#Canvas by Life Republic

[realestateinsight1]

Discover Canvas by Life Republic’s show flat walkthrough. Because a home isn’t just a place—it’s a feeling. 🏡✨ At Canvas, Life Republic by Kolte Patil, spacious living means more room for your dreams, memories, and everything that makes your house a home. With #BiggerCarpetBetterPrice create a space you’ve always dreamed of.

[beautyofaphrodite]

Venus and Cupid

I’ve been creating little deep dives into art depictions of Lady Aphrodite/Venus as a devotional act to Her! Today’s painting is Venus and Cupid by Titan.

Titian

Tiziano Vecellio, more commonly known as Titian , was born c. 1488-1490 in the Republic of Venice and died August 27, 1576 in Venice. This Italian was very influential in the style of Renaissance Venetian painting. He was successful throughout his whole life and was very versatile, talented at painting portraits, landscapes, as well as mythical and religious subjects.

Description of the Painting

Venus, sitting on the ground and leaning against a tree, holds the hands of the infant Cupid. Venus wears a red and white dress and has long brunette hair. Cupid is nude and holds an arrow. The background shows a river, mountains, a few trees, and a city.

About the Painting

Oil on canvas

Created 1510-1515

111 x 139 cm; 43.7 x 54.7 in

Held in the Wallace Collection in London

[pmamtraveller]

JAN DE BAEN - THE CORPSES OF THE DE WITT BROTHERS, 1675

In 1672, the major European powers united and launched an attack on the Dutch Republic, posing a danger of overwhelming the nation. This cost the De Witt brothers, Johan and Cornelis, their lives. De Baen's artwork illustrates their lifeless bodies suspended at the Groene Zoodje on the Vijverberg in The Hague. Johan de Witt served as the Pensionary (the actual leader) of Holland, the most influential province. He was killed by a carefully planned lynch "mob" following his visit to his brother Cornelis de Witt in jail. He was lured into this trap by a forged letter.

The aftermath of this interaction, captured in this artwork, is disturbing, to say the least. Stripped of their garments, the siblings were suspended upside down from a wooden beam. They were castrated and disemboweled. Protesters severed fingers, toes, tongues, and noses to trade as keepsakes. A man is thought to have twisted the neck of a stray cat, the carcass of which he inserted into the open cavity where Cornelis’ penis used to be. Every bruise, cut, and amputation was integrated into the artwork.

Witness accounts assert that Johan's body was displayed higher than that of his brother. The rioters did so because he held the most powerful office in the country, and this aspect was noted by de Baen as he envisioned his artwork. As the De Witts lost numerous distinguishing features, it becomes challenging to identify which of the two figures in "Corpses" is supposed to represent which brother. Thankfully, an inscription on the back of the canvas dispels much of the ambiguity:

These are the corpses of Johan and Cornelis de Witt, made by a prominent painter from life as they hung from the post at eleven o’clock in the evening. Cornelis is the one without a wig. Johan de Witt still has his own hair

The painter was, after all, not present at the lynching. Other draftsmen were, and their sketches appeared in newspapers that de Baen then cross referenced to construct his own version of the events. Despite his remoteness from the incident, his interpretation continues to be treated as a kind of hand-painted photograph: an honest, accurate, and reliable depiction of a historical event.

[miffy-junot]

'The intimate yet posed nature of The Emperor Napoleon in his study at the Tuileries introduced an unusually modern dimension into the iconography of portraits of sovereigns. The painting probably represented the basis of portraits of French heads of state from the July Monarchy to the Fifth Republic. It was not commissioned by the Emperor, however, but by a powerful Scot, the Marquis of Douglas, the future 10th Duke of Hamilton 1767-183, who was infatuated by French art and was a fervent admirer of Napoleon. Douglas wanted a portrait of the Emperor, because he was fascinated by the Great Man and because he wanted to resuscitate the old alliance between France and Scotland. In fact, he commissioned other royal portraits' to adorn his castle and, in the British tradition, to symbolise his pretensions to the throne (Haskell 1975). His letter was sent to David via the painter and dealer Ferréol Bonnemaison in August 1811. The artist, who had never been happy with his official portraits of the Emperor, all rejected, accepted immediately; he must also have felt flattered that his reputation had gone beyond the boundaries of the Empire. He delivered the canvas the following year. The requirements of the Marquis were very precise. David should 'commit to the canvas the features of the Great Man and represent him during one of those events that have made his name immortal'.

[...]

In the painting delivered by David, the Emperor, wearing the blue uniform of a colonel in the Foot Grenadiers of the Imperial Guards, is standing in front of his desk, beside a ceremonial chair designed by David and located in the Grand Cabinet in the Tuileries, rather than in Napoleon's study. On the back wall, the hands of the clock stand at 4.13 am; the candles are almost burnt out, giving us to understand that the Emperor has been working all night. He is preparing to don the sword that is lying on the chair and to review his troops. It seems that David did not meet the expectations of the Marquis fully; Douglas was probably hoping for the depiction of an exceptional action, which would serve to identify the Great Man. In the painting, the artist discards the exceptional in favour of the habitual, the exterior in favour of a carefully staged intimacy: 'I have represented him pursuing the activity that is most habitual to him, work,' wrote David to the Scottish aristocrat on 8 May 1812. During the process in which the incarnation of the 'Great Man' takes over from his apotheosis, David emphasises (at first glance) the realism of the portrait. On the one hand, the accessories (desk, sword, uniform) are all painted from life, and, on the other, the artist has depicted Napoleon's features with painstaking accuracy, striving for a good likeness: the dishevelled hair, the rings under the eyes and the paunch, emphasised by the whiteness of the breeches. Alexandre Lenoir praised the portrait for being 'the best likeness that has ever been done of the Emperor'.

[...]

David, who used accessories sparingly in his portraits, introduces a lot of them here, painted with great accuracy, for example, the candlestick. They require close attention because, surrounding the figure as they do, they bear the weight of the symbolic narration requested by the Marquis; they would have been omitted from a run-of-the-mill portrait. The allusion to the great men of antiquity is not provided by busts, but by a book: Plutarch's Lives of the Noble Greeks and Romans on the footing of the desk. The uniform, the sword placed on the chair, the map on which David has placed his signature all betray the man of action, the general-in-chief in the classical tradition, the hero in its revolutionary sense. The lion, which acts as the foot of the bureau, painted in a highly realistic way from the front, is like an echo of the figure. Should we interpret this as an allusion to the Emperor's sign of the zodiac (he was born on 15 August), or as a puzzle connected with Napoleon's own name?Whatever the intention behind the lion, it adds an element of determination to the figure of the 'Great Man'. On the desk, the pen and papers inform us that Napoleon has spent the night drafting legislation.

[...]

David started restoring the sovereign's image with this exceptional painting. Unencumbered by the traditional attributes of power or the ostentation connected with it, Napoleon is portrayed as a modern statesman; the sources of his greatness and the justification of his power are to be found within him. In some ways, David rejects transcendence in favour of immanence; the man is placed at the heart of the representation and the expressive value proper to a portrait is reaffirmed. David proves that the realism inherent in the genre can convey the idea it embodies, and that the tension between truth and decorum, between the myth and its incarnation, at work in the portrait of a ruler, can be resolved without forgoing appearances.'

source: Citizens and Kings - portraits in the age of revolution 1760-1830

[portrait-paintings]

The Artist in His Museum

Artist: Charles Wilson Peale (American, 1741-1827)

Subject: Self-Portrait

Date: 1822

Medium: Oil on canvas

Collection: Pennsylvania Academy of Fine Arts, Philadelphia, PA, United States

The Artist in His Museum - Charles Willson Peale

Throughout his long life, Charles Willson Peale continually strove to improve the civic and artistic life both of his adopted city and the young republic. Besides founding two art academies - including the Pennsylvania Academy - and the nation's first museum, he was the patriarch of an artistic dynasty that carried out his ideals. Peale thus disseminated culture both within the family sphere and in the wider world. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the remarkable self-portrait he executed at the age of eighty-one. With more than a touch of the showman, Peale literally raises the curtain to reveal the wonders of his collection, then located in the long gallery of Independence Hall. Peale's museum offered a cabinet of curiosities to instruct and entertain the spectators, from the wild turkey at the lower left, to the skeleton of the mastodon he had exhumed and brought to Philadelphia at the right. Cages in the background display natural history specimens, while above them portraits of American worthies celebrate the heroes of the new country. Significantly, the visitors are in family groups, echoing Peale's commitment to education. Part advertisement, part philosophical statement, "The Artist in His Museum" stands as a triumphant artistic and historical accomplishment.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Watch and Learn, City Boy (Taylor's Version)

Rating: Mature/18+/Minors DNI

Pairing: Sergeant Hound x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.8k

Warnings: fluff; SMUT; oral sex; PIV; playful partners; sex in a tent; dirty talk; Grizzer has seen some shit.

