it.

Enjoy!

[somestorythoughts]

Radioactive Eldritch Jedi

Okay so when I say radioactive. The Force is primordial and eldritch and the jedi (and any other force users of a comparable level) resonate with the echoes of this primoridal of-the-world-and-yet-not-the-world energy like your body when you’re so close to a marching bacd you can feel the drums in your bones and they’re not the music or the instruments, they’re only the echo thereof, but the echo of something from the depths that bore the universe is still A Lot.

And when you look at them. There’s teeth that aren’t there the next minute, you could count them again and again for half an hour and never get the same number twice in a row. And that’s not mentioning when their teeth don’t fit in their mouth, don’t match each other, when there aren’t teeth in their mouths but claws...

That’s just one element of their face which is one element of their body.

You can smell them, even the species that don’t have particularly good senses of smell though it is far more distracting for them. Something fresh with light or rotting with dark, herby or sea salty or citrusy or floral and threaded with sweat or blood or sex to suit whatever they’ve been doing and it wouldn’t be remarkable except they smell simultaneously like their species and like something else entirely in a way that is clearly but indescribably not caused by soap or perfume or oil.

There’s a resonance in their voices. Something like there’s a drumbeat in their throat, like they’re speaking with the vibrations of a song you’ve always heard without knowing it, but always perfectly understandable. The sound of jedi singing in harmony with feeling has reduced cities to tears of joy or tears of pain, blood dripping from their ears in mirror of their tears.

Don’t get me started on their shadows, on the way they move in the dark

And they’d be leaking this strangeness 24/7 except they keep themselves so tightly shielded, not only hiding themselves so that they appear uncanny and not terrifyingly Other (they’ve been there time and time again and it is a problem. There are Consequences) but also keeping any of this force-energy-resonance leaking out into the world. Places where force sensitives have lived a long time thrum like a pulse, are touches with the energy of generations of force users relaxing enough to let their shields lower and their selves to leak and brush the walls and tables, etching their presences into the place like fire into wood, and when this touches people it changes them.

Not immediately. Not quickly. It can take months for anything to change and this is why jedi keep their shields maintained, because if you’re fully shielded nothing will happen, and this is part of why attachments are risky, because the emotion can affect the shields can change the one you love, because to say you love a jedi is not the same as accepting all that they are and being willing to change along with them because you can’t dodge that forever, and saying you’re willing to do this isn’t the same as being willing.

The changes aren’t quick, and not as Eldritch as the jedi, but they are permanent and definitely Other.

When shields crack or break, when a jedi lashes out with the force, it brushes an imprint on everything around them (those with any kind of vision skills can find this difficult or comforting to deal with, like a too-large gulp of hot tea) and a few times on the same thing doesn’t matter. Genuinely. Repeition is an entirely different matter.

War is hell. 

War is hell, and the jedi are holding on to each other for support, clinging interlocking arms, but they’re scattered around the galaxy and it’s so hard to actually reach each other.

Sometimes to know you’re supported isn’t enough. Not when you can’t reach their shoulder to lean on, for just a moment.

And the clones are going through hell with them, are dying around them, and they reach out to support the jedi who are doing their best not only to help them survive but to help them live in a war that wants them dead for a senate that doesn’t care and the jedi recognizes them as people so they reach out and the jedi can’t help but reach back.

The clones catch them when they fall, love them in different ways each as sure as the tides, and the jedi relax into it without realizing. Their shields crack over and over again because war is hell, but they also find them relaxing them, instinctively and unconsciously, because so little is certain but the clones’ willingness to go to hell and back for them is one of them and they feel safe.

And the echoes of the force that resonate in the heartbeats-nervepulses-bloodflows of the jedi leaves imprints on the clones that rises like paint added layer by layer and it changes them.

The clones don’t have a childhood of familiarity to fall back on, much less the shielding techniques to keep them looking “normal.” What they have is legions of brothers willing to support each other come hell or high water or unending clankers and jedi who at first beg their forgiveness for changing them (because it wasn’t supposed to happen and because they like how they are but everyone already sees them as strange and to beg forgiveness for making them like them is many jedi’s first instinct) then teach them how to hide it when they need to and the comfort of singing together, their voices ringing through their ships in tune with the thrumming in their blood, bone-deep.

[stealingpotatoes]

do the last (4) jedi ever consult quinlan vos if they realize they don't know something lol? i think it'd be hilarious if they've struggled to piece together their remaining jedi knowledge for years with their varying levels of training and force ghost aid only to find out that there's been a temple-trained jedi master kicking around this entire time.

realistically they probably don't find out he's alive, but this idea's too good to pass up

(commission info // kofi support!)

[frostbitebakery]

for @ferretrade

.Hashmarks

“I’ve seen a few troopers commemorating their kills with those,” Aayla comments, pointing her stylus at his collarbone where his shirt has slipped down.

It’s absolutely sweltering on this planet whose name Bly is saving in his long term memory just to avoid it in the future. Breathing feels like swallowing water, sitting still has him sweating more profusely than the 16-hour battle sims they endured during training. So of course his temp-regulating undersuit is shot to hell and their quartermaster is a mean bastard trying to teach him a lesson in taking better care of his stuff.

Bly had wanted to cry and beg for mercy.

Instead he had narrowed his eyes, nodded once in menacing silence, and turned back to his duties, hoping to instill at least some fear and regret in Q.

Aayla, his cruel savior, had crinkled her nose at him and offered a very large, very billowy shirt when he had sweat-squelched his way to their command tent. “It’s Quinlan’s, originally,” she had explained at his curious look. “He didn’t want it anymore.”

“Too many sleeves?” Bly had guessed hazardously.

So now he’s sitting in shorts and a billowy shirt at their shared desk, the collar constantly slipping off his shoulder because Vos is huge, and it’s an all-around aggravating situation. Except Aayla who’s lovely and can do no wrong, obviously. But who’s also taking an interest in his tattoos which Bly is not prepared for since his brain is actively melting.

“They’re for my batch mates,” he thus replies to her inquiry.

While the frown is settling into her features, her eyes flick down to count the marks.

Bly kind of wants to cringe. Oops.

“I thought batches were… decanted,” bless her for stumbling over that word, “in fives?”

He leans back, shrugs deliberately which has the added bonus of the shirt hiding the hashmarks again. “Now, yeah.”

“Cody, Wolffe, Fox,” she counts, her eyes boring into him. She’s like a massif with a bone, and there are moments Bly wants to be a chew toy. Sadly, this isn’t one of them. “I’m sorry about Ponds,” she says, means it with all her heart. “And you. I thought that was your batch?”

“Now. Yeah,” he repeats, half-smile lifting one side of his mouth. Does his best to not let the relief be palpable for her senses.

.Lightning

“Does it really have to mean anything when it looks this cool?” He almost cracks his neck trying to look at his back in the mirror. Lightning bolts strike out from his spine, wrapping around his upper arms like electric wings.

So cool.

“Your body, your choice,” Aayla says diplomatically.

Never mind the nay-sayers.

.Tic Tac Toe

“Ow,” Bly groans.

“Fucking tubie,” Squid hisses at him, bloody hands doing stuff way too fast for him to follow, “stop crying, it’s just a flesh wound.”

Holy hell, but the spots in front of his eyes do seem to grow larger. “You’re holding my innards,” he points out just as Squid throws away something bloody. “Don’t I still need that?”

“That was a wound pad, stupid.”

Wow, the black spots are in color now. “Mind the regs, soldier,” he slurs out.

Squid pulls a bandage - when did he do that? He’s incredible. He makes tattoos and medic stuff! - way too tight. “Commander Stupid,” he relents with another harsh pull. Bly pouts at him. “Congrats, you won the game.”

