#republic city hustle part 1

[kryzobi-wan]

The Sound of Mandalore

Chapter 2/20: "Confidence"

Read on AO3

<< Chapter 1

Before the sun could even rise on Coruscant, Obi-Wan Kenobi stood at the threshold of the Jedi Temple, preparing to take his first step on this new adventure. He had chosen to think of it as an adventure, since the other alternatives—namely ostracism from the Jedi Order—were too painful to think about. Donned in his usual armor he wore on assignments as a representative of the Republic, the Jedi steadied his resolve and stepped outside into the early morning hustle and bustle of Galactic City.

He'd only briefly spoken to Anakin the night before. After the lecture he’d received, it seemed in poor taste to have a long, drawn-out goodbye with his former Padawan. Anakin seemed a little hurt at his leaving, but he knew it wasn’t Obi-Wan’s choice, which softened the blow. If Obi-Wan was attached, then for Force’s sake Anakin was doubly so. He hoped that in his time away, Anakin might make some progress on that end, learning to live without him.

As they parted ways, Anakin offered up his ship for Obi-Wan to take to Mandalore, the Twilight. It wasn’t in the best shape possible, but Obi-Wan appreciated it all the same. His single person starfighter wasn’t exactly the type of ship one would take on an educational mission.

Pushing a hover-crate containing his belongings in front of him, Obi-Wan boarded the derelict light freighter. His mind swirled with uncertainty and a torrent of emotions as he switched on the controls and prepared the Twilight for lift-off.

What was awaiting him on Mandalore? What would the children be like? How much did they know about the Force? Would they like him?

At the very least, Obi-Wan thought, it could be exciting to do something different for a change. The war had drained so much of him already in the months they’d been fighting, cutting back their time at the Temple to practically zero. Now he was practically being given freedom, the perfect opportunity to get away, to do something constructive instead of slashing battle droids all the live long day. And to return to Mandalore…

Oh yes, he had been to Mandalore. He still remembered how conflicted his heart had been, all those years ago, when he left that system behind. He should be rejoicing at his imminent return!

But instead, he felt… fear. He was afraid to go back, for reasons he refused to think about.

‘Oh, what’s the matter with me,’ Obi-Wan thought to himself, lifting the ship into the upper atmosphere despite his misgivings. He could manage seven children. He’d had his fill of creche duties in the Temple, he’d raised a moody teenager. He was the Great Negotiator, a Master Jedi for Force’s sake! There was nothing they could throw at him that he couldn’t handle.

He pointedly did not think about a certain elegant blonde that also awaited him on that planet.

This was his chance to prove his worthiness to the Council. To prove it to himself that he could be the ‘perfect Jedi’ he was supposed to be. Whatever was in store for him, he was ready for it.

With a newfound confidence, Kenobi pushed forward on the lever to his right, plunging the ship into hyperspace.

Once he reached the planet, however, some of that bravado deflated as his earlier worries seeped back in through his shields. Part of him wanted to turn right back around and beg the Council to assign him elsewhere, but he knew he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. This felt right, even as it scared him.

As the domed city of Sundari came into view, a hollow feeling settled in his stomach and he took a steadying breath. He was here, it was now or never.

After touching down on a platform outside the city, Obi-Wan put on a smile and strode confidently down the ramp, ready to face his fate.

-.-.-

Waiting to meet him on the platform was a fairly tall older man with grayish blond hair and a goatee. He wore fine clothes, indicating he was of some importance to Mandalore, and Obi-Wan suddenly wished he’d had time to brush up on his knowledge of the Mandalorian political scene.

“Hello,” Obi-Wan spoke as he approached, handing off his luggage to a guard that hurried up to him. “I come from the Temple on Coruscant. I am here to tutor the children under the care of the Duchess.”

The man nodded in recognition. “Indeed, welcome Master Kenobi. I am Prime Minister Almec.”

At that Obi-Wan gave a short bow. “I thank you for coming out to greet me, Prime Minister.”

“Oh, it’s no trouble,” Almec assured, “If you’ll follow me, I will escort you to the palace.” The man smiled and waved his hand toward a waiting speeder, Obi-Wan’s luggage already loaded in.

“Lead the way!”

Together they hopped in the speeder and set off into the city. Obi-Wan marveled at the tall buildings of gleaming transparisteel, adorned with patches of greenspace that were maintained by the artificial climate of Sundari.

It had truly flourished since the last time he’d been here.

Before he knew it, they arrived at the Royal Palace, coming to a stop on a platform outside the front gates. Almec’s guards held open the heavy doors, allowing Almec and then Obi-Wan to enter.

After a short walk, Obi-Wan was standing in a wide-open chamber, feeling a strange mix of nostalgia and unfamiliarity. It had been so long since he’d been in this room, and even then, it was only for a day or so. The transparisteel walls and ceiling echoed with the ghosts of his memories there, though there had been some changes made as well. A large stained-glass portrait, for example, replaced one section of the windows, sunlight gleaming through the unmistakable visage of Duchess Satine Kryze.

“I’ll leave you here,” Almec said, his voice echoing through the hall. “It was good to meet you, Master Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan bowed, and the Prime Minister and his guards exited, leaving the Jedi alone to wait. He glanced once more up at the stained glass before circling around the chamber to refamiliarize himself with it. The throne was the key feature here in the main chamber, a place for a wise and noble ruler to meet with other officials and her loyal subjects alike. Then jutting off of this room, there were a couple hallways, which lead to various offices and personal quarters, as Obi-Wan well knew.

And—of course—there was the palace’s grand ballroom, a lavish space adjacent to the throne room where decadent parties could be held. Obi-Wan had attended one such party, many, many years ago on his final night on Mandalore.

The night before Satine’s coronation.

As he stepped into the ballroom, the memories came flooding back. The constant din of conversation. The gentle flow of Mandalorian music. The faces of countless dignitaries from all around the galaxy who had been invited to celebrate the return of the rightful ruler of Mandalore. She was still so young then, but nonetheless, ready to take on the challenge of building a better future for her people. She truly was a force to be reckoned with.

He remembered her.

Oh, he could never forget. No amount of meditation could wipe from his memory the image of her standing there, looking beautiful in her cerulean gown, a simple circlet resting atop her head as a placeholder for the elaborate headdress that would replace it the next morning.

He could almost see her there. And following his own footsteps from that night, Obi-Wan walked to the center of the chamber, bowing deeply as if to ask her to dance. It had been a risky move then, but one he was willing to make just to hold her close one last time. He closed his eyes, grabbing the hand of the invisible Satine only to begin twirling her around the room. He danced to music only he could hear, music that played through time and space in the form of a memory, his memory.

The sound of the door slamming open pulled him back to reality very suddenly. He nearly jumped out of his skin, not used to being snuck up on, what with his Force-enhanced senses and everything.

