#wip: time travel au

[otterandterrierwrites]

wip: Alderaan time-travel AU

‘Okay, where the fuck are we now?’ Han exclaimed behind her. He strode to the front of the group and held up both hands to stall them. ‘New rule: from now on, nobody’s runnin’ into any mysterious doors without a group vote, got it?’

‘Sorry,’ she said, placing a placating hand on her husband’s arm. ‘I just—I felt like I had to. I think it’s safe.’

‘I feel safety from here, too. Although,’ Luke added, touching the rock towards the back of the cave, where they’d seemed to have come through, ‘I’m not sure how we’re getting back.’

‘Great!’ Han chirped sarcastically. ‘I feel super safe too in this freaky cave from the dimension of crazy!’

[otterandterrierwrites]

From the Alderaan time-travel AU:

‘This is a lot to take in,’ Breha Organa murmured, as if to herself. Her own cup of tea sat untouched on her desk. She looked up, her dark eyes going from Han to Luke. ‘You realize, of course, that a few Jedi tricks and personal facts are not enough to convince me you two and—my grown-up daughter, allegedly, have come from the future.’

This week’s word is…

✨ CONVINCE ✨

Find the word in any WIP and share the sentence containing it. Reply, reblog, stick it in the tags, tag us in a new post, or keep it private. All fandoms, all ships, all writers welcome.

[ghost-bxrd]

Look away, there’s nothing in that warehouse for you…

[veroinfaciem]

another wip because why not

[ruporas]

feast (ID in alt)

[trans-jon-rights]

Okay it's dumb self indulgent tma au time

What if. Jon goes back in time after MAG 200. But.

He's a cat. And he just looks like That :

(tiny phone doodle)

And he is there for the whole show, trying to do things differently with very little powers and zero ability to talk

[ryuki-draws]

I miss my son, Tails

[otterandterrierwrites]

Trick or treat! 🎃 👻 🍬 🍫

I'll give you what Breha actually thinks of Han in the time-travel AU:

It wasn’t hard for Breha to imagine Leia falling for a type like Solo, and not just because he—well, she had to admit it: the man had a roguish look that made him as attractive as an illicit ride on the back of a speeder bike. So far he had been somewhat stiff with what she guessed was self-imposed restraint, and a mix of awkward and unintentionally irreverent when he forgot himself. But she had no doubt that he could turn up an air of danger or charm, according to the situation.

And I'll also say that this is harder than I thought because Breha can't ask any obvious things and Han can't tell her anything about the future, so I need to come up with more things for her to ask to find out what kind of person he is and I'm like 🤡 this isn't what I signed up for.

trick or treat! 🎃

[eosfog-btsideblog]

Several? Sentences Sunday!

I haven't been tagged by anybody and idk if these are even still happening but I wanted to share!

Just started a new fic I've been thinking about a lot where Buck from like ten years in the future (married to Tommy, lieutenant in another station, the 118 having gone their separate ways over the years as inevitably happens to any workplace) appears back in the 118 right after Buck drops the lawsuit and returns to work.

Canon compliant up to s8e17, assume some unexplained wishy washy magic/sci fi reasoning for the temporary time travel, and kindly ignore any mistakes lmao—

+

The stranger even though Buck knows who it is doesn’t he is broad, built with a reassuring solidity. In a way where Buck is envious of his clear working muscle but wants to scoffs at the soft bulk of his stomach, the extra mass clinging to his upper arms disdain Buck can only show because he knows who this is, the one person he's never had trouble being vitriolic toward, at least that's what he had thought until recent events proved him wrong—

His reddish brownish blondish hair is in tousled curls, longer than Buck ever lets them get, furiously speckled with grays. Loose, free from product. Thinner than he’d hoped it'd ever get. The three wrinkles he sees creasing his own brow in the mirror before he forces them away, diligently molds his face smooth again have carved deep, permanent grooves on the stranger’s face, though they're accompanied by faint age lines around his eyes and mouth that belie a life filled with more laughter than worry.

