#a dark skinned Black man with blonde 3A curls

[tododeku-or-bust]

I used to hope that maybe Supergiant would update Patroclus' design in Hades II if he were there at all. Then they dropped that Apollo design and I knew all hope was lost lmao.

Imma just go draw my version some more, with some different styles for fun. 👍🏾

[patrochillesvibes]

Some of your Patrochilles headcannons? 😋

Since you weren't specific, I'll give you a range:

1. Sorry Supergiant Games, but Achilles is not a Thor knockoff. Besides the lack of modern nutrition and healthcare, his descriptions (e.g. swift-footed) invoke imagery of a gymnast. Grace and agility are the domains of gymnasts. Female gymnasts are typically about 5'. Male gymnasts are about 5'3".

Now say you want to counter me and argue that his epithets are about running. Fine. Even better. Runners are fucking short!! With the exception of some sprinters for the very short races (e.g. Bolt), runners aren't big. Think about the physics. Height creates drag which reduces speed.

I think you need to unlearn Western beauty standards and toxic masculinity.

So here are my hcs for height (left Iliad, right modern AUs):

Patroclus' height is debatable. Given that he was a great wrestler, I made him big.

2. A bit more on physical characteristics:

Achilles - Achilles has really nice curls (3A or 2C) that are golden blonde. He keeps his hair long down to his shoulder blades or mid-back. He has green eyes. His body is toned and sleek like a runner. Not a lot of bulk to him. He can’t grow a beard for shit. Or chest hair (his body hair is very light blonde and fine). Yes, he does shave his chest. And Pyrrha will shave her legs. He has golden skin. In Iliad/TSoA/Hades Game the skin tone is borderline unnatural looking.

Patroclus - Patroclus has wavy/curly (2B or 2C) that are very dark brown or black. He keeps his hair short. He has brown eyes. He has facial hair like Dev Patel in The Green Night (I like his hair for Pat too!) and a tasteful amount of chest hair. He is muscular. This is close to what he looks like (though a bit more muscular than the model and with a little more chest hair tool). In my head while I was reading the books, I pictured him with olive skin. But I am a very big fan of Black Patroclus!! Overall, he is very average looking.

3. I'm taking a page out of @darlingsart book and saying Achilles has a bellybutton piercing. It's very blingy, very VMAs Britney Spears.

4. Achilles is professionally skilled at blowjobs. I'm talking expert-master level. As I mentioned many times before, Patroclus is hung. 9 inches and thick like a coke can. Sinking something with such girth down your throat takes practice.

5. Achilles is bigender. He is both a man and a woman. He is not geNdeRfLUid. He identifies as both genders. Sometimes he's a guy, and he likes to be called Achilles. Sometimes she's a girl, and she likes to be called Pyrrha.

At times gender can definitely be a source of stress for Achilles. He loves having a boy pussy and a girl cock, but sometimes he wants a girl pussy too. And boobs. He’s greedy and it can be frustrating that he can’t have it all at the same time.

Patroclus doesn’t really understand Achilles’ ‘gender thing.’ He sees Pyrrha as more of a roleplay persona than an actual gender/person. So you could say he’s a bit transphobic. (I'm also a huge huge huge fan of trans Pyrrha)

6. Achilles could best be described as a feral housewife. “He doesn’t cook, doesn’t clean...” type except undomesticated. Anger issues and the inability to keep his mouth shut means he’s incompatible with the modern workforce. He’s also incredibly spoiled.

I agree with some authors that he could be a singer/musician, dancer, gym instructor, dance instructor, model, and professional athlete. But your typical 9-5 does not work for him.

Patroclus would make a great doctor (my preferred profession for him), veterinarian, or EMT. I can also see him as a lawyer or firefighter.

7. Patroclus is a Soft Dom/Daddy. Achilles is a brat (sub). Achilles typically bottoms but only because he’s a needy cockslut. They are exclusively monogamous. Achilles is Patroclusexual and Patroclus is into feet (bisexual).

8. Achilles can’t sleep without Patroclus. If Patroclus ever has to go on an overnight work trip and he can’t bring Achilles, he has to stay on the phone with Achilles until he falls asleep. Achilles is usually a hyperventilating sobbing mess.

9. On the rare occasions that Patroclus had to shave his beard, Achilles was left sobbing. Inconsolable. It was like the end of the world for him.

10. I have a lot of thoughts on cooking. Iliad/TSoA/Hades Game Achilles can do basic cooking (especially soups and stews) and grilling. This was learned on Pelion. He cannot bake. Like at all. Yeast won’t rise. Sugar and salt will be mixed up. Baking powder and baking soda will be mixed up. It’s a disaster.

Modern AU Achilles can’t cook or bake AT ALL. He has no patience for it, so food is either burnt, overcooked, or undercooked. For the longest time, he thought the smoke detector going off was a food timer to let him know when the food was done. All his friends and family know this and will do anything to get out of eating his food. Except Patroclus. Pat will eat anything with a smile on his face. Of course, no one has the heart to tell him his cooking is terrible. Not that he would believe them because Patroclus already told him he enjoys his cooking and Patroclus’ opinion is the only one that matters. This is why you shouldn’t lie, Patroclus. You made your bed and now you need to lie in it.

You can find more of my thoughts under the my hcs tag.

Also, to anyone reading this ask... I got this ask maybe 2-3 days ago. Either yesterday or the day before I got 3 asks that have gotten lost in my inbox. If you sent me asks in that time period, please resend.

