#the use of the silhouette of the helmet in general is so clever to me still it's suuuuuch a delight

[heartvisor]

been staring at pics of him a bunch because i'm trying to get the hang of his helmet, but look!! aren't the asymmetrical eyeholes so cute!!

[nobedofroses]

October 13th

pairing: Din Djarin x gn!reader

warnings: Din has some anxiety

words: 1.1k

a/n: Prompt for today is "A gets separated from B in a haunted corn maze, leaving B to look all over for A and become worried that they’re alone and scared" from this list by @goldenroutledge. Poor Din is the worried one this time, but everyone's okay.

Directory, Day 12

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After your excursion to look at the color-changing leaves, you and Grogu had been in the market for some supplies before your trip to return the bounty and had been told that there was a whole harvest festival happening soon. Because of the climate of their planet, they had just one quarter of the year when the majority of their crops were harvested and would celebrate finishing the work with a festival. 

You and Grogu had shared a meaningful look and rushed back to the ship to tell Din about it. He listened intently but when it came down to it, it was time to return the bounty for the reward. But… he did agree that you could come back afterwards since the reward for the bounty was particularly high and he knew of another on this side of the galaxy. 

That night while the ship was flying through space on autopilot and you and Din were in your shared bunk, you made sure to show him just how much you appreciated the way he listened. 

A few days later, you were back on planet for the festival. It was about halfway through the week of festivities, so you had plenty of time to enjoy everything. There was a theatrical show the first night you were there that you all enjoyed but that Grogu possibly fell asleep during towards the end. The second night was a feast that everyone brought something to share to, and you made sure to bring food and something to bring stuff back for Din in. 

Then the next day was centered around a maze. They grew a type of grain that was taller than most species in a complicated pattern and then raced to find their way through it the fastest. There was a set path that you had to follow, and if you needed assistance, they had a comm channel set up. 

Din was busy with ship stuff when you and Grogu headed to the maze and you didn’t really think he’d be interested in it anyway, so the two of you started on your own. The only thing was that you didn’t realize how close it was to sundown when you set out and you didn’t have a comm link with you. 

When Din did make his way to the maze, it was dark. And the two of you were nowhere in sight. And when he heard about how to get help from inside the maze, he knew you couldn’t. So he rushed in. 

“Hmm, honey, I was expecting this to be a little easier. What should we do? Sit here and wait for your dad or keep going forward?” you asked Grogu, not worried about being lost but just not sure what would be the better option. Sitting seemed boring but if you kept going you could get even more lost. 

Grogu made a little sound and then suddenly he wasn’t walking on the ground next to you, he was floating up to above the height of the grain. 

“You’re so clever! Just tell me which way to go and I’ll follow your lead, hun,” you told him excitedly, so proud of your little green son and his special abilities. 

Din was hurrying through the maze, using the heat sensors of his helmet to follow different tracks and look for people. He came across a few other people but knew they weren’t you from a distance because Grogu wasn’t there and he could recognize you just from your silhouette. 

With each second that he didn’t find you, he moved faster. All of his instincts as a bounty hunter told him that this was the perfect place for someone to prey on your vulnerabilities, even if he logically knew that you were in a very safe area and safe planet in general. He was nearly running when he finally saw you. Your outline in oranges and reds against the cool blues and purples of the grain. 

His breath whooshed out of him in relief but then caught again when he didn’t see Grogu. He had to get to you. You were moving, but he could move faster and was by your side, grabbing you tightly, in seconds. 

You shrieked and then huffed a breath, “Din! Why did you sneak up on me like that? Nearly gave me a heart attack.” 

“Where’s Grogu?” Din asked urgently and you looked confused. 

You gestured above you and Din’s head followed until he could see Grogu hovering about 15 feet in the air and heard him babbling down at the two of you. He hadn’t heard him before because of the blood rushing in his ears. 

Din’s whole body slumped in relief. 

“Din, are you okay? What’s going on?” you asked concernedly, and Grogu drifted down to join the two of you on the ground. You reached out to hold him and put a hand on the side of Din’s neck, slipping it in the one spot below the cowl that you could easily reach his skin. You knew your touch comforted him. 

One of Din’s hands moved up to press yours more firmly against his neck and the other came to smooth over Grogu’s head. “It was dark and you didn’t have a way of asking for help. I just— I was worried. I think I overreacted.”

“Well, no one’s hurt and you probably only trampled a few plants getting to us, so don’t worry about that. Wanting to protect your family is a natural impulse. I’m sorry I didn't bring a commlink, sweetie. I wasn’t thinking about it,” you told him, not wanting him to blame himself for something as good hearted as worrying over your safety. “We can get a little one for Grogu too. Wouldn’t you like that, honey?” 

Grogu cooed and then put a hand forward to press on the center of Din’s chest plate. You could see Din relax again as some part of Grogu’s abilities eased his worry until it was gone. 

“Well now that you’re here, Din, maybe we can get out of here without cheating,” you said. Grogu looked at your sharply and made an indignant sound, “Well okay, maybe it’s not cheating for you to do it, but I think it is cheating for me to use your abilities.” 

“Is it cheating if I use my heat sensors?” Din asked, his tone teasing. 

You thought about it for a second. It probably was, but you were just starting to get a little hungry, a little cold, it was Grogu’s bedtime soon, and most importantly, you knew you needed to take care of Din tonight and reassure him that you were safe. All of you. “No, I think heat sensors are totally fair.”

🎃🎃🎃

[narkinafive]

fic draft for a sw/rvb au i have w @evaceratops​; i’ll post it here to get it out of my system, then clean it up and put it on ao3, so comment w your thoughts if you want!!!!

ghosts that linger, 3k, gen, ft. ezra, kanan, and kallus

Not for the first time, Kanan regretted saving Kallus’ life, if only because the man forced them to change bars every time they met. Kanan had really liked the bartender at the last one. 

Tonight’s bar was cleaner, classier, a hell of a lot more expensive. Crowded, too--women and men with dangerously low cut tops and glossy lips hang off the arms of their increasingly drunken patrons, identical smiles painted on their beautiful faces, delicate fingers drawing patterns in the sweet, fruity smoke that permeated every corner of the room. Kanan knew that smoke well; just one pack of Shento cigarras would cost him about a fifth of a good smuggling run. He preferred the cheap shit, not because it tasted any better, but he didn’t refuse the one the tall, pretty Togruta boy offered him, flipping him a fifty-credit chit and a wink in exchange. Kallus already had his lighter out by the time he turned around to face his dinner guest. 

