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ominouspuff · 2 days
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ominouspuff · 2 days
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💕💕💕💕💕
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< 3
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ominouspuff · 2 days
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your art is so !!! the colors the style the Vibes alskfjahakkfjds it’s all so good especially the star wars art it’s some of the best I’ve seen
Nom! Thank you much! I’m glad you’re enjoying; the vibes are my favorite too. :) The SW works have honestly been inspired by a lot of other artists here and in-person, in addition to (and sometimes more than) the source material; it’s been a lot of fun.
Please enjoy this thank-you flower — she looking only a little ominous-
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ominouspuff · 3 days
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No Man Left Behind / Something Worth Dying For
REQUESTS / BLOG EVENT
Request from @razzbberry - Palette #1 - Alpha-17, Cody - Death of the Cynic in Me
Notes and close-ups beneath the cut!
Notes: I think Seventeen would, both subconsciously and consciously, keep his cynicism as long as possible. It’s how he thinks the world works, but it’s also a survival tool. It’d be a very, very slow death.
It’s put to the test with Cody — not because Cody is special among his fellow clones, but because he’s one of the first that bothers to fight Seventeen on his own terms. The argument is always the same. Cody wants to talk about what he hopes to be, someday, after he is a soldier. Seventeen thinks he’s stupid to think that’s possible, or that he’d be capable. Cody knows it, and he, might not be. Seventeen thinks it’s even more stupid, in that case; what a waste of energy.
It develops. When they’re older, and in the thick of war, one day Cody risks his life for the chance to save a brother that was going to die anyway. Seventeen yells at him for fifteen minutes once he’s conscious about luck and stupidity and the trouble it’s causing Seventeen and the false hope it’s engendering in others. Cody says he can disagree all he likes, but he doesn’t give a fig, respectfully. Seventeen thinks Cody can go try to get blown up again, if he thinks so.
There’s no point fighting for a better tomorrow; they’re bought and paid for to fight for something else, FOR someone else. Seventeen is prepared for being fodder, as a result. He’s prepared for unfairness and the bleak life that they’re living. Instead he watches as Cody defeats odds time and time again, somehow managing to balance being an exceptional military leader with a secondary war to live for something more, running himself ragged and — inexplicably — gaining ground. Each of those little victories are a little death for Seventeen’s cynicism; a chipping away. A little seed of Cody’s brand of hope takes root, awkward and begrudging, fond and tentative.
Then Order 66 happens. Cody’s efforts for a better life are in vain, and Cody himself-
Cody may never know that Seventeen was right abut just how helpless they were. Now he only knows that Seventeen is a traitor, apparently, because Seventeen — for once in his life — was the lucky one and his chip malfunctioned.
And Seventeen could say ‘I told you so’. He could rest, vindicated and resigned, in the fact that every dream Cody built up and everything he thought was worth dying for is pointless, now — as he always suspected it would be.
But it isn’t fair, even by Seventeen’s standards.
“What are you doing,” Rex will rasp, caught in a strange role reversal as Seventeen paints an armor set with Cody’s golden colors. “He’s not coming back, Seventeen. He can’t. It’s pointless to keep going after him, you need to stop.”
“No,” Seventeen will answer, unbothered, “I don’t think I will.”
“We can’t — we can’t keep hoping,” Rex says, because he means he will probably have a breakdown if he imagines there is even a pitiful possibility he could save his brothers and then have to turn away from that scrappy chance for the greater good and Rebellion, and all that. “We’ve got to move on.”
“Go on.” Seventeen will invite sincerely, one brow raised because he knows Rex better than that.
“Do you want him to shoot you?” Rex will finally yell, all knotted up at the thought of losing Seventeen too, even though it’s funny because Seventeen was never kind to Rex.
“He can try,” Seventeen will say, touching up the last of the paint. He will stand, wiping his fingers, and pick up his pack. “See you when we get back, then.”