There’s glasses haphazardly hanging in the front of his t-shirt, a crisp white number that clings to his stomach, a soft blue sweater thrown on top. All oversized, making him seem even more massive than his heavily muscled frame thighs finally so broad his legs looked proportionally average. And a solid silver wedding ring on his finger.

Off duty, then.

The stranger gets up off the ground, groaning as his knees and back pop in a way that makes Buck red with embarrassment. He dusts himself off and looks around, ignoring Buck for a few seconds, making him simultaneously angry at being ignored and grateful for the reprieve. The stranger glances at the clock hanging on the wall outside the ambulance, displaying a layman's lunchtime hour 12:17 PM in a way that a firefighter rarely gets to see amidst the chaos and schedule of a firehouse.

And then finally at Buck, doing inventory by himself in the back of a recently organized ambulance, his long legs pretzeled in the cramped space in a way that makes the pins in his leg ache.

Their standoff is briefly interrupted by quiet laughter and conversation from up the stairs. Bobby asking if anyone wants seconds; Chim delivering something that has the cadence of a joke. Bobby's voice makes the stranger's eyes go wide, his body tensing up; until he forcibly shakes himself loose again, brings his attention back to Buck.

Buck had heard the bell ring for lunch and hadn't moved more afraid to show up and be met with silence and disdain than to never eat family lunch again. No one had come after him; but he'd find a sandwich wrapped up in the fridge the next time he was left as the man behind inevitably and yet again.

Buck feels the stranger’s eyes rapidly glance from his gelled hair to his face pink and angry from him scrubbing at tears he had refused to let fall to his build oddly thin from months where he couldn’t exercise and then months where he exercised far too much and never wanted to eat to the compression sock peeking out from the bottom of his pant leg to the clipboard in his trembling hands—

“So, did you just drop the lawsuit then?"

+

Thanks for reading!

[patolemus]

double-whammie wip (not) wednesday

got tagged by @novasillies (still freaking out over their current wip update!!) and i have a bit of the newest chapter for my time travel au to share

“Hey, Stiles?” he calls out to the older boy. Stiles hums distractedly, and Derek knows he’s not really listening to him, too caught up in whatever he’s doing. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Stiles says. His back is turned to Derek, and he spends a moment appreciating the way Stiles’ muscles shift underneath the fitted shirt he has on as he mixes up his herbs. Stiles still doesn’t look like he’s paying all that much attention to him, but oh well. Derek will take what he can get.

He props himself up with his right forearm, half sitting as he puts his weight on it. “You like me, right?” he asks, sounding calm even though his heart has started beating faster and faster by the second. Derek doesn’t regret asking, though.

Stiles goes taut almost as soon as the question registers. He doesn’t turn around so he can’t see what kind of face he’s making, and his scent doesn’t betray anything, but Derek knows better than to trust it when he knows Stiles knows ways to manipulate it. After a few moments, though, his posture relaxes again and he goes back to mixing up things in the mortar.

“Yeah. Of course I do,” Stiles says. There’s a sort of vulnerability, a softness in his voice, and Derek feels his heart soar. 

He didn’t lie. Stiles didn’t lie. He likes Derek, Stiles likes Derek.

Don’t fuck this up, he thinks, only a little desperate as he tries to keep his heart under control. Not for the first time, he thanks whatever higher being is looking out for him, because if Stiles could hear how fast his heart is racing right now he’d think Derek is the lamest person ever. Which he is, but Stiles doesn’t need to know that.

“Cool,” he says, immediately regretting it. Cool? Who the fuck says cool to something like that? “I mean, I like you, too,” he adds hastily, fully sitting up as Stiles finally turns around.

“I know,” there’s the ghost of a smirk dancing on his lips and mirth in his eyes.

Derek starts to smile, then frowns. “Did you just Han Solo me?” he asks, not knowing what to feel when Stiles just bursts out laughing right there and then.