“I was under the impression you were trying to quit,” he said, one blond eyebrow carefully raised, a familiar opening to a familiar routine. Normally Kanan wasn’t one to back down from a verbal fight, but tonight, something felt… off. The air was thick with more than expensive smoke and pheromones; there was an itch between his shoulders that he just couldn’t reach. Beneath their table, his leg was bouncing so violently you could almost see it in the glow of the cigarette, vibrating despite his steady hands.

Kanan took a long, long drag of the cigarra, held it, then released, and it did absolutely nothing to calm his nerves. “Any word?”

Kallus hmmed, thoughtfully. Usually a bad sign. “Down to business, I see?”

“Got a girl at home for a few days,” said Kanan, flicking ash into the crystal tray in the center of the smooth, dark table. “She doesn’t want me to stay out too late tonight--said she had a surprise for me if I made it back in time.” He grinned a leering, toothy grin, one he had perfected over years and years of sexual conquests, though he and Kallus both know full well that he hadn’t slept with anyone in months. “So, any reason you insisted on seeing me tonight? You wanna join us?” He felt himself smile wider, baring his teeth.

Kallus rolled his eyes, Kanan detecting a hint of sincerity behind the action, then slid him a thin, beat-up data pad he had pulled from his jacket, a silhouette of a pretty young thing painted in black, scuffed in that telltale way of repeated re-recording. “Far be it from me to encourage your predilections,” he sneered, “but here: the video file you requested.” 

And only now did Kanan finally understand the reason for tonight’s setting: Cinisia Club was one of the last places on the planet that didn’t regulate the sale and exchange of sensitive or explicit information. Hiding extremely confidential Imperial data in a porno-vid? Honestly, it was genius. Kanan groaned appreciatively, loud enough that even the eavesdropping droid would be convinced. “Fuck yeah,” he breathed, “the little miss and I are gonna enjoy this one.” The droid, satisfied for the moment, turned its attention elsewhere.

But as Kanan made to slip the datapad into his pocket, Kallus stopped him with a hand. “As much as I disapprove of your little hobby,” he said, each word perfectly shaped, perfectly chosen, “might I suggest enjoying this one without your, ah, little miss? I fear it may be a bit too… much for her, seeing a family member like that.” 

Kanan froze. A split second, but he froze. Kallus’ face revealed nothing, perfectly composed as he sipped at his drink. “What the hell does that mean?” 

“It means,” said Kallus, “that this video might upset your lovely date, and then who would warm your bed for the night? Certainly not I.”

His heart beat so hard in his chest that he thought it might pop out. He knew. He knew about Ezra. He knew what they were looking for. “Anything else?” he asked, mouth dry enough that he was surprised he could even get the words out.

Kallus shook his head. “Enjoy.” And with that ominous blessing, Kallus returned to the remains of his drink, dismissing Kanan without so much as a second glance. 

Sliding out of the booth, Kanan thought for a second that he might faint, then thanked the god he no longer believed in as the lightheadedness passed without incident. But he was sure everyone could see his pale face, his trembling hands, his sweaty brow. It was like every set of eyes in the club tracked his every step as he made his way to the exit, each mocking smile haunting him with the question: do they know, too?

He took his speeder to the opposite side of town, ran a loop around the back alleys, just in case someone decided to follow. No one did, as far as Kanan could see. The lights were always on in this part of town, illuminating the unceasing river of sentients crossing into and over the space port, leaving very little shadow to hide in. Imperial propaganda sounded triumphantly from every corner, an overlapping cacophony of music and commands, screens cheerfully brandishing shuttle times and wanted posters. Helmet on, he waited in a dim corner, eyes fixed on the screen as it worked through its roster of suspects. Senator Mon Mothma, it read. General Jan Dodonna. Saw Gerrera. Admiral Gial Ackbar. Travia Chan. Cham Syndulla. Fulcrum, real identity unknown. 

No “Kanan.” No “Caleb” either, for that matter. No other names.

Though who knew how many names there would be tomorrow.

He watched it cycle through again. “If you see something, say something!” Chirped a woman’s voice from the loudspeakers, her words echoing across every surface, broadcast as far as it could possibly go. Kanan could still hear her as he sped away, twenty minutes later. He heard her even as he got out of range, her words ringing in his ears as loudly as any alarm.

Kanan had docked his ship in the bad part of town, but he hadn’t been worried. The Kasmiri wasn’t anything too flashy; spacious quarters had been sacrificed for smuggling compartments long ago, and Kanan had had her repainted as soon as he was sure Janus Kasmir wouldn’t be able to track them down again. Still, his heart lifted somewhat as he approached, lowering the ramp to reveal the soft, warm glow of the cargo bay. Despite her rough exterior, she was still home, a home he hadn’t had in a long, long time.

As Kanan ascended the ladder to the galley, he found that Ezra was still awake, and apparently helping himself to a late night snack, pilfered from Kanan’s emergency stash. “Where were you?” he demanded, perched on the dejarik table, mouthful of a half eaten ration bar.

“Out,” was all Kanan replied, even knowing full well that such a vague answer would do absolutely jackshit to nip Ezra’s curiosity in the bud. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Ezra swallowed. “Were you out with Fulcrum?”

“You, bed. Now,” he ordered at Ezra’s glare.

“Did you get any info?”

“What part of ‘bed’ was a little too hard for you to understand?”

Hopping off the table, Ezra followed Kanan to his bunk, dogging his heels the whole way. “You reek of Shento smoke, and the only place on this dirtball high rolling enough for cigarras like that is going to be the Cinisia Club, which I know for a fact that you refuse, on principle, to even go within three blocks, so the only reason you would go into Cinisia would be to meet with your contact, and the only reason you would actually physically meet Fulcrum instead of just comming them would be because they have something really important to tell you!” He was practically jumping up and down, pacing the very short length of Kanan’s cabin. “Am I right?”

The kid had been hanging around him for way too long. “Not even a little.” Ezra harrumphed, crossing his arms. “Seriously, you should get some sleep. We’ve got an early morning tomorrow, be ready at 0500, sharp.”

Eza groaned, throwing his hands up in the air. “And now we’re running away!” He turned on his heel and stalked out, heavy footfalls and bitter muttering echoing off the walls.

Kanan almost thought about calling him back. He had promised the kid to keep him in the loop, and if this file was what he thought it was… but Kallus’ warning surfaced in his memory. A family member. 

