Not even a “small artist”… a tiny little artist is more accurate.
⚠️ OC x CANON friendly ⚠️
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🩶 All Kallus fanarts (no OCs here)
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[About me]
🇨🇿 | artist wannabe | rookie writer | gamer
🩶 I’m still kinda new to Star Wars. I’m also fanon-blind and a multi-shipper and I love agent Kallus.
[My Main SW OCs]
🩶 Theron Veradun (Twelfth Brother): My Imperial Inquisitor. Has a complex, slow-burn dynamic with Kallus.
🩶 Nix: A teenage Sith from the Old Republic era, currently misplaced in time.
🩶 Other SW OCs: Mei Quinn / Caelis Thane
[My fics]
🩶 A Sith Out of Time: A heads-up... When I started writing this, I had no idea where the story was going. The tone shifts quite a lot along the way, especially with the arrival of the Twelfth Brother/Theron
🩶 Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This): oc/canon one-shot (Theron/Kallus)
I’m starting to think he didn’t inherit many genes from his great-great-great-great-great… [~120 "greats" later] …great uncle Malgus. Where did the terrifying Sith Lord vibe go, Theron?!
I wanted to know what made you decide to start drawing Kallus with a chinstrap style beard? Where it's filled in along his chin.
I think it looks really good on him and I've never seen anyone else draw him with his facial hair like that before. 😊
Hiii ❤️
Tbh, it started as an accident! I was working on a sketch from a low angle, and since I’m still learning, I was really struggling with how to draw his canon facial hair from that view (everything just looked stupid). So I started messing around… and it just stuck! Now I jokingly headcanon that he just can’t grow a full beard properly
Also I love when artists tweak canon designs to better fit their artstyle.. like in the DC fandom where everyone has a bit different version of Jason Todd...
So, I spent today working on Part 2 of my fic... But if I tried to share any WIPs from it, I would spoil the entire ending of Part 1...
So instead, I thought I could share some of my favorite scenes from published chapters once in a while. So... here is one of my favorite moments from Chapter 37.
This is back when Theron started helping Kallus with his rebel spy business. It’s the moment Theron panic-invented the nickname “Lex” for Kallus, and how Kallus used weaponized logic to win the right to call Theron by his actual name.
CW: Explicit language
Characters: OC Inquisitor (Twelfth Brother), Alexsandr Kallus
Word count: 1 189
The TIE Reaper stood ready on the platform. Kallus waited a short distance away, hands clasped behind his back—an embodiment of Imperial professionalism. And Mei, as always, moved briskly around the docking terminal, running through final checks.
‘Finally getting out of here.’
That thought alone kept him steady. Back in his ship. Away from her absurdly cozy apartment. Away from Lothal. Toward Nar Shaddaa. Toward Caelis.
“Sir,” Mei began without looking up from her datapad, “official mission objective: verify unconfirmed reports of extremist activity linked to Saw Gerrera on Nar Shaddaa. All relevant data has been uploaded to your ship’s terminal. Agent Kallus will accompany you as ISB oversight.”
“Yeah. Great,” he muttered. “Can we fly now?”
Mei finally looked up. That look again—not the professional one. The other one. The worried one that made his stomach twist.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. What now?’
“If I may ask, sir?” she said carefully. “I have noticed you have been spending quite a bit of time with Agent Kallus lately. More than usual.”
‘Shit. It must look like I’m secretly dating him. Or plotting a coup.’
He needed cover. Immediately. Something that would shut her up without sounding like a confession of treason. Something… civilian.
“Well…” he began, aiming for casual and landing somewhere closer to strangled. “That’s because… we…”
Kallus returned the look with his signature ISB stoicism, but in the Force, the Inquisitor felt a sharp, sudden spike of panic.
‘He doesn’t know. Fuck. Say something.’
Without engaging his brain, he stepped forward. His cybernetic arm shot out and hooked around Kallus’s shoulders, yanking him in. It was meant to look brotherly. In reality, he misjudged the servo strength.
Kallus stumbled sideways into him and went rigid. His hand reflexively snapped toward his blaster before he remembered who was holding him.
“Because me and… Lex… we go way back,” the Inquisitor blurted.
‘Lex? Where the fuck did Lex come from?!’
The nickname hung in the air for a while. Heat crawled up his neck. There was no backing out now.
“We’re… old friends,” he pressed on, forcing what he assumed was a smile. “Right… Lex?”
For a split second, Kallus froze. His eyes widened, unclear whether from the name or the crushing weight of the cybernetic arm around his neck. Then his training kicked in. Kallus inhaled, relaxed his posture, and even gave the Inquisitor a light pat on the back.