A/N: This was originally written for the Writer Wednesday week 1 challenge, and if you'd prefer to read a smut-free version, you can find it here. If you like spicy lemons, keep reading!

Want to read more Hound goodness? Check out this fic by @imarvelatthestars

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“Remind me why we’re doing this, again?” Hound grumbles as the two of you wrangle a pile of tent poles and canvas.

“Because the hotel didn’t allow massiffs,” you say, grunting a bit as you struggle with the heavy tent.

Technically, the hotel doesn’t allow clones, either, but you leave that unsaid. You had booked the room, paid the pet deposit, and traveled from Coruscant to Alderaan, only to be abruptly turned away at check-in. Before you left, you told the hotel concierge your opinion of their corporate bigotry, and now you are also banned for life. And so here the three of you are, setting up an ancient, decrepit canvas tent that you dug out of your parents’ attic.

Well, technically the two of you are setting up the tent while Grizzer explores your campsite, sniffing the lush greenery of Alderaan with interest. The massiff is accustomed to the hard plastcrete and rancid smells of Coruscant, and you wonder if she’s ever been in nature before.

“Relax,” you say. “I did this all the time growing up. It’ll be fun!”

“Sleeping in the dirt and eating rations is your idea of fun?” Hound asks.

“The tent has a floor,” you point out, “and believe me, we can do better than rations.”

Eventually, you wrestle the tent into submission and get two bedrolls laid out inside. The scent of old canvas, saturated with woodsmoke and memories, pulls you right back to your childhood: camping under the stars, swimming in the lake, lying in the sand and exploring the world around you. You can almost hear the shrieks of laughter and your father’s deep baritone as he sings a lullaby to you and your siblings.

You hang up a few strings of twinkle lights, and then, satisfied with the cozy little retreat you’ve created, you go back outside to get a campfire started. Hound is standing with his arms crossed, looking decidedly unimpressed with the entire situation.

“Has it occurred to you that there are wild animals in these woods?” he asks. “Gree told me about the wolf-cats of Alderaan.”

“Grizzer will keep us safe,” you reassure him. “Won’t you, girl? Who’s my sweet baby?”

Grizzer wiggles happily over to you and nuzzles into your chest as you squat to scritch behind her ear holes.

“Grizzer, have some dignity, for kark’s sake,” Hound says. “You are a soldier of the Republic, not a pampered lap-tooka.”

Grizzer ignores him and flops onto her back to beg for belly rubs. Seeing the way you fawn over the massiff, Hound can’t help but smile, remembering the day he met you.

“Grizzer! NO!” Hound chased after the bolting massiff as she charged an unsuspecting civilian in the middle of Monument Plaza. Grizzer had yanked the leash out of his hands and was running full-tilt through the scattering crowds. Too late, he saw her target: you. You were standing in the sun, laughing with a street vendor, and Hound would have taken a moment to appreciate your beauty if you hadn’t been directly in the path of certain doom. “Grizzer!” he shouted again. “Heel!” You turned toward the commotion with only a few meters between you and the charging massiff. Hound fought the urge to close his eyes before Grizzer launched herself and savaged you, but then something completely unexpected happened. You called out a word in a strange language, and the massiff skidded to a halt in front of you. You allowed her to sniff your hand, and then you pulled something out of your pocket and offered it to her. She took the treat and licked your hand as Hound finally caught up, heaving with exertion. “Sorry, ma’am,” he panted. “She slipped her leash. I don’t know what got into her.” You smiled up at him, and his heart thudded with more than just adrenaline when he saw the way your eyes sparkled. “She just smelled the treats,” you said with a shrug. “We always had massiffs when I was growing up, and I never got out of the habit of carrying a few treats in my pockets. I hope it’s all right that I gave her one; I really didn’t want to lose a hand.” In that moment, Hound knew he was utterly lost.

“Awww, is Daddy grumpy?” you coo at Grizzer as you rub her belly. “Is he a Cranky McGrumperson? Is he spreading his grumpy energy all over our campsite because he’s afraid to get his hands dirty?”

You shoot Hound a teasing look, and he stalks over to you, pulling you away from Grizzer and into his arms for a kiss. You sigh happily. You’ve been seeing Hound for a few weeks now, and you were hoping that a romantic trip to your home planet of Alderaan during his shore leave would give you an opportunity to take things to the next level. You had booked a room at a posh boutique hotel with a luxurious soaking tub and an incredible view of the mountains. Who knew the hoteliers would turn out to be gigantic dicks?

So you made a quick change of plans. You had been worried about Hound’s reaction to the idea of camping, but your other option was to take him to your parents’ home and sleep in your childhood bedroom, which… No thanks. Not the ideal setup for the intimate weekend you are planning.

You break away from Hound’s kiss feeling lightheaded. He’s an excellent kisser, and as you’ve discovered over the past weeks, a man who can kiss like that will bring a similar level of skill and enthusiasm to the bedroom (or the bedroll, as the case may be). Now all you have to do is coax him out of his sullen mood.

“Did I mention I happen to be an amazing cook?” you ask, fluttering your eyelashes.

His interest is immediately piqued. “How are you planning to cook out here?”

“Watch and learn, city boy,” you say with a grin.

One hour, two shaak steaks, and four bottles of ale later, Hound’s temper is remarkably improved. 

“Where did you learn to cook over an open fire like that?” he asks.

“My dad taught me,” you say as you pull out a deck of sabacc cards. “I told you we used to do this all the time when I was a kid. You in?”

He nods, so you shuffle and deal. 

“Your dad sounds like an interesting man,” he says. “Too bad he wasn’t home when we stopped by to get the camping gear. I’d like to meet him.”

You laugh, “Trust me, it’s better this way. You might be ready to take down the entire Separatist army, but you are not prepared for my parents’ boyfriend interrogation.”

“Boyfriend, is it?” Hound asks, his brown eyes twinkling.

“If you play your cards right,” you say with a smirk.

You play a few hands of sabacc, betting with pebbles since Hound doesn’t have any credits, and when it gets too dark to see the cards, you decide to change into pajamas. Grizzer goes into the tent with you and immediately flops down on a bedroll. When you’d packed for your trip, you were planning to be spending your nights in a luxury suite, and your choice of sleepwear was not exactly suited to the great outdoors, so you regretfully tuck away the lacy little chemise. You strip out of your clothes and pull on a pair of short shorts and an old Alderaan University hoodie—the best option you could find in your old bedroom at your parents’ house. 

When you leave the tent, Grizzer stays behind. Hound watches you with an unreadable expression, and you worry that he’s still not having a good time. It’s time to break out the big guns.

“Are you ready to have your mind blown, trooper?” you ask with a flirty look.

He sits forward immediately. “What did you have in mind?”

You bend over and rummage through the bags of groceries you’d bought on your way out of Aldera. When you straighten up, you notice his gaze lingering on your exposed legs. You toss him a packet of marshmallows.

“What are these for?” he asks.

You hand him a stick that you scavenged earlier in the day and teach him how to toast the marshmallows over the coals of the campfire. Hound’s immediately catches on fire, which you assure him is part of the experience. 

“It’s not a real s’more if the marshmallow isn’t at least thirty percent carbon,” you say.

You show him how to sandwich the resulting crispy, molten marshmallow in between layers of chocolate and sweet biscuits, and the bliss on his face when he tastes it for the first time makes the entire trip worthwhile. You haven’t eaten s’mores in years, and you’ve forgotten how rich they are. 