How in the hell did Kallus know that he was looking for information on Ezra’s father? Moreover, how in the hell did he even know Ezra existed? How the fuck had Kanan let that happen? He thought he had been so clever, so careful, and he had failed, and it was only a matter of time before--

He shook his head. Kallus wouldn’t betray him, Kanan’s leverage was too strong, at least for now. Once again, Kanan regretted saving the man’s life: even if having an ISB agent in his back pocket was ridiculously useful from time to time, he was certain that, eventually, the secrets he knew would cease to be a good enough threat to keep Kallus from talking.

The ancient datapad booted up agonizingly slowly, heat radiating off the back of it. The screen was scuffed and distorted, laser-pixels clumped together at the corners, but the picture was as clear as it could be. The dark windowless room, the slanted table with attached restraints, the sharp, yellow grin of the Grand Inquisitor, it was all a horribly familiar scene to Kanan. “Prisoner Oh-five-seven-seven-four,” he said, his back to the struggling man on the table. “Ephraim Bridger, is it? I understand that you and your wife once had a son. Ezra, yes?” The man--Ezra’s father--Ezra’s father--spit at the Grand Inquisitor in lieu of an answer. “According to our records, he died in the riots at the age of seven. A shame, really; he showed remarkable aptitude in his Academy exam. With the right training, he could have been a great asset to the Empire, had his mother not foolishly chosen to--”

Ezra’s father swore in his native language. “Don’t you dare talk about her! Don’t you dare!”

Kanan paused the vid, listening out for footsteps around his door, and heard nothing. Good. Ezra couldn’t keep quiet to save his life, usually. He did not want the kid to see this. Hell, he hardly wanted to watch it himself.

He hadn’t been on the assignment, but he remembered the incident well. Kanan had been twenty-two, and so green, relegated to desk work while his superiors thought of ways to fix his “problems,” but he had been called out to the scene anyway. Sometimes he could still picture the scene in his mind, perfect in his memory: the dark night, the wet, hard ground, Mira Bridger’s body. The way her arms had been outstretched, like she was reaching for something. The tear tracks on her face, the slackness of death unable to hide her terror and despair. 

And he remembered his orders. Sit on this one, Dume, the Grand Inquisitor--then the Counselor--had coldly informed him. And then, The Director sees no need to include that information in the incident report. And then, You have been taken off this case. Moving forward, this will be handled by more qualified agents. 

Ephraim Bridger’s face snarled at him from years ago, eyes blazing. He’d seen that same look before, on Ezra’s face as he saw Troopers harassing those street kids on Garel.

Kanan pressed play again. 

“Very well,” said the Grand Inquisitor, “What would you like to speak of, Mr. Bridger?”

“I know you took my son,” Ephraim growled, weak, defiant.

The Grand Inquisitor smiled, thin as the interrogator droid’s needle, and just as sharp. “Mr. Bridger, your son has been dead for years.”

“You lie,” he said. “We knew you wanted him for your little cult, and when Mira and I wouldn’t simply lay down and let you take him, you killed my wife and stole him!”

The needle moved, and Ephraim writhed on the table, the twitch of his jaw as he struggled to hold in his shouts evident as the clenching of his fists. “You are mistaken, Mr. Bridger.” 

And on it went, for forty-eight minutes. Forty-eight minutes of torture, and lies, and the strength and ferocity of Ephraim’s will, unyielding against the Grand Inquisitor’s attempts to break it. “Don’t lie to me,” Ephraim gasped, face thunderous. “Why did you take my son?”

“Your son died in the riots, Mr. Bridger.”

“Where is he?!”

Kanan paused the vid, scrubbing a hand over his face. It just didn’t make any sense. The JEDI program had been dissolved when Palpatine took control, so why would the Grand Inquisitor be looking for new recruits? And if they were looking for new soldiers, why didn’t they take Ezra? The kid was smart, quick on his feet, great with machines--he should have been a prime target for the JEDI. Could they just have completely missed him?

No, Kanan decided, this was deliberate. Maybe it was because of his parents, but he didn’t see how leaving alone the child of two known insurrectionists would have benefitted the JEDI; if anything, it would have made him even more of a prize, a big fat slap in the face of the movement. So why leave him alone? And why, if you’re going to leave him alone, go through all the trouble of relocating him?

Too many things didn’t add up, he wasn’t nearly drunk enough for any of this, and outside his cabin was the telltale shuffle of someone listening through the door.

Sure enough, he palmed open the door, and Ezra was there, jerking away from the hole where the wall used to be. “Did you say my name?” he asked, smiling like he hadn’t just been attempting to eavesdrop.

“No.”

“I heard my name. What were you watching?”

“Why aren’t you asleep?” Ezra was a right terror all the time; a tired Ezra even more so. “I told you we had an early start tomorrow.”

The transformation was startling. Where once had been an obstinate teenager, a kid who enjoyed glaring daggers at him from across the dinner table, disobeying orders in flight, and refusing to come to blaster practice, stood a repentant child, his eyes wide in that rarely-seen puppy-dog way that he never outgrew from the street. “Look,” he said, arms raised, placating, “I’m sorry for snooping. You’re the boss, and your business isn’t mine. You’re entitled to your secrets, and that includes not telling me what you were up to tonight, even though you promised not to hide information from me if I thought it was important. Right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Okay,” said Ezra, unperturbed, “but I just think--”

Kanan groaned.

“I could really help you out!” 

“Ezra--”

“I’m still pretty small, I’m quiet, I’m awesome at pick-pocketing,” he counted off, “I could be a really great spy!”

Kanan sighed, the telltale signs of an Ezra-induced headache beginning to manifest, a subtle throbbing beneath his temple overcoming his need to stay as rational as possible. “We’ve been over this,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “and under no circumstances will I use you as a spy. You are not getting involved!”

“I’m already involved!” Ezra said. “You think if you got caught then they wouldn’t arrest your ‘mechanic’ for treason, too?”

He was right, of course. “Ezra,” said Kanan, bringing his hands down on his shoulders, tilting his head up to look him in the eye so that he could see, so that he could understand, “you listen to me. If there is the slightest chance that you can get out of this with your nose clean, then you take it. Do you understand?”

“Kanan--”

“Ezra!” He shook him. “Do you understand me?!”

“Fuck you!” Ezra roared as he shoved him off, nearly knocking Kanan into the strut of his bunk. “Just, fuck you! They were my parents, and I have the goddamn right to know why they died!”

“I know!” Kanan shouted back. “Of course you do.”

“Then tell me what’s going on!” Ezra advanced, hands balled into fists, jaw clenching with barely contained rage. Just like his father.

He couldn’t keep this from him for much longer.