[thenickelportrust]

was wondering if you have any appearance descriptions for the model citizens characters? i wanted to draw some fanart but then realised i don't think there's any... unless i missed something. don't need to put any descriptions up, i'm just asking! if not i'll make up my own appearances lol

Aw, you're very sweet, anon! I'm flattered you'd want to draw fanart! So thank you!

And sure! Some basic descriptions for ye (keeping them simple so I don't overwhelm and so that there's still room for your own imagination and such!):

Finley: Pale blonde hair that falls at around their shoulders, usually kept off of their neck in some kind of ponytail or loose tying to the side, blue eyes, cool-toned skin that should definitely see the sunlight more often, but alas. Tall. Very Tall. Like 6'6". Raf: Pre!Divorce his hair was short, Post!Divorce it's grown out to his jawline-ish. Dark wavy hair (technically brown, but it's that kind of brown that looks black until the light hits it directly), warm mid-toned skin, brown eyes with crow's feet by the edges. Jacob: Messy mouse-brown hair and hazel eyes, rosy-cheeked like he just ran there (he probably did run there) (warm-toned light skin). Short. (Probably tried to see what he could squeeze himself into and fit in. Has probably gotten stuck in a locker as a kid doing this. No one put him there. He put himself there.)

Lucy: Long curly dark hair (think type 3A curls), usually keeps it away from her face in a ponytail, deep brown eyes with the kind of rich color that makes it hard to tell where iris ends and pupil begins, warm toned sepia-brown skin, muscular/athletic figure.

Yolanda: She messes with her hair on the daily sometimes so go wild with the styling, black hair (if left purely natural and not messed with, 3C curls), cool, jewel-toned skin that is often very expertly painted with makeup (the sparklier the better in her humble opinion). (Yolanda is fun because her fashion and makeup aesthetic can be anything because she loves to get creative with it, so there's no such thing as Too Much when it comes to her styles). Also Tall. Very Tall. Like 6'4".

Eileen: Bobbed naturally red/ginger hair that can get very fluffy. Freckles. Freckles. Freckles. Dark green eyes. Rounder/softer figure. Short. Very Short. Like 5' even short.

Informant: He keeps his black hair cut short, his eyes are ????? as they're hidden behind the sunglasses he wears. He wears relatively form-hiding clothes in general, and tends to stick to dark, neutral colors.

Ricky: Picture the kind of man that would wear a grey suit daily and yeah thats him.*

V: All V's have wild, somewhat wavy (like 2A) red hair and dark green eyes. Vera wears her hair long and loose (down to her hip, even), Vincent and Vega both keep it short, but Vega is more experimental with their styling. (Lowkey have sometimes debated giving them an undercut. It feels like something they'd do themself at like 2AM because they thought it might look neat)

Erin: Straight black hair and deep dark eyes that are, technically, brown but look black from pretty much any angle or light. All versions of Erin wear their hair relatively long, in order from longest to shortest: Female Erin, Male Erin, Agender Erin. Callouses on their fingertips from playing guitar. *Jokes aside: Brown hair that he keeps slicked back from his head. Pale blue eyes and sharp features. Always keeps his appearance pristine and crisp.

[bottlecaprabbitgames]

So like when ya gonna tell us more about these ROs 👀

I suppose I can give you heathens the RO informations. I suppose. (I’ll also be including their race/ethnicities as if they lived in our world! Just remember that the game world will not reflect this in a way that necessarily makes sense, though the continents for this world are very similar to ours!)

RO #1: Callian/Calliope/Calysan “Cal” Jackson

Race: Indonesian/black

Gender: Cis man/trans woman/genderqueer (tends to lean masc but not always outside of pronouns being he/him)

Age: Two years older than MC.

Physical Features: 6′2 with a lankier build with chub around their hips. Skin is a medium brown with warm undertones and tons of freckles. Eyes are honey brown with heavy lids. Hair is 3A curls that’s dark brown with faded red dye, and each one keeps it a little differently: Callian keeps it short with faded sides (think a mop of curls with faded sides basically lol); Calliope keeps it pulled back in a low ponytail, and Calysan tends to have it in two big braids.

Personality: Cal is a very cheery person for the most part. They tend to be a little protective of MC, but also very supportive. They’ve been MC’s rock for a long time because of their overall bubbly attitude about things. However... they do not do flirting well. Like, at all. They short circuit and, well... You’ll see.

RO #2: Astra Corvid

Race: mixed Greek/Italian

Gender: Cis woman

Age: Appears to be in her late thirties-early forties

Physical Features: 5′7, with an average build, though has muscular arms and legs. Her skin is tan and olive, with a lot of moles. Her eyes are emerald green and almond shape, though the right one has a bad scar along its inner corner that makes it a little lazy. Her hair is very straight and appears to be dirty blonde that’s a little longer than her shoulders; she usually wears it up in a tight sock bun when working.

Personality:Astra is a natural leader, and is someone who easily takes charge of situations. She’s very confident in her abilities and her people, even if many of them call her a “hardass”. However, she cares greatly for her troops and those she leads, as well as anyone close to her. Outside of work, she tends to be very laid back and much more open.

