#and redrew it countless times

[akakumoeteru]

This is the first of two pieces I contributed to 운심월성 (雲心月性), a WX costume anthology hosted by @muse-kr! I drew the Cam Phong New Years standee outfits for this one!

Participants are uploading their pieces on Twitter now, so please feel free to browse the project account (1031wwx_book) or search the book tag #운심월성 on Twitter!

[turtle-taetell]

goodbye Mersmp

Super long message below!! (Funny story!)

and a message to the CCs at the end! <3

This is a piece that means so much to me. 21 months ago the designs for Theo and Faye got released. That day, i drew them! On paper with the supplies I had laying around, in a sketchbook smaller than my hand. At this point I was proud of my art but still very nervous about it. I had no idea how to draw them. I struggled a lot.

The second time I drew it, a year had passed. I felt I had been able to grow a lot as an artist and was excited to show how much I improved, so I redrew it! I loved how the lineart turned out and was so so excited to see the finished piece! But guess what? I hated it. I colored it in and still hate it to the point that I don’t even have the final version saved to my phone. It makes me feel ashamed.

But now, Mersmp has come to a close and the characters I have grown to care about so deeply have gotten their happy ending. So I wanted to give this piece that as well.

And finally, I think I can finally say I did.

I started drawing this final piece as soon as I was able to screenshot their epilogue designs. I was determined to make it right. So I sat down and drew, and drew, and drew, only taking an hour break to have dinner with a friend (don’t be like me). Finally, at 3am, eleven hours later, I was satisfied.

In this final piece are things that show just how tired I was. There are countless freckles on both characters, even under their scales! That’s a lot of dots. But wait… not the smallest. If you zoom in close enough they have pores! Much smaller than their freckles. That’s really a lot of dots! My freckle brush must have really come in clutch, right? WRONG! I dont have a freckle brush! All of this was done with one single smooth brush and I made Every. Single. Dot. Individually. That must have been pretty hard on my stylus, right? ONCE AGAIN WRONG! I don’t have a stylus! All of this was done on Ibis Paint x, a free art program, on an old janky ipad I got for free because it was so broken, all drawn with my finger. Even if I got a stylus, my ipad is too old to connect to any of them, including apple pencils.

The moral of this story is to never give up and not to let your resources limit your creativity. It doesn’t matter what medium you use, just do something to learn and keep pushing to improve. You will get there. Despite everything, you can do it.

And to the Mermp crew: Thank you for everything you have done. Through the story you have told and the community you have built, you have helped myself and others to grow in many ways. I myself learned a lot from Theo, learning that I do in fact go nonverbal at times and that does not mean there is anything wrong, and that I can feel conflicted and unsure about gender and expression. I learned I don’t need to be fixed. Just like I have now learned to look at the first redraw. I may not like it, but it is an expression of who I was at the time. Similar to Cella and Bite. Those characters may not like what they did in the past, but they are able to look back and recognize that it made them who they are today. If I always was proud of my first redraw, I may have never pressed myself to make this third one as beautiful. Thank you for the stories and lessons you have shared with us and allowing us to grow along side you and your characters.

And maybe, one day, a year or so from now, I can return to this and redraw it again, seeing what other things I enjoy in the future and how they may shape me to change.

With love, Turtle.

[ahsokathegray]

Pent Up in the Skywalker Penthouse || Part One

Pairings: Rexsoka, Anidala

Prompt: Rexsoka Monthly Oct. ‘23 - Body Heat

Summary: The war is won and the holidays have arrived. Ahsoka's plans for the solstice have fallen through, but Anakin's made it his business to make sure she isn't spending them alone while house sitting.

Tags: 18+, language, explicit sexual content, accidental voyeurism(?), accidental drug use, angst

Word Count: 6,313

A/N: If you haven’t already, go give @rexsoka-monthly a follow and join us in supporting and creating prompt-based Rexsoka content! 🫶

read on ao3! / masterlist

The wrinkles between Ahsoka’s brow markings deepened, the lines staying longer than they used to. Anakin tried not to notice. 

She glanced between him and Padmé, swallowing any words her younger self would’ve blurted without second thought. “Of course,” she settled on, forcing a smile upon her cracked lips and attempting to appear opposite than how she felt. 

Typically, on the annual Winter Solstice, they were side by side on the battlefield. War never halted for special occasions, birthdays, or even holidays, but Master and Padawan always found a moment to celebrate — even if it was sat atop a heap of clankers and splitting one more ration bar than they ought to have. 

But the war had ended, Ahsoka had returned to the Jedi Order as a Knight, and Anakin had stepped down to be a husband and father. Naturally, he’d want to spend the holidays with his real family. 

It was rare now that they even saw one another. There was no more passing by him in the Temple or finding him arguing with Master Kenobi in the war room. They had been actively mending that absence these last several months over a series of dinners. Though strained, their relationship was improving. Ahsoka had even watched the twins for him and Padmé a few times while on leave so that they might have a date night to themselves. 

She had assumed that she’d get to spend the solstice with the Skywalker family — this time at an actual table rather than a makeshift one made from a still-smoking spider droid, sharing a tender roast nuna instead of stale rations. 

Except the galaxy had changed and, with it, their pitiful tradition. Ahsoka recalled the previous year’s Winter Solstice. She’d spent it in a hungry, teeth chattering, loneliness in the Coruscant Underworld — save for the orange tooka that found its holiday feast in the trash bins beside her. 

This year was supposed to be different, warm, stable. Instead, she would be spending it alone again, house sitting in the Skywalker penthouse. 

“It’ll be nice to get away. Luke and Leia can’t miss their first Festival of Light,” she added, trying not to dote on her collapsed plans and instead recalling how brilliant the Naboo festival had been while the war still waged. The first one after the execution of Chancellor Palpatine was sure to be a monumental event. 

“Thank you, Ahsoka. We’ll be back in just a few days,” Padmé smiled softly, her comforting eyes empathetic and reassuring. It was impossible to fight off her contagious, radiant positivity. 

Anakin nodded at his wife’s words. “I’m sorry. I'll make it up to you, I promise. When we get back, we’ll have you and Obi-Wan over for dinner. Even Rex… and Cody too if he’s around. It’ll be just like old times,” he grinned, crossing his arms and donning his signature smirk. 

He noticed how the lines in Ahsoka’s face softened at the Captain’s name, followed by a flash of pain behind the blue of her eyes as the lines redrew themselves. 

Padmé had kicked her husband’s foot under the table on countless occasions, warning him not to speak too long on the subject of Rex. Each time the good Captain had come up in casual conversation, Ahsoka’s responses became curt. It was always the same dance:

“Have you seen Rex lately?”

“Not really.”

“He was over here a few nights ago for dinner and asked about you.”

“Oh? I’ll have to catch up with him then.”

Ahsoka noticed how the tired Senator leaned into Anakin and gave him a discreet nudge with her elbow. “We’ll return the day after the celebrations and not a moment later,” Padmé said, walking over to a (surely priceless) bowl to retrieve the passkey to the apartment and placing it in Ahsoka’s open palm, squeezing it with her own before she let go. “Don’t worry about watering Ani’s Felucia fern. It’s long dead. He’s a much better parent to the kids than he is to plants. We’ve got a stocked kitchen and the guest bedroom has already been prepared for you. Please, make yourself at home, Ahsoka. Comm us if you need anything at all.”

“Oh and Snips, don’t clean me out of candied bofa fruits this time,” Anakin teased, knowing she wasn’t the culprit that one time and also that she was too old for that nickname now — but using it anyway to lighten the mood. 

It worked. Briefly. 

Staying in a penthouse was wildly different than staying in the Jedi Temple. Ahsoka knew well that this didn’t account for even half of the luxuries to be had in the galaxy, but it was still something that left her stunned when opening something as simple as the utensil drawer. 