“I don’t--” He broke off, willing the right words to come, “I don’t want to be wrong about this.” Ezra faltered at that, his shoulders losing some of their rigidity as his anger started to bleed out of him. “I have my suspicions, but that’s all they are right now: suspicions. This isn’t just a simple matter of corruption. What I’m--what we’re investigating might involve people so far up the chain of command that they could take us out in broad daylight and walk away without a single scratch on their reputation. These people,” for Kanan knew them well, knew them so intimately it still made him sick sometimes, “these people don’t care about right or wrong, or justice, or anything like that. And they certainly won’t think twice about killing you for what you know.” 

Heavily, Kanan sat on his bunk, the lumpy bed sinking even further under his weight, under the weight of the goddamn world. He was so goddamn tired. 

The mattress dipped as Ezra sat beside him, never taking his eyes off of him. “I can’t sit by and do nothing, Kanan,” he said, softly. “They were my parents.”

Something tried to crawl its way up Kanan’s throat, sitting heavily. This kid. “I know. And I promise, I won’t keep anything from if I think it’s important enough for you to know. But right now, the less you know, the better.”

His mouth twisted, but, eventually, he nodded. “Can…” he looked away, arms coming up to hug himself, the scrape of fabric on fabric seeming to center him. “Can you at least tell me what was on the vid?”

Kanan’s stomach plummeted. He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of recycled air, dirty laundry, the lingering stench of Shento on his skin. When he opened them, Ezra was looking at him again, the bright blue of his eyes somehow dimmer in the low light of his cabin.

He would rather have the obstinate teenager than this.

“It was an interrogation archive,” Kanan said.

“The Grand Inquisitor?” 

“Yeah.” Ezra shuddered, and one hand rubbed at his wrist, almost subconsciously. “I thought it might have some new info, but… he was just torturing the prisoner. Trying to make him forget something he had seen.” Which was true. Nothing in that vid was news to Kanan.

Beside him, Ezra dipped his head, dark hair in his eyes, and tilted slowly until it could be said that he was leaning on Kanan. Kanan’s shoulder twitched, but he knew better than to try to hug the kid. “And the prisoner?” he asked. “What did he know?”

“He knew…” Kallus’ voice in his head, again. “He thought he knew why they were targeting your mother.”

“Did he?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.” And the truth was, he didn’t. The Rebellion, the JEDI, the Grand Inquisitor, the Bridgers, and their son; every answer to every question revealed a whole new web of entanglements, of money and power and depraved individuals, and Kanan was still so lost, adrift in the void of space without a heading. “There’s so much that just isn’t adding up, and I want--I have to be sure, beyond the shadow of a doubt, before I can go any further with this.”

He felt, rather than saw, Ezra’s nod. He wondered what Ezra could feel from him, if he could tell that Kanan still, despite his promises, was lying to him. 

[officialdeathbycinema]

Star Wars Official Trailer Analysis

OK! So i've watched...and re-watched...and rewatched...and analyzed this two and a half minute piece of cinema hypeness, and i've a few things to say if you don't mind...well, I really don't care if you do mind or not because it's 2:10 in the morning and i've been trying to bring my thoughts together on not only a trailer, but two movies as well, so fight me.

So we open to see an Imperial Officer looking silhouette staring at an assembly line. This could be Ben Solo, but for all intents and purposes, i'm going to assume this is the previously unseen "Rose" character, only officially depicted in Funko Pop! form. I'm honestly kinda interested to see what we see in this character, considering she's been so prominently featured in toy sales but no real promotional material for the movie itself (As i'm typing this however, I looked back and it really is just Ben).

Six seconds in and we transition, the change in scenery accompanied by Ces- I mean Snoke's voice over towards Ben, giving the audience a taste of what we have in store when it comes to the new Emperor-type Big Bad. We see a bunch of AT-M6 Walkers in a line for a span of three seconds, which then transitions into an overhead location shot of what i'm going to assume is Snoke's actual lair, which we see Ben and a good number of troopers walking in formation, presumably on the way to see the Supreme Leader (HA, Rocky and Bullwinkle reference!) at thirteen seconds in. Then a profile shot of Ben with his helmet on at fourteen seconds, which leads into him reaching down and picking up a new saber. This being essentially the same saber design, only sleeker, blacker, and more refined.

After that, a few seconds of black, followed by the blasting sound of a saber igniting and we see Rey on Ahch-To. We're gonna skip ahead to thirty-five seconds in, and watch Luke Skywalker take back his saber from Rey. But at thirty-eight seconds, we hear Rey say the line "Something inside me has always been there." Ok, that's a pretty cut and paste line, so i'll move on because that's probably one of the least interesting things to talk about in this trailer. Forty-one seconds into the trailer and Rey is entering the temple tree, where the books are held. Now in the first trailer we saw the insignia of the "Grey Jedi". Think of them as the agnostics of the Star Wars universe. That's obviously an oversimplification, but we can get to that topic later. Maybe when the films come out, but later. Forty-seven seconds in and she's training with a saber, and I'm really wanting to assume she's been here for a few months, and not just a week or two after the first film when this scene plays out (*cough cough, make Rey not a Mary-Sue anymore cough cough*). The force is apparently so strong with Rey that she can make the ground crack beneath her, which prompts Luke to say, in my opinion, a very interesting line.

At fifty-two seconds we hear Luke say the line: "I've seen this raw strength only once before. It didn't scare me enough then, it does now." Couple that with imagery of a building burning, more burning, and Luke's robot hand emerging from debris like he's in The Evil Dead, and people are going to assume one thing. They're going to assume that he's talking about Ben Solo. I however, do not think this is the case. Sure he underestimated Ben, but he wasn't scared of him because he was family, not because he had darkness in him. No, he's not talking about Ben, or Vader, or even Starkiller. No, I think he's talking about Sideous. Because if you remember the original trilogy, Luke was very, VERY headstrong when it came to defeating the dark side, and in turn didn't take the Emperor as a serious threat until it almost cost him his life...but now that he sees that same pure, raw power, it TERRIFIES him. But then it plays into the whole "Old man doesn't want to train young pupil for something that happened to them personally until they reluctantly give up" cliche that this series seems to want to jerk off like Ron fuckin Jeremy...but I digress. From one minute and three seconds in to one minute and eight seconds in, we hear Ben say the words "let the past die" while he subsequently DESTROYS his Darth Fanboy helmet (Which is what i'm going to be calling it from this day on forth). He could be talking about his time as an agent for the light side, or this could be a potential scene beginning a redemption arc for Ben where he tears away from his Kylo Ren persona. But then again, a redemption arc wouldn't be that fun when you can just kill the character before that happens in the slightest....or just have him evil, you know, because evil apparently isn't cool anymore, everything has to be "tragic and misunderstood"...AGAIN, I digress. Then comes a starship battle, and boy HOWDY is Ben one hell of a pilot. He says the line "Kill it, if you have to", which is in relation to the previous line of "Let the past die"...and then at one minute and fifteen seconds, we see General Leia....which basically is an "oh fuck" moment because I'm basically just calling it that she's gonna kick the bucket HARD in this movie, and the news of her playing a "pivotal role" is highly exaggerated.