It’s a beautiful laugh. It takes his breath away. Derek doesn’t think he’s ever heard Stiles laugh like this before. Chuckle, maybe, definitely an amused huff here and there. But never an outright laugh like this one. Derek wants to hear it forever, wants to record it so he can play it back again and again and again, all the time.

He’s so gone on this boy. So, so gone. Derek feels overwhelmed by the sudden rush of affection that overcomes him, a hot, fluttery thing that leaves him tingly all over.

couldn't not do the star war's reference i mean IT WAS RIGHT THERE. anywayssss take the rare angst-free scene. no pressure tags: @dontcallpanic @hedwig221b @salty-fryingpan @oldefashioned @endwersed @dear-massacre and of course anyone who wants to do it

[susanoosama01]

"Do I–" Anakin takes a breath and furrows his brows. "know you? You look familiar somehow."

The young man smiles, eyes shining bright under Coruscant's setting sun. "I am afraid not, Knight Skywalker. But I know you. Everyone does."

Anakin doesn't feel any less confused.

"You can call me Luke. Master Jedi, I was a watchman around the planet Dagobah." The man explains, never tearing his gaze away from Anakin.

All the other Masters look at each other.

Or Luke Skywalker time travel AU! He goes back to the Clone Wars Era!

[mrcformoso]

Link to fic!

I finished the first chapter earlier than expected lol

I don't have a lot of spoons left for writing but I do love writing so I made a low-spoon very self-indulgent fic! This is mostly to help me keep my mental state up by writing HuaLian while I'm dealing with PT and getting back to my life. Hope you enjoy it as well!

SUMMARY:

On the day before Xie Lian’s 18th birthday, his life changed. His world upended and twisted around, destroying him and his future. He was saved by his loving godfather, who took him away from all the pain and suffering.

On Xie Lian’s 19th birthday, he died, betrayed by the very man who saved him, used and tossed aside like he was nothing.

“XIE LIAN!!!” A beautiful man with an eyepatch called, devastated. “I’m so sorry – I was too late, I was too –”

…

(BAD END. REWIND?)

…

On the day before Xie Lian’s 18th birthday, he woke up.

[places-across-time]

Haha funny thought but what if (post-series?) Merlin one day woke up in King Uther’s body the day Arthur was born/Ygraine died?

The baby, Arthur, screams his lungs out, healthy as can be. It’s a sunny day and the light gives Merlin a good look at the boy. Beyond the blood, his skin is the scary pink of many newborn babies and he has feathery hair, dark though that’s no indication of whether he’s inherited his mother’s blonde hair.

Merlin feels he knows Arthur already, as though he’s always known him. It’s just a flight of fancy though, an imposition of the memory of the Arthur he once knew. Regardless, the baby’s presence is a comfort in his arms, however loud his cries.

There’s shuffling and quiet conversation behind him from the two other people in the room. Merlin ignores them as long as he can, until one of them comes up behind him, placing a placating hand on his arm.

“Queen Ygraine…has passed.”

Ygraine…? Merlin nearly thinks he’s misheard over the baby’s cries. Surely he doesn’t mean Ygraine Pendragon?!

Merlin whirls around and comes face to face with Gaius.

The man is younger than Merlin has ever known him, brown in his hair and face not so heavy with grief even with the recent loss. He stares with concern and trepidation at Merlin.

Merlin swallows.

By the bed is the other person, a dark-haired woman draped in red and cloaked in magic. She does not look at him but she does not need to.

Merlin takes it all in again, more critically this time.

The room looks as lavish as the King’s but fashioned for a woman, flowers at the table and colours stereotypically delicate, a vanity against one wall and a tall wardrobe at another, perfect for hanging tall items like the gowns of noblewomen. Gaius is before him and a sorceress is at the side of the dead Queen Ygraine.

Merlin looks down again, caressing the baby’s face but ignoring him for the first time to truly take himself in.