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ominouspuff · 4 days
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Experimentation (Cooking something, lately)
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ominouspuff · 4 days
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Longing (The River of Ash)
This one is for you two @ivvmell @ominouspuff cause you both chose the same palette for Fox. The vibe changed midway through so I ended up taking a lot of liberties with the execution
I probably won't be taking any new requests cause a lot have piled up and I'm not even sure I can finish the ones already there. Just a heads up
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ominouspuff · 9 days
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bathtime
REQUESTS / BLOG EVENT
From my niece (off-tumblr) - Palette #4 - Anakin, Ahsoka - Bubbles, Slice of life
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ominouspuff · 10 days
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queenly iterations
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ominouspuff · 10 days
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Tears on Kamino
CC-2224 didn’t know why the other boy was crying, but he didn’t need to. All he needed to do was pull his fingers over a shaved scalp, slowly so as not to startle, and try not to let on how curious he was to see the way the tears dripped in odd shapes down the hot, red, twisted face.
They were hidden, huddled up together — actually hidden, not just sticking to shadows in the open, because if tears weren’t, the odds were against them that things would get official, and nothing good ever came of something getting official. The closets had no cameras nor microphones, and the one they’d crammed into (seventh basement level, thirty paces from Engineering and the guards at its door) was in disrepair — was in line for being decommissioned, in fact. The Kaminoans were meticulous.
But it wasn’t decommissioned yet, so CC-2224 knew it would be the perfect place the instant that he’d pieced together that his new companion was about three seconds away from bursting into tears. They’d made it to the door in under two, but it had taken a bit of jostling and bony elbows jammed into sensitive places that might’ve accelerated the whole ‘tears’ business. 
They were here now, anyway, and they were safe. CC-2224 considered the maneuver a success.
“Hey,” He said, and it was a useless thing to say but he’d heard that the majority of what was said to crying things was supposed to be useless. Apparently there was something distracting and comforting about just — being chattered to. So CC-2224 did his best. “Our rations are made from bugs. I would’ve guessed fish, but they don’t have the nutrients. Plus fishing is a dignitary sport anyway-”
“Would you - shut up -” The other boy interrupted wetly, heaving with great big breaths that diminished his chest to half its size with every gasp. His face was — if possible — redder than before. His brown eyes were sharp, and they were glaring at CC-2224 from beneath his brows, hardened with a painful-looking panic. “Just- stop talking.”
CC-2224 digested this request (such as it was) in silence, weighing the odds that the boy knew better than he did what was needed. He scrutinized the glare in the dim lighting, but it was clear and steady enough. CC-2224 nodded agreement, lips sealing tight. He kept stroking the shorn head, the space so tight between them that all he had to do was swivel his wrist a little — the boy hadn’t asked him to stop that, and he hoped he wouldn’t think to.
He signed with his free hand instead of speaking, furrowing his brow to clarify it was a question.
The boy’s glare wilted slightly as he focused on tracking the signs. Finally he blew out a shaky gust of air. “CT-7567.” He said, and it was very strange to hear him try to put firmness and confidence into it when he could still barely breathe without hiccuping. “You could tell that by checking my code anyways.” He explained defensively — as if he thought CC-2224 might judge him harshly for revealing it or pounce on some kind of opportunity.
Then again, if CC-2224 hadn’t just dragged them both into a protected space, it would’ve been smart to be suspicious — and he would have had to investigate a bit to find the other boy’s code. Seeing as CC-2224 had done all sorts of helpful stuff, though, the second-guessing was a poor show — one that immediately made CC-2224 that much more certain that CT-7567 had been crying because he was an idiot.
He’d heard that, in some places, ‘idiot’ was just an insult. It wasn’t that way on Kamino. Idiots didn’t last long; the Kaminoans were, after all, meticulous about utility. Closets weren’t the only things getting decommissioned. Pretty common reason to cry as far as CC-2224 figured, and it would explain their current predicament.
It was enough to grim up any vod, but there might be hope yet. 
CC-2224 settled his back against the wall, breathing deeply, and imagined he could see the sim-walls — that he could read the fake mission update on the holo, letters glowing, challenging him to find a way to beat it. (Pretending helped him think faster. Being too confident was a weakness, but if CC-2224 knew anything, it was that he was very good at this.)