One minute, seventeen seconds: Mommy senses baby through force, and vice versa...or IS IT? My whole thing about how the trailer is edited is weird, because there are some obvious weaving techniques being put in here to deceive the audience. So how I think this scene is going to play out is that Ben is ordered to destroy the Resistance base on that particular ship, which he does. But you know, since Snoke's whole thing is manipulation of Ben, and losing his mother (since it was explained in the last movie that his bond with Leia was far stronger than his bond with Han) would essentially put him in a state of darkness, making Snokes job WAY EASIER. So Snoke tells Ben "Hey, I don't like this Resistance ship. Blow it up." to which Ben replies "Alright, you've not really sent me astray before, why would you do it now? It's not like you're a manipulative dickbag that looks like a scrotum wrapped in one of Hugh Hefner's robes.". But then Snoke "fails" to mention that Leia is on that ship. She senses him, but since he's STILL not mature enough in the ways of the force (and sometimes this series throws continuity into the wind like Nana's ashes on a late summer evening), He doesn't sense her until it's too late. He doesn't sense her persay...but he senses a lack of her. He feels that classic disturbance in the force. He doesn't know why until later...and he doesn't know that he had just killed his own mother, a woman he loved so dearly, and the reason he was so conflicted about going fully dark side. But now that she's gone...Snoke can take him, and Ben is so distraught...that he listens, and fully accepts his role as not Ben Solo, but Kylo Ren.

BUT THAT'S JUST HOW I WANT THE SCENE TO GO DOWN, I DON'T THINK THE WRITERS ARE GONNA BE CLEVER ENOUGH TO DO IT THAT WAY.

One minute and thirty three seconds...Porg.

One minute, thirty seven seconds, Poe Dameron vs Ben Solo dogfight which is no doubt gonna be really cool. One minute, forty seconds, Finn vs. Brienne of Tarth in a giant Aluminum onsie...I mean Captain Phasma. Probably gonna be really cool, I just want more character growth in Finn since he had a pretty weak arc in Episode Seven (well, at least it was stronger than Rey's).

There's some more lines said by Luke which are pretty uninteresting, but at one minute and fifty-seven seconds, we see our first look at Snoke, and boy was I accurate in my description. You guys remember that scene in Deadpool where they basically just let TJ Miller riff at Ryan Reynolds for three uninterrupted minutes? Yeah, that. But my sister did raise a pretty good theory for this scene earlier, and she said that Rey might be experiencing one of Ben's memories...even though she's probably not.

Two minutes and three seconds, black screen with Rey's dialogue leading us into the most misleading part of the trailer which has the #Reylo shippers up in arms. We hear Rey say the words "I need someone to show me my place in all of this." and then we see Ben raise a hand towards the camera. Now upon first glance, we assume he's offering to take Rey under his wing...but these two shots aren't even in the same scene. The lighting is all wrong for this to be possible for one thing, two the tones of each shot are different as well. The light that is facing Rey camera left is pure, and unobstructed. She's in the temple tree on Ahch-To, presumably talking to Luke and convincing him to train her. But when the camera is on Ben, he's obviously in the tail end of a battle sequence. He COULD still be talking to Rey, but no, the line given is in a completely different scene. So no #Reylo shippers, your beloved character parallel fetish fodder is not canon yet, keep writing your fanfiction. Now that last paragraph could potentially label me as Anti-Reylo, but then again not only do I not care if I am labelled as such, I just don't care about the delicious death threats i'm BOUND to get from subsequently posting this analysis on Tumblr once i'm done posting it to Facebook.

Anyways, the credits roll three seconds after that, we're promised a film on December 15th, and the first week of tickets are probably already sold out as i'm writing this. But overall it was a decent trailer as far as analytical material goes, and I don't really think we need another since the movie is two months off.

So yeah, weeee Star Wars...I think the internet is just RUINING this new trilogy for me.

[jonathanbelloblog]

Abusing the 2018 Honda Ridgeline in the Arizona Desert

We picked up the jet skis in Page, Arizona, just over the Utah line. The town is a blip at the base of Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, founded to house the men who came to build the Glen Canyon Dam, and, by extension, Lake Powell. Page is here for the water, and so were we. Motorcyclist magazine editor Chris Cantle and I had a friendly wager running, one that said I could take a motorcycle and ride the 250 miles from Hite, at the lake’s northern edge, to the Wahweap Marina at its southern end before he could do the same by water astride a Kawasaki Jet Ski Ultra 310R. His route was 110 miles shorter, but wound through a maze of flooded canyons. He was also slower, with a limited top speed of 68 mph. And with a range of just over 50 miles, he’d have two fuel stops as well. No matter how we tallied it, the finish would be close.

First, we had to get ourselves and the machines to the start line. There is no direct route from one end of the lake to the other. The water follows the old whims of the Colorado River, the same ambling, patient force that carved the Grand Canyon. The maze of fractal, flooded stone wanders vaguely southwest from Hite, serving as the living border between federal land to the north, and the Hopi and Navajo Nation Reservations to the south. No road, dirt or otherwise, clings to the banks, which is why we found ourselves pointed south east on Arizona Highway 98, the 2018 Honda Ridgeline’s windshield full of the desert’s spectacular nothing.

It took a moment for dawn to shape the landscape. Buttes and ridges started as silhouettes against the pink and orange sky before growing definition, forming from the haze in the changing light. Page sits at 4,000 feet, but we were climbing the plateau, gaining elevation with each mile on our way to 6,680 feet. This was a cruel test. We were lugging nearly 5,000 pounds between the trailer and the two massive skis, pushing the upper limits of the Ridgeline’s tow rating. I did not expect much from the Honda. Like most red-blooded, truck-owning Americans, I’d gotten it into my head that this machine is little more than an El Camino Odyssey, and I would no more hook two and a half tons to that minivan than I would ask it to fly me to France.

