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WHY did nobody tell me this book has an S-tier cartoon character cameo!!! I would have read it years ago😭😭😭😭 oh my god

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john cassavetes as axel north edge of the city, 1957

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He was quiet for a moment, then said, "We're far enough away that I'm not too worried about pursuit. So here are some answers. We are a group of individuals who hate the Empire and all it stands for. And we're willing to do whatever it takes to bring it down." He glanced at her. "We thought you might want to help us do that."

"You're with the Rebel Alliance?"

He made a face, as if he'd just bitten into something extremely sour. "Hell no. Until they got their nerve up and stole those plans from Scarif, I'd have said the Alliance would rather meet with the Emperor for tea and politely ask him to consider surrendering, if it wouldn't bother him too terribly much."

Despite the situation, Iden smiled. That was precisely the impression she'd gotten of the Alliance. "Then -- who are you? Or don't you want me to know?"

Oh, he wanted her to know, all right. He was arrogant, and he wanted to brag. If all of them were like Azen, this mission was going to be over before it had barely begun.

"We," he said, giving the words weight, "are Saw Gerrera's partisans."

-- Star Wars: Battlefront II: Inferno Squad, Christie Golden

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This post made me wish we could have seen Luthen raging in a storm. There is a similar scene between Saw and Wilmon at the rhydo (Lear and the Fool/Kent?)

SAW: I was younger than you are now. I was a prisoner. They made a work camp in the jungle. No droids, no beasts, just men and cargo. Onderon jungle. Real jungle. Hot, wet, blistering jungle. Old men died fast. Just dropped where they stood. We came back next day, there'd be nothing but a bone or two where they went down. Our clothes, just--just melted away. So they worked us naked. Two, three hundred men. Boys really. Back and forth until the only thing you could remember was back and forth. Then one day, everyone started to itch. Everyone, all at once. Even the guards. You could feel your skin coming alive. It was the rhydo. They had a leak. You could feel it before you could smell it. So they all panicked and ran away, but it was new to me.

WILMON: It's done. You can open the valve now.

SAW: Ahhh ha ha! I have always loved you!

WILMON: What are you doing? [...] How can you do that?

SAW: Because I understand it. Because she's my sister rhydo, and she loves me! That itch, that burn... You feel how badly she wants to explode? Remember this. Remember this moment! This perfect night. You think I'm crazy? Yes, I am. Revolution is not for the sane. Look at us: unloved, hunted, cannon fodder. We'll all be dead before the republic is back and yet... here we are. Where are you, boy? You're here! You're not with Luthen. You're here! You're right here, and you're ready to fight! We're the rhydo, kid. We're the fuel. We're the thing that explodes when there's too much friction in the air. Let it in, boy! That's freedom calling! Let it in! Let it run! Let it run wild!

LEAR: Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks! rage! blow! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts, Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world! Crack nature's moulds, an germens spill at once, That make ingrateful man!

FOOL: O nuncle, court holy-water in a dry house is better than this rain-water out o' door. Good nuncle, in, and ask thy daughters' blessing: here's a night pities neither wise man nor fool.

LEAR: Rumble thy bellyful! Spit, fire! spout, rain! Nor rain, wind, thunder, fire, are my daughters: I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness; I never gave you kingdom, call'd you children, You owe me no subscription: then let fall Your horrible pleasure: here I stand, your slave, A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man: But yet I call you servile ministers, That have with two pernicious daughters join'd Your high engender'd battles 'gainst a head So old and white as this. O! O! 'tis foul!

I love that Luthen Rael's original name was Lear. In addition to the anagram, it has all the complex associations of King Lear: aging, power, responsibility, madness, the difficulties of succession. I wondered if they planned for "Lear" when they named him Rael, or if it was a fortunate coincidence, and then I remembered that they gave him a daughter, and gave his daughter a thinly veiled sci-fi version of the name Cordelia. Lear and Cordelia, Rael and Kleya. This was always planned.

Kleya's central conflict in the show is very reminiscent of Cordelia's. King Lear asks his three daughters to prove their love, and the elder two profess to love him more than anything, but the third says: father, I love you very much, but I cannot love you more than anything because I'm eventually going to get married, and I must have love to spare for my husband, not to mention my future children. Lear of course gets very angry at Cordelia, and only figures out that her answer was the right one and her love was the real thing when it's too late. And Kleya is the reverse of that, she loves Luthen but she doesn't love him more than anything, because her commitment to the rebellion the two of them started clearly comes first: and Luthen himself clearly also believes that and expects that of her. (Two people who love each other but deliberately put each other second to their shared goal: what an interesting dynamic.)

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he's just like me fr

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happy july 4th it is peaches day

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Using a scratchy brush and purposefully sloppy linework for the "what not to do" example for something totally irrelevant to linework is the art tutorial equivalent of weight loss ads where the fat "before" picture is dressed badly and looks depressed and the skinny "after" picture is stylish with a beaming smile.

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more period dramas where clothing is accurately strange and unsexy to modern audiences and people do Unrelatable things. right now

also make more of them gay

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@bonesmarinated 's awesome characters 💕

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transparent version of these 1965 french flower stamps + view here

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padmé comparing anakin to a wild animal purring against her cheek i said oh i'm sure.

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British relatives:

Anna from The King and I was the great-aunt of Boris Karloff

The lady who wrote "The Birds" and Rebecca was the cousin of the boys who inspired Peter Pan

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Miss Piggy's Guide to Life Photos

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A business asked me to make something for their art show, and I did, and now someone bought it. I'm a freaking pillar of the community

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A tall blond man in a rust-brown suit dropped into the empty seat opposite Guy and, smiling with a vague friendliness, slid over into the corner. Guy glanced at his pallid, undersized face. There was a huge pimple in the exact centre of his forehead. Guy looked out the window again. The young man opposite him seemed to debate whether to start a conversation or take a nap. His elbow kept sliding along the window-sill, and whenever the stubby lashes came open, the grey bloodshot eyes were looking at him and the soft smile came back. He might have been slightly drunk. Guy opened his book, but his mind wandered after half a page. He looked up as the row of white florescent lights flickered on down the ceiling of the car, let his eyes wander to the unlighted cigar that still gyrated conversationally in a bony hand behind one of the seat backs, and to the monogram that trembled on a thin gold chain across the tie of the young man opposite him. The monogram was CAB, and the tie was of green silk, hand-painted with offensively orange-coloured palm trees. The long rust-brown body was sprawled vulnerably now, the head thrown back so that the big pimple or boil on the forehead might have been a topmost point that had erupted. It was an interesting face, though Guy did not know why. It looked neither young nor old, neither intelligent nor entirely stupid. Between the narrow bulging forehead and the lantern jaw, it scooped degenerately, deep where the mouth lay in a fine line, deepest in the blue hollows that held the small scallops of the lids. The skin was smooth as a girl's, even waxenly clear, as if all its impurities had been drained to feed the pimple's outburst.

-- Strangers on a Train, Patricia Highsmith