There were immediate gaps in information he needed for the mission’s resolution — holes that needed filling before he could pick the next direction. His hand moved almost of its own accord, signing fast and hard. 
CT-7567 watched, his breathing evening out by painful increments, brows furrowed in concentration where another cadet would have followed easily. (CC-2224 held his breath at what that might indicate about CT-7567’s intelligence, and he resisted an urge to suck his teeth.)
“Stop, stop,” CT-7567 finally snapped, flapping a hand right into the middle of the signs. “They haven’t taught us that, yet — I only know pieces. Talk instead.” 
“Oh, good, I thought you were stupid.” CC-2224 said in relief, and startled when the other boy hit him hard on the shoulder. “What? It’s not uncommon. If you had been, you’d be dead soon.” He snapped, narrowing his eyes and leaning backwards.
CT-7567’s red face blanched, both splotchy and pale at once, and CC-2224 nearly got distracted by how different it made him look. Later. He could think about it later, when CT-7567 wasn’t in danger anymore.
“Stop panicking.” CC-2224 said, and it came out a bit nasty, but his shoulder was still aching. CT-7567 hit hard. “What’s your defect?”
CT-7567’s fear turned to outright terror, but they were so far beyond that now it was almost silly to see. CC-2224 was no Kami, nor a Good One — if he had been, he’d have reported CT-7567 from the start just to get an edge.
(Among clones, it was a taboo question. It still got asked, but only as a last resort; usually quietly, to a terrified boy in a corner with several others hemming him in, trapping and shielding all at once. Tell us, the braver ones would say, maybe we can help. 
Sometimes they did help. Other times they made things official. ‘Identifying and reporting issues’ was something high-functioning property was supposed to be good at. They liked how following procedure made things easier for them, and if it didn’t come at the expense of another clone, CC-2224 might not have blamed them.)
CT-7567 stared at him like he’d damned the name of Nala Se herself. But just as CC-2224 was bracing himself to hear something stupid, like ‘what defect?’, CT-7567’s eyes narrowed and his spine straightened and CC-2224 suddenly knew — 
‘Idiot’ wasn’t the defect. The defect wasn’t even in that category. CT-7567 was just smaller than CC-2224 had figured, and there was something more serious going on — something big and obvious and unfixable that made little things helpless the bigger they got, the more it grew, the harder it was to conceal. Helpless vod got desperate, and sometimes acted like idiots, but that didn’t make them one. 
“You’ve got your hand on it.” CT-7567 said cryptically, but blessedly (for the sake of CC-2224’s dwindling patience and proportionally increasing anxiety) followed up with: “My hair. It’s wrong; gets white splotches when it grows.”
Ah. Actually, CC-2224 knew something about things like that. “That why you have it shaved?” He clarified. The buzz felt nice under his fingers.
“Yes.” CT-7567 muttered. “But the splotches are getting bigger.”
Bleaching. CC-2224 knew even more about that, though not from experiencing it personally. 
Bleaching was common. It meant that hair began to lighten in odd places or patterns — usually before maturity, but some unfortunates were late bloomers.
CC-2224 had once caught a glimpse of a fully fledged CT being transferred on a hover bed to decommissioning, hair speckled with white. It had been a shock to realize it could happen that late — that they couldn’t be sure they were safe, even after maturing.
There were some solutions he knew of already, but they were difficult, and resources limited. Even the best ones relied on luck so heavily that CC-2224’s nose wrinkled, and he bent himself to the task of thinking up other solutions. 
Five minutes of silence and thoughts and buzz beneath his fingertips ticked by before CT-7567 brought CC-2224’s awareness abruptly back into the closet. 
“Your fingers are trembling.” He said, so much steadier now — maybe because he was focusing on someone else’s problem. CC-2224 knew the feeling well; if a clone wasn’t careful, they could get obsessed with it, to the point they forgot to take care of their own business entirely — and that ended in death too, of one sort or another.