Hands thick with war, clothes of the highest quality despite appearing he’d just rolled out of bed. Merlin is almost terrified to guess who he is at the moment.

Ygraine Pendragon is dead and Merlin holds her son in his arms, his own son, Arthur Pendragon.

Don’t ask me what Uther is up to rn, I dunno, he’s probably amidst magic itself until Merlin’s body gets born (I really hope he doesn’t remember what being born feels like)

[augustjustice]

WIP Weekend

Rules: Send me an emoji in an ask, and I’ll write 3-5 sentences and/or paragraphs from that WIP. No limits to the amount of emojis you can request, please feel free to send multiple!

I was tagged by @arcanemoody, @hbyrde36, @tinytalkingtina, and @yesdangerpls; thank y'all so much!!! 💛🖤

🔄️- you wanna feel how it feels Ch. 5 - Steddie bodyswap fic

⏳- S1!Steve time travels to the future

💞 - Crush Confessions Ch. 2

No pressure tagging a few folks (and the ST writing server): @strangerthingswritersguild @fuctacles @queenie-ofthe-void @transvampireboyfriend @after-the-end-times @steddie-island @griefabyss69 and anyone else who sees this and wants to join in!

And a little snippet of the bodyswap fic (which is actually not from the next chapter, cuz your girl never wrote in order in her entire life lol) under the cut:

Steve let out a startled oof as Wayne Munson pinned him forcefully against the refrigerator, a strong forearm pressed against his throat.

And what was it with the Munsons and slamming him into shit? Steve might have been crap in a fight, but he wasn’t exactly a lightweight. Those two, though…they were a lot more formidable than they looked. 

“Who the hell are you?” Wayne asked, his low, menacing voice in sharp contrast with the gruff but welcoming tone Steve had come to know over the past month. “And what have you done with my boy?”

[professorscrooge]

Sleeping Soldiers AU Draft - circa August '23

Feel amidst continuing to necro-post on this AU, I should probably actually post the draft of my attempt at turning this into a fic, bit more than a year ago. Ran out of steam, as I tend to, and it's a bit rough (also don't know if tumblr has a character limit, but fair warning, this is ~3k). Diverged from where ideas on this ended up going.

References to the original inspiration(s) can be found on posts here and here, and I will emphasise credit @phoenixyfriend, @epicmusic42 and @graylinesspam whose work I have been butting in on (and I think this may rip off some of their wordings). Leans largely into bits and pieces of the Legends timeline, but only through vague references as that's a whole monolith of a thing to try and understand. --

 Coruscant is a city of metal and glass; the planet that once was is buried beneath eons of sharp edges growing out ever further. As the centre of the Galactic Republic, it is demanded to be continuously modern (at least on the surface), with a slick and shining outer coating. Its noises are of technology; the heavy thrum of electricity is the heartbeat of the city, speeders and aircraft fill the air with their droning, and there are an abundance of holoscreens to display the inauguration of the new Chancellor of the Galactic Republic. 

 The Jedi Temple is perhaps the one exception: its tranquillity is unmatched on Coruscant, and its construction is old and solid. All the same, when the silence within the Temple was broken by noise, its nature was unnerving in its irregularity; not the shattering of glass or creaking of metal, not the whine of engines, not an explosion or a turbolaser or any such thing, it is a noise unheard on Coruscant for Millenia.

 It is a grinding, of stone upon stone, echoing up from its very deepest recesses.

–

Circa 500 BBY

 The Jedi Temple is an ancient relic of bygone times; old enough, that the only records that might say how old are held within its own walls (or rather, were, given the unfortunate number of sackings and assaults in its history had frequently damaged the famous archives). Its grand size is a symbol of strength against the dark, but also something of an impracticality in certain times. Its lower reaches are vast, stretching all the way down to the forgotten mountains of Coruscant; a surface where sunlight hasn’t shined in millennia. Construction kept reaching upwards for the longest time, keeping up with the rising levels of the city-planet as its foundations became buried under smog and filth, forgotten.

