The Concept Of Sith Kenobi Wont Leave Me Alone. And While I Love The Swap Of Factions For Him And Maul,

The concept of Sith Kenobi won’t leave me alone. And while I love the swap of factions for him and Maul, bruv, Sith Obi-Wan AND canon Maul is burrowing itself into my drawing spaces, and I just—

Dooku managing to turn Obi-Wan on Geonosis?

The consequences of losing the Great Negotiator at the start of the War?

The consequences of an abandoned Anakin?

Renegade Ventress? Meeting this fellow fallen Jedi in Obi-Wan?

Savage and Feral very much alive, with their brother living in darkness on Lotho Minor?

Mother Talzin making plans?

Oh no. I have ideas. Oh no.

Oh no.

Far Above

——

We don’t know where we’ll fall

——

This Dathomiri Zabrak is ruining my life.

Interlude: Thanks, Buddy

——

Making friend-shaped pals~

The boys have opinions.

Vacant

——

It’s spooky season, but make it ✨aesthetic✨

No Place (Like Home)

Welcome Home! Does anyone else remember this show?

——

Listen, I don’t compose anything, but when I do I have no self control, and that color palette got me like 🌈

@partycoffin thank you for this labor of liminal nostalgic terror love, and all the parts of my brain it scratches most satisfyingly

cross-posted from my TikTok @piecesleftover

Lyrics:

There’s No Place Like Home,

There’s No Place Like Home, (Hi, Neighbor! Welcome home!)

There’s No Place Like Home, (Hello, Neighbor! Welcome home!) x5

There’s No Place Like Home…

Slowly Learning (That Life Is Okay)

——

A Little Night Music AU

I’m still writing it, never fear, it’s just slow going. I have this habit of writing completely out of order—especially since this story is based in music, and my song fixations are fickle AF.

(Excerpt from a far-away chapter) We’re Talking Away:

Moon stared at your phone—but to your dismay, he didn’t move to take it. For a moment, you were afraid Sun had been wrong—that not even this kind of olive branch would work.

When he finally moved, you nearly jerked back. He paused. Watching you. Reading you. Moon touched down onto the carpet. Then, he touched the phone at last. And he scrolled. For the longest thirty seconds of your life.

When his hand slid from the device, you frowned at his selection. It was the track you’d been looping since your talk with Sun. He’d been listening.

“…You sure? You’re not bored of this one yet?”

His eyelights shuttered briefly. Then nothing. If you didn’t know any better, you could have mistaken him for an elaborate art installation; standing like a mannequin in the neon light. His stillness in these moments still unnerved you just enough. Which was likely their intention, regardless of the fragile bridges you were rebuilding.

He lifted a hand—the lack of bells nearly startling you; an unpleasant reminder of how you got to this point. But you didn’t flinch. You promised. You waited.

Moon’s faceplate rotated, slowly, the gears clicking mutely. And slowly, gently, his fingers touched the edge of your phone again.

Tap. Tap.

You huffed.

“You’re the boss.”

You hit play.

As the first wave of synth drums pulsed in your fingers, Moon lifted off the ground once more. He regarded you, ever silent—his eyelights glowing across your face. You searched for words. Something, anything, to keep this moment from ending—to delay Moon from taking off into the dark again.

And then he’s soaring. Twisted up in that cable like aerial silk, swinging, tinny laughter floating over the familiar synthesized music. Something in your chest unclenched. You couldn’t help a smile as he passed just a bit too close, brushing your shoulder, the point of his hat nearly hitting your chin. He twirled, hooking the wire around his foot, and swung by again. Like he’s remembering how to fly.

Show off.