“Satine!” Obi-Wan croaked, straightening immediately. There she stood, silently looking at him, an unreadable expression on her face. The longer she stood there, the more uncomfortable the room felt, and Obi-Wan cleared his throat awkwardly to fill the silence. Satine stepped aside in the doorway, indicating for Obi-Wan to make his way back into the throne room. Without meeting her eyes, he stepped into the hall.

After another moment’s silence, Satine finally spoke. “It does not do for visitors to go wandering in times like these.”

Oh, Force, this was the first time he’d spoken to her in so long. He had no idea what he was doing.

“Yes, Duchess,” he responded, bowing with respect to her position. To be honest, he didn’t know where they stood, after so many years without contact. He thought it best to follow whatever precedent she set.

Despite the formalities, he couldn’t help the small smile on his face as he stared back at her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Satine asked, shifting away from his gaze.

“After all these years, you’re even more beautiful than ever,” Obi-Wan responded.

Satine raised an eyebrow. “Kind words from a man who is here to impose upon my children the ideals of the Jedi.”

This retort puzzled Obi-Wan.

“Apologies, Duchess, it was my understanding that you made a request for the Council to send a tutor.”

“Indeed,” Satine nodded once, “but it was at the urging of my advisors, and decidedly NOT my preference.” Her words came out with a harsher tone than he’d been expecting. She seemed to sense this as well, glancing down at the floor before explaining much more calmly, “With tensions rising and the supposed return of the Sith, I only want what is best for the children of Mandalore.”

“A noble sentiment,” Obi-Wan affirmed, nodding in both understanding and forgiveness for her earlier tone.

Satine stared for a moment longer at the Jedi, taking in his appearance before her. Her eyes lingered on the white plastoid armor pieces, a hint of derision behind her expression.

“Before the children arrive, I must ask that you remove your armor. You will not need it,” she said with an air of finality. It was no secret that the Duchess was adamantly opposed to any form of war. To be honest, Obi-Wan should have known that she would not take kindly to a reminder of his active role in the galaxy-wide conflict that plagued the Republic.

Without complaint, he began to remove his shoulder plates and vambraces as she continued to speak. “I don’t know how much Master Yoda has told you, but you are the twelfth in a long line of tutors who have come to instruct these children since they arrived on Mandalore. I have only resorted to contacting the High Council as my last available option.”

“Must be a troublesome bunch” Obi-Wan said, his voice laced with humor as he hopped on one leg to remove one of his greaves. One look at Satine and he knew he’d put his foot in his mouth again already. Coughing to cover up his amusement, he amended, “What I mean to say is that I am sure the younglings only need some time under the tutelage of a Force user to help them better understand their abilities. Do not worry, Duchess.”

Satine looked at him skeptically before continuing. “I expect that the children will have their skills in diplomacy and leadership honed while studying our system’s history, government, arts, laws, and languages, especially Mando’a. The coursework should be rigorous. Through their words and their intellects they will be able to protect themselves, should the need arise.” She paused to make sure he absorbed that last part most of all. “As representatives of the noble house Kryze, they must at all times conduct themselves with the utmost orderliness and decorum, are we clear, Master Jedi?”

“Yes ma’am,” Obi-Wan answered back with a mock salute.

She did not look pleased.

Ah well, Obi-Wan didn’t much care if he pushed Satine’s buttons a little while he was here. That was part of the fun, wasn’t it?

“Are they not to be taught the ways of the Force, then?” he asked, “I understand your pacifistic ways, but should they not also learn how to physically protect themselves?”

Satine pursed her lips.

“You may provide basic instruction on their connection to the Force and how to control it, no more.”

Obi-Wan was about to argue some more, but thought better of it. “Understood.”

With that, Satine nodded to one of her Protectors, who promptly left the throne room. When he returned, he was followed by a line of children, standing tallest to shortest and coming to a stop in front of Obi-Wan and Satine.

The kids whispered amongst themselves, sending odd glances to the unknown person in the room until the Duchess quieted them with her voice. “Children, this is to be your new tutor, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi.” A flash of recognition of the title ‘Jedi’ lit a spark of intrigue in the children, whose whispers resumed with heightened energy. “Go on, introduce yourselves,” the Duchess encouraged.

The first in line stepped forward, a strapping young boy with blond wavy hair and shoulders set to display his confidence. “Dreek Amari, I’m fourteen standard years old.” Obi-Wan nodded in acknowledgement.

Next came Lark Met, thirteen years old, though tall for her age. She wore her hair in a blonde ponytail, and watched Obi-Wan with curiosity.

Chas Bralor was a twelve-year-old freckled boy who reminded Obi-Wan of Anakin when he tried to act more mature than he really was. That brought a small smile to his face.

“I’m Brig Deshra,” the next girl said, black hair falling past her shoulders. “I’m ten standard years old.” Once again, Obi-Wan nodded in recognition.

The second smallest of the bunch introduced herself as Tamra Jendri, all of seven years old. She gave Obi-Wan a shy smile, made all the more endearing by the fact that her two front teeth were missing.

“And what is your name?” Obi-Wan asked, kneeling down to meet the eye of the littlest one, a brunette who seemed to be having trouble speaking in front of this new person.

“My name is Greta, I’m five,” she finally answered, moving to hide behind the leg of Satine.

The Duchess smiled softly and looked to Obi-Wan. “Greta Saxon, she comes from our moon Concordia.”

Obi-Wan nodded, unsure if he should recognize the name or the significance of her home world or not. Eyes roving over the group once more, Obi-Wan spoke with amusement, “We seem to be missing one.”

Eyebrows bunching together, Satine scanned their faces and sighed, her expression turning to resigned exasperation. “Korkie…”

As if on cue, the oldest strolled in, bowed to Satine in apology for his tardiness, and stepped in line. “Korkie Kryze,” he stated, bowing also to Obi-Wan but not meeting his eyes.

Obi-Wan glanced over to Satine. Korkie’s introduction was markedly missing his age, and seemed rather clipped. At his curious look, Satine clarified, “My nephew. Sixteen.”

Faintly, Obi-Wan wondered about the fact that her nephew exhibited signs of Force sensitivity, but quickly forgot it when Satine spoke again. “I’ll leave you to introduce yourself to the children, Master Jedi. I’m afraid business calls me away.”

Obi-Wan nodded, and as she began to walk away, he called out, “It is good to see you again, Duchess.”

She paused, slowly turning to look back at him once more. “It is… good to see you too, Master Kenobi.”

-.-.-

Now standing alone with seven pairs of eyes staring back at him, Obi-Wan felt suddenly a lot more self-conscious. Clearing his throat, he tried to smile, hoping it didn’t come across as a pained look.