“I think I can only eat one,” you say.

“Not me,” he says. “I’ll eat the whole bag.”

You give him a delighted smile, pleased that he’s finally come around. Hound has such a sweet tooth. All the clones do, he tells you. Something to do with their enhanced metabolisms, and the fact that they rarely get to eat anything other than ration bars and bland mess hall food.

“These are incredible,” he mumbles around a bite. “Messy, though.”

“I can help with that,” you offer. You raise his hand to your mouth, licking the melted chocolate and marshmallow goo off his fingers. “After all, we both know you don’t like to get your hands dirty.”

His eyes widen, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. He swallows audibly. “You know, I take it back. Maybe camping isn’t so bad after all.”

You stand up and tug him to his feet, leading him to the tent. Inside, Grizzer has completely claimed one entire bedroll for herself.

“I guess we’ll have to share,” you say, already planning what kind of treat to give the massiff as a thank-you.

“Oh, no, anything but that,” Hound murmurs as he draws you close to him, running his hands down your back to squeeze your ass. “You know, with the lights on in the tent, I could see everything when you were changing.”

“Everything?” you ask, tipping your head back to gaze up into his beautiful amber eyes.

“Well, maybe not everything,” he admits. He slips a hand inside your hoodie to caress the bare skin of your back. 

“Maybe we should turn them off so we don’t scandalize all those wild animals you’re so worried about,” you tease.

“Let them watch,” he says, pulling you into a searing kiss.

Your tongue brushes against his softly. He tastes like sugar and chocolate, and you melt into him. Your hands roam over his body, sliding the jacket down his arms, tugging at his belt. You silently thank the Force that he’s wearing civvies instead of his armor. Once you’ve gotten his trousers off, you both sink to your knees onto the bedroll so you can take his shirt off without hitting the low ceiling of the tent. 

You press him backward until he’s lying down, and you move to straddle him. You’re still wearing your shorts and hoodie, and something about being fully clothed while sitting astride the very naked, very aroused man is intoxicating. You trail your hands over his smooth, brown skin, tracing his tattoos and massaging the hard muscles of his torso. He raises a hand to cup your face, and you kiss the gnarled, twisting scar on his forearm—a memento of a training accident with a young massiff. You roll your hips against him, feeling the hard length of his cock pressing against you through your shorts. He slides his hands up under your hoodie, cupping your breasts before lifting the garment off over your head. The air is chilly, and your nipples stiffen instantly.

“Oh, fuck, look at those perfect tits,” he groans. “Come here, babygirl. Let me taste you.”

You lean forward, and he captures one of your nipples in his mouth. Jolts of arousal flash through you. His large, rough hands are warm against your back, and you can’t hold back a moan of pleasure.

Grizzer huffs an annoyed snort, and without looking at the massiff, Hound commands, “Grizzer, stand guard.”

She stands with a grumble and pushes out of the tent. You hear the heavy thump as she sits down outside the opening.

“Are you telling me you could have gotten that bedroll back this whole time?” you demand with mock severity.

“Where would have been the fun in that?” Hound asks with a smug grin. “Darlin’, you look hot as kriff in those shorts, but I think it’s time to take them off.”

He holds you against his body and flips both of you over in one smooth motion so you’re lying on your back. You let out a whoop of laughter at the unexpected movement.

“Shh, you don’t want the wolf-cats to hear you and come eat us,” he teases, nipping playfully at your skin as he kisses his way down your torso.

“That’s true,” you say. “I’d rather get eaten by a Hound.”

You raise your hips, and he tugs down your shorts, then lifts your legs in the air to remove them. Before you can lie back down, he kneels and drapes your thighs over his shoulders.

“Nice trick,” you say. “Is that the kind of quick thinking that got you into ARF training?”

“They only accept the best,” he says as he lowers his face to your body.

He dips his tongue into you, sliding over your clit and into your entrance without hesitation. You arch off the bedroll with a cry, and he lays a reassuring hand on your abdomen, pressing you back down as he feasts on you. With his other hand, he strokes up and down your thigh, finally coming to rest against your ass as he grazes his thumb over your pussy. 

“Oh, fuck, Hound, don’t stop,” you whisper.

“Hmm?” he asks, pulling away. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t think the wolf-cats heard you.”

“Kriff you, Hound, shut up and eat my pussy,” you laugh, tangling your hands in his long black curls and shoving his head back down. 

He chuckles against your clit and gets back to work. Between his clever tongue and his skilled fingers, he soon has you writhing and begging beneath him, and then he does something impossibly wonderful inside you, and you shatter with a hoarse moan, squeezing your thighs around his head as you grind against his mouth.

And then he is on you, sliding into your tight heat. He fucks you without mercy, wringing a second orgasm out of you almost before you finish your first. You hold on for dear life as he pounds into you, growling words of praise and filth into your ear.

“Look at you, beautiful girl, taking my cock like a champ. Love the way you wrap those soft, perfect thighs around me, oh fuck, sweetheart. So warm, so fucking wet. Come on, baby, think you’ve got one more in you?”

You nod weakly and let out an incoherent sound, unable to form words. He reaches down to rub your clit, pressing against your lower belly. Faster than you think possible, you feel your body winding in on itself again.

“That’s my girl, my pretty girl. Fuck yeah, baby, come on—kark, you feel amazing, oh shit,” he pants. “Give me one more, honey, before I fill your sweet little pussy up with my cum. One more for your grumpy daddy, come on love.”

“YES!” you scream as the tension in your body snaps again and you convulse around his cock, bucking up against him over and over until your head is empty and your body is swamped with bliss.

He follows you into his own orgasm, thrusting hard as he empties deep inside you and collapses onto you, breathing hard. 

“Fuck, baby,” he says. “You’re incredible.”

You lie that way for a long time, tangled together, until he raises himself off of you to lie on his side as he plays with your hair. You turn to face him.

“Daddy?” you ask with a tiny smile.

He shrugs. “It felt right in the moment. Did it bother you?”

You shake your head. “Nope. Just filing it away for future reference.”

He laughs and presses a kiss to your forehead, and within moments, you fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The soft light of an early summer morning filters through the canvas of the tent. You awaken slowly, feeling deliciously warm and safe. As you drift towards consciousness, you feel weight pressing against you from both sides, and you realize that at some point during the night, Grizzer has joined you and Hound on your bedroll, sandwiching you between her and the trooper. You are wrapped securely in Hound's strong arms, your legs tangled between his, and his fingers are interlaced with yours. You hear the melodic chirpings of avian-song outside the tent, and you snuggle closer to Hound, feeling his warm, even breaths against your shoulder, and lower, something suspiciously hard nudges against your thigh.

It may not be the romantic getaway you had planned, but this may be your favorite holiday ever.

---

Tagging: @blueink-bluesoul @secondaryrealm @spicy-clones @wings-and-beskar @imarvelatthestars

[lis-muerta]

“You tried and that’s what counts.”

Sorry, this took so long! I didn't know what to write and decided to play with an idea, again and idea I just like writing what-ifs. I didn't edit as much so I'm sorry if it's hard to read also.

The evening sky bled into shades of deep purple and mauve pink, casting a somber glow over Republic City. Lin stood alone on the balcony of her high-rise apartment, overlooking the sprawling urban landscape that buzzed beneath her. The city lights flickered like distant stars, a stark contrast to the turmoil brewing within her.

Lin's hands gripped the cold, metal railing, her knuckles turning white. She had always been a pillar, an inflexible protector of the city, but tonight, she felt the weight of her own world pressing down on her shoulders. The decision had been made decades ago, yet the heaviness of its reality was just beginning to sink in.

Inside, the soft sounds of Yun's laughter filtered through the open door. He was listening to the radio shows while painting the new spirit portal, his youthful mind blissfully unaware of the complexities that clouded his mother's heart. Lin watched him for a moment, her heart swelling with love yet aching with a silent grief. Yun, who could barely walk on his own, relaxing in the living room, his hands moving skillfully over the canvas, his laughter a balm to her weary soul. She had chosen this path for him, for her, believing it was the only way to balance the scales of her ambitions and her responsibilities. But at what cost?