What was previously Padmé’s apartment, was now the family apartment. Ahsoka couldn’t comprehend how one person could have a need for so much space. Even with the addition of her husband and two kids, the home still seemed to have a faint echo lingering about. 

She found quickly that said echo could be somewhat muffled inside the master refresher — which was its own overly large area, shimmering in gold and encrusted with precious gems. The walls were painted to resemble the lake country of Naboo, frescoes depicting waterfalls, boats, and springtime flora in full bloom. If Ahsoka had to guess, Padmé spent much of her time in this room. 

A glance to the sonic told her that the water cascaded from the multiple shower heads in a mock waterfall style. Of course it did. Spending the solstice on Naboo made more sense now. Coruscant was not Padmé’s home — it was Anakin’s and his wife was homesick. 

She looked at the claw-foot bathtub in the center of the room. It was so large that it could’ve fit two people comfortably. Ahsoka pressed her cracked lips together and the ache in her muscles felt as though it had doubled. This wasn’t the case, however, it only felt like it at the proximity of such promised relaxation. 

Massaging the knot in her back, Ahsoka decided on her plans for the night. 

Back in the guest’s quarters, she’d found that Anakin had a hand in making sure that her stay would be as comfortable as possible. The heat was on, her favorite snack food was stacked on the nightstand, and a Shilian holo drama was on the big screen. She smiled to herself. 

The other nightstand had a different selection available — snacks she recognized but didn’t reach for often. Perhaps Anakin just wanted to give her more than enough variety during her stay. He really was serious about the bofa fruit, then. 

Her own refresher wasn’t nearly as decadent as the master, but still just as impressive. Fluffy towels were stacked on the counter space and Ahsoka clutched one to her chest before padding back across the apartment to the massive claw-foot tub surrounded by murals of the lake country. 

Her right montral soon cradled the lip of the tub and her eyes grew heavy with the warmth. The combination of the candles, the dark, and the pink bath crystals were working to whisk her off to sleep, making each moment lasting longer than was supposed to. Ahsoka sank deeper and the soapy water lapped at her skin, swallowing more of her the longer she was in there. All that stuck out above the surface now was her shoulders and head. Her lekku swayed in the water and grazed the hardened peaks of her nipples, pulling a gasp from her cracked lips. 

Her eyes opened long enough to see that it was now snowing on Coruscant. Flurries danced downward through the floor length windows, looking like stars in a light polluted sky. 

Stars were never visible from the surface of Coruscant. 

Ahsoka’s breathing picked up just a little bit, briefly forgetting that the windows were made of one-way glass. She sank back down beneath the bubbles anyway and had more peace of mind for when she did eventually decide to exit the bath. 

She was so relaxed and so… alone. She was never really alone like this anymore — not since she’d walked away from the Order. This level of solitude and comfort didn’t exist in the Jedi Temple. Maybe house sitting wasn’t all as bad as she’d predicted. Maybe some types of loneliness weren’t so bad. 

One of her hands drifted downward to the bone of her hip, the contact making her jolt. It had been quite a while since this kind of touch had been there. She sighed. Ahsoka was reminded of the fingers that last touched her like this — fingers that hadn’t been her own. 

Rex had delicately taken hold of her here, his other hand on her left hip, as he’d thrusted into her aching center and pressed hot kisses to her neck. She remembered the way small bruises had peppered her skin the next morning and the sounds he’d made in her montrals.

A soft moan vibrated on her lips and she gave a breathy laugh at herself. 

Her core fluttered, squeezing around nothing but a memory. Everything that had transpired between them on Mandalore, the journey there, the journey back… all of it had led to a stolen rendezvous in the Tribunal after it had been stationed back on Coruscant. 

They’d delivered Maul to the Temple and stopped by the barracks to check on the men. Rex had insisted on accompanying her to the Venator shipyard to do a round of inspection after the inspection team had finished — after the lights had half gone out and suspiciously way after hours. 

For what seemed like a split second of a rip in the seam of time, neither one of them had a responsibility to their titles. 

She was a citizen and so was Rex. 

There was no rank, there was no war, there was no Captain, or Commander, or Jedi, or advisor — there was only what they had for one another. There was only the resolution of so much charged banter. There were only them in the General’s quarters on the Tribunal. Only them on Coruscant. Only them in the galaxy. 

Ahsoka felt the sting on her lips as a gasp escaped her lungs, ragged as she circled her clit in the same, slow and torturous pace Rex had done. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth before letting it go with a moan. The water around her had begun to ripple, now a product of the movements below the bubbles. She sank further into the water and threw her head back, recalling the drag of Rex’s thick cock between her thighs. 

The sensation felt impossibly heightened. 

Choking out another moan, Ahsoka bravely lifted one leg out of the bath and hooked it on the edge of the tub, giving herself more room to move and allowing her fingers to drift lower.

Rex fished the passkey to his former General’s apartment out of his pocket and waited for the light to flash green. The doors parted for him and closed softly as he stepped into the entryway. 

It was notably odd being here alone without the usual hosts present and greeting party of astromech and the protocol droid. He almost welcomed the silence had it not been so eerie. 

They could’ve left the lights on in the foyer at least. 

When Skywalker had asked him to house sit, he’d raised an eyebrow but accepted nonetheless. What else was he supposed to do? Clones didn’t really celebrate the solstice. They celebrated everything and nothing and all of it with a drink in hand and a headache the next morning. 

If bets were being taken, he’d put all his credits on the boys piling into 79s this week. 

He hadn’t stayed with the GAR after the war had been won. And as much as he’d wanted to, he couldn’t allow himself to accept the permanent position of being Ahsoka’s Commander. 

Being that close to her yet forbidden from being with her, would’ve been too heavy on the heart — not to mention dangerous for her, himself, and the men. So he left. Being a soldier was all he knew how to do and he regretted his choice every day. But it was necessary. He had to learn how to be something other than a clone, other than a soldier, and something other than a man in love with his superior. 

Sighing, Rex tossed the passkey into the dish by the door and noticed that the spare one was missing. He stilled and slowed his breathing, checking a second time to confirm. 

Skywalker had been specific. There were supposed to be two. 

Reaching for the pistol strapped to his leg, Rex began making a sweep of the penthouse, aiming first for where most of the valuables would be residing. He took a left into the apartment and stalked towards the master bedroom, finding the door wide open. A glance around at the other doors told him this was indeed the right call — every other door was sealed. 

His former General was still on speed dial. He could reach them if he needed, even if they wouldn’t do much good from Naboo. 

Ahsoka was also still on speed dial as well. 

Rex took a moment to glance down at the first button on his wrist comm. She was currently on leave if he wasn’t mistaken. A coil tightened in the center of his chest (maybe a little to the left). As war hardened as he was, the pain of losing her still cut deep. He ground his teeth.

They were adults. She’d come if he called. 

No disturbances were coming from the main suite. The bed was made and tucked with droid-like precision. All of the drawers were closed and the curtains hung undisturbed. No glass or debris littered the floor. For a brief moment, Rex relaxed his grip on his blaster, but that was only until he saw the faint flicker of light coming from the crack in the ‘fresher door. 

The lavender and gold doors flew open, ricocheting against the painted walls and chipping the lovely paint. His eyes were narrowed and brows furrowed as he scanned the refresher, not at all expecting to find lit candles in a dark room and a very naked Ahsoka in the largest bathtub he’s ever seen. 

His eyebrows slowly rose upward in shock. Gone was the instinct of a soldier ready to strike. 

She would’ve stopped it if she could, but it was far too late. Her eyes would’ve stayed squeezed shut had Rex not entered the room — the very image of what brought upon her orgasm was now standing directly across from her. She didn’t have to picture his fingers anymore. She could see them. His chest was heaving, his skin glowing, eyes reflecting the flicker of the candles, his pretty lips parted. Ahsoka was helpless but to choke out a moan, helpless to control the jolts of pleasure coursing throughout her body as she came, eyes locked with his as she came undone to the thought of him. 