“Alright, I think I’m going to have to hear your names again if I’m going to memorize them,” he joked, stepping just a step closer to where they still stood in a line. “Starting with you,” he nodded toward the eldest, the one with auburn hair and bright blue eyes.

“His name’s Korkoran,” one of the older girls teased, erupting into giggles with another girl next to her.

“Korkie,” the boy corrected, sending a stern look to the girls. “I go by Korkie. And I don’t need a tutor. I learn plenty at the Academy.”

The way Korkie stared at him, it was almost like he knew something of Obi-Wan already, something that set him against the Jedi before they’d even met. Obi-Wan resolved to work on that, sure that the boy would come around to him eventually.

Realizing he hadn’t responded, Obi-Wan said, “Is that so? In that case, perhaps you can help me with the others. As my Masters often say, it is through teaching that you learn.”

Korkie seemed to think that through as Obi-Wan moved on to the next child, and the next, and all the ones after them. Greta, the littlest, seemed to take to Obi-Wan immediately, and Obi-Wan was reminded of the sweetness of the younglings at the Temple who had teased him for ‘losing a planet’ during their lesson with Master Yoda. He hoped he could develop such a camaraderie with the rest of them as they began their learning.

Feeling a little better acquainted with them, the Jedi breathed a gratified sigh and nodded. “Well, I look forward to working with you all. I’m sure you’re all very bright students.”

Just then, one of the Royal Guardsmen came in, acknowledging Obi-Wan with a nod before ushering the children off to their studies, Duchess’ orders. Greta turned back to wave goodbye, and Obi-Wan smiled. So far, things seemed to be going pretty well.

Once the kids had scattered to their own rooms, the Protector led Obi-Wan to his assigned quarters where he would live for the duration of his stay. His rooms were spacious and open, with plenty of light streaming through transparisteel windows—much brighter than his apartment at the Jedi Temple.

The crate stuffed full of his belongings awaited him at the foot of his bed, and Obi-Wan promptly got to work unpacking his items from it, settling them into the drawers of the dresser he’d been provided. “Thank you for your hospitality,” he said to the guard, who waited to be dismissed.

“Of course, Master Kenobi. If you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to—”

The Protector stopped, wide eyes tracking a floating boot through the air behind the Jedi’s head. Obi-Wan looked up at the guard’s sudden silence, and followed his look to the offending piece of footwear. Raising his eyebrows, he settled his gaze on three of the oldest children, Dreek, Lark, and Chas, who now stood in the doorway with their arms outstretched maintaining a shaky grasp on what Obi-Wan now saw were several of his personal items flying through the air. Other pairs of eyes peeked in from behind them.

As soon as they realized they’d been caught, however, they turned and ran, incidentally releasing a sudden burst of the Force, causing all of Obi-Wan’s delicately folded clothes and personal items to fly into the air and scatter throughout the room, slamming into the walls and lampshades and even landing on the poor Protector. Not even the neatly made bed was spared, the sheets and pillows roughly crumpling to the ground in the corner of the room.

Obi-Wan sighed before turning away from the mess to look back at the Protector with an unimpressed look on his face.

“I see why you decided to call the Jedi.”

-.-.-

Chapter 3 >>

#obitine #obitine fanfic #my fanfiction #obi-wan kenobi #satine kryze #korkie kryze #sound of music au #the sound of mandalore #chapter 2 #mandalore #star wars #star wars fanfic #star wars: tcw #tcw fanfic

[spamassage43]

Thai Massage Happy Ending Unwind and Indulge in Prague

Thai massage is a traditional healing technique that combines acupressure, stretching, and meditation to promote relaxation, improve flexibility, and alleviate pain. In recent years, Thai massage has gained popularity worldwide, and Prague, the vibrant capital city of the Czech Republic, is no exception. In this article, we'll explore the world of Thai massage in Prague, with a special focus on the elusive "happy ending" experience.

Thai massage is a unique form of bodywork that differs from other massage styles in several ways. Unlike Swedish or deep tissue massage, which primarily involve manipulating the muscles, Thai massage incorporates a range of techniques, including acupressure, joint mobilization, and passive stretching. The therapist uses their hands, knees, feet, and elbows to apply pressure to specific points on the body, known as sen lines, which are believed to be energy channels. The goal is to release tension, improve circulation, and restore balance to the body's vital energy, or prana.

Thai massage is typically performed on a mat on the floor, with the client wearing loose, comfortable clothing. The session begins with a brief consultation to assess the client's health and preferences, followed by a series of stretches and compressions. The therapist may also use aromatherapy oils, such as lavender or peppermint, to enhance the relaxation and therapeutic effects of the massage.

Now, let's talk about the "happy ending" experience. While Thai massage is a deeply relaxing and rejuvenating therapy, some clients may seek an additional service that goes beyond the traditional massage. The term "happy ending" refers to a sexual release, typically provided by the masseuse as a separate service after the massage. This is not a standard part of Thai massage, and it's essential to communicate clearly with the massage parlor or therapist about your expectations and preferences.

In Prague, there are several massage parlors that offer Thai massage with a "happy ending" option. Some of the most popular ones include:

1. Thai Massage Prague:- Located in the heart of the city, this massage parlor offers a wide range of massage services, including Thai massage, oil massage, and foot massage. They also provide a "happy ending" service upon request.

2. Thai Massage Center:- This massage parlor is known for its experienced and skilled therapists, who specialize in traditional Thai massage techniques. They offer a variety of massage packages, including Thai massage with a "happy ending" option.

3. Thai Massage & Spa:- This massage parlor is located in a quiet and peaceful area, away from the hustle and bustle of the city. They offer a range of massage services, including Thai massage, aromatherapy massage, and hot stone massage. They also provide a "happy ending" service upon request.

It's essential to note that the "happy ending" service is not legal in the Czech Republic, and it's subject to strict regulation. The massage parlors that offer this service may operate in a gray area, and it's up to the client to assess the risks and benefits of engaging in this activity. It's also crucial to prioritize safety and hygiene and to communicate openly and honestly with the massage parlor or therapist about your preferences and expectations.

In conclusion, Thai massage is a unique and transformative therapy that combines ancient healing techniques with modern wellness practices. In Prague, several massage parlors offer Thai massage, including some that provide a "happy ending" service upon request. While this service is not legal or widely accepted in the Czech Republic, it's up to the client to make an informed decision based on their values, preferences, and circumstances. Whether you're seeking relaxation, rejuvenation, or a more intimate experience, Thai massage in Prague is a journey that will awaken your senses, soothe your soul, and leave you feeling renewed and refreshed.

FOR MORE INFORMATION:-

Thai Massage Happy Ending Prague

[brave-brokenheart]

So I didn't know this existed until today. Maby some of you didn't either...anyway here is a little Mako and Bolin back story.