A cool breeze whispered through the air, carrying with it the faint echoes of Aang's wisdom, reminding her of conversations long past. Lin closed her eyes, letting the wind caress her face, as if seeking counsel from the spirits that seemed to murmur just out of reach. She remembered Aang's gentle warning about the sacrifices leadership entailed, about the delicate balance between personal desires and the greater good. How right he had been, and how naive she had felt now, thinking she could escape the inevitable.

—

Lin recalled the early days of her relationship with Tenzin, filled with laughter and stolen moments between their responsibilities. They had walked through the parks of Republic City, hand in hand, dreaming of their future together now that they were married .Those memories were tinged with the golden light of young love, so stark against the complexities they faced now.

Life at the air temple had grown increasingly chaotic over the past few years. Between Su's troubles and Toph's abrupt retirement, Lin found herself caught in a whirlwind of change. The new police chief was more accommodating of Lin's dual responsibilities, but even that small mercy did little to ease the strain. Her body was betraying her.

Then there was Yun an, the thirteen-year-old legs kept giving out, a frequent agony he was in, that they slowly realized he would never become a master despite his extensive knowledge and strong spirit.The image of her son, grappling with tasks that other children found effortless, weighed heavily on her heart.

Lin was late. She hoped it was just the stress, the relentless pace of her life as a protector and a mother. Tenzin had shared his concerns with her, mentioning how Katara had seen Aang struggling with Yun. Avatar Aang was getting weaker and more ill . The fact Aang wouldn't live forever caused her to tremble with fear.

One particularly trying day, Lin found herself donned in an acolyte's uniform, leading a meditation circle because there was no one else available. As she attempted to guide the acolytes, her mind raced with doubts. Could she truly embrace this life of spiritual leadership? Was she destined to be the island mother, leaving her fate to the universe? The session ended disastrously, a wave of nausea overwhelming her, a battle she had been staving off until that moment.

The realization hit her hard. If she were pregnant again, it would jeopardize her chance at a promotion. How could she manage a newborn when Yun already required so much of her attention? It would be unfair to bring another child into this chaos, potentially replicating the strained relationship she had with Su. Each day brought sickness, a relentless reminder of her predicament. She had tried to see if she could fit into the role of a spiritual leader, but her heart longed for the action and command of police work.

Lin curled into a ball, tears streaming down her face after another bout of sickness. She knew she had to make a choice. She had only decided to have Yun because it aligned with her goals; she could stay home, finish school, and still ascend to police chief back then. But with Aang's life spinning down the drain and Tenzin's expectations of expanding their family, she felt trapped between her aspirations and her responsibilities.

—

the day she told Tenzin she couldn't walk the path he envisioned, filled with more children and spiritual duties. She loved him, yes, but she loved her career and herself too. "I won’t forgive myself if I toss my dreams for yours," she had said, her voice steady but her heart breaking. Tenzin had looked at her, his expression a mix of understanding and sorrow, a silent acknowledgment of the diverging roads before them. Lin left the rest to fate, silently hoping he would bend for her as she had for him, but instead their home turned into a battlefield and Tenzin made his decision when his father died and he abandoned her to figure it out. Leaving her with a huge mess and later a messy divorce. That he decided he didn't need or want them anymore was how she felt when he walked down the aisle with a girl half his age, who saw him like a all powerful being and not her loser she had loved endlessly.

—

Opening her eyes, Lin looked out towards the horizon where the ocean met the sky, the dark waters reflecting the last light of the dying day. She thought of Tenzin, his dreams of a family intertwined with the spiritual duties of his heritage. She loved him deeply, profoundly, yet knew in her heart that their paths demanded different sacrifices. She couldn't be the partner he needed, not while her own dreams pulsed so fervently within her.

The realization was a quiet wraith in the twilight, a shadow that no amount of city light could dispel. Lin knew she was choosing a path filled with what-ifs and might-have-beens. The thought of failing Yun in some unforeseen way, of not being there when he needed her most, gnawed at her. Yet, surrendering her aspirations, her very essence, would be a different kind of failure altogether—one she wasn't prepared to face.

"You tried, and that’s what counts," she whispered to herself, a mantra to soothe the storm inside. But the words felt hollow in the cool evening air, a feeble shield against the tide of doubt and regret.

As night fell over Republic City, Lin remained on the balcony, a solitary figure etched against the backdrop of a world she vowed to protect. The future was a landscape shrouded in mist, paths uncertain and fraught with shadows. But Lin was no stranger to hard choices. With a final, lingering look at the new spirt portal, she turned back inside, to the life she had chosen, to the son who she loved more than she loved herself, ready to face whatever storms might come now that the world has changed again.

[theaskew]

Jiří Kubíček (Czech b. 1930, lived and worked in Kolín, Czech Republic), New Life, 1971. Enamel on canvas, 120 x 90 cm. (Source: Arthouse Hejtmanek, Prague, Czech Republic)

[renlyslittlerose]

Kinktober Day 19 - Shaving

Today's prompt: Anakin helping Obi-Wan shave would be equally 👀

Dedicated to the wonderful @sugarpsalms 💕

Everything and More - 2,015 (back on my bullshit, it seems) Rating: E Content: Shaving; Frotting; Anakin being a Giant Sap; Obi-Wan lookin' and feelin' cute~

---

Anakin slid the sharp side of the blade against Obi-Wan’s stretched out neck, touch steady despite the fact that Obi-Wan’s hand kept rubbing his thigh idly. The smell of Republic issued shave cream filled the tent, mixing with wet canvas and clean sweat, heady and pleasing. Rain fell steadily on to the top of the tent, a gentle patter of water that drowned out the sounds from the rest of the camp.

They’d been entrenched in a ground battle for the last week, Separatist forces pulling back further and further into the dense thickets of woodlands that covered most of the mid-rim planet’s surface. The longer they spent the more exhausted everyone had become, the luxuries of ship life - let alone life in a city - quickly becoming a distant memory for Jedi and Clone alike.

It was the sixth day of fighting that Anakin noted Obi-Wan’s beard had become a little haggard, bristled hairs growing down his neck while the edges along his jaw and chin were longer. Anakin didn’t say anything, but he watched the development with mild interest, using Obi-Wan’s beard growth as a way to count the hours and days as they passed by in misery. Finally, on the eight day a torrential downpour stalled the efforts of both forces, the land slick with mud and flash-flooding, clone and droid alike getting caught in the mire and unable to get free.

It was then, their forces tucked away in their tents or huddled together in the mess, that Obi-Wan passed Anakin a cup of steaming hot water and a blade.

“You could do this yourself, you know,” Anakin said. He tilted Obi-Wan’s head to the side, checking over the work he’d done to make sure he’d gotten all the errant hairs. “We do have mirrors.”

Obi-Wan smiled when Anakin let go of his chin, his head falling back to its normal angle. “But my mirror doesn’t greet me with such a cute pout.”

Anakin rolled his eyes. “You could pout in the mirror, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“But I want your pout.”

Anakin accepted the kiss, chuckling softly when Obi-Wan made a pleased sound in the back of his throat. Breaking away, Anakin nuzzled their noses together before working on the other side of Obi-Wan’s neck. Obi-Wan kept his hands firmly on Anakin’s thighs, thumbs digging into the muscles a little, just enough for Anakin to relax even as he slid the blade along Obi-Wan’s jugular.

The fact that Obi-Wan trusted him with such a delicate task meant something to Anakin, perhaps more than Obi-Wan trusting him to have his back in the middle of a fight. Obi-Wan had fought with other Jedi at his side before, relied on their skill and dedication to get him home in one place. It wasn’t special, really; it wasn’t intimate. It was just a part of war. But shaving him - sliding a sharp blade along the expanse of his neck, across arteries and tendons - was something Anakin was fairly certain Shaak Ti or Windu ever got to do.

Obi-Wan’s hand drifted, and Anakin only had time to still his hand before Obi-Wan grabbed his cock and squeezed.

“You want to bleed to death?” Anakin asked, his grip tightening on Obi-Wan’s chin. “Because grabbing my dick while I’m shaving you is how that’ll happen.”