“They do that,” He said distractedly, stifling the spark of irritation that being interrupted ignited in his chest — like a petty little mouth full of sharp teeth, nipping at his ribs. He focused on the buzz beneath his fingers. “They do it when I’m thinking. I like solving problems.”
“Oh.” There was a lot in that ‘oh’, but CC-2224 couldn’t spare much brainpower to track it — he was using it on other things. Then, after a pause, CT-7567 quietly said: “Thank you.”
“Haven’t solved anything yet. Thank me when I do.” CC-2224 pointed out — this time with significant impatience at being interrupted — and CT-7567 grunted in acknowledgement of the wisdom behind that, at least.
CC-2224 thought harder, holding his jaw carefully loose so he wouldn’t chew his lip. The silence stuffed his ears full, and he danced from idea to problem, from solution to unexpected flaw, until there were no more flaws and his lip hurt because he’d forgotten not to chew it.
The closet came back into clarity, and CC-2224 stilled his shaking hand. He couldn’t quite contain his grin, though. “Got it.” He said — and because he really did have it, he let his pride show. With luck, it would help reassure CT-7567 it was true, and he’d be confident instead of second-guessing everything. “C’mon. We’re going to need a few things.”
They spent the next few minutes trying to do damage-control on CT-7567’s unbelievably splotched face. 
CC-2224 donated his socks to the cause, wetting them in the sanitization pump (it leaked on his bare feet, but he offered that up as a painful necessity), and wiping the tears away methodically. CT-7567 bore it stoically, every ounce of his will bent on forestalling more tears — and he managed it. His skin went back to normal and his pinkish eyes cleared up. They couldn’t help the swelling of his lids and nose, but that was a manageable risk.
CC-2224 did some rinsing and ringing out, then put his slightly soggy socks back on, sealing his boots up just as he would for a dry pair, already resigned to the blisters. CT-7567 dithered a bit, watching with a distracted nervousness and looking ready to suggest they wait out the swelling too, but wisely thinking better of it. They’d been in the closet for fifteen minutes already; any longer would definitely be too much of a risk for being noticed.
“On me.” CC-2224 said authoritatively once he was done with his boots, and at first it felt silly to include the other boy in pretending, but CT-7567 straightened and took it seriously and calmed in an instant, and CC-2224 felt vindicated that he’d guessed the right approach — that he wasn’t the only one who liked this tactic. 
“Sir yessir.” CT-7567 said — and the unexpected honorific hit CC-2224 like a battering ram. 
It felt — Bad. Strange. His mouth dried, and he blinked slower so he could hide a moment in the black behind his lids. 
Mission, they were on a mission, and CC-2224 was a commander, like he was supposed to be. He needed his brain working fast and his CT obeying faster, if this was going to work. 
“Let’s go.” He croaked, a bit hoarse, a bit excited. (His hands still trembled a bit when he opened the door.)
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ominouspuff · 11 days
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ominouspuff · 13 days
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2023 ocean critter paints from the art bin
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ominouspuff · 14 days
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Last Line Challenge
Rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like). 
Tagged by @chiliger (It’s on (again))
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I have a few pieces I work on in-between bigger WIP’s, when I’m giving my hands a break from details — this is one. Concept-Maul design for my RepGA AU, from a sheet of concept designs for him. Last line was my signature again, but before that it was adding lines to imply a belt
I can’t remember who I’ve spammed forgive me: No-pressure tagging to @rackcty, @rooksnooks, @omaano, and my apparently-partner in tagging crimes @frostbitebakery (I have two more last-line tags from you don’t worry I haven’t forgot)
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ominouspuff · 17 days
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gimme one of the interactive week art wips!! Hehe your art is so good!
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On these I will be pretty mum on descriptions or explanations, to preserve a lil’ surprise elements for myself and the requester - but here’s one in the works!
Thank you so much — I’m glad you’re enjoying!!