 In the wake of wars’ end, many lower levels were sealed away; who needed such vast halls, impromptu barracks and storage, when the Jedi no longer served as military leaders? There was no need to house so many people as to require them, and it was more effort to clean and maintain them than necessary for a monk order of a few thousand. After all, this was a Golden Age, with the Sith defeated, and a time of the High Republic.

 Age lent itself to secrets, and with time, many of those secrets were lost with their keepers.

--

 The newly minted Chancellor paused only briefly in taking his oath of office. Most present simply chalked it up to the weight of the vows involved being taken seriously. In truth, the hidden Darth Sidious that lurked under the unassuming garb of Sheev Palpatine had shivered at a tremor in the Force; local and distinctly, searingly Light in its origin, piercing the veil of darkness he and his master had woven over the planet for but a moment. Quickly, he steeled himself and resumed his words; it would not do to falter or drop his mask at this stage. And after all, what could stop The Great Plan now? Sidious had a thousand years of his Order’s planning behind his back. It wasn’t like the Jedi could think on such a grand scale.

–

Circa 1000 BBY

 The history of the Jedi Temple site may as well be a timeline of the Republic itself. With the ever-recurrent war that was fought over its location, and how often Coruscant changed hands, it wasn’t just built upon, but rebuilt, several times. The Grand Ziggurat of the High Republic era was built over the ashes and ruins of the Temple before it, reaching to the sky not far from where the newly built Senate District would form the seat of the Galaxy. A symbol of strength to a unified Galaxy that had defeated the evil of the Sith, once and for all.

--

 The Jedi Council scrambled to action, of course (in as dignified manner as they could). Even with their senses long-blinded by the veil that consistently hampered their sight, there was no missing the stirring beneath their feet. 

 “Awoken, something has,” Master Yoda was heard to declare.

–

Circa 3653 BBY

 The Soldiers’ Hall, as it came to be known, was a real anomaly. It was unearthed in the wake of the Treaty of Coruscant, and the Great Sacking of the Jedi Temple. The respite granted by the armistice with Sith Forces withdrawing from the world was a balm to the Coruscanti people, yes, but the Jedi had returned to a Temple filled with death and desecration. Their holiest relics had been plundered, and the numbers of dead were horrific; a toll only growing as they uncovered the deadly traps spiteful Sith had left behind to further ruin them. It was a painful experience for the survivors, not helped by the lack of justice and repercussions the treaty afforded them.

 With their returned forces in peacetime, however, it was decided to fully survey the Temple to account for all possible traps. The survey unearthed many lower chambers forgotten for centuries, which would soon be repurposed as bunkers for military assets. Naturally, the opportunity was also taken to strengthen ancient foundations with modern materials, which came with looking over the foundations of the ancient Temple grounds atop a mountain of Coruscant, and the Dark Shrine hidden there. It was known to the High Council alone that the old Temple had been built atop a Dark Vergence in the Force in an attempt to cleanse it, and a handful of masters yet survived to share that information to a select few. What surprised them more was the discovery of older ruins beneath the Shrine, built into the mountain itself, and seemingly dating to before the Alsakan conflicts, perhaps even the Jedi Order itself (though few dare voice this thought). The shift from precision, machine-poured duracrete that has been in use for millennia, to the more rough, hand-hewn stone is a sight that excites the archaeologically inclined allowed to see it. 

 Most of the tunnels are collapsed, but slowly, over several years of uneasy peace, a path is unearthed to a large atrium, central beneath the Dark Side Nexus. The discovery is shocking to those who uncover it; they’d gone from archiving very faded murals (amidst admonishment that such pre-Jedi religious teachings are not worth great regard), to cracking the door open to a great chamber filled with an army of statues. A thousand men – clearly soldiers – each expertly carved with incredible detail, each set of armour uniquely battle scarred and hand painted, each posed differently, and every single one perfectly preserved in defiance of their ancient surroundings. The warriors sat, or lay, or kneeled, in great concentric circles, facing inwards to a central figure, the only one not wearing armour; a Togruta woman, dressed simply, and with lightsabers resting at her hips. Where the soldiers were wrought from a pale white stone, she was crafted in warm terracotta in a relaxed pose, face bowed in conference with the Force. It was almost as if she were made of flesh.