Bly weakly fist bumps the air. “Yay.”

.327

“Well,” he huffs out with a chuckle, leans back against the hull, “they’re my everything. Body, heart, soul. I’m ready to die for them.”

“They’re ready to die for you, too,” Aayla says quietly.

“Yeah.” He watches her roll the mug a trooper, long gone, made for her between her hands. “Wish they’d stop that.”

.Splinters

Squid wipes away the excess ink with ease and practice. “Well, it looks as stupid as you wanted it to. My work here is done.”

“Are you sure you can’t see the tattoo underneath?”

“Of course.” Squid pulls off the stained gloves, throwing him a judging side-eye. “No one will know what exactly you “hearted”, Commander.”

.Text

“Out of my way,” Aayla reads off his hand while he is unfairly under the influence of way too many drugs, “Rippin off my flesh, so you can’t recognize me, anymore.”

“I was an angsty youth,” he explains, maybe still sore about Wash forgetting the g in ripping.

She nods sagely. “That explains your taste in music.”

“I love polka.”

“No, the other one—“ She pats his hand which she’s still holding. His hand is so lucky. “Never mind. When you get out of here I’m introducing you to grunge and taking you flannel-shopping.”

His head is already nodding. His body is awesome at responding. “You’re like my sugar daddy,” he compliments her. Her and her twin. No, that can’t be right. He blinks and there’s only one Aayla again.

She snorts at him. “Showing you the holonet has been a mistake and keeps me up at night.”

.Flowers

“I wanna be a hi—,” Bly hiccups, fumbles with his drink before it goes all over Cody. “Hibi—“

“Hibiscus,” Fox suggests more drily than his drink.

“That one! I wanna be a hibiscus in my next life.” Just chilling in the sun all day, getting watered.

“I wanna be a spexcel sheet,” Cody says to the soaked through napkin which is stuck to his face but also to the table.

“We know,” the rest of them say in unison.

Man, being a hibiscus would be amazing. He will not remember this by morning.

Bly sits up in alarm at that revelation, spills his drink over Cody anyway. “I will not remember wanting to be a hibiscus,” he says, keeps his voice from wobbling by the skin of his teeth.

“You could write it on Cody the spexcel sheet to remember,” Wolffe suggests, pats Cody’s head when vague grunts of agreement sound from the napkin.

“Or,” Fox drawls out with a slow grin.

.

Bly very carefully tugs on the bandage with squinting eyes. The foil and adhesive separating from his skin is loud as fuck but needs must when it comes to facing the fallout of a drunken night. The bandage slowly reveals tender but well-healing skin, gold and a dark brown accentuating his skin.

He stares.

“This is not a hibiscus.”

[cc1010fox]

Cody: Let's change the subject. Fox can't participate in the conversation because he doesn't have a Jedi. Fox: What do you mean? I have a Jedi. Rex: My Jedi isn't yours just because he spends too much time around the Senate. Fox: I'm not talking about your crazy Jedi. Wolffe: So you're serious? You have a Jedi? Bly: Since when does the Coruscant Guard have a Jedi? Fox: Since I arrested him. Cody: Wait...Fox, no. Rex: Huh? Fox: He hasn't left since. Wolffe: You arrested a Jedi? Wouldn't that be a Sith? Fox: No, he's a Jedi. He's an idiot Jedi, but he's a Jedi. Bly: So, wait, let me get this straight...You arrested a Jedi, that Jedi won't leave you alone now...so you're keeping him like a stray tooka? Fox: Yes. Cody: Fox, please. Rex: Who is this Jedi? Fox: Quinlan Vos. Cody: I'm leaving Coruscant.

[moonlitstoriess]

The Hidden Legacy- A Ruhn Danaan x Rhysands sister series

Chapter 1: The Echoes of a Forgotten Name

Summary: Rhysand’s sister, Seraphis, long thought dead, was taken by the Asteri/Valgs, her memories erased and turned into a ruthless killer loyal to their cause. After Bryce kills the Asteri, Seraphis seeks vengeance on her and everyone else involved. As she hunts them down, Rhysand and the Inner Circle discover the shocking truth: she’s alive, and now their enemy.

See masterlist

Chronomancy: The mastery of time, allowing one to bend, twist, and manipulate the fabric of temporal reality.

The Asteri realm, once an epitome of unyielding power, now lay in ruins. The remnants of it's dark grandeur whispered of a time when it reigned supreme. Shadows flitted through the crumbling architecture, now an empty expanse where the only echoes were those of a fallen empire. The stillness was profound, the silence punctuated only by the faint hum of residual magic.

Amid the debris walked Seraphis, her presence a stark contrast to the desolation around her. Clad in a black cloak that fluttered with her steps, she was a figure of cold determination. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, scanned the remnants of what had been the heart of the Aster's domino. To her, this destruction was not merely a loss but a catalyst for a deeper mission.

Seraphis' existence had been shaped entirely by the Asteri. From a young age, she was taken and molded into their perfect soldier. They told her that her parents had abandoned her, leaving her out on the streets as a newborn to die. She was an orphan with no form of family, no parents or siblings. Her upbringing was harsh and uncompromising. She was trained to harness the full spectrum of temporal manipulation--abilities that allowed her to travel through time, reverse it's flow, and manipulate it's very essence. The Asteri had crafted her to be both a weapon and a guardian of their interests.

Under their guidance, Seraphis had become a master of time's complexities. Once she was old enough and they deemed her fit for it, the Asteri took her with them to new world's as they went on conquering--no sharing their greatness with the world. That's how she ended up joining them when they would go from one universe to another, her time-manipulating power's growing stronger with each time.

She remembers how in Erilea she would send Maeve and Erawan the direct orders coming from the six Asteri. Of course, no one was more pissed than Seraphis when that Aelin Galathynius and her lapdogs ended up winning the war. Well, atleast they got rid of incompetent idiots like Maeve and Erawan. She also played a covert role in the shadowy events that unfolded, aiding the Valgs in their machinations and ensuring their influence remained unchecked. She had begged Polaris, The North Star, to let her go finish what Erawan couldn't but...they didn't allow her, seeing her as too valuable to risk.

When the Asteri's control extended to Midgard, Seraphis continued her work with the same ruthless efficiency. She wove through the intricate tapestry of its politics and power struggles, her presence a silent but undeniable force. Her actions, often unseen, played a key role in the Asteri's manipulation of the city's dynamics.

Now with the fall of the Asteri and their defeat at the hands of Bryce Quinlan, Seraphis found herself in a new reality. The Asteri, the only family--no matter how cruel--she had ever known, were gone, and their cause lay in ruins. Austrus, Eosphoros, Hesperus, Octartis, Polaris, Sirius, Vesperus and....Rigelus.

Oh, Rigelus.

Though millions of years older than her, Seraphis was the only being ever that Rigelus didn't look down on. Instead, he saw her as a close second, always being kind towards her--or as kind as someone like him could be. The respect and authority she held over everyone else just like Rigelus and the other Asteris was impressive.

Seraphis wouldn't call what they had with him love. No, a far cry from that. More like a sick obsession and posession that he felt towards her, always having her watched and protected, kept by his side on every event and conquest. And Seraphis loved every moment of it. She didn't care if that made her look sick, yearning for his and only his attention.

No one could ever understand what she and him had anyway.

Does it matter now? No. No, it doesn't.