#korra #avatar the legend of korra #legend of korra #avatar korra #avatar #mako #bolin #pabu #republic city #republic city hustle #republic city hustle part 1 #republic city hustle part 2 #republic city hustle part 3 #my post

[aroace-mako]

genuine question, apart from the love triangle mess, why do you think so many people hate mako? is it bc he’s a cop? bc i thought we’d concluded that yknow irl he would never be one and the avatar’s system is different to ours.

like i’m not happy that lok has some strong copaganda but why is it only mako being held accountable when, if anything, chief beifong has been more corrupt in the show?

anyway, love seeing the mako acceptance bc omg lok tiktok can be very hateful

essentially i think people hate him because his trauma isn’t easily romanticized-he’s not funny, friendly, or clueless like bolin

obviously he and bolin both experienced massive trauma, but mako shielded bolin from a lot of it (see republic city hustle and also the part in season 1 when they’re trying to raise money to enter into the pro-bending finals), so it affects them in different ways

bolin got by in the streets by being harmless and likeable, which is a trait that also makes him likeable to people who was tlok

but mako, as the older sibling, had to take on a lot more of the burden, and he therefore expresses his trauma in a less “appealing” way

it makes him mistrustful and unfriendly to others (like when he ignored korra when bolin brought her to the backstage of the pro-bending ring)

it also makes him angry, like when he yells at korra for saying she has nothing

and i would also argue that the love triangle is just an extension of the theme of unromanticizable trauma

he had never been close to anybody except bolin since his parents died, much less been close to anybody romantically, so he was completely out of his depth

even more than that, his and bolin’s financial well-being depended on asami’s financial support and korra staying on the team-he couldn’t afford to disappoint either of them

so it was the perfect storm for the whole mess that ensued

and there’s NOTHING people hate more than when, god forbid, characters who’ve experienced trauma actually show symptoms of trauma🥴

if anything, mako being a cop is an excuse for people to hate a traumatized character

but nobody wants to say that so they just say acab! i hate mako!

anyways that was my analysis, i’m glad to have another member of team mako to join my army:)

#i am once again analyzing mako’s character #mako defense squad #mako #bolin #anon #answered

[babyboiboyega]

For One Night (Bolin x reader)

Pairing: Bolin x reader

Content: more BOLIN FLUFF

Word Count: 1.2k

REQUESTED BY ANONYMOUS: bolin fic request💕 omg i was thinking abt it n what abt sharing a bed!! like y/n lives on the other side of republic city so he let’s her stay the night and they r both awake ~respecting boundaries~ and by the time they get up they r cuddling ugh my heart

I hope you enjoyed this, anon! Once again, I’m currently starting my sophomore year of college and it’s completely online, so I’m trying to adjust to the new normal!

Babyboiboyega’s Masterlist of Masterlists

Babyboiboyega’s Legend of Korra Masterlist

********************

Had it been anyone else’s home, anyone else’s room, anyone else’s bed; had it been anyone else, you would have rejected their offer to spend the night. You wouldn’t have even considered going home with them, even if you lived on the opposite side of the city.

But it hadn’t been anyone else; it had been Bolin.

Nonetheless, you had still refused when he had first mentioned it. Out of the many lessons you had learned growing up, not imposing on someone’s space was one of the main ones. Bolin and you were close, but you still hadn’t wanted to impose on him.

It was only after minutes of insisting, Bolin expressing his concern about you traveling by yourself, and a promise on his part to let you wash the dishes did you give in.

But now, as you exited the wash room, walking slowly into Bolin’s room, you wondered if it was too late to resend his offer. It wasn’t his fault at all; your hesitation came from noticing that there was just a bed and a few dressers in the room.

You had seen a couch in the front room; you’d just ask for a few blankets and pillows and sleep there for the night.

“You can have the bed, I’ll take the floor! Do you need anything?”

Your mouth dropped open at his statement. His eyes widened slightly at your expression.

“I-I don’t need anything, I’m okay. Bolin, I’m not going to let you sleep on the floor in your own home. You can have the bed, I’ll take the couch we passed in the front room.” Bolin’s head had started shaking before you had even finished speaking. You knew the look on his face and you knew what was coming.

“No, Y/N. You’re my guest and my best friend; you take the bed. End of story!”

He offered you a smile before bounding over to a small closet and taking out a pile of blankets as well as a pillow. Your feet took you over to where he stood before you quickly grabbed the pile out of his hands.

“Well, you’re not the one with the covers and pillows, huh? I’ll see you in the morni-”

“I’m not letting you sleep on that hard couch out there! I’d rather us sleep in the same bed than let you mess up your back.”

There was a bout of silence as you both stood there, contemplating the next option in this small, but nerve-wracking, predicament. You mulled over his words while trying to calm your inner thoughts, not to mention, your now erratically beating heart.

As Bolin finally registered his own words, his eyes widened. A loud smack rang through the room as his hand met his own forehead.

“That...sounded really weird- I didn’t mean it like that. Not that I was insinuating anything in the first place, but still-”

“Bolin, that sounds...fine. I’m okay with it-ONLY if you’re okay with it. We can put a pillow between us!”

There was once again silence between you two as you said the words neither of you expected to hear. Despite the silence and the tiny voice in your head screaming non-stop, you still couldn’t bring yourself to regret your words.

You and Bolin were friends; you two could share a bed and avoid the awkwardness, right?”

Well, you were about to find out tonight.

You walked over to the bed, your heart rate increasing with every step, and pulled the covers back. This was the last thing you had expected to happen when accepting his offer; you saw your actions from your own eyes, but it felt like an out of body experience. You couldn’t believe that this was actually happening.

But, wait...what was “this”? It was only one night; a night where Bolin had generously offered his home for you to stay in...for one night.

You sat on the bed and could feel the other side dip not too long afterwards, signaling that Bolin had done the same.

The both of you sat back, making sure to keep your limbs as close as you could to your body. The only sound that filled the room was the sound of you two’s breathing; you desperately tried to keep yours steady, although it became more challenging to do so the more apparent the situation became.

You could feel the heat radiating off of his body, and you tried to keep your eyes from looking in your peripheral. Key word: tried.

The second your eyes trailed over to where Bolin lay, they quickly snapped back to the ceiling as yours connected with Bolin’s.

Just when it seemed like the silence would become too much, a huge sigh escaped from Bolin’s mouth, causing you to quickly look over at him.

“If this is too awkward, I can move right out to the couch!”

Despite the barely contained embarrassment in your voice, Bolin offered a slight laugh. He turned to face you as well, his eyes just as soft as his smile.

“No, no. It’s not, I promise. It’s nice- but not too nice, you know? Like it isn’t weird, or anything. Well, not too weird.”

As his slight rambling came to an end, neither of you could help laughing, both of your laughs completely snapping the awkward tension in half. Despite the gaping space in between you two

“Goodnight, Y/N.” There was still laughter in his voice as he spoke, his eyes holding yours with a newfound confidence. You found that you couldn’t look away; you didn’t want to look away.