Three candles only provided so much visibility, but she didn’t need them to be able to tell that Rex had gone deeply red in the face. 

He was frozen where he stood, unable to move, unable to divert his gaze. He’d only witnessed the climax of her pleasure for one night, engraved it into his memory, certain he’d never see it again. Yet here it was, here she was, legs trembling as she came right in front of him. 

Ahsoka’s hands moved beneath the water, her arms following as she removed them from between her thighs. She was still holding eye contact with Rex, who began to notice that the only sound in the room was their combined, panting breaths. He’d been standing there, looking at her for far too long. 

Discreetly, he stuffed his shaking hands into his pockets and adjusted himself, now looking anywhere but her and delayed in picking up on the scent of some recreational spice. 

Chancing a look up to the small table next to the bath, he saw the pink dust. Perhaps her pupils were only dilated due to the drugs and not because of him. Ahsoka's head lolled against the side of the tub and Rex was all too aware that her eyes were still on him, watching him try to not watch her as she came down from just one of her highs. 

Of all the things he’d been trained for, this certainly hadn’t made the list. He should leave. He should step out of the room and wait for her to be clothed. But his feet remained still. Stuck. What was he supposed to say now?

“I thought Jedi weren’t permitted the use of recreational spice,” he said, hearing his words tremble in his throat as he motioned towards the jar of dust. 

Not the right thing to say. What are you doing? She’s in the bath. You need to leave. 

Ahsoka giggled and looked at the spice and then back at him, pulling her one leg back into the water. He swallowed thickly. She licked her bottom lip, her mouth presumably very dry at this point. “The Jedi are quite different than you and I last remember,” she responded slowly, still laughing. 

“Of all the rules they revised, I somehow doubt this was one of them,” he retorted, leaning against the marbled countertop and crossing his arms. You shouldn’t be in here. 

Rex forced himself to push off the surface, to put a stop to this and not let himself grow comfortable here. Comfort was the furthest from what he was feeling, but something about Ahsoka made it feel so natural, even when it was anything but. In fact, it was most unnatural for a clone and a Jedi to be caught in this situation. 

It was wrong before and it was still wrong now. 

“You wouldn’t be wrong.”

His heart lodged itself in his throat. 

She continued, sounding far away, “I thought it was bath crystals.”

He coughed and rubbed the back of his too hot neck, readying to take his fleeing steps from the room. Rex didn’t know what to do with his hands. At this moment at least. He absolutely knew what he’d be doing with them later, in the privacy of his own apartment and with an amount of guilt that would last him to the next solstice. 

His disapproval of the drugs seemed to amuse her. She leaned forwards and crossed her arms, folding them under her chin on the edge of the bath, prompting him to cough again. Only the soap covered her chest, slipping between…

“Will you be able to get out?” Rex asked, clearing his throat and keeping his eyes fixed on the pink powder on the small table in front of her. If he didn’t, he’d be wholly incapable of keeping his eyes at appropriate levels. 

Her confidence was… intoxicating. In this state, Ahsoka felt zero ounce of embarrassment from the act he’d just seen her complete. 

Blinking lazily, she slipped a little on her knees and giggled. Well past her limit to exit the tub without injury, Rex concluded. He ground his teeth. Karking hells. Leaving the room alone certainly wasn’t in the question now. The soldier in him shifted into gear again, finding the towel that sober Ahsoka had set out for herself and thanking their makers that she’d done so. He stepped around the tub and held it up, letting the material unfold itself and shield her nudity from him. Rex put his back to the mirrors. 

Ahsoka giggled again from the water as she bit on her lower lip, looking at Rex through half-lidded eyes. 

Fuck. 

Tearing his gaze away from her, Rex approached the edge of the porcelain tub and took great interest in the colorful tiles at his feet. The cool air coming from being near the windows told him he was sweating. “Can you stand?” he asked. 

“I can try,” Ahsoka said, gripping the edges of the bath, wet fingers grazing Rex’s pants. He bit down on his tongue hard. 

From what he could tell out of his peripheral vision, her movements were entirely uncoordinated — like a newborn kybuck walking for the first time. Taking a second to regain her land legs, Ahsoka rose with wobbly knees to her feet, the dripping of the water off of her body filling the room. Rex tried not to imagine it, he really did, the way the water traveled down her breasts and gathered by her navel. He tried not to imagine the shine and slip of her sienna skin, the water streaking down her torso and the swell of her ass, collecting there and trailing down her thighs. 

It was an image he remembered all too well and an image concealed to him now only by a towel. 

Yes, Rex remembered — all too painfully well. He was cursed to remember. The feel of her lips between his, her supple skin under his fingertips, the flutter of her eyes, the sounds passing over her tongue. He’d memorized the curve of her breasts, the taste of her kiss, the way her hands scratched along his scalp, the way she breathed his name, how slow they’d taken it at first, the way her cunt sucked him in and wrapped so tightly around him, how wet she’d been… and how they’d washed one another in the sonic after. 

It was almost ironic that they meet like this now. Rex could’ve laughed if the memory hadn’t— 

Ahsoka suddenly fell forward and took a frantic hold of the towel, thinking it would break her fall but pulling it from Rex’s grasp completely. It dropped to the floor in a heap and her hands scrambled for the next available thing, pulling him into her with two fistfuls of his white shirt. Reacting quickly, Rex’s arms shot out to both hold her close and prevent his own fall, placing one hand at the small of her bare back and the other on the lip of the tub. 

But he was only successful at one of those attempts. His shins were flush against the bath and Ahsoka was flush against him, the soap in the water unwilling to allow her feet to grip the bottom. Finally slipping, Ahsoka took Rex along with her, yelping as they fell and the bubbles engulfed them. 

Unscrewing his eyes, the first thing Rex saw were small heaps of bubbles falling around them and framing Ahsoka’s face. The warm water lapped at his neck, having soaked through his tee and trousers. He blew away the bubbles on his nose. Two lekku were draped on either side of his head and both of his hands were holding… holding her hips.

She’d either landed on top of him by sheer accident or he’d somehow managed to cradle her fall while they were going down. But the only thing he knew for certain was that a dark, hardened nipple had just grazed over his chest. He bit the inside of his cheek, keenly aware of the twitch of his cock and the way Ahsoka’s hot core was seated against his belt. 

He’d turned his head but seeing the white marks situated above her opening had been completely unavoidable. Heat seared across his face as though he’d been slapped.  

Water continued to slosh around them and Rex tore his hands away from her naked frame, desperately trying to move in a way where she couldn’t feel the stiff erection in his pants. There’d be no tent and no hiding it. The water would allow Ahsoka to see and feel everything. His frantic reaction prompted her to leap into action, accidentally grinding herself against him in attempts to mend their situation and causing Rex’s hips to buck. 

A moan was stifled in both of their throats and again he caught sight of the pretty white markings above her pussy, screwing his eyes shut to avoid a third. “Ahsoka,” he choked out, “Just follow my lead and I’ll get us out of here.”

What was left of the contents of the tub sloshed around them as Rex sat up. With his eyes closed, he reached out for her arms, which she gratefully offered to him so that he could pull them up together. Ahsoka swallowed, trying to wet her dry mouth, and found that looking down only made it dry up more. Rex was undeniably hard, the head of his thick cock outlined by his soaked pants. 

A whine escaped her. 

“Are you alright? Did you hurt yourself?” Rex asked. 

“M’okay,” she squeaked, watching his boots as they left the tub. He cracked an eye open to look for the towel that had dropped, only to find that it too had been drenched. 

He sighed and Ahsoka witnessed the flush occupying the shells of Rex’s ears. “Put your arms around my neck,” he instructed. 