Their loss ignited a fierce loyalty within her, driving her to seek vengeance. Those Midgard rats, particularly the bastard Bryce Quinlan, had disrupted everything she had been programmed to protect. Seraphis's focus was singular and unyielding. Her powers, unparalleled in their scope, were a tool for her vengeance. The remnants of the Asteri's legacy would be avenged, and she would ensure that their enemies paid dearly for their defiance.

Maybe, maybe Rigelus was against her being in the battlefield and focusing more on improving her powers more for this very reason. Knowing him and how he would always be fifteen steps ahead of everyone, even his fellow Asteri's, Seraphis wouldn't be surprised if he knew something like this would happen and she would be left as the one to avenge them.

Seraphis’s thoughts were interrupted by a faint sound—a shuffle, almost imperceptible. Her head snapped toward the noise, eyes narrowing as a figure stepped out from behind a crumbled pillar.

The figure was hunched, draped in ragged robes that trailed on the ground, their face obscured by a deep hood. There was something otherworldly about them, an eerie stillness in their movements, as if they weren’t quite tethered to the reality around them.

An oracle, perhaps. Or one of the soulless travelers that drifted through the remnants of the universe, always seeking but never finding.

“You,” the stranger rasped, their voice a dry whisper carried by the wind. “You are lost.”

Seraphis’s expression remained impassive, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of a blade at her side. “I am not lost,” she replied, her voice cold. “I know exactly where I am.”

The traveler’s hooded head tilted slightly, as though studying her. “Do you? You walk among ruins, chasing ghosts of a fallen empire. What is it you seek, child of time?”

Seraphis bristled at the title, her grip tightening on the hilt of her blade. “That’s none of your concern.”

The figure seemed to sigh, a sound that echoed strangely in the empty space. “Vengeance is a heavy burden to bear. The threads of time do not forget. Every action leaves a scar, every choice a ripple. You of all beings should understand this.”

Seraphis regarded them with a penetrating stare. “The Asteri were my family. Their enemies are now my enemies. The vengeance I seek is not for solace but for justice.”

The stranger nodded slowly, their gaze thoughtful. “Justice and vengeance are often indistinguishable in the eyes of those who wield power. But remember, the threads of time you manipulate weave through all that exists. Even in vengeance, there are consequences that ripple forward.”

Seraphis stiffened, her eyes narrowing. “You speak in riddles. Say what you mean.”

The traveler raised a bony hand, palm out, as if to placate her. “I mean only this: Beware of the paths you walk, for time is not a line, but a web. Tug on one thread, and you may find yourself tangled in another. The truth you seek may not be the truth you remember.”

A flicker of unease stirred in Seraphis’s chest, but she pushed it aside. “I know my truth. I will restore the legacy of the Asteri.”

The traveler bowed their head slightly, as if in resignation. “Then may you find what you are searching for. But remember, time itself may turn against those who wield it carelessly.”

Seraphis said nothing, her jaw clenched as the traveler slowly turned away, disappearing into the shadows as if they had never been there at all.

She stood still for a moment, staring after them. Their words clung to the air, echoing in the empty halls of her mind. But she pushed them aside as she always had. There was no room for doubt, no room for hesitation.

There was only vengeance.

Seraphis remained standing, her figure outlined by the towering ruins of the Asteri realm as she watched the shadows engulf the mysterious traveler. Doubt was a weakness, a sentiment she had long been trained to overcome. Her purpose was clear.

Turning back to the wreckage of the Asteri empire, she let her gaze wander over the shattered remains, of what had once been untouchable. Each piece of debris, every crumbled wall, was a reminder of her mission--of the legacy she would rebuild through blood and retribution. The ancient cities, once towering, had now faded into dust, but she would ensure that their enemies would remember them. They would remember through pain, through fear, and through her.

She moved through the ruins with a calculated stride, her mind already spinning threads of time, pulling at the edges of the past. In her hands, time was no mere concept—it was a weapon, one she had sharpened over centuries. She had walked between the lines of history, bending it to the will of the Asteri. They had shaped her, honed her into the ultimate instrument of control.

Rigelus had always been there—overseeing her progress, pushing her further, demanding more. Where others would have seen cruelty, Seraphis had only seen purpose. His obsession with her, the cold possessiveness, had been her source of strength. It drove her to perfect her abilities, to become more than just a soldier. She was his favorite, his chosen, and she had relished every moment of his attention.

The whispers of time teased her now, fragments of events from Erilea and Midgard slipping through her consciousness. Maeve and Erawan had been her pawns, their strings manipulated under the orders of the Asteri. She had done their bidding, silently observing the collapse of entire worlds, her presence unknown to the mortal players. Aelin Galathynius, Bryce Quinlan—all of them had merely been cogs in the Asteri’s grand design, and yet, somehow, they had prevailed.

Seraphis’s jaw clenched. She could still remember the sting of watching Aelin ascend, of seeing Erawan fall. The threads of time she had woven through that world had come undone, slipping from her grasp, leaving her powerless to intervene. That Aelin had won infuriated her. She’d wanted to be there to ensure Erawan’s success, to be the force that would crush the rebellion—but Rigelus had forbidden it.

And now, Bryce Quinlan. Seraphis’s hands twitched, her magic itching at her fingertips. The half-fae princess had killed the Asteri, destroyed everything Seraphis had been built for. Seraphis knew that Bryce’s power over the Gate was formidable, but it wouldn’t save her. No, not when Seraphis had centuries of control over time at her disposal. The moment would come, and Bryce wouldn’t even see it approaching.

But she couldn’t rush. Not yet.

Seraphis knew that striking without preparation was foolish, especially after the Asteri had been blindsided. Bryce would be expecting retaliation, the remnants of Midgard’s population on high alert. Seraphis needed time to plan, to gather intelligence, to weave herself back into the folds of the worlds that were left.

And maybe, just maybe, she’d need allies.

She came to a halt at what had once been the central hall of the Asteri’s council. The chamber had once thrummed with power, where decisions that shaped entire worlds had been made. Now, only silence reigned here. Seraphis’s silver eyes flickered as she raised a hand, time itself responding to her unspoken command. The air shifted, the ruins stirring as she pulled at the threads of the past.

For a moment, the hall was whole again. The pillars straightened, the ceiling restored. Seraphis stood at the heart of it, watching as ghostly figures flickered into place. The Asteri council in all its glory—Rigelus at its helm, the others in their seats. She stepped forward, her fingers grazing the edge of the spectral table.

“I’ll restore it,” she whispered, her voice filled with cold resolve. “I’ll bring you back.”

She let go, and the illusion faded as time returned to the present. The ruins crumbled once more around her. The past, it seemed, was not yet willing to reveal its secrets.

But Seraphis knew it was only a matter of time before she’d be ready to act. The Asteri’s cause had not died with them, and neither had their most powerful soldier.

She turned, her cloak swirling around her as she left the council chamber behind. The traveler’s words, though dismissed, lingered in her mind like an unwanted guest. The idea of consequences—of time itself rebelling against her—was absurd. She controlled time. She was time. The scars she carved into the fabric of history were her own to shape.

As she stepped out into the barren expanse once more, the wind picked up, swirling dust into the air. Seraphis narrowed her eyes. She wasn’t alone.

A voice, soft and detached, called out to her again. “Still chasing ghosts, I see.”

Seraphis’s hand was on her blade in an instant as she turned toward the sound. The traveler from earlier stood at the edge of the ruin, watching her with the same unsettling stillness. This time, though, they did not approach.

“I thought I told you to leave,” Seraphis said, her voice a low growl.

The traveler smiled, though it didn’t reach their eyes. “I did. But time has a way of bringing us back to the places we least expect.”

Seraphis’s patience wore thin. “You enjoy speaking in riddles. Speak plainly or be gone.”