Honda calls it a mid-size pickup, placing it in the same category as the Toyota Tacoma, Nissan Frontier, and Chevrolet Colorado, but the Ridgeline delivers a level of cleverness missing from its competitors—and it feels larger than any of those vehicles inside thanks to an open cabin.

By their nature, pickups aren’t great at making use of the space they occupy. The traditional, body-on-frame design is robust, but results in an empty steel box draped over an understructure. As a unibody vehicle, the Ridgeline doesn’t have that problem and is able to offer plenty of smart storage. There was ample room for three adults and the tower of wet suits, life jackets, helmets, and leathers we brought along, due in part to the folding rear seats and cavernous in-bed trunk.

Unibody construction also allows the Ridgeline to ride much lower than its competitors. Ingress and egress is easy, as is fetching things from the bed. This might be the only all-wheel-drive truck on the market that doesn’t require a step ladder to grab your groceries, and while hard-core buyers may bemoan the lack of ground clearance, the truth is that the vast majority of trucks never leave the road. Why suffer all of the penalties that come with a tall ride height – poor fuel economy and handling, clambering in and out, an unusable cargo area – if you don’t find yourself summiting rock-strewn mountain passes every week?

Nor does the Ridgeline beat you to death with needlessly stiff springs or buckboard stick axles. With an independent suspension front and rear, the truck drives just like the Honda Pilot. It’s smooth, calm, and collected, even at speeds well past the legal interstate limit. It’s also blissfully quiet inside. A three-layer acoustic windshield helps soak up noise from the front, while thicker side glass does the same around the rest of the vehicle. Triple door seals and a pile of high-density foams stuffed in strategic places do their part, too. All of that combines to yield a vehicle that produces very little in the way of driving fatigue. Want to spend eight hours blasting across the desert? So does the Ridgeline.

Impressive fuel economy helps make that happen. Unladen, we saw 27 mpg during our rip from Los Angeles to Page, and at no point could we have been accused of hypermiling. With the skis hooked to the hitch, that number fell to 15 mpg. Those are very impressive figures for a full-time all-wheel drive pickup, and they don’t come at the cost of performance. The 3.5-liter V-6 is no brute, but with 280 horsepower and 262 lb-ft of torque, it’s never in its own way. I expected the Ridgeline to be a danger to society with 5,000 pounds behind it–slow, pondering, and overworked. It wasn’t. The six-speed automatic helped keep the engine where it needed to be, and the truck simply put its shoulder to the weight and hefted it all the way up our grueling climb to the dirt launch at Hite, Utah.

I say all this as someone with a three-quarter ton diesel pickup at home, so it’s important that you understand what I mean when I say that the Ridgeline is better suited for most truck owners than the tide of F-150s, Silverados, Tacomas, and Titans we see slogging down our streets. Unless you find yourself consistently towing more than two tons, this little Honda is simply a better tool for daily life. No one hangs a painting with a sledgehammer. Why commute in a truck that can lug 18,000 pounds up Eisenhower Pass?

That doesn’t mean you’ll convince anyone who uses their Sierra for carpool duty to make the switch. The source of the Ridgeline’s brilliance, that it is no normal pickup, may also be its curse. It’s no towering monolith of sheet steel and tire. It does not seek to intimidate, and while the styling has grown more mainstream with the new generation, it’s still far from the chiseled, testosterone-fueled design language that pickup buyers can’t seem to get enough of.

Still, we spent better than four days with three adults packed in the Ridgeline, roaming up and down the lake, scouting photos, and pulling those heavy skis up mud boat launches. At no point did we step out of the vehicle’s comfort zone, and no one was quick to give it up when the time came. There may be no better proof that Honda has finally built a better pickup.

The post Abusing the 2018 Honda Ridgeline in the Arizona Desert appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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[jesusvasser]

Abusing the 2018 Honda Ridgeline in the Arizona Desert

We picked up the jet skis in Page, Arizona, just over the Utah line. The town is a blip at the base of Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument, founded to house the men who came to build the Glen Canyon Dam, and, by extension, Lake Powell. Page is here for the water, and so were we. Motorcyclist magazine editor Chris Cantle and I had a friendly wager running, one that said I could take a motorcycle and ride the 250 miles from Hite, at the lake’s northern edge, to the Wahweap Marina at its southern end before he could do the same by water astride a Kawasaki Jet Ski Ultra 310R. His route was 110 miles shorter, but wound through a maze of flooded canyons. He was also slower, with a limited top speed of 68 mph. And with a range of just over 50 miles, he’d have two fuel stops as well. No matter how we tallied it, the finish would be close.

First, we had to get ourselves and the machines to the start line. There is no direct route from one end of the lake to the other. The water follows the old whims of the Colorado River, the same ambling, patient force that carved the Grand Canyon. The maze of fractal, flooded stone wanders vaguely southwest from Hite, serving as the living border between federal land to the north, and the Hopi and Navajo Nation Reservations to the south. No road, dirt or otherwise, clings to the banks, which is why we found ourselves pointed south east on Arizona Highway 98, the 2018 Honda Ridgeline’s windshield full of the desert’s spectacular nothing.

It took a moment for dawn to shape the landscape. Buttes and ridges started as silhouettes against the pink and orange sky before growing definition, forming from the haze in the changing light. Page sits at 4,000 feet, but we were climbing the plateau, gaining elevation with each mile on our way to 6,680 feet. This was a cruel test. We were lugging nearly 5,000 pounds between the trailer and the two massive skis, pushing the upper limits of the Ridgeline’s tow rating. I did not expect much from the Honda. Like most red-blooded, truck-owning Americans, I’d gotten it into my head that this machine is little more than an El Camino Odyssey, and I would no more hook two and a half tons to that minivan than I would ask it to fly me to France.

Honda calls it a mid-size pickup, placing it in the same category as the Toyota Tacoma, Nissan Frontier, and Chevrolet Colorado, but the Ridgeline delivers a level of cleverness missing from its competitors—and it feels larger than any of those vehicles inside thanks to an open cabin.

By their nature, pickups aren’t great at making use of the space they occupy. The traditional, body-on-frame design is robust, but results in an empty steel box draped over an understructure. As a unibody vehicle, the Ridgeline doesn’t have that problem and is able to offer plenty of smart storage. There was ample room for three adults and the tower of wet suits, life jackets, helmets, and leathers we brought along, due in part to the folding rear seats and cavernous in-bed trunk.