For the first time that evening, her heart leapt into her throat. Her senses were dulled and nowhere near the end of their fog, but this still made her insides flutter. Ahsoka did as she was asked, her eyes locked on Rex’s face as she hooked her hands behind him. Force, he looked as beautiful as ever. 

She hadn’t seen him… hadn’t spoken with him since…

Rex’s hands connected with her hips again, lingering for a fraction of a second and not even giving her time to gasp before he bent and slotted an arm under her knees and one behind her back. 

The small gasp fell past her lips as he lifted her up. Ahsoka looked past him and into the mirror behind them, witnessing the way his muscles rippled under his wet, white t-shirt. If her mouth wasn’t already dry, it surely was now. She giggled again to herself, kicking her feet in a girlish sort of way. It couldn’t be helped. Rex just made her feel so giddy and—

Ahsoka kicked the jar of spice onto the floor. 

“Fuck me,” Rex sighed, defeated. 

Pink dust swirled around them and they each coughed, his boots crunching the shards of glass now littered on the tiles. Ahsoka’s giggling ceased only for a moment before it started up again. She threw her head back in laughter as Rex walked them out of the room, shaking his head. 

But Ahsoka saw the slight twitch in the right corner of his mouth. 

His head was starting to feel light as he approached the guest bedroom. Ahsoka was humming and kicking her feet to whatever tune she had in her head. It almost sounded like a cheesy solstice carol, but Ahsoka was never one to hold the correct tune or even learn the proper words or melodies to songs. She was exceptional in everything she did — everything but singing. 

It was like listening to a choir of porgs. No, actually, it was like a choir of porgs being grilled alive for solstice dinner. 

And he loved her for it. 

The lamps and holo tv cast a dim glow in the room and Rex was grateful. He nudged the switch for the fan with his shoulder, turning it off, and placed Ahsoka gently onto the mattress, feeling himself sway as he leaned down. She released her grip on his neck but her fingers lingered, trailing under his jaw and causing him to choke on a hiss. 

His pants were already clinging to him and she was just making it worse. 

He had to look up to the bed canopy to prevent his eyes from drifting any lower. The doors to her ‘fresher were open and he spotted a stack of towels, lifting himself off the mattress for it and grabbing up a fresh one. Switching the light off, he sighed. 

He’d have to go back into the master ‘fresher and blow out all those candles Ahsoka had lit. 

Placing the towel on the edge of the bed, he began the journey back down the hall. The less he looked at Ahsoka the better. 

When he returned to the scene of the crime, the room was in a thin cloud of pink dust. One of the candles had already been put by their splash. 

Rex pulled his shirt up over his nose so as to prevent any more inhalation and mopped up the puddle on the floor. By the looks of the painted walls, he doubted that Senator Amidala had ever intended to add a real lake to her Naboo themed refresher. 

Quickly, he found proper cleaning supplies in a hall closet and erased the mess. It was like it had never happened. 

He was blowing out the last candle, however, when he saw the remnants of the spice being sucked up into the vents. Of course this couldn’t be easy. If he didn’t turn off the entire system, it would spread throughout the apartment. 

The walk back down the hall wasn’t as smooth as the first time around. His steps were noticeably less coordinated. As a soldier, it enraged him that he had no control over it. How much spice was safe to inhale in one sitting? 

Ahsoka was shivering on the bed when he returned, toweling off her lekku and still stark naked. His dick twitched helplessly and he leaned into the wall. 

“Rex,” Ahsoka slurred his name. He leaned further into the wall. She was looking down at her lekku. “I think the white is turning blue.”

“You’re not turning blue.”

“But—”

“I had to turn off the heat,” he explained, handing her one of the Senator’s robes. 

She finally looked up at him and her lekku dropped back down to her chest. Her towel drifted down past her collarbones and Rex offered the housecoat more urgently.

Ahsoka pushed it aside, delighted amusement painting her face. “Rex, what are you wearing?”

“The same thing you’re about to be wearing,” he answered, “Take it.”

Orange fingers took the luxury housecoat and blue eyes went wide. “This is expensive,” her blown pupils tried to narrow, “Wait. If this one’s… Is that Anakin’s?” 

Rex looked down to where Ahsoka was pointing. In the haze of shucking his wet clothes and pulling the robes on in the dark, he’d missed the monogram. Silver embroidery decorated the chest of the blue garment, reading in curly letters: Ani. 

Karking hells. 

He’d never seen Ahsoka laugh so hysterically. She fell onto her back with laughter, her face and lekku beginning to flush. Even Rex couldn’t keep a straight face this time. It looked ridiculous on him. He couldn’t tell if it was the spice, Ahsoka’s guffawing, or the image of General Skywalker wearing a fur lined, baby blue housecoat with his nickname on it that made him join her in hysterics. 

Tears collected at the corners of Ahsoka’s eyes and somehow Rex was now face to face with her. Had he collapsed onto the bed in laughter? He couldn’t pick himself up or make himself stop long enough to answer. It felt like if he’d were to try and lift his head up that it would weigh thousands of pounds. 

With his face smushed into the bed, their laughing slowly started to cease, turning into only a smile as they watched one another. 

The towel was millimeters away from exposing Ahsoka’s breasts. 

Rex reached for her forgotten housecoat and pulled it up for her to grab. “Put this on. It’s gonna get cold. I’ll call someone t’come fix it in the morning.”

Ahsoka nodded and opened the robe to access the arm holes. She got one in successfully and pulled the excess material over her chest to hunt for the other. She missed. And missed. And missed. And missed again. 

“Rex,” she whined, “Help.”

Her plea broke him out of his daze of watching her, not even realizing she was struggling. Something about the way her back kept arching off the mattress made his cock slap against his stomach and he’d been lost in the motions. 

His fingers didn’t feel like his own as he moved the robe around to find the other arm hole and hold it open for her. Ahsoka fit it inside and smiled in triumph, allowing Rex to lean over her to close the robe shut, tying it securely. The hands that didn’t feel like his own stayed motionless at her sides. 

A lone orange finger roamed over his knuckles before Ahsoka turned to look out the window. The snow was falling harder. 

Rex swallowed and pulled away, collapsing back into the bed at her side and looking in the other direction. 

Why were all of his favorite, guilty pleasure treats on the nightstand?

“‘Soka?” he asked, his voice cracking. 

She hummed. 

“Did you do this?”

Turning to face him, her brow markings turned inward. “What d’you mean?”

He licked his lips. Now his mouth was dry. “I mean why are you here? Why are my favorite things on the night table? Why is that Shilian classic on the tv with the woman I said looks like you? Did you know I’d be here?”

The crease between her brows had deepened. “Rex, what are you talking about? I didn’t d—”

Her words trailed. 

He—

No. 

Oh, when he gets back!

“Anakin,” she breathed, shaking her head and staring up at the ceiling. “He thinks he’s so slick…”

“I’m confused,” Rex said slowly, propping himself up onto pillows that cost more than his life. 

Ahsoka did the same, pressing her nose into the fuzz that lined the collar of her similarly monogrammed robe. “Did Anakin ask you to house sit while he was away?”

His features didn’t move. “Well, yeah, but—”

“When?”

“Yesterday.”

She nodded to herself and laughed at seemingly nothing, that was, until Rex remembered the passkeys. 

“That kriffing— He—”

Ahsoka finished for him, “Orchestrated this whole thing.” She definitely butchered the first word. 

Rex looked at the opposite nightstand and found that their guess was confirmed. All of Ahsoka’s favorite treats were sitting atop it — everything he knew her to love. And the film. She’d said once that it was her childhood favorite. 

He should be angry. He should be outraged at Skywalker and he ought to return his passkey to the bowl and leave her to house sit. This wasn’t a two person job, afterall.

But he didn’t move. If he did, it might take thousands of pounds of effort. 

“When did he ask you?” 

“Just before he left. I’d come to surprise them for dinner,” she answered, her voice less musical than before. 