Obi-Wan simply smiled, eyes twinkling with mirth and playfulness. “You won’t do such a thing, Anakin. I trust you.”

Anakin stared at Obi-Wan and waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally Obi-Wan released his grip on his cock, a soft sigh slipping past his lips. “Fine, have it your way.”

“You can fondle me once I’m done…” Anakin mumbled as he went back to work. He only had a few more strokes, anyways.

“You’re awfully focused on the task at hand,” Obi-Wan said after a time, his throat flexing as he spoke.

“This is your beard, Obi-Wan. It’s like, a part of you. I screw it up by shaving off something I shouldn’t, and it’d be like seeing you without hair or a mustache.”

“Perish the thought of that ever happening.”

Just the thought made Anakin uncomfortable.

"Anyway, I think you’re being far too relaxed about it all," Anakin continued.

“You want I should panic and make you falter?”

Anakin finished and dropped the blade into the cup of murky water. Grabbing the washcloth, he roughly cleaned Obi-Wan off, trying not to smile as Obi-Wan scrunched his lips together and squeezed his eyes closed.

“You never panic,” Anakin said.

He tossed the cloth onto the pile of muddy clothes in the corner of his tent and sat back on his cot, hands dug into the fabric of the sleeping bag. He spread his legs a little and waited as Obi-Wan drug his hands across his beard, brushing away the last of the stray hairs.

“How do I look?” Obi-Wan asked.

Anakin shrugged. “Go look in a mirror, and then you can critique my technique.”

Obi-Wan smiled again, but this time it was more seductive, a little curl to the corner of his mouth as his eyes darkened. Anakin chewed on his bottom lip as Obi-Wan crawled up his lap and pushed him back down on to the cot. Spreading his legs, he accommodated Obi-Wan’s weight with ease, groaning as Obi-Wan ground down on him a little.

“I want you to tell me what you see,” Obi-Wan purred out, his voice barely heard above the patter of rain.

Anakin stretched out beneath Obi-Wan, taking up as much of the narrow cot as he could. He was a little too tall for the bed, his feet hanging off the edge, and he feared their combined weight might break the metal framed, but he pushed the thought away. It had been too long since they’d had a moment like this; just the two of them, chests bare and flush together, breath skittering across cheeks and lips, cocks hardening against one another’s. And rarer still - Obi-Wan in a good mood.

The war had taken a lot from them, but perhaps it was Obi-Wan’s natural playfulness that Anakin missed the most.

“I see… my Master,” Anakin said. “And I see… my friend.”

Obi-Wan quirked a brow and paused with his hand half-way down Anakin’s leggings. “That’s all?”

Anakin smacked Obi-Wan’s arm. “No, that’s not all.” He felt a blush spread across his cheeks and chest, and he shifted slightly. “I’m not as naturally gifted at speaking like you are. Give me a second to collect my thoughts.”

“Alright, I apologize.”

To show his apology he fondled Anakin, squeezing his cock once before stroking him lazily. Swallowing, Anakin relaxed back on the bed and moaned softly, concentrating on Obi-Wan’s movements for a moment, eyes searching Obi-Wan’s face as he thought of the words that would be good enough to encapsulate what he saw when he looked at Obi-Wan.

It was a daunting task.

He remained voiceless for a moment longer, caught up in Obi-Wan’s touch as he started to undress them both, Obi-Wan’s brows furrowed in concentration. The light from the little lamp next to the bed highlighted the copper and blond tones in his hair and beard, and the dips and lines across his brow. His eyes were framed by golden lashes, irises the colour of ocean waves, and his pupils black like space.

“I see a man who is beautiful beyond compare,” Anakin continued, voice soft in the small tent. “With copper hair that drapes across my fingers, soft like silk and smelling like… like comfort. Like home.”

“What else?” Obi-Wan asked. He removed Anakin’s leggings and socks before working on his own, stripping them both down until they were naked.

“I see the flecks of grey in your temples and the corners of your beard, and I love how they represent another day lived… another year enjoyed. I want to be there for each and every grey that appears so that I can count them as a way to keep track of the days we spend together. And I’ll keep counting even when we’re both old and grey and still together… still like this.”

He took Obi-Wan into his arms, groaning as their cocks pressed between their bellies. Obi-Wan wrapped his arms tight around Anakin and kissed him, slow and steady and achingly good. When they pulled apart Anakin felt breathless, his body ridged beneath Obi-Wan’s, cock bouncing and leaking.

“And I see freckles,” Anakin continued as Obi-Wan rocked above him, breath hot across his chin and jaw, smelling of mint tea and sugar. “You’ve got so many of them all across your nose and along your shoulders and chest.”

“Perils of being pale,” Obi-Wan grunted out. He reached down and grasped Anakin’s ass, squeezing the muscle as he pulled Anakin closer, the pair humping against each other at a slow, leisurely pace.

Anyone could interrupt, but that didn’t hurry them on.

“But I love them,” Anakin said quickly. He kissed along Obi-Wan’s neck, tasting the left over shave cream and enjoying the warmth and softness of his skin. “Love to count them when you’re asleep, o-or watch how they rippled across your skin when we spar. Or when we fuck.”

“I love yours, too. All your beauty marks and moles.”

Anakin sighed and kissed up Obi-Wan’s neck to nibble on his earlobe. Obi-Wan moaned this time, a soft little sound that curled around Anakin’s cock and tugged. “And I see your hands, so firm and strong. And your thighs - just as strong… just as powerful. Think a lot about how they feel wrapped around me and on top of me.”

“You don’t have to keep going,” Obi-Wan whispered against Anakin’s ear.

Anakin ignored him.

“I love your cock. So thick and heavy. Filling me up, ‘n stretching me open. I didn’t know h-how much I needed you inside of me until you fucked me for the first time. Remember? Back in Coruscant, at the Temple. I had just been Knighted and—”

“I took you in your room, amongst your messy sheets and stripped droid parts. You came early and I cleaned your come with my tongue. It was the most delightful thing I’d ever tasted in my life.”

Anakin groaned and lifted Obi-Wan’s face from his shoulder. Cupping Obi-Wan’s jaw between his hands he pressed their foreheads together as they continued to rock. The cot was shifting from side to side, little creaks from the metal mixing with the gasps and steady moans, and the heavy drops of rain up above. They were both close, breath stuttering, movements more frantic, their cocks leaking profusely, making them sticky and slick. Anakin shifted and wrapped one leg around Obi-Wan’s waist, heel tucked into the back of his thigh, shoving him in closer as they neared the end.

“But beyond that, I see a man I can trust,” Anakin said against Obi-Wan’s parted lips. “S-someone I can depend on. In every way, and all ways I see a mentor and a friend, a confidant and… and a lover. I love you, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan crushed their lips together in a fierce kiss as they came, swallowing Anakin’s moans. Arching up into Obi-Wan, Anakin ground his cock against Obi-Wan’s hip as he shuddered through his release, his emotions coalescing with the sensations of his body, making his pleasures that much more. He did love Obi-Wan in every single way that he could. He loved his body and his mind, loved his compassion and his intensity - he even loved him when he was being irritating and condescending.

When Anakin looked at Obi-Wan, all he saw was everything and more.

All he saw was his entire world.

[republicsecurity]

Guardians of Unity: Forging the LifeGuards

As the young nation grapples with the need for consolidation and efficiency, disparate entities such as the volunteer Life Guards, elements of the Navy, Public Swimming Pools, Maritime Rescue, and Harbour Security converge to give birth to a singular force – the LifeGuards.

The film meticulously unravels the threads of history, weaving a narrative that explores the intricate dance between conscripts, volunteers, and dedicated staff. This fusion results in an organization primed for a myriad of responsibilities crucial to the nation's safety and well-being.

Aesthetics take center stage as the documentary delves into the conscious decision to cultivate a uniform identity. The iconic yellow shorts become a visual manifesto, a symbol of unity amidst diversity. Proudly displayed ID tattoos, etched into the skin of conscripts, serve as both a mark of allegiance and a testament to their vital role in the security framework.

The evolution of attire doesn't stop at the shorts. The film chronicles the transition from traditional uniforms to the cutting-edge yellow Armour Suits that emerge as a symbol of resilience and preparedness. This evolution mirrors the societal shift toward a structured and disciplined existence.