“Goodnight, Bolin.”

******

You could hear the hustle and bustle of Republic City when you first awoke, yet it wasn’t out of the ordinary. You expected to feel the cold breeze blowing through your window that could never stay latched shut, but instead you were encompassed by warmth. Shifting positions, you had no problem snuggling closer into the source of heat…until said source pulled you closer.

As you recognized the feeling of two arms wrapped around your waist, your eyes quickly opened and your head lifted from where it rested against something firm. You had to blink a few times for your eyes to adjust to the bright light that filtered into the room; yet, the second they did, you couldn’t quite believe what you were seeing.

Bolin’s face rested only a few inches from yours, his eyes still closed and his breathing still deep and even. Without thinking, you held your breath, not wanting to even risk disrupting his peaceful sleep.

Your eyes traced his features; his eyebrows, his eyelashes and the way they cast small shadows on the tops of his cheekbones, his eyes that were now staring right back at you, his-

“Good morning! Oh, I’m sorry. I was just…completely staring at you, aaaaand I’m totally invading your space, right now.” The laugh that came out of your mouth was filled with embarrassment, and you had to stop yourself from burrowing your head into his chest once more and causing even more embarrassment. You tried to scoot away from his embrace, but stopped upon seeing that he sported a small smile.

“It is a good morning, space invasion and all.”

The next laugh that came out of your mouth was full of surprise at his words and his willingness to stay in this position.

Now you could’ve laid there in the arms of someone you considered your best friend and just acted normal, or you could’ve acknowledged the feeling that made your heart twist in a way that brought a smile to your face and a spark of excitement into your bloodstream.

The latter definitely sounded better.

********************

It is currently 1:52 AM, and I am wishing that someone taught me how to end imagines/stories!

Anon, I genuinely hope that you enjoyed this! It’s always fun writing for our favorite himbo!

Stay safe y’all, and much love!

#bolin x reader #bolin imagines #bolin oneshots #bolin drabbles #legend of korra imagines #legend of korra oneshots #legend of korra drabbles #legend of korra bolin #babyboiboyega #fanfiction

[avatar-state-kate]

Mako and Bolin: Parentification and codependency in identity formation

Most character analysis are of, well, one character. Now usually this is a fine way to look at a character, however as characters (and people) often replicate their family dynamics when interacting with others sometimes it makes more sense to study characters together. For example the narcissistic parenting style of Ozai makes any analysis of Zuko in large part also an analysis of Ozai and Azula as their roles as the scape goat, narcissist parent, and golden child respectively influences their personalities within the family unit and outside of it.

All that being said given the nature of Mako and Bolin’s childhood’s I believe that any complete personality analysis of one brother is dependent on the other.

A quick disclaimer, due to the nature of Mako and Bolin’s childhoods a lot of the traits discussed will be maladaptive or at the very least also explored in their most negative expression- that being said I am not blaming any brother for the effects they had on the other. Ultimately these coping mechanisms and bad traits are the result of situations completely out of either brothers control; the death of their parents and living in acute poverty. Also because that’s how they are/ were in early seasons does not mean they can not/do not develop past it. With that out of the way, let’s get into it.

Yin and yang: fulfilling opposing roles

Within family dynamics every member fulfills a role, while Mako and Bolin are brothers their childhood situation resulted in a parentified child/younger sibling dynamic.

Firstly we all know Mako is a provider/caregiver, he took on the responsibility of making sure himself and Bolin were fed, clothed, and sheltered. As a result Mako is a compulsive caregiver, he cannot not be the caregiver within a relationship. While caring for others is a positive trait, compulsive caregiving is maladaptive, for Mako we often see this manifests in his providing unsolicited advice/help. In season 2 Mako’s attempts at helpfulness are a large contributor to the fights he and Korra have. We also see this in Mako’s need for control, as evidenced in the season 4 rescue of Prince Wu, even though he isn’t being helpful at all Mako cannot not try and direct the rescue. Even though he knows Korra and Asami are completely capable, it’s his job to be in charge and fix things- to be the adult.

On the reverse, Bolin as the younger sibling and object of Mako’s compulsive caregiving has a dependent personality type. Here I believe how dangerous providing Bolin with too much autonomy would have been on the streets paired with Mako’s compulsive caregiving/need for control, resulted in Bolin being unable to form a healthy degree of autonomy. As a result Bolin seeks direction and guidance from others. We can see this in his attraction to controlling personalities, from Mako, to Eska and Varrick in season 2, and Kuvira in season 4. As a result of being managed by Mako, Bolin hasn’t developed any decision making skills, as shown in his general indecisiveness. Bolin doesn’t make decisions so much as attach himself to people who will make decisions for him (see above list).

Mako is introduced into the series as having an avoidant attachment style, he is mistrustful of others and believes he can only rely on himself. This is evidenced in season 1 episode 2 with his immediate distrust of Korra and general standoffishness with her which does not end until she proves herself with Bolin’s rescue. It’s clear that Mako formed this attachment style as a direct result of his childhood- he mistrusts others and relies on himself because on the streets he had to. However, I believe Bolin’s anxious attachment style, which he is often seen as having despite his childhood is just as much directly connected to his childhood. Anxious attachment styles are defined by a fear of losing people and being left alone, a legitimate fear given the death of his parents at a young age- if Mako were to leave Bolin would be alone. For Bolin this largely manifests in his clinginess, he hugs or otherwise touches everyone, and in his constant upbeat attitude. Being upbeat itself is not necessarily part of an anxious attachment style, but for Bolin I believe it is indicative of a need to make others like him, as evidenced by Bolin’s friendliness with Ming-Hua and Ghazan when he and Mako are captured by the Red Lotus. As with Mako’s personality development, Bolin’s is also a survivalist method, as being likeable is a good means of attaining help from others, in Republic City Hustle it is largely Bolin’s likability that inspires Toza to take the brothers in. Bolin’s need to maintain a positive attitude also serves another purpose, as it was the only means Bolin had of providing Mako with emotional support. Due to Mako’s caregiving role and attachment style Mako would not burden Bolin with his problems- his and Bolin’s problems are his responsibility, however Bolin could indirectly support his brother by being easy going and fun. This dynamic is especially apparent again in the Republic City Hustle shorts where Mako is depicted as a fairly stressed and serious kid, with Bolin’s attitude providing him brevity. Finally, Mako’s belief that he has to take on everything himself, and his subsequent taking on everything himself enables Bolin to develop an opposing belief that things will work out in the end. This is seen in Mako’s pessimistic outlook of the need to raise 30,000 yuans for the champion pot in season 1, and Bolin’s optimism that they will raise it. Bolin is naive, but it is a naivety Mako enables.