They sat in silence for a long while, neither of them paying any real attention to the holo drama. With no heat running, the apartment’s silence was loud. They could even hear the snow falling outside. Ahsoka pulled the towel over her to retain more warmth. 

Rex reached for the nightstand and downed half of the bottle of water Anakin had presumably left for him. He was trying to focus on sobering up and not think about how he and Ahsoka had found themselves in a bed together. How could the Gener— Skywalker do this? All those countless dinners. He and Padmé both know how painful the subject of Ahsoka was for him. 

Her voice was quiet when she finally spoke — so quiet that he thought it was part of the program playing on the holo tv at first. 

“Why did you leave?”

The silence between them suddenly felt heavy, like it could weigh thousands of—

“You resigned without even telling me first,” she continued, glancing at him once, bravely, before turning back to the window. 

She was hurting just as badly as he was. 

Rex felt like that shattered jar of spice. 

“I– I couldn’t serve with you anymore,” he choked out. “I couldn’t serve under a superior I’d slept with. You’d agreed to rejoin the Jedi and… it wouldn’t… it wouldn’t have been in the best interest of the men if I’d had sexual relations with—”

“Is that all it was to you?” Ahsoka cut him off, her voice louder and wavering. “Sexual relations?”

The pain in her voice sent a crack running straight through the largest vessel in his heart. “Ahsoka. Of course not.” 

His eyes were still adamant not to focus but he fought against the high to train his gaze on her. 

“Ahsoka, it’s all I’ve thought about since. It’s all I’ve thought about for months. I thought… I thought leaving the GAR was what you wanted me to do. At the time, it’s what I wanted to do too. We’d finally been given the choice, all of the clones, and I made mine. I couldn’t choose the Republic and choose you too. It wasn’t even in the question to have both. I’d be failing the men, failing my government, and failing you if I stayed. You don’t know how I’d dreamed of one day being your Commander, calling you General. I thought after Maul, that’s what we’d get. I knew Skywalker would transfer me to you permanently. But when we got back… we— we got so much more than that,” he paused, “And then it just…”

She sighed, her eyes glittering with tears threatening to spill. “And then it just didn’t happen.”

“Just once. That’s all we got,” Rex laughed at himself to avoid breaking down. “I’d never regretted a decision more. I should’ve let you inspect the Tribunal yourself. I shouldn’t have come into your quarters with you. I should’ve turned in at the barracks, kept the promotion, and served with you and the 332nd. At least, that way, I’d still be able to see you. Even if you only spoke to me because you had to, we’d still be near, and I’d still die for you even then — gladly. We should’ve gotten so much more than we did.”

Moodboard by @ventresses

Pent Up in the Skywalker Penthouse (Part Two)

[mariacallous]

As Russia’s war against Ukraine approaches its third winter, there is still no end in sight. The drip feed of Western military aid is enough for Ukraine to keep fighting but insufficient to liberate all its territory. At the same time, despite continued popular support for Kyiv’s cause in Western countries, there is plenty of talk about Western war fatigue, with increasing behind-the-scenes debate about a possible compromise to end or freeze the war.

A compromise would be premature for a number of familiar reasons. First, neither side is ready for serious negotiations. Regaining control over Ukraine may not be existential for Russia’s survival, as Russian President Vladimir Putin has claimed, but it could very well become a matter of life and death for Putin himself. For Ukraine, the fight is existential, and Western leaders have said again and again that it is for Ukraine to decide when to negotiate and on what conditions. That mantra is flawed, however, since we already know that Ukraine wants to keep fighting. By holding back on crucial weapons deliveries, Western countries are partly responsible for Ukraine not advancing as fast as it and its supporters would wish.

Second, violence in Russian-occupied territories will not stop as long as these territories remain under Moscow’s control. Freezing the conflict is therefore a non-starter for the Ukrainians who have seen the horrors perpetrated by Russians in Bucha, Irpin, and countless other towns and villages. This is well understood by Ukraine’s neighbors, which have their own experience of Russian and Soviet occupation. It means living under fear, unfreedom, and the constant threat of violence.

These arguments against seeking a settlement any time soon will be familiar to readers following the war. Less discussed—but much more fundamental for all of Europe—is what a settlement would mean for the future European security order. If the war were frozen, not only would Russia be rewarded for its attack. It would also hold on to its goal of fundamentally revising the European security order and reestablishing its sphere of influence.

It should be very clear that Moscow’s understanding of the principles and norms of European security is incompatible with Western views. As we can see in Ukraine, the Kremlin equates security with control, which has deep roots in Russian history and foreign policy. This is unlikely to change in the foreseeable future.

The tradition of Russia as a land-hungry empire goes back in a straight line to medieval Muscovy, which transformed into an expansionist state under the rule of Ivan the Terrible in the 16th century. Ivan, also known for his cruelty in torturing and massacring his own people, has been rehabilitated and celebrated under Putin’s rule, while Putin himself has adopted another torture-loving Russian empire builder, Peter the Great, as his role model.

Another key Russian foreign-policy tradition is the idea that the European security order should be based on agreements among the major powers over the heads of smaller ones. Since 2014, the Kremlin has repeatedly made references to the Congress of Vienna, which redrew the map of Europe in the early 1800s, and the Yalta Conference, the British-Soviet-U.S. meeting in February 1945 that divided Europe into two spheres of influence. From the Russian perspective, both agreements laid the foundation for decades-long stability. The price of that stability, however, is painfully known to the countries affected by Russian domination. The Vienna agreement wiped Poland off the map as a sovereign state for a century, and Yalta doomed half of Europe to more than 40 years of Soviet occupation and totalitarian rule.

Europe’s post-Cold War order has brought unprecedented levels of freedom, sovereignty, and prosperity to Russia’s western neighbors. Most of the former Eastern Bloc countries used their sovereignty to make a decisive turn to the West. Among the former Soviet republics, the Baltic states’ Western turn was fast and determined; Ukraine, Georgia, and Moldova tried to follow later and are still struggling for the right to choose their future place in Europe, including membership in the European Union. The EU’s decision-making structures underpin a fundamentally different order compared with being part of a Russian-controlled zone: The bloc gives substantial power to smaller states, even as members delegate some aspects of sovereignty to supranational institutions. Staying in the gray zone between Russia and the EU, as Ukraine has done, proved to be the least stable option.

Russia never felt comfortable with post-Cold War developments in European security. It frequently complained about not being treated as an equal by the West—yet Russia’s and Europe’s definitions of equality are very different. For Russia, it means being on par with other great powers, notably the United States, and not with its sovereign neighbors, whose agency it has consistently denied. Because it does not see them as equals, Moscow also has little interest in what Berlin or Paris has to say, let alone Brussels. That clouds every aspect of how Russia views its neighbors. When hundreds of thousands of Ukrainians took to the streets during the 2004 Orange Revolution to protest against their corrupt and dishonest government—and again during the Maidan Revolution in late 2013 and early 2014—all Moscow could see was a supposed U.S. plot to weaken Russia.

In 2009, then-Russian President Dmitry Medvedev proposed a new European security treaty in an attempt to defend what Russia considered its legitimate security interests, now allegedly being trod on by the West. Using code language such as “indivisibility of security,” what Moscow really seemed to seek was to confine NATO to the Cold War-era West and gain veto right over the alliance’s decisions if Russia considered them contrary to its very different definition of security.

In December 2021, as Russian forces were massing to invade Ukraine, the Kremlin made a renewed attempt to promote its vision of a European security order in two documents addressed to NATO and the United States. This time the ambiguity was gone and the revisionist aims clear: a full restoration of Moscow’s Cold War-era sphere of influence and the pushback of NATO’s presence in Europe to the line before its eastward expansion in the 1990s. These aims remain unchanged and reflect Russia’s long-term strategic thinking. Western efforts since the Cold War to build a common European order with Russia have clearly failed.