Unibody construction also allows the Ridgeline to ride much lower than its competitors. Ingress and egress is easy, as is fetching things from the bed. This might be the only all-wheel-drive truck on the market that doesn’t require a step ladder to grab your groceries, and while hard-core buyers may bemoan the lack of ground clearance, the truth is that the vast majority of trucks never leave the road. Why suffer all of the penalties that come with a tall ride height – poor fuel economy and handling, clambering in and out, an unusable cargo area – if you don’t find yourself summiting rock-strewn mountain passes every week?

Nor does the Ridgeline beat you to death with needlessly stiff springs or buckboard stick axles. With an independent suspension front and rear, the truck drives just like the Honda Pilot. It’s smooth, calm, and collected, even at speeds well past the legal interstate limit. It’s also blissfully quiet inside. A three-layer acoustic windshield helps soak up noise from the front, while thicker side glass does the same around the rest of the vehicle. Triple door seals and a pile of high-density foams stuffed in strategic places do their part, too. All of that combines to yield a vehicle that produces very little in the way of driving fatigue. Want to spend eight hours blasting across the desert? So does the Ridgeline.

Impressive fuel economy helps make that happen. Unladen, we saw 27 mpg during our rip from Los Angeles to Page, and at no point could we have been accused of hypermiling. With the skis hooked to the hitch, that number fell to 15 mpg. Those are very impressive figures for a full-time all-wheel drive pickup, and they don’t come at the cost of performance. The 3.5-liter V-6 is no brute, but with 280 horsepower and 262 lb-ft of torque, it’s never in its own way. I expected the Ridgeline to be a danger to society with 5,000 pounds behind it–slow, pondering, and overworked. It wasn’t. The six-speed automatic helped keep the engine where it needed to be, and the truck simply put its shoulder to the weight and hefted it all the way up our grueling climb to the dirt launch at Hite, Utah.

I say all this as someone with a three-quarter ton diesel pickup at home, so it’s important that you understand what I mean when I say that the Ridgeline is better suited for most truck owners than the tide of F-150s, Silverados, Tacomas, and Titans we see slogging down our streets. Unless you find yourself consistently towing more than two tons, this little Honda is simply a better tool for daily life. No one hangs a painting with a sledgehammer. Why commute in a truck that can lug 18,000 pounds up Eisenhower Pass?

That doesn’t mean you’ll convince anyone who uses their Sierra for carpool duty to make the switch. The source of the Ridgeline’s brilliance, that it is no normal pickup, may also be its curse. It’s no towering monolith of sheet steel and tire. It does not seek to intimidate, and while the styling has grown more mainstream with the new generation, it’s still far from the chiseled, testosterone-fueled design language that pickup buyers can’t seem to get enough of.

Still, we spent better than four days with three adults packed in the Ridgeline, roaming up and down the lake, scouting photos, and pulling those heavy skis up mud boat launches. At no point did we step out of the vehicle’s comfort zone, and no one was quick to give it up when the time came. There may be no better proof that Honda has finally built a better pickup.

The post Abusing the 2018 Honda Ridgeline in the Arizona Desert appeared first on Automobile Magazine.

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[olivereliott]

Road tested: Gear from Aether, Saint and Shoei

Today I’m breaking down three pieces of gear that have very quickly become staples in my closet. Say hello to the helmet that’s converted me to modern lids, a jacket that I’d wear to meetings, and my new favorite jeans.

Let’s dive right in…

Shoei RYD Helmet I’m a dyed-in-the-wool retro helmet guy. Call me a hipster or a slave to fashion, but I really like simple, stylish helmets in classic styles, and I think they suit the bikes we feature here more than modern lids do.

Here’s the problem though: retro helmets are great for cruising around on scramblers or cafe racers. But on faster bikes, or over longer distances, they pretty much suck. They’re noisy, not very aerodynamic, and often don’t vent well. So when I got an invite to tour Eastern Europe on a bagger, I knew none of the old-school helmets in my humble collection were going to cut it. Luckily Shoei Helmets UK came to the rescue, hooking me up with the new Shoei RYD (sold in the US as the RF-SR, with a breath guard).

Let’s get this out the way immediately: I love this helmet, and I’m not ashamed to admit that that’s fifty percent down to its looks. Shoei kept the RYD’s aesthetic subtle and understated, with a lack of excessive contours, and proportions that are vaguely reminiscent of old racing helmets. So it cuts a neutral silhouette that complements my Kawasaki W650 as much as the Ducati Monster 797 I was hooning around on the other day.

The RYD comes in at £350, and is only available in solid colors. I opted for the matt blue metallic finish paired with a tinted visor, and was floored by how good it looks in the light of day. The combination of metallic paint and a matt finish is every bit as stunning as it sounds, and the overall build quality is stellar. (But be warned—that matt finish is a real pain to keep clean.)

The other half of my love for the RYD is all about how good it feels. My pip measures 62cm, which puts me at an XL for most manufacturers, including Shoei. Straight out of the box the XL RYD fit snug and comfortable, with no hotspots and no need to break it in. The interior might not feature the sort of quilted leather touches that you’ll find on high-end retro helmets, but it has marshmallow-like levels of plushness.

It’s also removable and washable, and the cheek pads have a quick release system to help medical personnel get your helmet off safely in an emergency. I don’t use a Bluetooth comms system myself, but it looks like there’d be enough space to fit one, and I can get my sunglasses on without much fuss.

The outer shell uses Shoei’s ‘Advance Integrated Matrix Plus’ design, which is basically just a mix of fiberglass and organic fibers, but makes for a pretty svelte helmet at a hair under 3 lbs. There’s also a multi-density EPS liner, and it’s probably worth noting that Shoei use four shell sizes across the size range, which is reassuring for riders with smaller heads. Keeping the helmet in place is a standard issue double D-ring system, padded for comfort and kitted with a press-stud for stowing the end of the strap.

Plush and light are two major boxes to tick, but the RYD also scores high in other areas. It’s pretty quiet, even on naked bikes, with little to no buffeting at speed. It’s well ventilated too, with three front vents (one at the chin and two up top) that are all easy to operate with gloves, and two ‘spoiler’ exit vents at the back.

Noise levels are obviously a touch elevated with the vents open, but not unbearably so, and there’s a little chin curtain too to help keep things peaceful.

The visor is another standout feature: It’s the same CWR-1 shield used on Shoei’s RF1200 and NXR helmets. The eye port is nice and wide, there’s zero optical distortion, and the anti-fogging Pinlock system is highly effective, even when stuck at traffic lights.

The visor goes up and down in incremental clicks, and clips closed via a neat carbon fiber notch on the left. It also forms a pretty tight seal: there’s a clever spring-loaded hinge system that ‘hugs’ it against the helmet. Swapping shields is insanely easy, and as a bonus, the base plate that the shield attaches to on each side is carbon fiber.