 Despite the gathering of Masters who quickly investigated the room, none could quite manage to lay a hand upon her. The sense of foreboding was just too strong. Every gaze in the room was pointed towards her; an even thousand visors of solid stone, focused on this one woman, every one so lifelike as to be uncanny. In-fact, sometimes, in the corner of the Jedi’s eyes, it was almost like they moved; a chest rising and falling with breath, tiny fluctuations in the Force that evaded the senses, or flickers of dreams. Almost as if they were waiting for something.

 The Council ordered the chamber sealed; what markings upon the soldiers that could be identified were Mandalorian in origin, so clearly this was some work of those great adversaries and their common allies, the Sith. That those forces combined had so recently sacked their home likely aided this decision. Knowledge and warnings were recorded within the Council’s private library only, and would be lost some centuries hence by the passing of those who saw the sight and another sacking of the upper Temple.

 Beneath them all, the feared warriors continued to sleep.

--

 The sounds of shattering stone echoed within the long-forgotten chamber, even as dust filled the air from the broken remains. This noise was swiftly drowned out by a thousand throats all drawing breath at once.

–

Circa 5000 BBY

 Recapturing Coruscant was not the final victory of what came to be called the Great Hyperspace Wars, but it was perhaps the most important, given that all that followed became much easier with forces scattering. However, there was an interesting discovery made upon their landing; an empty Shrine, where once the Sacred Spire peak of Mount Satorl had stood.

 The destruction of the Sacred Spire had been one of the opening gambits of the conflict, so this was expected. The Jedi amongst the Republic Forces were most dismayed that the legendary Vergence in the Force that had rested there had been twisted into a Dark nexus, but this too had been rumoured by spies and propaganda. No, what was surprising was the lack of occupants, particularly Sith acolytes. This was a powerful nexus in the Dark Side, and a clear site of investment to build the new Shrine, but there was nobody present; just the signs of conflict that predated Republic arrival to the planet.

 Eventual interrogation of Sith Forces revealed rumours of a ‘curse’ upon the site; no force had managed to occupy the site for long, somehow always turning up dead. Construction of the Shrine had taken several years, and a great many slow attempts, always stymied by poor fortune.

 The Jedi took this as a sign that the Force itself resisted the corruptive attempts for as long as possible, and when granted a boon for their aid in the war, chose to claim the land for themselves. There, they built a new Temple, in the hope that the presence of many Jedi may once again cleanse this place that had long been sacred to a great many religious and Force-sensitive sects throughout the Galaxy. The Jedi Order would build their new headquarters at the heart of the Republic and therefore claim the site instead of any other religion having access.

 Of course, throughout construction, there was plenty of investigation of the ruins being built over (padawans got bored hanging around and waiting, naturally, and the Galaxy’s archaeologists were most invested in seeing how this location had suffered under Sith rule). Of particular note is a surviving chamber of the old Sacred Spire that is unearthed; a grand chamber filled with statues. Sadly, no records from prior to the Sith occupation persist, but a great many experts descend on the room to catalogue what they can of the astoundingly beautiful find that is far more interesting than dusty old clay vessels. The General’s Legion, they are quickly dubbed, given the militaristic bent.