RO #3: Zederec “Zed” Dupont

Race: Unknown

Gender: Cis man

Age: Early thirties

Physical Features: 5′10, well-built; he’s not necessarily broad, but he’s a lot more agile than he appears. His skin is tanned darker than it actually is, though his non-sunkissed skin is more of a darker sandy color. He has hazel-blue eyes, though sometimes they shift to an almost amber color, and tends to have a seductive look about them. His hair is auburn and wavy and parted on the right; he tends to keep just above his shoulders, and very much takes the time to make it look both stylish and natural.

Personality:Zed is a flirty, charismatic man who has no trouble talking his way both in and out of things... usually. He does seem to attract trouble easily, even though he’s supposed to be a talented infiltrator. His trust is hard-won, but if you manage it... you’ll find out there’s so much more to Zed than what’s on his surface.

RO #4: Seth

Race: Egyptian

Gender: Cis man

Age: Appears to be mid to late thirties.

Physical Features: Seth is 6′2 with a muscular build. He has very darkly tan skin, though burn marks alter it and its tone in many places. His eyes are whisky brown. His hair is crow black and kept a little past his shoulders; it has loose curls, and usually keeps the left side braided away from his face.

Personality:Seth is... well... Seth. If someone he highly respects or cares for is even slightly insulted, he goes immediately in a full-on aggressor mode as he is fiercely loyal. He’s also very much an asshole a lot of the time; or treading the water of being one. It takes a LOT to get to who he actually is under his armor, but, a lot would find the effort very much worth it...

RO #5: Azeri Ren

Race: Latina/white

Gender: Prefers she/her, is probably demigirl or genderqueer though doesn’t like categorizing such things.

Age: Looks to be in her late twenties.

Physical Features: She is 5′2 and averagely built. Her skin is a very light tan. Her eyes are chocolate brown, though they turn pale grey when using her powers; they are round and soft. She has loosely curly black hair that seems to be greying early that goes to her waist; it’s usually kept loose or in a loose braid.

Personality: She is... rather strange. She’s rather kind and soft-spoken and quiet at first, though she gets into moods of high idealism and talks about her hopes to keep humanity safe from the [REDACTED]. She is a hard person to get to know, and even harder one to get to know personally, but... what all will you find if you uncover her secrets kept close to her heart?

And, as a little bonus, a little treat... I’ll tell y’all about the world and the MC but only a tiny bit.

So the continent/empire of Iterra takes place on what would be Africa! And... MC is from what would be the northern points of South Africa, and is currently living in the most southern point of South Africa :-)

[colehasapen]

(ONE SHOT) eyatir STAR WARS

The last thing Rex remembers was the burning agony of electricity tearing through his already brutalized body, and Obi-Wan’s cry of alarm. The mission looking for the lost colonists of Kiros had been a shitshow from the start, and Rex had known, deep down, that something would go wrong - because something always went wrong.

Still aching from the haran that had been Umbara, Rex had been drifting through his duties like he was in a fog - he still did what was expected of him with the competence and skill he was known for, but a part of him just wasn’t fully there . Some part of him was still in that air base on Umbara, surrounded by the dead and unable to pull the trigger as Krell laughs. He sees Hardcase in his nightmares, him and all those Vode who had been lost to the madman parading around like a Jedi, he sees Dogma, begging for help as he’s locked away on Kamino even though his brother hadn’t made a noise as he had been led away. He sees Fives’ accusing look, and him and Jesse staring down a firing squad of their own siblings. He knows his brothers - his men - haven’t forgiven him; hells, he hasn’t forgiven himself for what he let Krell get away with.

Seeing Obi-Wan down there in that arena had been the most like himself that Rex had been for a long time. Seeing his partner and Jedi chained and bruised had lit a fire in Rex that had been put out on Umbara.

So of course it had gone wrong.

He had woken up on a slave transport heading for a labour camp, with a stone faced Obi-Wan seated across from him in their cell, and with no idea if General Skywalker and Commander Tano were okay.

Little gods, Cody must have been losing his mind.

“Don’t do anything to anger them, Rex.” His Jedi had said quietly, something haunted in his eyes and a collar around his throat. “Don’t look them in the eyes, keep your head down.” It had been a moment of cold acceptance when Rex had looked at the man’s pale face and saw the quiet understanding that came with experience - the same sort of look he had seen on General Skywalker when he thought no one was looking.

He had done his best to keep his head down and his mouth shut as their stay on Kedavo had dragged on, hoping to slip past the notice of the overseers much like he had back on Kamino, where too much attention could possibly spell his decommissioning. He had done his best to remind Obi-Wan of his own warnings, but his Jedi was too good , too kind, and he never could sit by while others suffered. Unfortunately, the slavers saw exactly what he did too.

He had done his best to support his Jedi as he crumbled under the stress, under the misplaced guilt as others were punished in his place. Watching him break had hurt more than the whips that tore his skin or the electricity that was forced through his body. It hurt that Rex couldn’t protect him - and no doubt it hurt Obi-Wan that he couldn’t do the same for Rex.

It didn’t mean they couldn’t try.

His last memory before losing consciousness was of the whip tearing into him, skin and muscle tearing and electricity coursing through his thrashing body. He’s not even sure what they had done to anger the overseer this time, only that the slavers had come to drag them out of the bunk they had shared. They had been thrown at the base of the Zygerrian’s hover chair, and the overseer had been completely enraged at something , watching as they had been forced to their knees and lifted their whips. It probably wasn’t even something they had done, but they has just been the ones chosen for him to take his anger out on.