The traveler’s smile faded, their voice lowering. “I am not your enemy, Seraphis. But your path is darker than you realize.”

“I know my path,” she snapped. “And I don’t need your advice.”

The traveler studied her for a moment longer before nodding slowly. “Very well. But remember this—time is not as loyal as you think.”

With that, the traveler turned and walked into the wind, their form fading into the dust.

Seraphis stood there, alone once more, her mind already discarding the encounter. There was only one thing that mattered now: finding Bryce Quinlan and finishing what the Asteri had started.

She would bring time itself to its knees to see it done.

With a final glance at the desolate landscape that had once been the center of her life, she turned on her heel and began to walk, her steps deliberate, her mind racing with plans. She couldn't afford to waste any more time in this hollow place of memories. Midgard awaited her, Bryce and her puppets blissfully unaware of the storm that was coming for them.

Seraphis extended her hand, her fingers shimmering with the familiar hum of temporal power. She closed her eyes, focusing on the thread that would lead her to Midgard. Time bent to her will, the universe shifting around her as she tore through the veils of reality.

When she opened her eyes again, she was no longer in the ruined empire. The air was crisp and cold, the sky above a muted gray. She stood at the edge of Lunathion, the sprawling metropolis stretching out before her, it's towers scraping the sky.

For a moment, Seraphis took it all in--the hum of life and magic, the scent of the sea carried on the breeze, the distant sounds of the city's chaos. It was an intricate web of power, alliances and fragile peace. She would tear through it all.

She pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders, her mind already calculating her next move. Bryce Quinlan might have been the one to kill the Asteri, but she wasn't foolish enough to think that her target would be that simple. Bryce wasn't alone--she had allies, strong ones, and it would take more than brute force to bring them all down.

No. She would need to be smarter, patient. The plan would unfold piece by piece, and by the time they realized what was happening, it would be too late. The city would be hers to dismantle, it's champions falling one by one.

Seraphis began to walk, blending into the crowd with ease, her hood low over her face. The streets were filled with fae, shifters, and ordinary citizens going about their lives, blissfully aware of the storm brewing in their midst.

This was no longer just about vengeance. It was about control--taking back what had been ripped ripped away from her. And Seraphis had no intention of stopping until the last remnants of these street rats were nothing more than dust.

Let the games begin.

Seraphis moved through the crowded streets of Lunathion like a shadow, unnoticed and undisturbed. She watched the people around her with detached curiosity, studying them, their movements, their habits. They lived in this world, so sure of their safety, of the new order that had come with the Asteri’s fall. Fools. 

The Asteri had been invincible for eons, and now that they were gone, these mortals believed themselves free. But freedom was an illusion, fragile as glass. Seraphis would shatter it.

Her power thrummed beneath her skin, the flow of time bending ever so slightly as she moved. With a mere thought, she could slow it to a crawl, watch the world freeze around her while she continued untouched. But now was not the time for such displays. Now was the time for observation, for patience.

She knew the city well, even if she had never set foot in it herself before now. Through the Asteri’s influence, she had seen Lunathion grow, its streets mapped out in her mind long before her arrival. The Asteri had ensured her knowledge was extensive, always keeping her one step ahead of their enemies. That was how she had operated—always in the shadows, just out of sight, but always present.

Bryce Quinlan was the key to it all. She had torn down the Asteri, and for that, she would suffer. But Bryce wasn’t the only one on her list. Hunt Athalar, Ruhn Danaan, and all the other lap dogs. All of them had played their part in toppling the only order Seraphis had ever known.

As she passed through an open market, Seraphis paused, her gaze locking onto a news holo-screen. The display flickered to life, showing a broadcast about the city’s newest heroes. Images of Bryce and her allies flashed across the screen, their faces well-known to everyone by now. The city had hailed them as saviors, but Seraphis only saw targets.

Her lips curled into a faint sneer. “Enjoy the limelight while it lasts,” she muttered under her breath. “It’ll all come crashing down soon enough.”

Without another glance, she moved on, slipping into an alleyway where she could plan her next steps in peace. She leaned against a brick wall, closing her eyes briefly as she reached out with her powers. Time was a river, flowing constantly, but she could see its branches, the possible futures that stretched out before her.

She saw herself confronting Bryce, the clash of power, the chaos that would unfold. But it was distant still—there were obstacles to remove first, pieces to shift into place. She saw glimpses of Bryce and her minions, saw them moving through their lives, unsuspecting. They had no idea she was here, that she was watching, waiting.

But something else stirred at the edges of her vision. Something… unfamiliar.

Seraphis frowned, her concentration breaking as she pulled back from the threads of time. There was a presence she hadn’t expected, a ripple she couldn’t quite place. Someone—or something—was watching her in return.

Her eyes snapped open, and she tensed, scanning her surroundings. The alley was empty, the market bustling just beyond, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being observed. Her hand moved instinctively to the blade at her hip, her muscles coiled for action.

“Show yourself,” she called softly, her voice low and dangerous.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence. Then, from the shadows at the far end of the alley, a figure emerged.

They were tall and cloaked, their face hidden beneath a deep hood. But unlike the ragged traveler she had encountered in the ruins, this one moved with purpose, with grace. There was a weight to their presence, a power that prickled at the edges of Seraphis’s awareness.

“Seraphis,” the figure said, their voice smooth and calm. “It’s been a long time.”

Seraphis’s eyes narrowed, her grip tightening on her blade. “Who are you?”

The figure took a step closer, their movements slow and deliberate. “You don’t remember me, do you? Perhaps that’s for the best.”

Her patience was wearing thin. She stepped forward, her power surging to the surface, the air around her thickening as time began to bend. “I won’t ask again.”

The figure paused, as if considering their next words. “I’m not here to fight you. In fact, I’m here to offer you something.”

Seraphis’s eyes darkened. “I’m not interested in offers.”

“Oh, I think you will be,” the figure said, a hint of amusement in their voice. “You’re here for revenge, yes? To make those who wronged the Asteri pay?”

Seraphis remained silent, her gaze cold.

The figure chuckled softly. “You may be powerful, Seraphis, but even you can’t take on this crew alone. They have allies, resources—things you can’t even begin to imagine. But I can help you. I know things. I know their weaknesses.”

Seraphis tilted her head slightly, intrigued despite herself. “And why would you help me?”

The figure’s hood shifted as if they were smiling beneath it. “Let’s just say I have my own score to settle with Bryce Quinlan and her friends. We share a common enemy.”

Seraphis studied them for a long moment, her instincts on high alert. She didn’t trust easily—especially not strangers who appeared out of nowhere offering help. Whoever they were, they were dangerous. But perhaps, in this case, dangerous could be useful.

Seraphis let her hand fall from the blade at her hip, though her guard remained up. “You speak as though you know much. And yet, you haven’t even shown me your face.”

The figure laughed softly, a low, melodic sound. “Trust isn’t something freely given, is it? But for now, let’s keep things this way. You’ll find out more when the time is right.”

Seraphis’s eyes narrowed, but before she could respond, the figure stepped back, already fading into the shadows. “Find me when you’ve made up your mind,” they called over their shoulder, their voice trailing off. “You know where to look.”

And with that, they were gone. Only the stillness of the alley remained, along with the faint hum of magic in the air.

Seraphis stood there, contemplating the encounter. Whoever the stranger was, they clearly knew more than they let on. If they could be trusted—or if she could control them—they might be the key to speeding up her plans. For now, she’d keep her distance but watch closely. 