If Russia achieves its strategic goal of reestablishing control over Ukraine, even in part, it will ratify Russia’s efforts to impose its vision of order on its European neighbors. But even if Russia is defeated and has to leave all occupied territories in Ukraine, it will not easily give up its centuries-old understanding of itself as an empire and major power entitled to privileged rights in its sphere of influence. Unlike some empires that were wound down in the past—such as Nazi Germany and imperial Japan—Russia will not be totally defeated. It will not be occupied by foreign powers or be forced to go through a profound system change. Russia’s imminent transformation to a status quo power that accepts its post-Cold War place in Europe, let alone further enlargement of the EU and NATO, is therefore unlikely.

Former U.S. National Security Advisor Zbigniew Brzezinski famously argued in the 1990s that Russia cannot be an empire without Ukraine. Russian propagandists claim that Russia can only exist as an empire or not exist at all. Rejecting this claim will be an essential precondition for a post-imperial Russia to emerge.

Another precondition will be for Russia to acknowledge its neighbors as sovereign states and not mere puppets doing Washington’s bidding. Where the Kremlin—echoed by so-called realists in the West—is profoundly wrong with regard to its Ukraine war is the idea that world history is written by the major powers. If that were true, the Baltic states, Finland, Poland, and Ukraine would have no reason to exist today as sovereign states. One of the big unintended consequences of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine is that it has demonstrated and strengthened the agency of Russia’s neighbors. A new power bloc in NATO now stretches from Scandinavia to the Black Sea. Poland and Ukraine are becoming leading military powers in Europe. Their contribution to European defense will be much needed in coming years and decades.

We should not expect a common understanding between the West and Russia on European security to emerge anytime soon—and certainly not as part of a negotiated agreement that would at least partially reward Russia for its dismemberment of Ukraine. It is therefore necessary to envisage a future European security order not with Russia but against it, aimed at deterring further Russian threats and defending European democracies against the Kremlin’s authoritarian, revisionist, and imperialist ambitions.

This would be a dual order similar in some ways to the Cold War era. Then, Western democracies created their own liberal rules-based structures, notably NATO and the EU, while pursuing a containment policy against the Soviet Union and engaging in ideological, economic, military, and technological competition with the Eastern Bloc. Such a new European order would, however, be inherently unstable, not least because the global context has profoundly changed since the Cold War. The United States’ commitment to European security is undermined by both domestic political turbulence and a geostrategic environment where the main U.S. competitor is now China, not Russia. At the same time, the world is no longer bipolar but has multiple competing and interconnected centers of power.

In spite of these changes, the future European order will most likely be characterized by a long-term Russian threat and an antagonistic relationship with Moscow, much as during the Cold War. Russia will continue to reject a new balance of power that shrinks its former Soviet and tsarist sphere of influence, while the West will continue to reject the very principle of spheres of influence. Russia would seek to revise the balance of power as soon as it rebuilds its military capability. In order to make the new order in Europe more sustainable, the West will need to pursue a proactive containment policy, including credible deterrence and defense, full integration of Ukraine and other countries in NATO and the EU, and restrictions on Russia’s ability to restore its military strength.

No matter where one stands on negotiations between Russia and Ukraine, the fundamental question of Europe’s future security order cannot be ignored.

[ky21]

"I won't leave you alone again"

Honestly, their supports were maybe the MVP for me--like did they just dramatic back hug in 16-bit (or whatever)

I didn't do it justice and I'm not happy with the face (I redrew it countless times) but whatever, this couple needs more love

[scottdclary]

The Map Is Not the Territory

Hi All,

Here’s my daily newsletter navigating the crossroads of business, growth, and life.

If you love this content (please share it), but also…

Check out my Podcast, connect with me on YouTube / Twitter, Subscribe to my weekly newsletter and Join our free slack community

---

Ever tried navigating a bustling city with a map from the 1980s? Turns out, the city is the same, but the map has changed.

John’s Coffee Shop, a bustling locale in New York, changed hands three times in a decade. On paper, every owner was a savvy entrepreneur. Yet, two of them failed, one succeeded wildly. The difference? Their perception of the territory.

Fact: Every business operates with models. Forecasts. Predictions. Templates. Maps. But, as Alfred Korzybski reminded us, "the map is not the territory."

John's first owner, a techie, automated everything. He trusted algorithms to dictate coffee preferences, manage inventory, and even select music. His map: technology-driven efficiency equals success.

The second owner went retro. Vintage furniture. Manual registers. A return to the "good old days." His map: people long for nostalgia.

The third, a young barista-turned-owner, constantly interacted with customers. She tweaked the menu based on conversations, adjusted seating arrangements from observations, and kept a flexible approach. Her map: listen, adapt, and evolve.

Two static maps. One dynamic terrain. Guess who thrived?

Our businesses, like cities, are dynamic, ever-changing. But we, time and again, clutch outdated maps thinking they'll guide us.

Tesla didn’t dominate by following the traditional auto industry's map. They redrew it.

Netflix didn’t rise by mimicking Blockbuster. They envisioned a new landscape.

Yet, countless businesses cling to their maps. After all, it's reassuring to follow a blueprint. But what if that blueprint is outdated or just plain wrong?

Consider the Titanic. Best nautical map of its time. Top-notch navigation tools. But, it wasn’t the map that failed; it was the iceberg not on it. A dynamic, unforeseen component of the territory.

So, how do we operate in a world where our business maps might be leading us astray?

Embrace Uncertainty: Every map has blind spots. Anticipate them.

Stay Curious: The world changes. Regularly revisit and revise your maps.

Interact with the Terrain: Get out there. Feel the ground. Talk to people. Real-time feedback trumps theoretical models.

Remember Blockbuster’s decline? They had a map. A good one. But when the terrain changed with the rise of digital streaming, their map became obsolete.

Conversely, Apple, under Jobs, was known to pivot on a dime. iPod's success? iPhone’s creation? Responses to a changing territory.

Lastly, a nod to Nassim Taleb, the author who’s talked extensively about "Black Swan" events. Events so rare, so unpredictable, they’re not on anyone’s map. Yet, they shape terrains. Businesses that thrive, Taleb argues, aren’t those with the best maps, but those most adaptable when off the map.

So, as you chart your business journey, remember:

Your map is a guide, not gospel. The real magic happens when you dare to traverse the unmapped, the unpredictable, the unknown.

Because in the end, it's not about having the best map, but being the best explorer.

[countlessgifts]

His coat might be real cool, but have y’all thought about bare arms?

cause I have

[miralyk]

Could you do Simon and Bayonetta?

the fashion disaster vs The Fashionista ✨

[002yb]

From his peripheral, Dick catches sight of a familiar silhouette on the rooftops.  It’s that time between night and dawn, the sky still dark but slowly lightening as the sun starts to break the horizon.  It’s past his usual patrol time, but Dick has been staying out later lately:  walking the streets, taking the city in from its ground-level.  Can’t truly understand how to help a place like Blüdhaven without understanding its foundation, from its rusted studs to its jaded people.

There’s a lot to learn through experiencing it.  If Dick has learned anything from watching Jason bring a corrupt, misbegotten city to its knees–turning rampant crime on its head–it’s that Dick’s naivety on justice and how to protect and keep people safe was narrow-minded and woefully idealistic.

Not to say that all of Dick’s efforts have been for naught, or that Jason’s methods are gospel, it’s just–Dick is coming to be aware that he can do better.  He can make an impact if he takes a step back from going through the motions and just thinks.

There’s a lot to reevaluate:  about himself, about what he thinks is good and right; what he believes of justice, law, and order; crime and punishment.  Dick isn’t the same man he was just a week ago.  His hands are bloody now, his morals muddied.  And even in spite of that major, fundamental change, Dick’s mind is startlingly clear.