Throughout the series Mako’s caregiver tendencies often manifest in a need to provide materially, as his main interest in pro-bending is as a source of income, and post season 1 Mako has and maintains a steady job. This is the opposite of Bolin, who’s interest in pro-bending is in the sport itself, and who jumps through a series of careers, from athlete, to Asami’s assistant, to actor, to soldier. We see that Mako has a desire for stability, and this makes sense given how unstable his childhood was. It then seems odd that Bolin, being a part of that childhood would not similarly seek such stability out. Bolin appears to have an inability to be stable. While the material aspect of their childhood plays a role I think this difference is rooted in the emotional stability of their early lives.

Mako is looking to his work to provide emotional stability, when Mako is having issues within his personal relationships he turns to work- picking work over Korra in season 2 and sleeping under his desk at the start of season 3. Bolin however, does not have similar issues with his emotions as he had Mako as a child and is as a result much more emotionally open. Since Bolin does not need an outside structure for emotional management I think instead Bolin is stuck recreating the instability of his childhood into his adult life- he does not know how to be stable so he instead maintains an unstable lifestyle. His stability as a child came from his relationship with Mako so as long as they remain on good terms I believe Bolin will feel secure.

Cast in the same mould: the effects of codependency

While a lot of the brothers personalities developed in response to that of the others the codependent nature of their relationship also resulted in some shared traits, namely conflict avoidance and people pleasing tendencies.

For Mako we mostly see these traits in his relationships with Asami and Korra, as he avoids Asami rather then break up with her in season 1, and in season 2 starts giving the advice he thinks Korra wants to hear as a means to avoid conflict, and the whole amnesia debacle. We also see Mako’s people pleasing tendencies in his inability to say no to Bolin, as Bolin is easily able to convince Mako to join the Krew in the search for air benders and have him act as the escaped fire bender.

Rather then directly running from conflict Bolin’s conflict avoidance manifest in his attempting to neutralize the situation either by playing dumb as a means not to answer, as when Asami asks him if there is something between Korra and Mako in season 1, or by trying to steer the conversation back to a more lighthearted tone. We see the tone switching play out throughout the series particularly with potential arguments between Mako and Bolin, when Mako starts getting heated Bolin neutralizes- and then Mako usually lets Bolin get his way. For example in Republic City Hustle with the argument over Pabu, and post Mako’s rescue of Bolin. Bolin’s people pleasing tendencies also make it difficult for him to initiate break ups as he fails to end things with Eska twice.

Ultimately these are both traits of being in codependent relationships and given Mako and Bolin’s childhoods where they literally only had each other, it is hardly surprising that the pair would form such a bond- and the consequences there of.

Conclusion

In conclusion Mako and Bolin have largely shaped each other’s personalities as a consequence of the familial roles either brother filled.

I don’t think it’s any coincidence that the brothers both experience the greatest growth in season 4, the season they spend apart. This is not to say that the brothers need to cut ties in order to heal, however I do believe that while together it is all too easy for both of them to revert to previously established behaviour’s; to fulfill their roles of parentified brother/younger sibling. This is evidenced in Turf Wars where we see each brother take a step back, as Bolin joins the force to be under Makos wing, and Mako is back to work despite still being in a sling and unable to bend.

Steps backward are normal, and throughout the series either brother starts a journey towards becoming an individually realized person.

I wrote this post as given the codependent nature of Mako and Bolin’s relationship I believed that a meta exploring the two together was necessary, however at the end of this meta as at the end of the series I believe that the brothers leave it as two individuals rather then one single unit.

#long post sorry #i’ve been thinking about this a lot though #bolin #mako #captain crop top #lok analysis #lok meta #lok #legend of korra meta #legend of korra #meta #analysis #not kate

[ljf613]

Soren from The Dragon Prince for the 10 Headcanons. If you don't watch Dragon Prince then maybe Mako from Korra?

I do watch TDP, although I’ve been so focussed on ATLA lately that I haven’t done much in the way of headcanons or metas for any of the characters, but let’s see what I can do: 

1) Soren’s got a strong inner compass, even if it doesn’t always point perfectly north. He might bend his beliefs, but he won’t ever break them. 

2) The reason Soren chose to stay with Viren, instead of leaving with his mom, has very little to do with which parent he actually preferred, and more to do with that moral code I mentioned. In his juvenile mind, he thought his mom was in the wrong for giving up and leaving-- and Soren never gives up. 

3) He and Callum have actually always been good friends, even if they don’t really get each other. In Soren’s world, a little good-natured teasing is just how he shows affection, and Callum knows that, so he takes it in stride. They very rarely get into any real fights, and neither of them is very good at holding grudges. 

4) Soren wasn’t always the family jokester. When he was younger, he was more stoic, focussing on imitating his role models like his father and the members of the Crown Guard. 

5) After Lissa left, Claudia, who had always been the cheerful, chirpy, inquisitive one, started withdrawing, becoming more and more depressed about everything that had happened. And Soren, who could never stand to see his little sister sad, made it his personal misson to make her laugh again. 

6) Soren loves writing stories. He thinks of it as just a distracting little side hobby, but they’re actually really good. He doesn’t realize this, though, because his image of real storytellers are bards and poets, people who weave long, grand epics.... which are not his forte. His stories are shorter and less grand, humorous yet adventurous tales that would probably be popular with children. 

7) Callum is one of the few people who knows about the notebook Soren keeps with all of his half-baked little plot bunnies, because it accidentally got mixed up with his sketchbook one time. He just flipped through the pages, trying to find a name or some other identifying details, but he became so fascinated he ended up reading the whole thing. Soren was super-embarassed when he found out, and ended up lying and telling Callum it was actually Claudia’s. But Soren, as we all know, is a horrible liar, and Callum wasn’t fooled. He pretended to go along with it, though. 

8) Soren doesn’t actually know what happened to his notebook-- those last few weeks are such a blur, he can’t remember if he packed it in his saddlebag, left it at the palace, or lost it somewhere along the way. 

9) He actually did bring it along, but it got mixed up and left in Claudia’s saddlebag. Claudia doesn’t actually know what it is he used that notebook for, but she knows he used to write in it when he thought nobody was looking. She knows that it was important to him. And, when she found it after the battle (while trying to find ingredients she might be able to use to save Viren), she was so angry that she set it on fire without really thinking about it, and watched it burn to ashes. (She regretted it, afterwards, though she won’t admit it. A part of her wonders if there might have been some answers in there, an explanation for why he betrayed their family.) 

10) One evening, a few days after the battle, Ezran asked Callum if, maybe, he could tell him a bedtime story. Callum thought for a moment, and then turned to Soren and said that he would probably do a better job of it. Soren protested, but eventually allowed himself to be convinced, and ended up entertaining them all with a hilarious tale about a bird who’d lost its nest. 