There had been pain, and electrowhip digging into the side of his temple, and then nothing as his vision went white, then black, as Obi-Wan’s voice rang in his ears. Then he was floating, body suspended in nothingness, his awareness and thoughts returning at a slow crawl. For a while, it’s just Rex, left alone with his memories, his life swimming around him in the sea of unconsciousness. He doesn’t know how long it’s been when feeling in his body starts to return. It starts as a dull ache in his head that spreads to the rest of him and rises like the tide. It’s accompanied by the feather-soft brushes of hands touching him, fingers soothing through his hair and chasing away the pain.

He feels safe. Safe and warm. It’s a rare feeling, usually reserved for those scarce night cycles when the 501st and 212th meet up and Rex could sleep against Cody’s warm back, white Obi-Wan’s arm thrown over his waist, listening to the Commander and Jedi quietly speak over him, their voices lulling him to a deeper sleep then he’d ever get otherwise.

It’s odd, feeling safe again.

Rex stirs, drifting away as those hands still in his hair. Everything is quiet and still, and he’s lying on a comfortable cot, with soft blankets pulled up to his chin. He lets out a quiet whine when that blissfully warm hand retreats, and a familiar chuckle reaches his ears.

“Being pretty needy, Rex’ika.”

Rex’s eyes snap open, meeting those heart-wrenchingly familiar amber gaze, and honestly, he could have cried at the sight of his ori’vod leaning over him. “Cody.” He gasps, and Cody smiles at him softly, hand moving to press against his chest when the blond clone starts to rise.

Rex drinks in the sight of his brother like a man dying of thirst; he’s stripped out of the upper half of his armour down to his blacks, with only his legs covered by white and orange plastoid. There are deep, dark bags under his brother’s eyes, and a bacta patch on his temple, but he’s smiling.

“Hey, take it easy, vod.” Cody soothes, pushing him back against the soft mattress. “Pace will have my neck if you pull those stitches.”

“Cody.” Rex finds himself struggling against the blankets folded around him, reaching for his brother, and the other clone meets him half-way, gently taking Rex’s hand in his own.

“Udesii, Rex’ika.” Cody murmurs, voice gentle in the way it got when he coached him through breathing after a nightmare, and his ori’vod perches himself on the edge of Rex’s cot, his other hand traveling back to Rex’s too-long hair to run his fingers through his blond curls. “You’re safe, verd’ika. You’re on the Negotiator, in the medical bay. You’re free. Breathe, vod’ika.”

“Kot’vod.” He gasps, like a fish out of water, and Cody’s face somehow grows even softer. He hadn’t used that nickname since his second growth cycle, back when he was a lanky cadet who thought he didn’t need his ori’vod constantly watching his back. He had been overconfident then - but scared too. Scared that if Cody got too close to him the Longnecks would take him away too.

Rex chokes, eyes burning, and he grips his brother’s hand like a life line.

“K’uur, Rex’ika.” Cody soothes, pressing a soft kov'nyn to Rex’s bandaged forehead. “I’m here - and I’m not letting you out of my sight any time soon.” Rex snorts wetly, letting his eyes slide shut as he just breathes with his brother.

“Obi-Wan?” He asks quietly, achingly aware that their partner is gone, not within Rex’s sight for the first time since everything had gone to shit. Not there for Rex to watch over, to make sure no one is going to go for his open back. It’s agonizing, not being able to see the copper haired Jedi, and it’s making Rex’s heart speed up with anxiety.

He blinks his eyes open, meeting Cody’s gaze with his own once again, and he watches as his brother tilts his head, eyes growing distant for a long moment, as if he was listening to something that wasn’t there. When Rex blinks again, the odd expression is gone, replaced with another smile.

“He’s on his way, vod’ika.” He assures, and Rex lets out a small gust of air.

“Me’bana?” He asks, tightening his hold on his brother’s hand into a squeeze, and Cody looks at him, considering.

The Commander sighs. “Obi-Wan contacted us - I’m not completely sure what happened.” His brother admits, then shrugs at Rex’s wide-eyed stare. “The Zygerrians were all dead, and you were in rough shape. Obi-Wan -” Cody cuts himself off, swallows, then shakes his head, “- he just needed a bit of bacta. The 501st had retrieved Skywalker and Tano, and we waited for General Koon to arrive to take the colonists back home.” He shares, and Rex narrows his eyes at his brother - he’s hiding something. Or at least not sharing it.

Cody may have been an amazing liar, but Rex knows all his tells. He knows Cody almost as well as he knows himself. The slightest tightening of his brow, pulling at his scar, could give him away if someone knew what they were looking for.

“Cody.”

The Commander sighs, ruffling Rex’s curls almost subconsciously, gaze distant again. “We’re in hyperspace.” Cody tells him, “You’ve been unconscious for three week, vod. Missing for four.” Rex winces, and his brother nods in agreement, “You went right into surgery the moment we brought you on board -” he runs a hand across the wrappings constricting Rex’s head, resting his fingers on his temple, and there’s something dark and angry in his brother’s eyes, “- then into bacta as soon as Pace cleared you.”

“We meeting back up with the 501st?” Rex asks, and Cody goes quiet, scar tightening once more.

“No, we’re not.” Both clones straighten as the door hisses open, and something in Rex’s chest lightens at the sound of the familiar voice. His head turns, a smile spreading across his face at the sight of his Jedi leaning in the doorway, looking clean and healthy once more - nothing like he had looked back on Kedavo.