Through a seamless blend of archival footage, insightful interviews, and expert commentary, "Guardians of Unity" paints a vivid picture of a nation forging its path. It offers a glimpse into a unique societal structure where conscription, volunteerism, and a disciplined security force become the pillars upon which the Republic stands tall.

The documentary places a significant emphasis on the aesthetic evolution of uniforms within the LifeGuards, underscoring the visual language that shapes the identity of this formidable security force. From the iconic yellow shorts, a distinctive symbol of the LifeGuards, to the bare chest proudly displaying ID tattoos, each element of the uniform contributes to a powerful visual narrative.

The yellow shorts, worn with pride by conscripts, volunteers, and staff alike, become an unmistakable emblem of unity. Striking in their simplicity, they evoke a sense of collective purpose and shared commitment to safeguarding the Republic. The decision to pair these shorts with a bare chest serves a dual purpose – not only does it provide a canvas for the display of ID tattoos, but it also symbolizes the openness and transparency of the LifeGuards' mission.

On formal occasions, the documentary highlights the transition to yellow sailor suits, adding a touch of ceremony to the uniform repertoire. This shift signifies a seamless blend of discipline and tradition within the organization, showcasing a commitment to both contemporary efficiency and historical continuity.

However, the pinnacle of the LifeGuards' aesthetic identity is revealed in the yellow Armour Suits worn during ship duties and shore patrols. These high-tech suits, embodying resilience and preparedness, become an imposing symbol of the force's capability to adapt to the evolving needs of national security. The contrast between the simplicity of the shorts and the advanced technology of the Armour Suits encapsulates the dynamic nature of the LifeGuards' role.

Interviewer: "Mr. Johnson, as the chief designer behind the iconic yellow sailor suits for the LifeGuards, could you share the rationale behind choosing such a bold color?"

Mr. Johnson, with an air of authority: "Certainly. The choice of yellow was deliberate, a departure from the more traditional blue or black sailor suits you might associate with naval forces. Yellow signifies visibility and clarity, traits we deemed essential for the LifeGuards. In a sea of challenges, they stand out as beacons of vigilance and strength."

Interviewer: "And the decision to maintain a youthful, almost boyish appearance with these suits?"

Mr. Johnson, confidently: "Indeed, it's about creating a distinctive identity. The innocence associated with a boyish look is intentional. It projects an image of purity and dedication to duty, reminiscent of the youthful vigor that propels the LifeGuards forward. It's a visual reminder that behind the formidable force lies a sense of duty that's untainted and unwavering."

Interviewer: "The yellow shorts, coupled with a bare chest to display ID tattoos – what message does that convey?"

Mr. Johnson, with a hint of authority: "This combination serves multiple purposes. The bare chest symbolizes transparency – an openness that aligns with the LifeGuards' commitment to the Republic. It also provides an ideal canvas for the proud display of ID tattoos, reinforcing the individual's identity within the collective. In essence, it's about making a statement, visually and symbolically."

Interviewer: "How do you see the impact of these design choices on the overall perception of the LifeGuards?"

Mr. Johnson, decisively: "Our design choices aren't arbitrary; they're strategic. The aesthetic elements contribute to a narrative that goes beyond mere appearance. The visual language we've crafted communicates strength, unity, and tradition. It reinforces the LifeGuards' unique position as both a contemporary force and a custodian of the Republic's history. The impact is undeniable – a visual representation of duty, sacrifice, and an unwavering commitment to safeguarding the ideals we hold dear."

[nelligekata]

paints MOTANKA

  Marta Pitchuk born in lvano-Frankivsk, Ukraine. She paints MOTANKA. The motanka doll is an ancient Ukrainian talisman of protection which was made by mothers for their children with warmth and care.  

The paintings show how the inanimate doll of previous centuries steps into the present and merges into one with a real-life woman in flesh and blood. The living Motanka is no longer an object but a personality with its own character, thoughts and views. It is the embodiment of the past which came to life on canvas.

When working on the image of the Motanka, the artist paints the doll's face meticulously, paying attention to detail, and then she covers it with threads. This is done to give Motanka a soul. She becomes not only a beautiful image, but also a profound personality with her own emotions and feelings. If you look closely, you can see the woman's eyes beneath a layer of paint. Strokes of the paint move cyclically, imitating the way in which the traditional doll is created. The pictures are painted on a dark background which emphasize a depth, creating a mysterious atmosphere and a feeling of intimacy as if you were alone with the Motanka.

The paintings depict elements of the traditional Ukrainian garments; however, not only those which we are accustomed to, but also those which have been forgotten. The author researches every ethnic region of Ukraine, attempting to find something special and unusual about them. The paintings are stored in private collections in England, Germany, the Czech Republic, Italy, Austria, France, Luxembourg, Poland, Argentina, USA, Canada.

All profits will benefit Ukrainian Armed Forces

100% прибутку ідуть на підтримку ЗСУ

[beautyofaphrodite]

Venus Anadyomene

If you didn’t know, I’m making a few nice little posts about different artistic depictions of Lady Aphrodite (many are technically Lady Venus). I’ve already written about The Birth of Venus (the one by Botticelli and also the one by Cabanel) and the statue Venus Victrix by Canova. Today’s artwork is the painting titled Venus Anadyomene by Titian. I’m not even close to an expert on art or art history so there’s a good chance that there will be an error in this post- if you notice one let me know. Anyways, Venus Anadyomene!

Titian

Tiziano Vecellio, more commonly known as Titian , was born c. 1488-1490 in the Republic of Venice and died August 27, 1576 in Venice. This Italian was very influential in the style of Renaissance Venetian painting. He was successful throughout his whole life and was very versatile, talented at painting portraits, landscapes, as well as mythical and religious subjects.

Description of the Painting

Venus Anadyomene (The Goddess Rising from the Sea) stands nude in the water, washing her long, reddish-brown hair. The wringing of her hair is a reference to this statue, as a way for Titian to prove he could “rival the art of antiquity”.

About the Painting

This painting was created around 1520 using oils on canvas. With dimensions of 75.8 cm × 57.6 cm (29.8 in × 22.7 in), it is displayed the Scottish National Gallery in Edinburgh. This painting was owned by many throughout the world, from Christina of Sutherland to Francis Egerton, 7th Duke of Sutherland.

Fun Facts

- Aphrodite/Venus Anadyomene is one of Her most common epithets to be painting, as so many liked to depict Her birth from the sea

- the small seashell next to the goddess is meant to identify the subject of the painting by referencing Her birth on a large seashell as seen in other art (notably Boticelli’s Birth of Venus)

I hope you learned something, I certainly did! If you have a favorite artistic depiction of Lady Aphrodite or Lady Venus or one you would like to see me cover, please let me know!

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Banner art by @mwolf0epsilon

Name Etymology

Rift has ADHD and got bored very easily. He loved climbing furniture and anything that didn't move. However, when there was nothing to climb or fidget with, he loved to cause trouble between the other cadets. He'd plant little pieces of false information, creating squabbles among the cadet friend groups, then sit back and watch the fallout. He caused so many rifts between friends that he was labeled a menace among the cadets. He still is.

Personality

Rift is one of the middles of Phoenix Squad, and isn't in charge of anything, for good reason. He has the most unhinged personality in the squad. An absolute sweetheart, through and through, but he is chaos incarnate and addicted to all things sugar. He is easily excited, loves to have a good time, and takes life in stride. There are not many things that can put Rift in a bad mood, so he tends to be the comedic relief for the squad.

Mood Boards:

Here

Alphabets:

SFW Alphabet

NSFW Alphabet

View his tags -> #oc: rift

Physical Appearance

Rift has the standard clone physique, but enjoys working out to get rid of his pent up energy. He shaves his head and face smooth because the hair bothers him way too much. He doesn't have any piercings, but he does have a back tattoo of a lightning strike, as well as the memorial tattoo on his chest for Chance.