Any nitpicks? Yes, one: I don’t like the look of the top vents. I think the aggressive ‘V’ shape messes with the RYD’s subtlety. But that’s my only gripe, and it hasn’t stopped the RYD from becoming my go-to helmet on any bike. [Buy]

Aether Apparel Rally jacket Aether’s approach to motorcycle gear is the same as its technical apparel. The LA-based company makes high-tech, highly functional stuff, with minimalist styling. And that philosophy is in full effect in their new Rally jacket.

It’s fully waterproof and armored—as you’d expect at $550. Fortunately everything feels primo, right down to the packaging. My Rally came neatly folded in a suit bag, wrapped in black tissue paper, with the relevant paperwork and Aether’s ‘Journal’ stashed in a zippered pouch. I realize this might seem frivolous to some, but it makes for a wicked first impression. Other cute touches included an emergency whistle, and a small aluminum key ring stash tube with a pair of earplugs.

More notably, there was also a full complement of D3O® armor in the box, including EVO XT elbow and shoulder pads, and a Viper ST back protector. Aether did a great job with the pockets for these, and getting everything in (and out) was a cinch. Also included: Aether’s lifetime guarantee, something you seldom get with bike gear.

The Rally jacket’s outer shell is a three-layer abrasion-resistant nylon. It’s seam-sealed to be fully waterproof and wind-resistant without the need for any additional liners. (Since Cape Town’s currently experiencing a drought, I haven’t yet been able to test the Rally in adverse conditions, but I’ve put many rainy miles into Aether’s similar Skyline jacket and it’s held up for the most part.)

The overall styling is best described as urban workwear with a hint of adventure riding influence (hence, ‘Rally’). It’s a slightly longer cut than usual, with a slight drop in the tail for maximum coverage when riding. The main zipper is a heavy-duty, two-way affair—so you can open it from the bottom if the extra length bugs you while riding.

There’s a storm flap behind the zip, and an outer flap that seals up via press-studs. The attention to detail here is next level—each press-stud has a ‘loop’ behind it that helps you get a gloved finger in to snap it in place, and the outer bits are rubberized to prevent tank scratches.

Aether tend to cut their gear for a more athletic build, so the Rally has a pretty slim fit, with no waist adjusters to tailor it. I sized mine according to my chest measurement, so it sits a little tight around my podgy gut, forcing it to pull up at the back a bit. If you’re pear-shaped like me, you might want to size up or consider other options.

Personally, I wouldn’t mind seeing some more give around the waist with some basic adjustment, but my guess is that Aether wanted to keep the overall layout as uncluttered as possible. A belt loop attachment—similar to the type REV’IT! supply on their Stealth hoody—would also be useful.

The outside of the Rally features a chest pocket, two zippered hand warmer pockets, and two press-stud pockets that seem to be purely for decoration. There’s a zippered Napoleon pocket on the inside too. Each pocket is lined with the same fabric as the main jacket body—a plaid cotton that not only looks amazing, but is ridiculously soft to the touch.

That little bit of extra refinement and comfort means that my Rally might even end up doing casual duty from time to time. It also doesn’t hurt that there’s barely any branding on it.

So it’s stylish, functional and comfortable—if you stay off the pies. But how many months of the year is it useful? My money’s on most, if not all, of them. Aether have kitted the Rally with long, dual zipper armpit vents (with tabs to make them easier to grab with gloves), and two exit vents at the back.

Spring has sprung down here, and I’ve already had the Rally out in some pretty toasty weather—as simple as the vent setup is, it’s highly effective for directing fresh air where you need it. And on colder days, I’ve found Aether’s claims of wind-resistance to be valid, simply adding a layer when temperatures really dropped.

Best of all, the Rally comes in three colors, one of which is black. Which, as we all know, goes with everything. [Buy]

Saint Stretch jeans We’ve profiled Saint jeans a few times here on Bike EXIF, and keep coming back to the Australian brand for one simple reason—their denim. Let’s recap: instead of layering their jeans with ballistic materials like Kevlar, Saint use a denim woven with an ultra-strong fabric called Dyneema. The result is single-layer (read: supremely comfortable) denim that’s highly abrasion-resistant.

Now they’ve taken the concept a step further, with a new stretch version of their ‘Unbreakable’ denim. By adding 2% Elastane to the mix, the jeans now have 180-degree stretch, but the fabric is still CE Level 1 approved. The claimed slide time/distance is four seconds/50 meters (160 feet). The jeans aren’t armored, so you’ll need to figure out where impact protection lies on your priority list.

These jeans are cut to a very specific style that won’t appeal to everyone—and that’s OK. But stretch denim, generally speaking, is ridiculously comfortable. My go-to jeans are a pair of black stretch Levi 511s, and I’ve long wished for riding pants that felt the same. Like some genie from Down Under, Saint granted my wish.

The fit is slim but not too skinny, with a standard five-pocket layout, a tapered leg, a mid-waist and low rise. That last part means that they hang lower in the butt than what I like when I’m riding, but since the alternative is high-waisted dad jeans, I’ve learnt to just tuck in my T-shirt and get on with it.

Size-wise, I’m a 38 in just about any jeans and these are no exception—except that Saint only make them in a 36 length, which means you’re going to end up cuffing them. They also break in quickly, and stretch almost a half size within the first few hours of wear, so consider sizing down if you’re on the cusp of two sizes.

If you like geeking out over denim, this next bit’s for you. Saint use 12 indigo and two black dye baths to dye the Stretch jeans, before washing each pair. They call the finish Jet Black Indigo which, in the flesh, looks exactly like you’d imagine: a really, really, really dark blue. I’ve been putting the hours into my pair on and off the bike, and I can already tell that they’re going to fade beautifully over time. General details are subtle, with minimal branding and a nice Saint ‘wing’ embroidered on the back pocket.

There are a couple of things bugging me though. I’ve already had to snip a few renegade threads, none of which have caused anything to unravel. But more concerning is that the zip has felt snaggy from day one, and I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to replace it sooner than I should need to. Considering the AU$399 price tag, I’m hoping these are just early run niggles, and not indicative of Saint’s overall quality.

That aside, Saint’s Stretch jeans are fast becoming my new go-tos. I’ve worn them more off the bike than on it, and when I am on the bike, their stretch qualities make for riding jeans that are supremely comfy, all day long. I think of them less as riding jeans that can pass for casual wear, and more as a great pair of denims that will hold up when things go random. [Buy]

Note: Saint will have these in two women’s cuts soon as well.