“Obi-Wan.” He whispers in greeting, breathing so much easier now that the older man was in sight, and his Jedi smiles back, so soft and loving and the sight makes Rex choke up.

“Hello Rex.” Obi-Wan slips into the private room and towards his bed. He stops to gently press his lips to Cody’s when his Commander tilts his head towards him, tracing the scar that was Cody’s visual marker of individuality and smoothing away the tension in his shoulders with only a touch. When they part, the Jedi sits down next to Cody on the bed, then reaches forward to take Rex’s other hand and kiss his knuckles. “It’s good to see your eyes, cyar’ika.” He glances to Rex between copper lashes, and Rex opens his mouth to give him a properly witty reply, but his voice catches in his throat.

He had been half-way in love with the Jedi General since the first time their eyes had met, back when Rex had just been a lieutenant in Ghost Company. He had been enraptured by the colour of the young Master’s eyes. They were beautiful; the colour of the waters of Kamino on a clear day and just as deep. The exact colour was always hard to pin down, shifting as they were through shades of grays, blues, and greens, and everything in between depending on his mood, just like the sky or sea changed with the weather. They were enchanting, and Rex still couldn’t understand how they’d look at him and see something worth loving.

There was gold in the blue now, bubbles of it that bursts and swirls hypnotically, making him seem wilder than he had been before.The bags under his eyes were darker now, his skin paler, and it reminds Rex eerily of the eyes of the Sith as the gold continues to spread like an oil spill the longer Obi-Wan studies him.

A hand reaches across his line of sight, catching the Jedi by the chin and jerking his head around until Obi-Wan is staring at Cody instead.

“Udesii, Obi-Wan!” Cody barks, his tone taking on the edge he used to scold arrogant shinies that would likely get their squads killed if they didn’t pack it in, and it’s such an odd tone for his brother to use against their jetii that it snaps Rex out of his state of shock. Cody is frowning at his General, eyes hard, but there’s something scared in the tilt of his lips.

Obi-Wan scowls right back - which is just as odd and even more alarming - before he shudders, blinking heavily, and Cody studies his eyes. “Ni ceta, ner alor.” Whatever he sees is enough for Cody, because his grip relaxes and he offers their lover an apologetic kiss, which Obi-Wan accepts readily.

When he turns back to Rex his eyes are blue again, and his expression is strained. “I’m sorry for scaring you, Rex.” He murmurs, squeezing the captain’s hand to accentuate his apology, and Rex squeezes back.

“Obi-Wan?” He questions, and he’s not proud of the way his voice shakes.

The copper haired man looks pained. “I am so sorry to have dragged you into this.” He murmurs, and there’s something in his tone that makes Rex frown.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easily, cyare.” He says firmly, and it makes the man’s lips twitch sadly, reaching out to cradle Rex’s cheek like he was something precious.

“I’m afraid I did something I’m not very proud of after what they did to you.” Obi-Wan says, and a small bubble of gold rises up from the blue as he speaks, only to retreat again when Rex leans into his touch.

He remembers what Cody had said - that the slavers were already dead when they had arrived. That Obi-Wan had called them.

Rex isn’t stupid - he can put the pieces together.

“You killed them.” He notes, not judging, but surprised, and Obi-Wan nods.

“I won’t apologize for that.” Obi-Wan informs him, which makes Rex snort.

He wouldn’t either, not after what those bastards had done.

“I’m glad you’re alright, Rex.” The Jedi says, something meaningful in his eyes, “You scared me.”

Fear leads to anger, Rex remembers, and something heavy settles into his stomach, “General - Obi-Wan, you -” He can’t finish the sentence, but he doesn’t need to, because Cody winces and Obi-Wan’s expression tightens with guilt and sorrow as he averts his eyes. He’s expecting anger, Rex realizes - he’s expecting Rex to tear away from him, to leave him like so many others had before him.

Well, Rex can’t have that.

He tightens his hold on his Jedi, pulling his attention back to himself, and as soon as those blue eyes are on him once again, Rex speaks, “Ni kar’tayl gar darasuum.” It’s so much more powerful to speak those words in Mando’a. It makes it feel like a vow, like a promise that he wouldn’t leave him, and it makes Obi-Wan’s eyes soften.

“Told you.” Cody says in amusement, and the Jedi huffs at him.

“You needn’t be so smug about it, my dear.” Obi-Wan says, then gives Rex a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. With a grumble, Rex slides his hand around the back of his lover’s neck to pull him into a deeper, more passionate kiss. When they part, Rex rests his forehead against Obi-Wan’s, closing his eyes as the Jedi gently rubs his aching temples.

He’s still Obi-Wan, still the man he fell in love with, no matter what he had done to get them out of that haran.

“You said we weren’t going to the Resolute.” Rex finally says, after a long moment of silence, enjoying having Cody and Obi-Wan near him after so long of a collar around his neck. He pulls away enough to look both men in the eyes, studying their expressions. “Where are we going then?”

Cody’s lips press together, his eyes darkening into something thunderous, and Obi-Wan’s fingers press harder against the bandage around Rex’s head - right in the same place where Cody had his own bacta patch.

“Kamino.” His Jedi finally says, voice dark with a promise of a reckoning, “The scientists have a lot of things to answer for.”