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ominouspuff · 20 days
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;w; Untitled please, gutpuncher was too aptly named
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This one is not in a specific AU; it’s just some scroobling around with scenes of a Victory!AU and what follows. (There is an extremely undignified dance eventually.) Imagine the end-scene of the Return of the Jedi where there are parties on every planet, but with the Clones present and shouldering a healthy share of the event management load just by taking initiative and partying the hardest they can.
UNTITLED - BOOT-SCOOTIN’ VICTORY - Smol Snippet:
One might have thought it would be an awkward position for a general to be suddenly on equal footing with his subordinates, ranks dispensed with and titles tossed like so many petals into the air. When the general in question is one Obi-Wan Kenobi, it is no such thing.
Beneath the vast dome of the senate’s rotunda, surrounded on all sides by bodies and noise, Obi-Wan watches the crowd of men before him instead of the senator still speaking to him, grinning so broadly he’s sure his cheeks will split. 
Every threat is gone. The case is won. They are free men.
Obi-Wan can see familiar faces amid the sea of mirrored features. He is possessed with the urge to grab each set of hands, seize faces and shoulders and laugh into messy, sweaty hair that smells of life and living. The impulse is not his own — his own feelings well low and deep in his gut, incandescently overjoyed, but not so bubbling. His fingertips twitch with it. Like a swelling wave he rides the immaterial singing force in the air, maintaining his position within it, hands clasped at his back. 
Waxer is dancing, Obi-Wan thinks; although he makes a show of redefining the word. Boil is laughing from his knees, eyes screwed shut and face upturned, something wet in the sound. 
(More happy-vibing sightseeing from Obi for a bit here, runs into a few more familiar faces, still doesn’t involve himself directly)
Obi-Wan searches the crowd again, laughing now — and catches a glimpse of Rex.
Rex is trembling with hands upraised and fingers loose, eyes glazed wide with shock, caught up in what looks to be a painfully tight embrace with Obi-wan’s very own Marshall-Commander-no-more. Cody’s close-shorn head buries into the other’s neck-guard, his gloved fingers squealing where they grip at plastoid, armored shoulders rigid and still. They are still as statues compared to the heaving throng of clones around them.
Obi-Wan excuses himself from the throng of watching senators poorly, his voice reduced to a thread, his words tumbling gracelessly, conflicting needs to laugh or burst into messy tears tearing painfully at the corners of his mouth. 
Sluggishly he moves, and when he finally quits the halls it is with backwards steps into helpful shadows, because — Force have mercy on a giddy fool, but joy renders Obi-Wan an indecisive man who cannot pick which glimpse must be his last.
END SNIPPET
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ominouspuff · 20 days
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not a part of the wip game but DAMN your colours????? your backgrounds???? breathtaking every time, you have such an eye for atmosphere its incredible
Nom, this is so kind of you to share. I am INTENSELY GLAD to hear this. Please accept this thank-you flower that got a bit out of hand
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Thank you so much!!!
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ominouspuff · 21 days
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Hello! Can I know more about the "Old Friend" wip, please? 🥺
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You may indeed friend. Buckle up for 100% post-war Old!Rex and Cody shenanigans, VERY WIP.
This one isn’t set in any AU in particular, it’s just wholesome happy-ending tooth-rotting popcorn fluff. The idea is that Rex and Cody meet up and throw mud at each other on a beach, away from everything and anything else, before rejoining The Group of Very Alive Vod’e somewhere where they rebuild, create, and live.
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ominouspuff · 21 days
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!! WIP game!! I’d love to learn more about “a day in the life of a corrie” and “rain rain go away” (I forecast tears for that one probably). Feel free to tag me in reply to others’ asks if this is a duplicate! 🤩💯🙌
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(@lunaemoth too, I am sorry, it is a sad one)
For RepGA spoiler-purposes I will not be identifying who Boba is having a breakdown over, but it is not Jango. I have a sad (unedited) ditty for it, funnily enough.
“Rain rain go away, leave the blood to stay
He veins are thirsty his eyes are dark
His color’s going grey
In my hands the red is stark
My life for to pay
Rain rain stop your play, don’t wash my friend away”
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