“Correct.” Kallus rasped once he managed a breath beneath the mechanical pressure. “We maintain… informal ties. Dating back to an operation on Onderon.”
‘Of course he picks Onderon...’
The Inquisitor finally released him. Kallus exhaled visibly, took a subtle step away, and smoothed his collar with a quick, almost neurotic gesture.
“Ancient history,” the Inquisitor added with a dismissive wave. “You know how it is. ISB and the Inquisitorius. High Command doesn’t like us getting too… uh… cozy. Security, fraternization… Blah blah, bad for morale.”
“Precisely,” Kallus added smoothly, breath and expression fully restored. “It may create the perception of compromised objectivity and bias in decision-making.”
“I see.” Mei’s gaze dropped briefly from the Inquisitor’s arm back to his face. Her lips curved into a faint, knowing smile. “Understood. Your… discreet alliance… stays between us. Inquisitor. Agent.”
The way she said that last word sent a cold blade down his spine. She probably knew they were lying. Or worse… she thought something far more scandalous. His fake smile vanished as abruptly as a powered-down holoscreen.
‘Fuck this…’
“Fine. Lex. Move. We’re wasting time.” Without another word, he turned and strode up the ramp into the Reaper.
The Inquisitor sat in the pilot’s chair, his dark gaze locked on Kallus as the agent finally boarded. The moment the ramp sealed, he did not wait for Kallus to sit down before initiating the start-up sequence. The TIE Reaper’s engines roared to life with a deep growl, as if they shared their pilot’s mood.
“Finally, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered and yanked the ship off the landing platform with unnecessary force.
Kallus secured himself into the copilot’s seat. He remained silent for a moment, smoothing the creases in his uniform that had resulted from that… embrace.
“We need to address the… nickname,” Kallus said into the cockpit’s low hum. “Lex?”
The Inquisitor did not answer. He focused on punching through the upper atmosphere, jaw tight. He wanted off Lothal. Away from Mei. Away from that humiliating circus.
“That… distortion has never been used by anyone in my entire life,” Kallus continued. “No one calls me that.”
The ship shuddered as they broke into open space. The black vacuum swallowed them whole.
“Well,” the Inquisitor snapped, feeding in hyperspace coordinates without looking at him, “apparently I do… Friend.”
‘The idiot’s offended by that? I had to say something, didn’t I?’
“You’re Alexsandr, right?” he went on. “That’s long. Too… Imperial. Lex sounds civilian. Friendly. I needed something that didn’t sound like I was filing a fucking report.”
“Understood. Field improvisation.” Kallus replied evenly. “In that case, the cover needs to go both ways. If I’m to be ‘Lex’, I can hardly call my… friend ‘the Inquisitor’ in public.”
He turned his head, expression perfectly blank. “By that logic, I’ll call you… Theron.”
The Inquisitor’s hands locked instinctively around the controls. That name again. In the confined cockpit, it cracked like a blaster shot.
“I’m sure I told you to never let that fucking name leave your mouth again,” he growled. His voice dropped dangerously low.
“No,” Kallus answered calmly, ignoring the threat entirely. “If we are to maintain the illusion of familiarity before Lieutenant Quinn, rank-based address is counterproductive. We need an alternative.”
He paused. “If the name is unacceptable… then it comes from your title. A diminutive. Something… friendlier.”
“What the fuck?” The Inquisitor whipped around in his seat, eyebrow arched. “Speak Basic, Lex.”
“Inky,” Kallus said with the gravity of a death sentence. “Short. Direct. And… memorable.”
The Twelfth Brother stared at him. He waited for the smirk. The joke. Anything… But Kallus sat there with his face composed, as though he had just solved a logistical bottleneck in supply distribution. He had taken Inquisitor’s own logic and turned it into a trap. Either accept Theron—or endure the most humiliating nickname in galactic history.
‘He’s fucking with me. He thinks this is a rational argument. Shit. He won.’
A green light blinked on the console. Hyperspace route calculated. The Inquisitor turned back to the controls and, with far more force than necessary, slammed the hyperdrive lever forward. Stars stretched into streaks of blue-white light as the Reaper jumped.
Only once the engines settled into their steady hyperspace hum did he exhale, long and defeated.
“Fine,” he muttered, not looking at him. “You win. You can call me by my stupid fucking name.”
“Very well,” Kallus replied. His tone remained level, but the Inquisitor would have sworn there was the faintest microscopic trace of satisfaction beneath it. “…Theron.”
The Inquisitor pinched the bridge of his nose, exhausted by the mission… and by his copilot. “Fuck you, Lex.”