[zzz-cole]

garden of a heathen

(dear grains; chapter two)

dreaded

     emotions

          antagonize my

               demise...

still,

     my smile resonates.

          inside; i hide. pain,

                    lasting like the battle of

                         evermore.

sand stuck between Ebonita's toes, she dances atop the pacific ocean. its shifting shore leads her movement with each step she lifts. gravity attempts to suck away their tango

at the curves of her feet.

with a pourette turn, her right metatarsal's kick against the grains of sand to meet her left knee. a wave takes form in the deep, bluer waters. she to allows her body to twirl 400* degrees before witnessing the splashing foam. the heel of her right foot juts with a soft plop in the shallow edge. Ebonita's brunette spirals whip around her shoulders, causing the slightest sting.

the lapping waves on her ankles creates a smooth beat and she gently hums along with it. even under the midnight's glow, the florida heat kisses a sweatstache beneath her nostrils. starting a light skip toward the cresent's luring reflection, she leaps to follow the waters moonwalk. her feet land one after the other in the knee deep shore. Ebonita enjoys the gentle breeze beginning around her, allowing its wind to cool off her misted 5'3 petite body. her upper eyelashes press together as her chest rises and falls with her tired breathing.

sudden flickers of Ebonita's grandma illuminate her mind. the beautifully scarlet painted lips that would smile before asking, "¿Quiero bailar con migo?", echoes on her ear canal. shaking, her legs collapse beneath her and she hunches until her body is submerged by the liquid sea. finding her knuckles beneath her round chin, she allows the salt of her tears to blend with the ocean. bubbles escape from Ebonita's teeth as she tries to end the headache of uncontrollable crying with the calming ocean.

a harsh wave suddenly pushes her fetal position loose and shoves her knees to her left side. stretching her palms, she lifts her head with a deep gasp. matted curls curtains Ebonita's face with a small opening big enough for her nose and left eye.

a distant sputtering engine disrupts her duet like a broken record. her eyes shoot open to focus on where the sound is coming from. whale sperm stinging at her irises, she races on all fours for a few steps toward the shallower waters.

the headlight's of a beach patrol's golf cart burn parallel to the horizon. gravitating toward the tide now sunken to her ankles, the ease in her pace quickens. ebonita finds enough balance to awkwardly waddle at a slightly faster than walking speed. the wet sand mushes between her toes like slime.

beaches are so much prettier at night. Ebonita's brain pumps as sand from her sprint whips the backs of her thighs. if people didn't fucking litter so much, maybe a dance with the tides would be okay at this hour.

"STOP, young miss!" a harsh voice snares through an old airhorn.

Ebonita arms swing past her ribs as she makes a sudden left toward a tall branch she planted through the rocks upon arriving. she made sure to guard her small burgundy fannypack under a sand mound, and made splinters around its width. extreme paranoia causes Ebonita to hide her belongings wherever she goes.

a singular light appears bobbing a few miles behind her branch. in a frantic panic, Ebonita drops to her knees and palms unsure of where to go. she winces her eyes tight as her head pounds, 'idiots!'

squeezing the sand beneath the tips of her fingers, she sips oxygen wildly. her dancing tired her out more than she had realized. falling to right thigh, she turns her gaze back on the water behind her. Ebonita winces to avoid flying sand from the Beach Patrol's dusty golf carts pull up.

"curfew's been ringing for two hours and thirty seven minutes," the same harshness emerges from an airhorn manually tied with seaweed to the steering wheel. his voice was deep and unattractive under his cerulean visor, shade hiding his slender face. his tall silhouette shielded the headlights from Ebonita's vision. the pulsating in her temples quickened. "what're you doing here at this time of night?"

someone is taking their night shift way too seriously. Ebonita thinks as she drags her fistfuls of sand between her bended legs. nerves heating her skin, shes watches the rocky shell mixed grains. speckles of tan brown and off white soothe her pulsating skin. Ebonita mumbles, "just dancing."

the beach patrol crosses his arms and chuckles weirdly, "with no music—"

"no trespassers, mam," a slap hits Ebonita's arm before her sand covered fannypack lands on her right calf. a husky, out of breath patrol woman follows the direction of the throw. her height is nearly two thirds of the officer before. the dim moon masks her features as well. "gonna need you to empty that bag of yours. now!" the patrol woman nods between pants.

"the ocean creates a symphony, if you've ever tried to listen, sir. the only thing in here is litter, which is often dismissed on this beach..." Ebonita grunts, trying her best to gulp an attitude down. snatching her bag with a hug, she unclasps its belongings. a nearly empty sunscreen bottle, raspberry mint chapstick, beer caps, bunches of shredded paper, straws and junk pollute the ground she had just polished. "really wasn't doing anything wrong on this bitch," she mutters.

the patrol woman's shoulders droop to the right in a slight embarrassment. she takes a glance at the patrol driver before putting a hand on her left hip. Ebonita notices thick gloves covering the patrol woman's hands. she bends her legs to match Ebonita's line of vision as her voice creaks through thin lips, "you should probably wait to do that when the suns up. it's a lot less suspicious. I mean, thank you for helping out, but we're not allowed to let you stay here after dusk—"

"i'll just leave now, then?" Ebonita murmurs. her heart pounds beneath her crossed arms clutching the fanny pack. she straightens her limbs and leans forward. quickly, she claws the mounds of trash in-front of her toes and flings it back inside her pack.