Character Art:

Greyscale Bust

Character Timeline

Early Cadet Years:

CT-1971, or Rift, was probably the most excited tubie to ever be decanted in the history of cloning. He was energetic from day one and scared a lot of the Kaminoan scientists with his unhinged chaos. The squad had trouble acclimating to Rift's personality, most notably Drip, who loved peace and quiet. Rift spent most of his time doing all sorts of physical activities. As a cadet, Rift dreamed of being a pilot in the GAR.

Invasion of Kamino:

During the invasion of Kamino in 21 BBY, Rift and the other members of Phoenix Squad followed Tungst to the outer rings of Tipoca City as part of the frontal assault. With limited resources and training as a seventh year, Rift used whatever armor and blaster Tungst gave him. During the firefight, Chance left his position behind the barricade with Drip to render medical aid to a group of wounded clone cadets caught in a blast. Rift didn't notice Chance leave because he was in the middle of some crossfire. When the commotion arose between Brett and Tungst, Rift turned to check it out just in time to see the missile explode. Rift pulled back behind the barricade after the dust settled, unsure of why they regrouped, and watched Chance die in Tungst's arms.

Aftermath of Chance's Death:

After Chance's death, the squad was never quite the same. Rift, the happy-go-lucky of the squad struggled. Not only was he sad that his brother was dead, but he also had to watch as his family fell apart in front of him. Tungst and Brett constantly fought. Drip was depressed and Gloss was withdrawn. None of his jokes worked anymore. After Drip attempted to end his own life over Chance's death, Rift visited Drip in the medbay and put some of Chance's favorite candy at his bedside table.

Order 66:

Order 66 was just another day for Phoenix Squad. Rift received the news of the Jedi betraying the Republic from Tungst and their training continued without much interruption.

Destruction of Tipoca City:

Imperial Service:

Fanfiction

Icon Guide -> HERE

Updated: 5/11/2024

Navigation Page

*When I commissioned Eps to make the character banners, I sent her some stick figure references I made in Canva. For laughs and giggles, I've added it to the post.*

[exploding-goobery]

What I want from Star Wars:

The canvas that original movie promised. A delightful culture cocktail mixing Flash Gordon, World War 2 serials, the Vietnam War, Lawrence of Arabia, and Kurosawa. This beautiful creation of George's imagination and history. Something so wonderfully nerdy and sincere in itself, pulling from everything its creator loved.

What I like about the High Republic is this feeling that yes, it is connected to that postmodern cocktail, but it is its own thing with its own influences - what I liked about the Acolyte was the wuxia references, Leslie Headland named Come Drink With Me as an influence and that and Crouching Tiger are very much felt. Sure, it's nowhere as good, but it's the same feeling I got when Rian Johnson talked about The Coen Brothers, To Catch A Theif and The Bridge On The River Kwai as influences: sure, one of these is a David Lean movie, but it gives things its own cinematic lens and language, painting on the canvas that is this galaxy.

I didn't love the Acolyte, but that, The Last Jedi and Andor are the things that have best got Star Wars as what I love it as: a postmodern canvas to paint any story on, your influences being placed within the same cultural history as before. Wuxia placed alongside Wings. Kurosawa and the Coens. The plight against real-life fasism mixed with a Micheal Mann movie that makes Andor. Hitchcock and Lean given the same value as the trashy old Flash Gordon serials in this overall pantheon of paints for this canvas. That means more than just using one paint, in my opinion.

This doesn't nessesarily mean wanting things to be preserved to maintain your idea of lore is bad - lore is very nerdy and sincere in of itself as a way of using the canvas. But if you're so upset about how the painting conflicts with other paintings, or what you wanted the painter to paint...maybe you just don't like painting.

[galacticrambler]

The first two episodes of The Acolyte came out this week, and I loved them. The latest Star Wars show is great. It’s 100% for me.

I’ve been really excited for this show ever since it was announced that it would be set in The High Republic Era of Star Wars. I’ve been a huge fan of the publishing initiative in the books, comics, manga, and audio books. The story and characters have been intriguing and I can’t wait to see how it wraps up in 2025.

With The Acolyte set 100+ years after the events after the books and comics, Leslye Headland has a somewhat blank canvas to do whatever she wants in this story. Things are exciting!

I was thrilled that they jumped out almost as fast as they possibly could with revealing that Amandla Stenberg was playing two characters in Mae and Osha. They didn’t let that linger in as a mystery at all.

So, what’s the story here…

The misdirection in the marketing was that this show would be about the mystery of somebody murdering Jedi, but we quickly learn that is not a mystery at all. We know immediately who has done the killing, and all of our main characters learn pretty quickly as well.

No, our mystery is the reason that Mae is targeting Indara (Carrie-Anne Moss), Torbin (Dean-Charles Chapman), Kelnacca (Joonas Suotamo), and Sol (Lee Jung-jae). What happened 16 years ago when they visited the village of Mae and Osha? It certainly feels like the Jedi screwed up here… Somehow. I can’t wait to see how

The opening fight scene between Mae and Indara was breathtaking. I loved that Indara didn’t reach for her lightsaber until the last possible moment. The choreography was beautiful, and it was shown again later in the night between Mae and Sol. Indara and Sol coolly and calmly handling Mae was fun to see.

I want to hit on some of the Jedi characters that we got here:

Sol: Watching him be in complete control of all of his emotions except with regards to Mae, Osha, and the night of the fire, certainly leads me to believe that we’re being misled about what actually happened.

Indara: Carrie-Anne Moss gave off “Jedi Master��� vibes immediately. The opening fight scene was spectacular. I’m excited to see the flashback scenes to see the younger version of her.

Yord: I love that we got a straight-laced, by-the-book Jedi. He feels straight out of the Ki-Adi Mundi lineage. It felt like he was easing into the “Ok, sometimes things aren’t black and white.” line of thinking. I’m really interested to watch his development.

Jecki: She was funny. I like funny Padawans. I like how confident she was in her first mission. There was a recent video clip of Dave Filoni talking about how, when they were making The Clone Wars, they were going to make Ahsoka out of her depth in her first mission, but George Lucas was like, “Why would she be out of her depth in her first mission? She’s Jedi. This is what she’s trained for her entire life.”

Vernestra: I’ve seen some minor complaints that she’s different than she’s been in the books set during The High Republic, and… Yeah? It’s been 100 years, and she’s no longer a 16 year old girl. Why is this shocking? She’s seen some shit.

I can’t wait to find out more about Kelnacca in the next episode.

Let’s get to the second mystery? Qimir is 100% the Sith apprentice that’s training Mae to be his acolyte, right? It’s the most logical. The way he changed when speaking to Osha was weird and creepy. He’s definitely “Darth Teeth” (I can’t wait to find out his name.).

I really liked these first two episodes of The Acolyte, and I can’t wait for me.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Writer Wednesday, Week 1 (2023)

Tagging @writer-wednesday

Watch and Learn, City Boy

Summary: Your romantic getaway with Sergeant Hound hits a snag, but luckily, you're resourceful. Hound isn't so sure about this whole "camping" thing, but you know the best way to get him on board.

Pairings: Clone Sergeant Hound x Fem!Reader

Fandom: Star Wars/The Clone Wars

Rating: T (spicy version is on AO3! Link below!)

Word Count: 1.8K

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff; mild language; implied/fade-to-black sensuality

“Remind me why we’re doing this, again?” Hound grumbles as the two of you wrangle a pile of tent poles and canvas.

“Because the hotel didn’t allow massiffs,” you say, grunting a bit as you struggle with the heavy tent.

Technically, the hotel doesn’t allow clones, either, but you leave that unsaid. You had booked the room, paid the pet deposit, and traveled from Coruscant to Alderaan, only to be abruptly turned away at check-in. Before you left, you told the hotel concierge your opinion of their corporate bigotry, and now you are also banned for life. And so here the three of you are, setting up an ancient, decrepit canvas tent that you dug out of your parents’ attic.

Well, technically the two of you are setting up the tent while Grizzer explores your campsite, sniffing the lush greenery of Alderaan with interest. The massiff is accustomed to the hard plastcrete and rancid smells of Coruscant, and you wonder if she’s ever been in nature before.

“Relax,” you say. “I did this all the time growing up. It’ll be fun!”

“Sleeping in the dirt and eating rations is your idea of fun?” Hound asks.