She pushed herself away from the wall, stepping back into the crowd, disappearing once again into the flow of this metropolis life. Her focus sharpened. She didn’t need anyone’s help—yet. She would deal with Bryce and her gang in her own way. But there was something about that presence earlier. It lingered, unsettling her in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time. It wasn't quite like anyone she'd known before.

Moving toward the heart of the city, Seraphis caught a flicker of movement to her left. Just a glance, quick, fleeting—but her gaze caught it in time. A tall figure, cloaked in shadows, moved through the market. For a split second, his profile appeared—just long enough for her to notice the tattoos curling up his arms, the way his eyes scanned the surroundings like a predator assessing the area.

Ruhn Danaan.

She didn’t know him. But as her gaze followed him for that brief moment, something stirred in her. A pull. It was faint, distant, almost unnoticeable. She clenched her jaw and forced it aside, refocusing her attention.

He turned a corner and vanished into the crowds, oblivious to her watchful eyes. 

Good. He should remain that way for now. Her target wasn’t him—not yet. She had bigger prey to hunt.

But as she moved away, that strange feeling lingered in the back of her mind.

Seraphis continued through bustling streets, her mind a storm of plans and calculations. She navigated the urban labyrinth with practiced ease, the weight of her mission pressing heavily on her shoulders. The city’s vibrant life was a stark contrast to the darkness she harbored within.

As she walked, she observed the people around her with a cold, analytical gaze. She noted their routines, their behaviors, and the various places that could serve her needs—resources, potential allies, or convenient places to remain hidden. The city had a pulse, a rhythm that she had to understand if she wanted to exploit its weaknesses.

Finally, she found a small, nondescript motel tucked away on a quieter street, away from the main thoroughfares. Its faded neon sign buzzed faintly in the dusk, and the building itself seemed to blend seamlessly into the backdrop of the city’s urban sprawl. It was perfect—low profile and unremarkable, a place where she could stay under the radar.

Seraphis pushed open the door to the motel with a practiced nonchalance, the bell above the entrance jingling softly as she stepped inside. The small lobby was dimly lit, and the air carried the faint, musty odor of old carpets and stale coffee. Behind the reception desk, a man sat hunched over a magazine, his eyes glancing up as she entered.

The man looked up, startled by her sudden appearance. He was in his mid-forties, with a graying beard and weary eyes. He quickly set the magazine aside, his expression shifting from mild curiosity to apprehension as he took in her commanding presence.

Seraphis walked up to the counter, her gaze sharp and unyielding. She placed a stack of cash—more than enough to cover the cost of a room—on the desk, her fingers lightly drumming on the surface as she spoke. “I need a room. Now.”

The man’s eyes widened as he took in the cash, and he gulped nervously. “Of course, ma’am. Right away.” He fumbled with a set of room keys, his hands trembling slightly as he tried to keep his composure.

Seraphis leaned closer, her voice a cold whisper. “I don’t want to be disturbed. Understand?”

The man nodded vigorously, his face pale. “Yes, yes, of course. Room 7. Just down the hall to the left.”

Without acknowledging him further, Seraphis took the key and turned to leave. The man watched her go, his relief palpable. As she walked down the narrow hallway, she heard him muttering under his breath, though she couldn’t make out the words. It was clear he was shaken, and that was exactly what she wanted.

Once she reached Room 7, Seraphis unlocked the door and stepped inside, closing it behind her with a decisive click. The room was small but adequate for her needs—a bed, a table, and a window overlooking the street below. She set her belongings on the table and began to prepare for her next steps, her mind already working through the plans she had laid out.

The motel’s ambiance, with its dull colors and low hum of activity, was perfect for laying low. The chaos outside was a useful cover, and she would use this time to strategize her moves carefully.

The hunt was just beginning and Midgard's fate hung in the balance.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist is open!

[snowywinterevenings]

Hi, could I please ask about Undercover Codywan?? 👀😁

<3

This one is a tumblr request that I have been picking away at along with a few others. Codywan go undercover together post war (no Order 66), and to not blow their cover they have to kiss. They’ve been dancing around each other for ages at this point but haven’t gotten together yet.

The outfit is something he might have worn out with Quinlan years ago when they snuck out of the temple to partake in Coruscant’s nightlife, a high necked black shirt that hugs every bit of his chest, back, and arms and loose grey wide leg trousers that move enticingly as he walks. Rings decorate his fingers, and a cuff curls over his ear, little chains dancing from it as he examines himself in the mirror. His hair is a rakish mess, and silver dusts his cheekbones, and he can’t help but shake his head at the image he makes, white at his temples but dressed in attire his eighteen year old self would have loved.

Cody is probably going to laugh himself silly when he walks out into the main room.

His partner for the mission simply stares when he joins him, and Obi-Wan ducks his head, cheeks flushing. He’s supposed to look like he has money to burn, but he probably just looks ridiculous. He has done plenty of undercover work both alone and with various Jedi shadows, but this is the first time he and Cody have gone undercover together. The clones and the Jedi have only just begun to work together on missions outside of the war, the whole process of pushing for their freedom and then integrating those that wished to remain with their Jedi into the Order full of far too many unnecessary hurdles.

Cody is still staring when he glances back up, and his lips are parted like he has something to say, though he does not speak. Obi-Wan feels his cheeks grow hotter under his gaze, and he bites his lip. “Too much?”

His words pull Cody back to reality. “You’ll be very… convincing.”

[purgetrooperfox]

I can’t be the only one who looks at fanon for Quinlan Vos with moderate to severe levels of “he would not fucking say that”. y’all know he’s like, intelligent, right? he can have a sense of humor and be nonchalant and fool around with his friends and Also be smart and cunning and professional. he can be painfully genuine at some times and a world class liar at others. his JOB is deception and infiltration and covert ops. he's trusted to act as a liason for the Jedi. he can be reckless but he has to be measured too. he can be flippant but he can also be ruthlessly efficient. like come on guys he's not an idiot and his personality doesn't revolve around being a stoner or a dumpster fire or a one-dimensional lifeless counterpart to [Obi-Wan / Ventress / Fox / Aayla]. let him be his own guy with his own complexities or face my wrath

[tesalicious2]

Kesett Modern AU Headcanons:

Boba is the youngest of his fam, with his dad being Jango then goes Cody (married to Obi, both 26), Bly 25 (married to Aayla 25), Ponds 24, Wolffe 22, Fox 22 (married to Quinlan 24), Rex 20, Boba 18 (other clones are 1st cousins)

Cal and Boba were 16 when they met each other

All Mandalorians live in a community, kinda like Arabic Communities, just sprinkled around with Mandalorian Shops nearby and some neighborhoods with large groups of them

They all know each other and talk/gossip, especially about the younger Gen.