"are you hurt?" the patrol man says, in a much gentler tone than before. he hands Ebonita a folded green straw that dropped in her rushing movements. "had assumed you were a drowning victim, your head was underwater for a while..."

a cough bubbled in her lungs, but Ebonita held her breath. she squeezes the bent straw on top of a crumpled receipt. with a click, she shuts the brass button on her fanny pack. swallowing the thought away, she buckled the burgundy pack between her breasts, "nah. i know how to swim, especially in shallow water."

"do you need a ride home, mam?", the patrol woman offered, creasing the blonde eyebrows above her silver pupils. the squareness of her jaw made Ebonita uncomfortable.

"uhm, no thanks. i live just a few minutes away. i'll be fine," Ebonita nods with a tired grin.

starting a walk toward her sand mound, the patrol officers follow a few steps behind. the branch she dug in the sand to mark her belongings had been thrown a couple feet away from the now sunken hole. her orange and red Teva sandals lay on either side. falling to her rear, she slaps both shoes together repeatedly. the way the loose sand sprinkles the ground beside her reminds Ebonita of flouring kitchen counters to knead buttery pie dough. she could almost smell the sweetness of the mixture she'd craft with her grandma every Thanksgiving afternoon. they had always made a new pie filling recipe to bake inside the flaky layers each year.

the air had started to smell like crispy caramel. a lonely staircase fuzzes at Ebonita's first time ever trying her grandmothers recipe. she's at the age of 7 and she had been racing behind her much faster older brother, Water. they had just finished racing the entire neighborhood gravel until the sun turned low.

'Granma, Granma! Water won againugh!', Ebonita groaned in jealousy as she plopped her elbows on her grandmother's glass table. she watched through the kitchen window as Granma retracted the Holy Grail Bass of a Pie.

'why're you saying that like it isn't an accomplishment?', Water rolled his dark black pupils. he had his feet crossed on the table and arms relaxing in a grasp behind his neck.

Granma's hips did a dancing wiggle as she sprinkled beautiful sparkles of sugar on the melting pie, 'oh, hush it Ebonita. congratulations Water, that truly is something marvelous. you are so impressive, like this pie we about to eat.'  Granma's eyes twinkled as she swiped her palms over the kitchen sink.

Ebonita and Water sniffed the air and danced in excitement. Granma salsa'd her way toward the glass table with a red polka dot oven mitt. her matching apron had been speckled with flour and batter. their was even some on the under of her chin. Ebonita decided not to say anything about it because she felt it represented Granma's hard work.

"Pie's ready!" Granma called toward the stairs.

a pattering of footsteps started upstairs. Ebonita's older siblings Burnette, Gustoso and Grañito came running down the carpeted stairs. Burnette eagerly ran straight to kitchen drawer and flung it open. holding five spoons, she walked around the glass table to place one on each placemat. Burnette's nails were painted ruby apple in honor of Ebonita's first pie.

Gustoso pulled out each chair behind Burnette as she placed the silverware. Grañito grabbed a pack of six nearly frozen Yoo-hoo's out of the beige freezer along with a gallon of vanilla bean ice cream. he made a double bang beat with each glass container, to start off the Holy Grail Bass of a Pie.

they each took a seat as Gustoso rapped the entire Holy Grail song by Justin Timberlake featuring Jay-Z. Gustoso made a beat with the wood of the knife and bottom of the deep rice pot as he cut six even slices. Granma didn't have much money, so she used the silver and black speckled rice pot for nearly every dish. Ebonita admired her for this. Water told her as they were racing outside how large the slice would be.

"you'd steal the food right out of my mouth, and i'd watch you eat it," Gustoso raised a thick eyebrow as he placed a slice on the stack of plates. he continued through the verse with an angelic voice until we each had a slice. Grañito beatboxed as he dolloped a scoop of ice cream on each plate.

stacks of thinly sliced fuji apples steamed between a dark, golden crust. saliva rained at the roof of her mouth as Ebonita scooped a spoonful. the flakes unfolded on Ebonita's tongue as she bit into her spoon. the syrupy coated apples melted like cotton candy as she chewed the most amazing creation her tastebuds ever graced.

"you bury anything else?" the patrol man's sudden question causes Ebonita to jolt.

Ebonita's upper lip curls in disgust. she could sense the crude nature of his curiosity and wanted to dismiss it immediately. snapping her neck toward his voice, "just my board and the dress i came here in."

the left wheel of Ebonita's black and white checkered skateboard was jutting out of the hole. gripping the red truck, she yanked it out. she tugged her long black slitted beach gown from under the sand mound in front of her. uncomfortably curtaining her body, the texture hugged Ebonita in an incredibly itchy way. she didn't even want to bother flagging the sand out to speed the process of leaving. the beach patrol's ignorance is finally shielded. she wanted nothing more but to be at Granma's glass table at that very moment. singing and laughing while eating good ass food.

an anchor dropped in Ebonita's throat. she shakes in confusion and worry from her increasing anxiety. whenever she'd have an attack, her Granma taught her to dance through them. as a previous performer, Granma made an exceptional tutor. the two of them would come to this same shore to practice on the sand.

ever since her grandmother passed away, it's been nearly impossible for Ebonita to dance. the pain rips at her veins not hearing Granma count her steps as she followed along.