There’s no guilt weighing him down.  No remorse to make him second guess.

Dick killed a man and by doing so he saved countless more.

It’s not an empty platitude to make himself feel better.  It’s simply fact.  Dick didn’t do it for all the victims though:  past, present, future.  The Joker’s blood on his hands was solely for Jason.  An act of passion.  A promise and an oath.  A vow.  Because Jason set himself up for a heartache he wouldn’t survive by asking Bruce to choose him.  A hero will never love anything more than their cause, after all, but Dick isn’t a hero–he’s always been more monster than man, everything wicked of him held desperately back; muzzled and leashed, clipped and caged.

(But Jason came back to them screaming.  He made a monster of himself and Dick recognized him–bloody hands, red rimmed eyes, all sharp teeth as he snarled to hide a trembling lip).

This is yours.

(Jason made a city bend to him; Dick readily broke.  Knew in his heart that he wasn’t meant to fall that night on the trapeze because this is it).

It’s not the first time Dick has had to rediscover himself–his values, his morals, his priorities.  It’s part of the reason why he hasn’t gone out as Nightwing since the Joker was killed, even if it was Dick Grayson who did the killing.  The larger, more important reason is because of that shadow on the rooftop, leaning over the raised edge to watch him from up above.

Dick didn’t want to bring attention to them.  Not yet.

It’s only a matter of time before Bruce comes calling.  With how painful Jason’s recovery has been–Dick couldn’t risk it.  Had everything come to blows though, Dick would have fought.  Tooth and nail, he would have defended what is his because this is yours.

Burce has his line.

So did Dick—he just redrew it.  A slippery slope, Bruce would say; Dick doesn’t think him wrong.  His commitment isn’t so easily wavered though, even in the face of depravity.

When Dick looks up, Jason waves his fingers at him.  A cheeky waggle.  The attitude has become familiar as Jason’s condition has improved, but seeing him out of Dick’s safehouse–it’s new and promising in a way that settles something in Dick.  It was touch-and-go for too long between the injury and the trauma and the grief.  Jason is bouncing back though, just like Dick knew he would.  Because beaten or dead, Jason gets back up again.  It’s just who he is.

Although Dick made it a point of buying Jason his own clothes, Dick takes note that Jason’s chosen to come out in Dick’s colors.

This is yours, this is yours, this is yours.

Beneath that dark hood—blue.  Bright and vibrant and somehow untouched by the ugliness of this life they’re bound to.  Beautiful even when their gazes catch and Dick is offered a smile that’s nothing short of wicked, all teeth and bite and promise.

There’s no viciousness in his own expression to match.  Just a slow pull at the corner of his lips, a lopsided grin that there’s no fighting against.  Regardless of what pensiveness he felt before, Dick finds his shoulders dropping in calm, stark relief.  There’s a feeling of peace that settles over him, comforting in a way that drives away all the uncertainties that plagues him.

Jason bounces on the balls of his feet, shuffling to the side while taking Dick in–dressed similarly in civvies:  hat and hood and beat-up sneakers, bruises on swollen knuckles and a split in his lip and a bruise on his jaw.  There’s a ghost of a smile on Jason’s lips, a playful light in his eyes and a charming taunt in his expression.

Jason takes a step forward across the rooftop.  From the ground, Dick follows step-for-step, keeping an eye on him.  Watching as Jason jumps between the gaps of buildings and turning abruptly to run through alleys as Jason changes his route up above him until Dick is able to find a place with enough leverage to pull himself up to the skies alongside this mess of a man that Dick has chosen and will continue to choose.

Because this–this is his line.

When Jason looks back and sees him, he looks giddy.  Finally moving after weeks cooped up; finally free because his body isn’t shutting itself down anymore, demanding rest.

Playing chase like this still isn’t the safest idea with Jason recovering, but they keep an easy pace and Dick is never far behind.  Dick doesn’t think he could stop Jason even if he wanted to though.  It’s just–it’s been a long time since Jason has taken to the skies.  Seeing him now–Dick thinks Jason doesn’t belong anywhere more.

It doesn’t matter how Jason has tried to disassociate from them:  he’s a Robin.  Even after all this time, Dick can see it in Jason’s movements.  When he jumps, when he leaps, when he flies.  It’s in the curl of his body, the bend of his legs and the spread of his arms.  It’s the ease with which he soars and how gravity can’t seem to touch him.

Jason flits about him, running Dick in circles.  The smile that slowly lights up Jason’s face is breathtaking.  It beckons him, an unspoken call to chase.

It’s when Dick hears Jason wheeze and cough softly under his breath that Dick calls it, pulling ahead until he can grab Jason’s hand in a silent vie to stop.  Jason grimaces at him for it, but a coughing fit gets the better of him, painful and stuttered as he gasps around the pain in his throat.  Same as when they’re back home, Dick rubs Jason’s back and gives him time to settle.  Recovery is slow, but it’s happening.  Jason is healthier.  Happier, even if Jason tries hard to hold onto all of his pain.

Bandages peek out from beneath the high neck of Jason’s collar.  The laceration to his throat is still an angry sight, but when Dick pulls the material down to get a closer look, he breathes a soft sigh of relief because there’s no blood staining through layers of gauze and tape.  It’s slow progress, but they’re getting there.

It’s because Dick’s finger is right there beside Jason’s throat that he notices it–Jason swallowing.  Jason turning his head slightly away, exposing his vulnerable neck and the strong cut of his jaw.  The sky around them is a soft purple with the rising of the sun, but Jason’s cheeks are dusted pink.

The way Dick looks from Jason’s eyes to his lips and back again draws a shiver up Jason’s spine.  He leans back against the wall he’s pressed against, chest heaving until he swallows thickly and forces his breath to still.  Jason’s gaze draws down, too, and when he does Dick admires the dark fan of Jason’s lashes.  They cast soft shadows over Jason’s face, mixing with healing bruises and abrasions.

Dick doesn’t move forward although he wants to.  Has wanted to since he recognized Jason under that red hood, beneath all that righteous anger and cathartic violence.

Jason kisses him first.  A shy, gentle brush of their lips.

Dick returns it, just as soft.  He reaches up, holding the back of Jason’s neck, thumb pressing against that still healing wound that has stolen more from Jason than just his voice.  Dick caresses it gently, marveling at the way Jason trembles–near to falling apart.

Although Jason can’t voice anything, he breathes a shuddering inhale when Dick presses another kiss to his lips, lingering and tender and heartrendingly gentle.  Softer than Jason’s ever been touched before, more revered than Jason would ever dream for himself.

Dick keeps a steady hold on the side of Jason’s neck, feeling the stuttering skip of Jason’s pulse.  When Dick pulls away from him, he can feel how he takes Jason’s breath with him.  There’s no fervency when Dick kisses Jason once more, just slow and languid intimacy.  Just crowded space when Dick finally pulls away to let Jason breathe, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing.

Nothing is said, but there’s no need.  Even without words Jason has always been expressive.  Jason’s cheeks are flushed, his hands held loose on Dick’s jacket.  He reaches out and mirrors how Dick holds him, a hand cradling the side of a wounded neck, brushing along the sharp cut of a bruised jaw before Jason pulls Dick in again.  It makes Dick smile into the kiss, laugh breathless when he feels Jason smiling, too.

[kiramice]

The best dancers South Park has to offer

Ok, but we agree that the best dancer was the duck, right?

Spam :(

This chapter appeared countless times on Facebook for some reason, so I “redrew” the part when Chef arrives and they are just: 🚹🚹🚹🚺🦆 (Btw, I I did like the episode 👊 )

This is my first fanart of the series since I am relatively new to the fandom, sooo.. Hi! :D ✌

Plus: 😖⬇️⬇️⬇️

It was so funny to do this xDD

[torumiku]

It has been months since I started this painting and I think I’m FINALLY finished! I don’t think I’ve ever edited a drawing as much as I have this one. I asked countless people for critiques and redrew things multiple times. It’s been a long time coming and I’m ready to be finished and move on! There are lots of things I like and don’t like about this painting. Regardless, I’m happy to finally post it, and I hope you guys like it! :3

[akakumoeteru]

This is the second of two pieces I contributed to 운심월성 (雲心月性), a WX costume anthology hosted by @muse-kr! I drew the Sweets Paradise collaboration outfits for this one!