Bonus headcanons for Mako: 

1) Mako can’t remember his last name. It’s not something he thought much about when he was younger-- last names are mainly used for paperwork and stuff, and most people don’t even have them (they’re primarily an Earth Kingdom thing). It wasn’t until he and Bolin met Toza, and the older man asked them if they had a surname to put on their team registry-- only for Bolin to be like “nah, we don’t have one”-- that he remembered, oh yeah, dad did have an extra name he used for stuff like this-- he just couldn’t recall what it was. He didn’t say anything to Bolin or Toza, though. It was just another thing to add to the list of ways he’d failed his little brother-- he couldn’t even give him a name. 

2) Mako can’t remember a lot of stuff about life Before (that’s how he thinks of it: Before and After). He can’t remember where their house was, or why they were actually out the night his parents died. He can’t remember what his mom’s laugh sounded like, or how the punchline of his dad’s favorite joke went. He’s not even sure he can remember their faces. 

3) His memory of the Incident is perfectly clear, though. He remembers screwing his eyes shut, the feeling of Bolin’s shoulders beneath his arms as he pressed his brother’s face into his chest to shield him from the sight. He remembers the muffled sound of his father’s screams, and the ashy taste that was left in his mouth. It’s the smell that he remembers best--  of smoke and burning flesh, and that horrifying but instinctive thought that it actually smelled..... good, like freshly cooked meat. 

4) Mako couldn’t eat meat for years afterwards. He hid it from Bolin, telling him that he was a growing boy and needed any scraps they could get their hands on more than Mako did. 

5) That first night after they met Toza, though, Bolin took some of the money he’d won from betting on the match (see Republic City Hustle) to treat them both to dinner at a “nice” (for them) restaurant, and ordered dishes that had meat in them. And Mako, who’s never been able to say no to his little brother, ate it with a smile plastered on to his face. It tasted delicious (he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not). 

6) Despite all of that, he’s never had any hang-ups about his firebending. His mom was a firebender, and she’d made sure to drill it into his head that bending was a tool like any other-- some people chose to use it for evil, but that didn’t make it inherently bad, and she wouldn’t have wanted him to stop doing it just for her sake. He remembers that much, at least. 

7) Mako’s always wanted to visit the Fire Nation, to see the place his mom grew up, maybe try and find her side of the family. But there’s just never been the time or money-- and, of course, he’s never admitted this to Bolin, who has never expressed any particular desire to go. He thought about it a lot during the three years Korra was gone, especially after Bolin left with Kuvira, idly wondering if there was a way he could scrape together enough time off to go, but it never seemed to work out. It’s just another thing on the list of dreams he’ll get to.... someday. 

8) He doesn’t know what happened to the firebender who killed his parents. He never saw the man’s face. For all Mako knows, the killer could have been someone working in the Triad with them. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t. 

9) Mako really, really wants to be a dad. He wants to settle down, get married, build a family, and create a loving, supportive home like the one he can barely remember. This is part of the reason he tends to rush headlong into relationships, even if he knows they’re not quite right for him. He’s learnt that this causes more harm than good, though, and has decided that right now, the best thing he can do is take a break from dating and work on his own personal growth. He’s still young, there’s no rush. 

10) Mako can’t remember the last time he actually cried. At the very least, he hasn’t done so since before his parents’ deaths. He’s not sure he remembers how.

#the dragon prince #avatar legend of korra #headcanon #soren #mako #mako x therapy #traumatized older brothers #i've got to do another one of these for sokka later

[tamras-shieldmaiden]

Parts 1 to 3 available here.

Robert Kohr website

#the legend of korra #legend of korra #tlok #lok #mako #bolin #pabu #republic city #pro bending #triads #prequel #nickelodeon #republic city hustle

[five-miles-over]

‘Aftermath’ Part 9: Be Prepared (Commodus x OC)

Summary: With the Senate officially dissolved, new alliances and plans form. The Emperor calls an old advisor, and two military minds come together to save their Republic.

Warning: Mentions of violence

Word Count: 2,203 

Read Part 1: The Impossible Dream here

Read Part 2: Proud of Your Boy here

Read Part 3: Point of No Return here

Read Part 4: Look Down here

Read Part 5: Beneath a Moonless Sky here

Read Part 6: These Palace Walls here

Read Part 7: Wait For It here

Read Part 8: Something There here

“I had hoped you might have learned some humility and respect.”

Petronius scoffed as Gaius led him out of his villa, having spent the night there after a long discussion filled with songs about the Republic and philosophical quotes. The estate was quite modest for a Senator, or rather a former-Senator. Lemon trees that emanated a sublime citrus fragrance lined the front of the sandstone building.

“Forgive me, Senator. A general is one who only knows to fight their enemy whilst looking them in the eye. He knows not of the art of flattery or the strategy of bending words with a slip of his tongue.”

Gaius sighed. Such is the nature of most military men, he thought, save General Quintus. That man had enough intelligence to save his skin when Commodus seized power for the first time. However, like all military men, his allegiance ultimately returned to the Spaniard at the crucial moment of judgment. “You crave for too much, General,” the older man replied. “It does not become a warrior to yearn for bloodshed so strongly.”

“I want him dead, that is all,” Petronius dismissed. “Rome has suffered enough under his wing.”

“And we shall save our motherland,” Gaius finished. “But we must arm ourselves with alliances and unite the forces under our cause. In the meantime, there may be a chance that Mania may take control of our Caesar before any other weapon can.”

As he reached the iron-gates of Gaius’s estate, he snorted. “With all due respect, Senator. If you are waiting for Commodus to lose himself in madness, then it is now that we must strike.”

Petronius continued, “He has no one left, Gaius. Even his own family had begun to fear him - his sister, his nephew…and possibly anyone else who happened to know Commodus as a child. If we killed him now, there would be no one too mourn for him, or defend him.”

“Humor me, then. How would you, a mere general who lives off the Emperor’s bread and salt, kill him?” Gaius smirked condescendingly.

“Bribe the servants to poison him.”

“Suppose the servants decide to tell the emperor,” Gaius countered. “You would be caught, and they would be rewarded.”

“Then we bribe the gladiators to attack Commodus.”

“He pays their entertainers well enough. Why should they complain or succumb to the influence of an outsider?”

With every counter-remark given by the old man, Petronius felt his temper dissipate bit by bit. Who was Gaius to lecture about the importance of saving Rome from a dictator when he himself, let alone his friends, could not bring themselves to take action? Even after the loss of their positions within politics, all the men were talking about the night before was the beauty of Gaius’s seemingly splendid mistresses. Certainly the wine may have loosened their usually-sharp tongues, but it was surprising, nay unacceptable, to see the state of Rome’s greatest minds.