'¡Asi!  Perfecto,  Eboni. Eso es. You  keep dancing like that, the crowds will only pile up,' Granma's motivating words sting in the back of her mind.

she waits patiently as the female patrol officer rummaged through the sand pile as if Ebonita was hiding a murder or some crazy bomb. understanding their roles as officers, she gulped down the bottled hatred. their flashlights bobbed through the grains before her.

hell, if anything, Ebonita is too cautious. she forces her sister, Burnette, to stop and put her hazards on anytime they ride in the Ghariot (their Granma's 1976 faded green VW microbus) whenever there's an animal crossing the street. roadkill is my biggest pet peeve, that shit is fucking maddening.

after the beach patrol's decided they didn't want to dig to china, they stood parallel to the hole.

"sorry to disrupt your dance," the female patrol officer cleared her throat. she wiped the sand off her gloves. putting an index and thumb on her pear shaped body, she said, "we're going to let you off with a warning for trespassing. please try and respect this beach curfew next time sweetheart. it's not safe."

whenever someone speaks to Ebonita for more than two sentences, she tones out. her brothers get extremely annoyed by this, but her attention span is very minimal. a cool breeze calmed the sweat misting her exhausted muscles.

"thanks," Ebonita flicked her tongue.

she ran as fast as her legs could carry her toward the entrance dock. seven stairs escalated from the sand. Ebonita hopped skipping one step each to make it four. she slapped the large nail file on the right handrail. running alongside, she let two wheels rattle on the penny wood. steadying to a light jog, she gazed at the numerous tree branches. thankful to have not gotten in trouble, her nervous tremors slowed to a stop. reaching the end of the dock, she let her board roll off the hand rail with a tough swipe. landing on the smooth concrete, she pressed her right foot near the nose and kicked with her left heel.

reaching the rinse shower, Ebonita jumps off her peeling grip tape. she unclasps her fanny pack from her chest. placing the board on a white bench, she slides the back below it.

Ebonita lifts her elbows to grab the shoulders of her thrifted gown. she pulls the dress above her ears, shutting her eyes tight. roughly, she flung it up and down until their was hardly no broken earth clung to its sewing. folding the outfit beneath her board, she steps toward the shower head.

gazing up at the winking stars, she jammed her thumb on the silver button. the water spouted twice before a pressurized flow began. cupping beneath her chin, she let both her palms create a smoother waterfall. allowing the cold liquid to wash away the annoying coat of beach crumbles. dunking her face inside her fingers, she scrubbed her cheeks down to her neck. twisting her hourglass figure, she lifted her hair and placed a flat hand on her skull. moving the blades in her back, she let the pressure massage her. gently pulling the hem of her bottom bathing suit, water drains the sand that piled between her thick cheeks. shaking her thighs, she slaps the hem back on her skin and rubbed down to the backs of her calfs. Ebonita straightens her stance to balance on the shower pipe as she lifted each heel and watched the sand from her sandals whirlpool down the chute. pivoting to face the water stream again, she shimmied her collarbone. cupping each breast beneath her bikini top, she scooped out the granulated mud. her nipples hardened from the low temperature. raising a knee at a time, she used the tips of her fingers to remove any remaining access. the water shut off. an incredibly refreshing feeling poured into Ebonita's entire anatomy.

watching the sidewalk, she inches toward to the bench again to dry herself with the skirt of her dress. dragging the cloth between her legs, at her shins and over her shoulders. unfolding the joints of her elbows through the length, she reached her wrists through the arm holes. the bottom of her dress creased at her wide hips. she pulled the fabric on either side of her slit to form a knot at her knees.

Ebonita observed the distance horizon and moon for a few seconds. tiny waves splashed on the black water. picking up her board, she started a pace toward her home. pushing the skateboard on the gravel, she kicked a speed quick enough to blow her hair. passing the parking lot, she bent her knees and pushed her toes forward to swerve her onto the much flatter street.

doo-ka-doo, doo-ka-doo was the only sound on the vacant road. the stoplights zoomed above her as she rolled past shopping plaza's and hella gift shops. the blinking shop signs lit the dark night. Ebonita hit the heel of her left Teva on the black asphalt to quicken her roll.

Ebonita had to work at a pool bar in the afternoon the next day, so she needed to be quiet once she neared her neighborhood. turning off the main road, she shifted onto the lengthy entryway.

placing her foot on the rear of the board, she stepped down to brake. her right foot began a silent saunter as her left fist held her board by its top truck.she passes two mailboxes before turning into a dead end.

her house was in the middle of the looped drive. the exterior was painted a bright yellow with orange shackles. her mother wanted it to look like a sun. two stories, eight windows and one red door. the curtains are blue to resemble the most blazing heat of the solar flare. the Ghariot and Ebonita's mothers white Accord parked in the driveway.

a faded brown fence shielded her Granma's fruit and vegetable garden that still thrived in their backyard. Ebonita and her siblings have added flowers and some gnomes to brighten up the depressing absence.

unhooking the latch of the door through a hidden crack of wood, she slowly opened a small crevice. holding her breath, she squeezed inside being ever so careful as to not make noise. stepping inside her property, she looked up at her mothers window. the lights were off. crickets chirped as Ebonita placed both palms to close the slither. she places the hook back in its hole.

tip toeing, she placed her board upside down by the wooden toolshed. her hushed steps creep upon the stone pathway toward her sliding door. the kitchen lights were off as well. tucking her fingers inside the handle, she patiently pulled the glass with her forearm.

once inside, Ebonita locked the door twice. noiseless, she acts in slow motion. she nears her room shared with her sister upstairs. not touching the handlebar, the slowness of her toes carries her up a level.