Participants are uploading their pieces on Twitter now, so please feel free to browse the project account (1031wwx_book) or search the book tag #운심월성 on Twitter!

[buunbi-archive]

Lol soooooo cool and empowering that you stole someone's art, traced it, then tried to play it off as something informative and transformative. You're a fucking thief. And you deserve everything you're getting. Bet if someone did that to your art you'd be throwing a fit, oh wait you did. You cried how Campbell Critiqued and redrew your work even tho you did the same. Make your own fuckin art or deal with the consequences, you bitch baby cunt.

the really funny thing about all that is that scott campbell is an industry professional with decades of experience who has been critiqued and had his work torn apart countless times to the point you’d think he’d be used to it and i am a 19 year old boy on tumblr who got bored once

[vnzzz]

Somali to Mori no Kami-sama (https://somali-anime.com/), the series I was the background director for, is currently aired on CrunchyRoll and every Thursday night on AbemaTV/TokyoMX in Japan. I know it's super late to make an announcement since 6 of the 12 episodes are out already, but I needed a serious time off from an exhausting year and a difficult first-time experience as a BG director.

Production time was tight and the backgrounds we received were of mediocre quality to stay polite. To fix some 3200+ color backgrounds across 12 episodes, we were just 2 people to redraw as many as we could, around 1700 in 3 months, with the priceless help of the talented Loic Locatelli. On most episodes we did only the most important fixes (120/270 BGs on average) We redrew entirely episodes 8 and 12 and most of episode 7 which will be aired tonight, so please look forward to them. Sadly we did almost nothing on episodes 5 and 9 which were entrusted to 2 other BG artists; while I'm very thankful to them (because their experience helped me a lot over the course of the production, and because those specific episodes would have been worse without their help), the quality is honestly a bit painful to watch and I'm sorry about it.

All in all it's just hard to achieve an ambitious BG direction with the current standards of japanese productions (low budget, short production time, complete outsourcing to overseas studios with subpar skills). To be honest, I made countless mistakes myself which made the production even more difficult to manage for the other departments, and I'm sorry about it... But learning that our 2 man-team was supposed to be 5 or 6 people in usual conditions, also told me that I sacrificed my health and time pretty pointlessly for an entire year (with hundreds of hours of unpaid overtime work just to make this series watchable).

I'll be way more careful for the next opportunity, and won't undergo any project without the support of a solid team. As always I'm optimistic though, and will try to make the most of this strenuous experience in the future.

Thanks to everyone who contributed to the project; Loic of course, Komiya-san and Koyama-san, Cyrille Chauvin and Jerome Perrillat who did a number of designs and layouts, Camille Broutin and Charline Lemoal who helped during production time. Here are a few screencaps taken from the OP/ED (sorry for the low quality and the heavy flares, that's all I'm allowed to post). I will later share a small sample of the backgrounds I drew for each episode, if you're interested. Sorry for the long story, enjoy if you ever watch this show! Vinz

[thecrazydragon]

This is a piece of fanart/appreciation for Ahkahna. https://www.furaffinity.net/view/35735246/

Ahkahna inspired me back in the early 2000's in my DeviantArt days, feeding into my love for dragons but also my love for details and thought out anatomy in imaginary worlds! I redrew this so many times, looking at countless drawings to make it as correct as possible. I struggle with lighting yellow characters in a night environment (why did I do this to myself?) so I do have a colour corrected version that i'll post in scraps, still pretty happy with the blues. . Thank you Hannah, you are an inspiration to me and i'm happy you still push through health to bring us beautiful art!

[emkayoh]

Okay, let’s get into it! Rather than a tutorial (because I don’t know how to do a tutorial about finding your style) this is just gonna be a really long text post. This happens to be something I have a lot of opinions on, so let’s do it.

First things first, and I strongly believe this:

If you’re actively trying to find a style, you’re thinking too much.

Seriously. I see a LOT of artists concerned about “finding a style” and I’ve never gotten it. I think trying to find a style is like trying to figure out what you look like. Just look in a mirror. It’s already there. What you’re actually looking for is different. Idk if I just started drawing before the “you must have a distinct style” craze or I just totally missed the memo, but from the beginning I never gave a shit about having my own style. Do I have a style now? Yeah, I think probably. I never think about it as my “signature,” rather it’s how my drawings always inevitably look just because that’s how I learned to draw things. And here’s how it happened:

I said this in my previous ask, but I first seriously got into art in middle school after being introduced to Avatar: The Last Airbender. I loved that show to bits and it’s what made me want to be an artist and make my own cartoons. And so when I started out, I just wanted to draw like Avatar. My mom bought me a “How to Draw Avatar” book and it was like my Bible. I would follow the steps in that book like it was the law. That’s where I learned about guidelines. I almost exclusively drew the Avatar characters at this point, and mostly in school notebooks until I started getting sketchbooks (but still a lot in school notebooks because, let’s face it, I was a serial doodler in class). So my very first “style” was just… me trying my very best to imitate the Avatar style to a T.

Then Avatar inevitably introduced me to anime, and like every other preteen, I loved the way they drew ginormous eyes. I also really liked the hair. So I started changing my style a bit to draw things the way whatever my favorite anime at the time was. But I already had the lessons instilled in me from Avatar, so it usually looked like Avatar proportions with anime eyes and hair. This is also when I discovered deviantART and began having online artists that I strongly admired. I would try to copy their work as well.

It’s important to note that during these initial years of my art career, I traced A LOT. I think tracing is seen as such a taboo thing now, but when you’re just starting out, I think it’s crucial to get an understanding of how shape and form work. I printed out countless screenshots of Avatar, other cartoons I liked, and art from my favorite online artists and just put a piece of paper over them and traced them. Then sometimes I would just use them as reference and try to draw it as closely identical as I could without tracing. And I think that taught me a lot. It gave me a better understanding of how form works. And honestly, I think most artists would be honored that you admire their work enough to want to imitate it. As long as you’re not, like, claiming something as your own, if you post a redraw and give credit, the person is gonna be psyched. Hell, that’s pretty much what “draw in your style” is!!! It doesn’t have to be wildly different at first if you don’t have that skill yet. If someone posted a referenced or traced work of mine, as long as they gave credit and acknowledge that it was for learning purposes, I would be so thrilled. Artists like to feel like they inspire others! Or you can just do it for yourself and not post it. I honestly feel like the best way to learn is through imitation.

After Avatar and anime, I decided I really liked Disney. So I tried copying the Disney style. I was a little more skilled at this point, so I tried to see how I could translate the CGI styles into illustration. Again, I copied artists. I redrew sooooo many Glen Keane drawings and tried to make them look exactly like his. Then I started really liking the “lineless” look of a lot of popular online artists and trying to imitate that. There are specific artists who’s art I tried to “copy” but it would always end up looking more like mine than theirs, because I’m not them. And that’s my “style.” Your style ends up being what fails to translate exactly from other people’s art. And now that I’m 24, my style is a hodge podge of all the influences I’ve ever had. In my opinion, you can still see the Avatar. You can still see the anime. You can see the Disney, and I can still see the influence from all the online artists I’ve admired. It looks like them to me. It looks like a mix of all the people I ever tried to rip off, and that’s become my “style.”

So really, I think trying to develop something uniquely you without building up years of just copying others isn’t going to work. You need that base. Style comes naturally through, ironically, your shortcomings to exactly imitate someone else.