“The tent has a floor,” you point out, “and believe me, we can do better than rations.”

Eventually, you wrestle the tent into submission and get two bedrolls laid out inside. The scent of old canvas, saturated with woodsmoke and memories, pulls you right back to your childhood: camping under the stars, swimming in the lake, lying in the sand and exploring the world around you. You can almost hear the shrieks of laughter and your father’s deep baritone as he sings a lullaby to you and your siblings.

You hang up a few strings of twinkle lights, and then, satisfied with the cozy little retreat you’ve created, you go back outside to get a campfire started. Hound is standing with his arms crossed, looking decidedly unimpressed with the entire situation.

“Has it occurred to you that there are wild animals in these woods?” he asks. “Gree told me about the wolf-cats of Alderaan.”

“Grizzer will keep us safe,” you reassure him. “Won’t you, girl? Who’s my sweet baby?”

Grizzer wiggles happily over to you and nuzzles into your chest as you squat to scritch behind her ear holes.

“Grizzer, have some dignity, for kark’s sake,” Hound says. “You are a soldier of the Republic, not a pampered lap-tooka.”

Grizzer ignores him and flops onto her back to beg for belly rubs. Seeing the way you fawn over the massiff, Hound can’t help but smile, remembering the day he met you.

“Grizzer! NO!”

Hound chased after the bolting massiff as she charged an unsuspecting civilian in the middle of Monument Plaza. Grizzer had yanked the leash out of his hands and was running full-tilt through the scattering crowds. Too late, he saw her target: you.

You were standing in the sun, laughing with a street vendor, and Hound would have taken a moment to appreciate your beauty if you hadn’t been standing directly in the path of certain doom.

“Grizzer!” he shouted again. “Heel!”

You turned toward the commotion with only a few meters between you and the charging massiff. Hound fought the urge to close his eyes before Grizzer launched herself and savaged you, but then something completely unexpected happened.

You called out a word in a strange language, and the massiff skidded to a halt in front of you. You allowed her to sniff your hand, and then you pulled something out of your pocket and offered it to her. She took the treat and licked your hand as Hound finally caught up, heaving with exertion.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he panted. “She slipped her leash. I don’t know what got into her.”

You smiled up at him, and his heart thudded with more than just adrenaline when he saw the way your eyes sparkled.

“She just smelled the treats,” you said with a shrug. “We always had massiffs when I was growing up, and I never got out of the habit of carrying a few treats in my pockets. I hope it’s all right that I gave her one; I really didn’t want to lose a hand.”

In that moment, Hound knew he was utterly lost.

“Awww, is Daddy grumpy?” you coo at Grizzer as you rub her belly. “Is he a Cranky McGrumperson? Is he spreading his grumpy energy all over our campsite because he’s afraid to get his hands dirty?”

You shoot Hound a teasing look, and he stalks over to you, pulling you away from Grizzer and into his arms for a kiss. You sigh happily. You’ve been seeing Hound for a few weeks now, and you were hoping that a romantic trip to your home planet of Alderaan during his shore leave would give you an opportunity to take things to the next level. You had booked a room at a posh boutique hotel with a luxurious soaking tub and an incredible view of the mountains. Who knew the hoteliers would turn out to be gigantic dicks?

So you made a quick change of plans. You had been worried about Hound’s reaction to the idea of camping, but your other option was to take him to your parents’ home and sleep in your childhood bedroom, which… No thanks. Not the ideal setup for the intimate weekend you are planning.

You break away from Hound’s kiss feeling lightheaded. He’s an excellent kisser, and as you’ve discovered over the past weeks, a man who can kiss like that will bring a similar level of skill and enthusiasm to the bedroom (or the bedroll, as the case may be). Now all you have to do is coax him out of his sullen mood.

“Did I mention I happen to be an amazing cook?” you ask, fluttering your eyelashes.

His interest is immediately piqued. “How are you planning to cook out here?”

“Watch and learn, city boy,” you say with a grin.

One hour, two shaak steaks, and four bottles of ale later, Hound’s temper is remarkably improved. 

“Where did you learn to cook over an open fire like that?” he asks.

“My dad taught me,” you say as you pull out a deck of sabacc cards. “I told you we used to do this all the time when I was a kid. You in?”

He nods, so you shuffle and deal. 

“Your dad sounds like an interesting man,” he says. “Too bad he wasn’t home when we stopped by to get the camping gear. I’d like to meet him.”

You laugh, “Trust me, it’s better this way. You might be ready to take down the entire Separatist army, but you are not prepared for my parents’ boyfriend interrogation.”

“Boyfriend, is it?” Hound asks, his brown eyes twinkling.

“If you play your cards right,” you say with a smirk.

You play a few hands of sabacc, betting with pebbles since Hound doesn’t have any credits, and when it gets too dark to see the cards, you decide to change into pajamas. Grizzer goes into the tent with you and immediately flops down on a bedroll. When you’d packed for your trip, you were planning to be spending your nights in a luxury suite, and your choice of sleepwear was not exactly suited to the great outdoors, so you regretfully tuck away the lacy little chemise. You strip out of your clothes and pull on a pair of short shorts and an old Alderaan University hoodie—the best option you could find in your old bedroom at your parents’ house. 

When you leave the tent, Grizzer stays behind. Hound watches you with an unreadable expression, and you worry that he’s still not having a good time. It’s time to break out the big guns.

“Are you ready to have your mind blown, trooper?” you ask with a flirty look.

He sits forward immediately. “What did you have in mind?”

You bend over and rummage through the bags of groceries you’d bought on your way out of Aldera. When you straighten up, you notice his gaze lingering on your exposed legs. You toss him a packet of marshmallows.

“What are these for?” he asks.

You hand him a stick that you scavenged earlier in the day and teach him how to toast the marshmallows over the coals of the campfire. Hound’s immediately catches on fire, which you assure him is part of the experience. 

“It’s not a real s’more if the marshmallow isn’t at least thirty percent carbon,” you say.

You show him how to sandwich the resulting crispy, molten marshmallow in between layers of chocolate and sweet biscuits, and the bliss on his face when he tastes it for the first time makes the entire trip worthwhile. You haven’t eaten s’mores in years, and you’ve forgotten how rich they are. 

“I think I can only eat one,” you say.

“Not me,” he says. “I’ll eat the whole bag.”

You give him a delighted smile, pleased that he’s finally come around. Hound has such a sweet tooth. All the clones do, he tells you. Something to do with their enhanced metabolisms, and the fact that they rarely get to eat anything other than ration bars and bland mess hall food.

“These are incredible,” he mumbles around a bite. “Messy, though.”

“I can help with that,” you offer, licking the melted chocolate and marshmallow goo off his fingers. “After all, we both know you don’t like to get your hands dirty.”

His eyes widen, and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe. He swallows audibly. “You know, I take it back. Maybe camping isn’t so bad after all.”

You stand up and tug him to his feet, leading him to the tent. Inside, Grizzer has completely claimed one entire bedroll for herself.

“I guess we’ll have to share,” you say, already planning what kind of treat to give the massiff as a thank-you.

“Oh, no, anything but that,” Hound murmurs as he draws you close to him, running his hands down your back to squeeze your ass. “You know, with the lights on in the tent, I could see everything when you were changing.”

“Everything?” you ask, tipping your head back to gaze up into his beautiful amber eyes.

“Well, maybe not everything,” he admits. He slips a hand inside your hoodie to caress the bare skin of your back. 

“Maybe we should turn them off so we don’t scandalize all those wild animals you’re so worried about,” you tease.

“Let them watch,” he says.

***

The soft light of an early summer morning filters through the canvas of the tent. You awaken slowly, feeling deliciously warm and safe. As you drift towards consciousness, you feel weight pressing against you from both sides, and you realize that at some point during the night, Grizzer has joined you and Hound on your bedroll, sandwiching you between her and the trooper. You are wrapped securely in Hound's strong arms, your legs tangled between his, and his fingers are interlaced with yours. You hear the melodic chirpings of avian-song outside the tent, and you snuggle closer to Hound, feeling his warm, even breath against your shoulder. 

It may not be the romantic getaway you had planned, but this may be your favorite holiday ever.

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