Because of this, Boba keeps his social life away from all that

Cal attends the same high school and they share a few classes (that’s how they met)

They both went to a party, got high, and made out/mostly talked in the backyard for several hours

The Monday of school, Boba asked Cal out on a date and they’ve been together ever since

They both really like each other but Boba keeps it a secret from his fam (Cal’s fam knows and have met Boba)

They are able to keep it a secret for a long time with the help of their friends

Bobas family have met Cal but under the pretense of being friends

At first they kept it a secret because they didn’t know how serious they were. When they were ready, it was hard to bring it up

Cal is adopted by Jaro Tapal, who isn’t home during the week due to work, but he is home on weekends

Boba and Cal are eventually caught by Bossk, Boba’s other father (not in a relationship with Jango but Jango needed help and Bossk was there a lot)

Boba and Cal were kissing outside of the school at the end of the day and Bossk went to pick Boba up (Boba’s car was being borrowed by Wolffe) and Bossk came too early

Bossk is like ‘okay why do I care’ and doesn’t tell anyone bc he thinks Boba’s panicked face is funny

Bossk’s condition for keeping it a secret is that he gets to be there when Boba tells everyone

It ends up during a large family party (a lot of relatives are there, not his brothers spouses, just his brothers), one of Boba’s cousins who hates Boba asked about Boba’s boyfriend at the table, like everyone knew

He pretended to be shocked that Boba hadn’t told anyone (he eavesdropped on them talking about dates and sneaking out)

You could hear a pin drop

It was quickly a brawl between the two, with Boba winning via breaking his nose

He ran out with his brothers clamoring after him, stopping when his father came into the yard and yelled at them

Boba ended up at Cal’s place, spending the night there

Both of them went over the next day, to introduce Cal quietly

Unfortunately, all his brothers and their partners were still there so it was more

Boba walks in and calls for his dad, everyone peaks out to see them, Cal pales and tries to walk out, Jango seats them all away and talks to the boys outside

it goes pretty well, Jango likes Cal but doesn't give him the shovel talk because Cal already looks like he's about to keel over and die

Jango doesn't pity him enough to save him from his children and has Cal go inside while talking to Boba outside

Cal looks traumatized after that and has yet to say a word without seeming like it was under duress

The whole night goes well but no one really *knows* anything about cal by the end of it

Fett Fam: we aren’t that intimidating, whys he so afraid? Cal: *inside his head* AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA but also Boba asked me to be here so imma do my best :D but also AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

It isn’t until a few more meetings that they actually start to get to know him

Unfortunately, due to his fam knowing, Boba and Cal are more limited in their dates (and other more intimate activities, tho no one knows about this)

Bad to worse when a month or so later Rex walks in on them making out that’s more bordering on having sex with clothes on

Cue the ‘use protection talk’ that turns into ‘you’ve been doing this how long’ to ‘my baby brother is innocent and is a baby!’

So now they are limited to any fun activities outside of either home which has caused problems but they deal

Cal has a chance to meet the Fett family spouses during a family dinner turned storm hideout for the weekend

It was raining hard and supposed to be bad but as dinner continued the power went out and the streets were undrivable so no one could get home

Cal bonded surprisingly well with Aayla Obiwan and Quinlan and they eased him about being a part of the family

Despite being introduced to both families, they keep it rather private and just between them

A few weeks before leaving for college, both families decide to have a whole get together to meet (though Boba limited them to just his direct family, no cousins or aunts/uncles)

Cal and Boba are nervous but Jaro and Jango do the ‘dad’ thing and talk shop about whatever dads talk about and that eases everyone

To no one surprise, they get married after college and move into an apartment an hour from Jango’s home

They use Mandalorian traditions for the wedding, gifting knives, the vows, and exchange arm cuffs worn on the upper arm (instead of the vambrance, a modern substitute. Cal gets a set of armor later.)

[tennessoui]

wip wednesday

can anidalas relationship implode anywhere but around a table?? not if im writing it lmao ft ahsoka instead of quinlan this time

Anakin gives her a very small smile, twirling his fork around his fingers before setting it down. “Master Obi-Wan could never get the sauce thick enough. He always blamed it on the—”

Across from him, at the other end of the table, Padmé sets her own cutlery down. “Is there something about this place that reminds you of Master Kenobi, Anakin?”

Anakin blinks. Ahsoka’s eyes flick between the two of them before staring resolutely at her own plate.

The chair across from Ahsoka remains empty. Because Obi-Wan didn’t want to join them. Because Obi-Wan did not want to spend time with Anakin outside of his duties. Because Obi-Wan thought of Anakin as a duty.

“What?” he asks. 

“Is there something about this villa that reminds you of your master?” Padmé repeats, pushing her plate away from her slightly and raising her glass to her lips. Her eyes are unreadable.

Anakin feels as if he’s walking Forceblind through a field of landmines.

“I’m sorry, Padmé,” he says carefully, foot forward and tapping the ground beneath him. Solid ground. No explosion. Padmé just looks at him. “I’m just worried about him. He’s been sick, of course I’m distracted.”

“His name is every other word you say,” his wife tells him. “Before you received the news that he had a cough.”

On his thigh, his mech hand tenses, the leather of his glove crinkling loud in the stillness.

“I think I’m going to go on a walk,” Ahsoka says. “Explore a bit—”

“No, stay where you are, padawan,” Anakin snaps, even though she is no longer his padawan and he has no business ordering her around. She stays in her chair, as if she has forgotten this too. “Padmé, don’t try and—and talk politics to me. If you have something to say, just say it plainly.”

“Fine,” Padmé replies, tone cold. “You have barely spoken of anything other than your former master in the past two days, Anakin, and at first I found it endearing then I found it strange. Then it made me wonder, made me think about the last time we were here. When we fell in love. When we were married.”

Ahsoka clears her throat. “I really think—” “And I realized that which I wouldn’t let myself realize all those years ago, Anakin. That even then, you talked of him more than you talked to me. So. I am asking you plainly. Is there something about this place, these lakes, this villa, that reminds you of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin?”

Anakin's mouth is dry. His throat is tight.

"Or are you just so in love with him that even his absence draws your focus?"

[p4nishers]

dont get me wrong i LOVE jealous obi wan but what i prefer is absulately PATHETIC jealous obi wan. like he sees quinlan flirt w cody and brush up against him every opportunity he gets just to annoy obi wan and he's fuming so much he trips and falls flat on his face. or when he sees ventress throw herself into codys lap and is about yell but smacks into a wall. or even better some random local on the planet they're staying offers to show cody around and he's too busy starting at every move they make and he full on headbutts a tree branch and cody has to call the medic to come aid him. obi wan is v smug that cody forgot his guide existed the moment he saw obi wan. VERY smug.

[keldabekush]

do you have any favorite fic recs that are fox/coruscant guard centered? there are a couple i've found that are really good but a lot of the fox tag is him in a more minor role with the focus on like cody or rex or jedi etc

Yeah i have a few! Here are some that i keep rereading - I'm putting them under the cut!

Politicians In My Eyes by jaigeye

Fox looks down at his armor, awash with blood. There are no identifying marks on him anymore. He's as red as Coruscant

CHTHONIC by catboydogma

Not even two days later, Fox revised his opinion. This wasn’t a disaster. This was a Grade-A, first order, fresh off the hot plate fuckfest. Fox’s day had gone something like this: lay in bed. Get up. Knock back some of the sludge in the mess masquerading as caf. Go through forms. Fill out forms. Bust open a closet in which the Senators for Uyter and Kinyen had both managed to get “stuck” in. Go through more forms. Fill out more forms. Get called up to the Senate dome to tell a Senator that no, the Guard did not address noise complaints. Find that the stack of datapads on his desk had somehow tripled over the last two hours. Despair at the state of his inbox. Etcetera, etcetera. And then.

dead dog (bye-bye baby blue) by batchmates

The way it happens is simple: at some point during your service in the Guard, you’ll lose time. The thing wiping the Guards’ memories gets sloppy and Fox remembers the order not to let Fives leave the surface alive. It changes everything and nothing at all.

Life During Wartime by chermit

Commander Fox has a lot on his plate: managing his Corries, filling out piles of forms, dealing with obnoxious Senators, and not thinking about the way he keeps waking up covered in other people's blood. All that considered, he really doesn't have time to deal with being investigated by the Captain of the 501st and the Head of the Jedi Order for two separate murders he (probably) didn't (want to) commit. But Fox is a soldier, and good soldiers follow orders, so when does he ever get what he wants?