 They bring in first art experts, then body language experts, even a scholar on Mandalorian culture once some symbols are defined. Most of the markings they find mean nothing, however; while Mandalorian symbols are identified a few dozen times, including Jaig Eyes on one of the more prominent soldiers directly facing The General, there’s no real commonality with any clan, or any real consistency. Many more besides are marked with nonsense; a loose word or number in some language, even some unrecognised languages that cause head scratching. The holstered blasters cause them to bring in antique weapons dealers to unsuccessfully identify them, causing yet more headaches at the clear mass-manufacturing on display, since most the soldiers bear the same weapons, but they are entirely unfamiliar. Artists are baffled at how perfectly detailed and well-preserved the figures are; the level of work on display would have taken hundreds of artists thousands of hours, but the style implies a singular sculptor. The historians flail wildly at whether these soldiers throw all the old theories about the Taung originating Mandalorian culture into doubt.

 The only experts who could agree upon something were those who attempted to psychoanalyse the figures; the way the men were arranged was with deference for the General, and those closest to her were the officers with the most decoration and adornment (and battle scars), while those nearest the edge were the lowest ranks. Originally, they thought the much smaller central figure was being threatened by the soldiers, but she sat in such a relaxed pose of confidence it seemed more clearly a commander’s position.

 Still, as time goes on, their observations are recorded and stored in the new Jedi library, and a towering new Temple is built over the ruins. Gradually, this fills with masters, knights and younglings looking forward to a new era of peace and prosperity. The past is not forgotten, but it is not the focus of an Order trying to rebuild after centuries of conflict. And so, the statues sit in their atrium, still and silent. Masters study them for decades, photos and essays are included in the new archives; they are a fascination, a mysterious piece of history.

 But, time passes, and slowly the fascination fades. The wider galaxy captures attention, the Regions are expanding in a new era of colonisation and there is great need for Jedi aid. Only those particularly intrigued by art and archaeology look through the old archives. The statues become more of a ghost story.

 Padawans sometimes gossip about them over latemeal. They dare each other to sneak down to the lower levels, and walk between the rows upon rows of sleeping soldiers. The truly brave (or reckless) of the classes make the journey, past the point where the air lifts reach, down long staircases and through the dusty thick air. Lightsabers raised high over their heads, they tiptoe between the first few rows, twisting wildly at jumping shadows cast over the room. Some stare petrified into the visors of the men, convinced that if you peer close enough, you can see eyes peering back at you. 

 Very, very few brave padawans make it all the way to The General – one or two per generation – but those that do, swear they hear her breathing.

 Over the years, those children grow into knights, into masters and grandmasters, and then they pass into the Force. Still, the tradition survives, for a time, until one day, when the new Temple has become old and known many Councils, the chamber passes from memory, and is lost for many centuries to come.

 But still, the soldiers look to their General for orders.

--

 The first breath is the hardest.

 Going out, the air feels abrasive and dust-filled, and her throat is drier than a desert. Then, she must try and breath in, and it’s an effort to fill lungs that have sat still for so very, very long. She coughs once, and then struggles through it, going through the motions a few times as she slowly registers her montrals ringing from the similar sounds about her.

 Finally, she looks up, eyes open and awake.

 “Orders, sir?” Rex asks.

 “Form up.”

–

Circa ??? BBY

 The Mountains were a safe place. A sacred place, to many. So when war came to Coruscant, it was to the mountains people fled.

The One-Thousand-And-One, a group of warriors who spoke no language anyone understood, but under whose strength, Coruscant stood against Alsakan [– Tion instead?]. They could never leave the Mountain, though.

—

And that’s all I managed to write out, couldn’t quite figure a) what I wanted their arrival period to be like/what they did there, and b) how I wanted the present-time to work out (likely marching on the Senate building and demanding Sidious’ surrender). Ended up with some Jedi-negative things in there that I'm not entirely sure where they came from (probably something emerging from my frustrations with Christianisation on mythology). May have been a bit uncharitable.

Much as I kinda like the framing of current day swapping back and forth with older and older eras, I don't think I'm coming back to this version - I think I prefer the more recent ideas related to the chamber's unveiling in more modern eras, and drama resulting therefrom.

[scribescrawls]

Tarnma Time Travel Au WIP Screenshot/Snippet

It seems like Tarn and Pharma getting very drunk together won in the poll so here is a part of that scene here! :D