Commander Fox's Guide to Touring Coruscant by kakashikrazy256

The painkiller he had been giving just half an hour prior is still working fine, leaving him relatively...alright. Nothing hurts particularly bad, but there’s a fuzziness layered over everything, making it hard to think too hard on anything beyond the first thoughts running through his head. Go inside. Find the rest. Sit down. Drink. Don’t say anything stupid. Don’t get caught. And...and just be there to properly enjoy the company of his brothers. Don’t forget these memories. / Fox gets injured but decides to keep it secret for the sake of his batchmates. For the prompt 'is that a bloodstain?!'

their days are darker by always_a_slut_for_hc

After the death of ARC Trooper Fives, an altercation at 79's leads Wolffe to spend his leave snooping around the Coruscant Guard. Fox assumes he'll drop it and leave the Corries to their fate; it's what everyone else has done. He is very, very wrong.

The Last Reason by meerlicht

Cody has a scar now, and it’s the only thing that differentiates him from Fox appearance-wise. For one, they both have the same circles under their eyes. Fox assumes that’s what comes with being a Commander. Their hands are the same, too, damaged and bruised at all times. But the biggest difference Fox sees when he looks at Cody isn’t the scar. It’s the rage. Cody doesn’t wear that same rage. Fox’s hands ache with the need to punch something.   Or: Fox dealing with Senators, little brothers, the terrifying ordeal of asking for help and a menace called Quinlan Vos.

[phoenixyfriend]

* here defined as 'can be and possibly is shipped with the widest variety of other characters'

** originated in the prequels era, not necessarily shipped during the prequels era

this is a joke poll do not take it too seriously, I'd have included Mace and Kit and Shaak etc. but I ran out of slots

EDIT: I AM BEGGING YOU TO STOP USING THE WORD WH*RE ON THIS POST IT'S A SLUR AND I AM REALLY UNCOMFORTABLE WITH HOW EASILY YOU PEOPLE ARE SLINGING IT AROUND

[frostbitebakery]

LOUD.

a background check.

“Are you angry?”

Obi-Wan shook his head, eyes trained on his hands wringing the shirt’s fabric in his lap.

“It’s okay if you are.”

Obi-Wan shook his head again. It wasn’t okay if he was angry. Even before Melidaan they’d accused him of being too headstrong, too volatile. Too angry.

He’d been so angry on Melida/Daan.

“Are you scared?”

He nodded before he could think. The nod, too, was too volatile, too angry.

“Are you scared you could infect people?”

Amongst others, he thought a bit hysterically. Nodded.

“The healers have tested, rigorously, if you can infect others. They have confirmed that you are not a danger to others, Obi-Wan.”

Which was the only reason he could be outside his room when the walls got too small or too big.

“How are you adjusting to the mask?”

He shrugged. Sometimes he wanted to rip it off and half his face with it. Sometimes he wished he could crawl into it completely and escape the curious looks and whispers of how his jaw was gone, have you heard? I’ve heard he’s rotting underneath—

.

It started with a cough after Melida/Daan.

He got message after message on the progress after he left and it made him smile, sometimes laugh at the betrayed disbelief over how much bureaucracy was actually necessary to form a planetary government.

The laughs soon turned into hacking coughs.

He drank the tea Qui-Gon made him to soothe his throat.

“Just a cold,” he murmured. He’d had that one before leaving Melidaan, and he and the Temple healers figured it was the stress his body had to endure that finally caught up with him.

“If it gets worse,” Qui-Gon started, looked down into his own cup, and fell silent.

Obi-Wan’s return to the Temple was a mixed bag of loth cats, after all.

A year of rumors and no contact showed him exceedingly well and painful in its brutal subtlety of lost smiles and avoidance who his friends were.

Lumi— Luminara had waited outside the healer’s wing after a follow-up check. Had straightened up when she saw him and clasped her hands in front of her. “I am very happy to see you, Obi-Wan,” she said, halted and stiff before the anger got the better of her.

What in the Galaxy had compelled him to leave the Order? No sign of him. Just an official statement that he had chosen to leave the Order. And now he’s back?

“What the fuck, Obi-Wan!” She reeled back immediately. Took a step back.

And Obi-Wan’s life had taught him how to step forward despite the fear clawing at him. “Let me explain? Please?”

She huffed at him, head up high. “This better be good. Quinlan is driving me up the Temple walls with his teenage drama sullenness over you.”

So that was why Obi-Wan hadn’t seen him but exactly once since he’d come back.

Obi-Wan explained. The war. Master Tahl. Master Qui-Gon. The war. The children. The war children. The war. The war. The war—

He hiccuped on the tears and something… something changed. In his throat. He lifted a hand to it—

Lumi’s arm was around him, stroking his shoulder and crying with him. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—“

He coughed, convulsed with the cough, and there was blood on Lumi.

It had started with a cough after Melida/Daan began to turn into Melidaan and he, what felt like, crawled back to the Order begging for forgiveness and a new path and a new Master while he was at it.

What followed was multiple summons to the Council, a closed door meeting of the Council and Qui-Gon after which his Master wouldn’t look him in the eye for a week.

What followed was Master Tholme being dragged across the courtyard by Quinlan who avoided his eyes but emanated stubborn help. The Shadow Master, which was only a rumor but a rumor that had lasted decades, drily looked at Quinlan before explaining to Obi-Wan how Quin had washed and pleated the robes Master Tholme was now wearing. Would Obi-Wan like some tea?

Tea turned out to be a monstrosity of a milkshake, a secret even more closely guarded than Shadow identities.

“I have been informed you are looking for a change.”

What followed was Obi-Wan getting to know Master Tholme as a person. The soft, comfortable core of him that was never betrayed by his stoic expression but rather the old fashioned music player his first Padawan had gifted him that he danced to in the sanctuary of his kitchen. His silences that invited to share, his calm demeanor, his high expectations and his steady, grounded, and ever ready provided help.

Before all that, the new Master, the old Master, a planet uniting, there was a kiss in victory, in celebration, and in genuine, heartfelt thanks, that transferred a local bacteria.

And that, that had started the cough.

.

“The Force is with—“ is the last thing he’s spoken with his own voice and, with distance and age, he’s rather proud of that one.

A lot of distance and age, granted.

Getting eaten from the inside out had hurt, had pushed him to the brink of insanity with how much it hurt even with the healers - five, six, seven healers working simultaneously to keep him from dying - keeping the pain at bay.

They had used the Force to try to contain the bacteria’s progress, trying to buy time to figure out what was attacking him.

He’d succumbed eventually. The pain, the sheer force of wills battling against the infection, half his neck just… gone. He’d succumbed to unconsciousness with Master Qui-Gon’s forehead against the back of his limp hand, and waited to see if he’d wake up again.

.

“The system Melidaan resides in has a strain of bacteria that,” newly graduated Healer Che halted, managing to shuffle her data pad like a stack of flimsi, “eats human-based tissue. The population is vaccinated and only very few cases have been reported in the past decades. It has been nearly forgotten.”

It spread orally.

Obi-Wan, when everyone was gone and he had managed to limp to his data pad on the table across the room, had sent a message “are you okay? Please go to the hospital”. Had crawled to the fresher, had scrubbed his lips and sutures raw and bleeding, and cried silently until dawn jostled him back to bed.

.

“How are you feeling, Obi-Wan?”

He shrugged. Eyes trained on the cracking open hands in his lap. “How is Thelar,” he signed.

“They are recovering well. Their healer contacted our office to let you know that they are alright and they are sorry.”

Thelar was too nice.

“You pushed them with the Force. What happened?”

Talking and teaching basic sign language and he got to take his first deep breath without the mask and in the company of friends.

Wet and too narrow and he was drowning in the liquified tissue of— no air, no feeling, his lips pressed against his teeth and he couldn’t feel it but the drowning and choking—

“They kissed me,” he signed.

[virahaus]

A concept I really don't see much is a particular type of jealous Anakin, which I think would be SO good.

If you are going to ask, yes this has been prompted by the cat paws going everywhere in my blog by booping like a woman possessed. I regret nothing.

How about petty&jealous! Anakin, which conducts himself like a mischievous cat with Obi-Wan.

Oh, Obi-Wan decided to spend his only free afternoon catching up with Quinlan instead of staying in their apartment and cuddle Anakin? Suddenly Anakin has the urge to invite Ahsoka and her friends over at their apartment in the Jedi temple and cook all of Obi-Wan's favourite dishes. After all he so wanted to go out today didn't he? Such a shame he wasn't there to eat Anakin's meal.

Cue Obi-Wan returning to the apartment to a bunch of teenagers demolishing plates of all his favourite foods, and Anakin being all innocence and pouting lips like: Master, it's not my fault you went out... I had all the ingredients in the fridge you wouldn't want them to expire, would you?

I imagine Anakin with a cat tail swishing around absolutely delighted in Obi-Wan's constipated and crestfallen face and Quinlan barely restrained amusement.

Or, Obi-Wan deciding that he just had to go and flirt with one of their targets to take informations for the mission, and so if Anakin speeds and does more stomach dropping turns and flips piloting their ship it's not his fault you see? They are getting tailed by someone, can't you sense them Master? All slowly blinking eyes and deadpan expression while Obi-Wan tries not to puke.

Or, Obi-Wan getting swept into a heated conversation about politics with Satine right in front of Anakin, and is it really Anakin's fault if he accepted Padmé's invitation to go on a restaurant Obi-Wan wanted to go with too? Really, Master, Anakin frowns, did he expect he cancels his plans? Padmé so wanted to go with him...

Or, Obi-Wan deciding he'd much rather spar with Kit Fisto instead of Anakin, and if when he comes back he can't find his favourite tea brand is that Anakin's fault? Master should have bought more, instead of doing whatever he was doing without Anakin.

Obi-Wan is exasperated, confused, and turned on by bratty Anakin in turn, and he just will need to pamper him to get back into his graces.

Mischievous cat like Anakin my beloved.

(also!! A new tag has appeared in my blog eheheh you'll find all my obikin ramblings and art prompts under the tag #obikin thoughts, and they are free for ppl to use as inspiration!!)

[omaano]

SW Hades AU August Update

Links and previous updates: May - June - July, everything else in this AU

In contrast to the July update, I didn't make as much progress in August as I'd intended, but all the same I'm quite happy with what I get to share with you here:

In the previous poll I only promised to get Echo and Fives to lines and flat colours by this (more than a bit belated) update, but thanks to @lesquatrechevrons keeping me company while I was working on them I managed to get the Domino Twins character art to a state of "almost finished". (I had posted them as "finished" but that was before I realized that I'd forgotten to add the little specks of neon colour to them, but oh well, I hate that stage anyway XD)

I also did some brainstorming with the amazing @elwinged about all the characters, as well as the various weapons and their aspects for this AU. They had some great theories and ideas, and also made me actively think about these things, which was real fun!

Before I go into some ramblings about what went into Echo and Fives' art and design (gotta pad this update with something, and some of you seemed to enjoy it with Omega last time), let's have another poll for next month! I've looked over my table of characters and plans, and I came to the delightful realization that I've made far better progress than how it feels on a day-to-day basis. So maybe it's time to work a bit on the boon-giver characters for a change:

Also would anyone be interested in a taglist for these updates, or are you all fine with me just putting these out whenever and let tumblr do its thing in getting them to you? (send me an ask or reply here if yes, I know my tumblr is a mess XD)

Now on to some thoughts on Echo and Fives:

Depicted but not illustrated in its fullest is that Rex has been a constant presence next to Echo and Fives (and to Cody, too, previous to that). It bears repeating that I really wanted to make sure that the clones are the same in size, and share as many colours as possible (so Cody also stood around as moral support when it came to Fives' hair). So you can also see how the shading on their faces are very similar in their shapes, except for the shadows in that part where nose, cheek and mouth meet, because I wanted to make the Dominoes look a bit younger.

Same with how Rex still has that wrinkle in his forehead that I oddly fixate on so much (don't ask), but Echo and Fives very clerly don't. I'll claim that it had been a completely conscious decision, and not just time passing between the two designs - well over half a year - during which I got it into my head that I should depict the clones during wartime as close to their barely-20-ish age as possible.

One thing I didn't commit to enough though (because I chickened out) was to make Fives look a bit more "dead" and ghostly before I put the blue-green soft light adjustment layer on him was the deeper and darker circles under his eyes, and I fully intended to leave out the light reflection from his eyes... but in the end I went back and added a duller shine to them because I'm weak, it's barely visible and he looked too grumpy and mean already T^T I also didn't want to make his cheeks more hollow or anything, because then I would just feel bad and weird about taking away the roundness from their shapes that I've worked so hard to put on them.

As I was working on this piece I've also thought a lot on the style that I've been trying to mimic through this project.

The thing that gave me pause is that I see more and more of my own style slipping into these pieces, I allow my lines to round out more... and I can claim that it is mostly because that's the compromise I can make with the clones, but I open up and look at Hades references less and less, and I just go freely with what's stuck in my brain while I'd tried to wrap my mind around the style when I first went at it.

I've also always had trouble with grouping my shadows and shapes, and this is exactly what I should be pushing more from now on forward. I keep letting myself get distracted by all the tiny details that I so enjoy to put into my work (case in point all that scarring on Echo, and even Fives' hair - as well as Cody's previously, but I didn't know how else to convey the texture of their hair in less and larger shapes). Hades character designs always feel so rich with detail, but at the same time they are a lot more streamlined than what I'd do if i let my own instincts and desires run wild. I'll try to work with that in the future!

Last but not least a few words on Echo's armor:

I'm slowly but surely stretching my artistic muscles a little and going a bit off-model for the characters, so I wanted Echo to wear armor that is a mix of his ARC and Bad Batch commando armor. So he's got the old plates on his arms (where he still has one LOL), all the straps and pouches (and both blasters!) and old kama hanging from his belt, as well as the hand print paint (because that is personally very very important to me that he has it). Then, beause I desperately needed some other colour in my characters that's not blue or black or grey, he's got elements of the red and orange paint he wears later in TBB (I really wanted him to have that orange stripe down the middle of his chest piece too, but I couldn't make it work with the handprint :() I'm real happy with this balance, and particularly with the shades of blue in his worn paint ^^

I also really wanted to give him a hand (I'll never not be frustrated at how Echo was kept literally handicapped with only his left hand to shoot and grab things (and people) with. It's good that he'd been an ARC and trained in dual wielding, but in a world where people keep losing their appendages (and sometimes half of their bodies) as if it was np big deal at all, it couldn't have been too difficult to get him a hand!! ANYWAYS. I'd first learned how to draw mechanical prosthetic hands/arms during my time in the Overwatch fandom, and I don't think I could draw them any other way (especially the fingers and the lights showing through in their joints) than how I'd done for Cole Cassidy way back when he still had a different name XD

I know there is a relatively limited way in how and what parts you can use to build up a hand/forearm, but I just cannot unsee it, and I thought I'd share this tidbit fun fact as well XD

I hope you enjoyed these ramblings, and I promise to try and keep to the normal mid-month-ish schedule for September!