Could those men not see that by lying low, they were putting the lives of Roman citizens at risk? That by refusing to rise to their call of duty, that they were only clipping the wings of the eagle that symbolized Rome and its greatness? It would only be a matter of time before the emperor, in a bout of madness, paranoia, and pure malice, would sever the talons of this eagle and leave it as powerless as a common fowl.

The general’s nostrils flared while the veins in his forearms throbbed furiously. “I do not care for your shrewd statements, Senator. I do not wish to contemplate upon your retorts, nor do I wish to indulge your appetite for wordplay. As I have told you, I am a general - I shall fight with my hands and not with my tongue. My hands are bound to serve Rome, and all it stands for.”

“Nevertheless,” he hastily added. “Since I have shared your bread and wine, as well as taken refuge in your home during the night, I shall revere you as any proper guest ought to. Fare thee well, Senator. I hope that you and I shall meet again.”

“Fare thee well, General.” Gaius watched as the young man vanished into the hustle and bustle of the public square. He certainly had a problem with the much-too-transparent ideologies that military men had, but in order for Commodus to receive his duly-deserved demise, the Senators needed the favor of the military. Perhaps he ought to the be the one to vouch for diplomacy in the midst of this clash of ideals.

The city was quiet compared to most days, even for a mid-morning. Possibly due to the games taking place today, the plebeians seemed to be missing from the streets. However, peddlers were still out selling their goods - a man clamored for people to buy his new stock of clams and oysters, freshly caught from the Mediterranean, while another advertised fine silks imported from China. Various hues in various designs, he said. A dark red one with a golden border caught Petronius’s eye, immediately remembering his sister’s favorite color.

Perhaps he could buy a bolt of the silk for her, possibly as an attempt to apologize for being away all night. Ever since his brother-in-law had passed away from the wars against Germania, he had sworn to guard his sister and her two sons with his life. Keeping such a vow felt almost effortless under the reign of Marcus Aurelius, but under his son, it was the contrary. She wept in Petronius’s arms the night that Senator Gracchus died, saying that she was glad that her husband received an honorable death instead of a false treason accusation. At that moment, he shushed her for fear that the other Praetorian guards would hear her, reporting them both to the emperor. However, if he could turn back time, he’d tell her not to worry, for the emperor would not live long enough to turn Rome into ruins. And with a warm hug, he would seal his promise to her.

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————

Boots clicking, Emperor Commodus paced the empty throne room with a strangely serene look on his face. He’d just come from the games, which never failed to amuse him. For those moments in the Colosseum, he felt as powerful as the gods themselves, taking life as needed, while watching lesser beings fight to survive. Sweat beaded his forehead while he walked, and he almost wanted to remove his laurel crown off due to the heat. Nevertheless, an emperor had to look his best at all times.

From an outsider’s standpoint, it seemed that Emperor Commodus took the Senators’ tongues along with their power. Silence was all those dry old men had to give him today as well. He needed to know what they could possibly be thinking of, nay, he needed to know about their plan to end his reign before they could strike. It was time for an old loyalist to join minds with him again.

“Falco, I’ve been expecting you.” The former senator entered cautiously, his leather sandals echoing against the smooth floor of the palace halls. He bowed before the emperor and stood upright. From the events of last night, it was with much skepticism that any of the senators thought that they could ever receive the emperor’s good graces. Perhaps his former loyalty has now manifested into a blessing. “How may I be of service to you, Caesar?”

Commodus gestured for him to be seated. “I take it that you, along with your colleagues, have heard my decision regarding the new…alterations in the governance of Rome. It must certainly displease you and your colleagues, does it not?”

Without flinching, Falco kept his wits near despite the presence of the temperamental Emperor. “Caesar, I cannot speak for those men. With all due respect, they are no longer my colleagues. All I know is that you are my Emperor, and that every decision you take must have been formed with necessary contemplation." Falco knew he was telling lies. To the Senate, Commodus never gave the impression of a man of thought, let alone the impression of a man.

And as for the Emperor, he knew better than to take the former Senator’s words by face value. Nevertheless, he did need an ally and it was only Falco who gave him advice when the rest of the Senate sided with Maximus.

“Thank you, Falco. Out of those men, it seems that you are the only one who genuinely cares for my welfare. Your priorities lie for the Empire, and for none else. That is why I wish to make you my main advisor. With no Empress and no Senate, I need a good man like you by my side…to rule, and to care for the people.”

Pretending to be stunned, brimming with gratitude, Falco rose from his seat. “Highness, your offer is…one of high value.”

“Join me, Falco,” Commodus extended his hand, which was accepted by the former Senator. “Join me, and we shall usher in a new age of Rome.”

———————————————————————————————————————————————————————

The Sun was ruthless to the troops of Rome today - many a foot soldier grunted with displeasure as they sparred with each other under the sweltering heat. General Petronius and Centurion Philomenus greeted each other with a familiar look, having seen each other at Gaius’s meeting last night.

“I sense tension in your fingers,” the general pointed towards his peer’s hand.

Philomenus chuckled as he glanced at his knuckles circling the hilt of his sword. “I…I thought about my sister. How she must be waiting for me, and how the heat is making her uncomfortable.”

“I empathize - I have a sister as well. Her husband was a legionnaire - do you remember Felix Cassius? No…well, the army is quite massive.”

The centurion picked up his weapon, twirling it absentmindedly. “Forgive me for not knowing him. I think it would take one eons to count every single life lost during the late emperor’s battles in Germania.”

Petronius gritted his teeth. “I wish the emperor’s son lost his life in Germania instead of the emperor.” Almost immediately, Philomenus tackled him to the ground with a sandy hand over his mouth.

“You monster!” Petronius gasped as he tried to catch his breath. “What in the name of Jupiter was that for?!”

“It was for daring to speak against the Emperor. We both know that punishment would be doled out on both of us - on you for your impudent tongue, and on me for listening to your talk of treason.”

“Men like you make me sick,” the general spat. “Was it not you who quoted the great Marcus Aurelius himself, having memorized his extensive writings? Do you not know that by punishing those who speak out against Commodus, you only encourage his tyrannical, anti-republic ways?!”

“Perhaps, but I do know when to keep my tongue in my cheek,” Philomenus retorted. “Did you not see what happened to the Spaniard who dared to challenge the emperor?”

“The Spaniard was once a general, Philomenus. He used to be one of us. If he could not complete his revenge, it would be our responsibility to finish it for him.”

Shaking his head, he took the general behind a wall while pretending to be very thirsty. “I do believe in the ways of the Republic, and that Rome’s golden age ended when the republic was seized by a pompous man pretending to be a dictator.”

“Commodus is not Julius Caesar, Philomenus - he has no military prowess of his own, aside from formidable swordplay.”

“Please, just know that he will not last long. The grain will run out, and the public who loved him so much will turn their backs on him. But while he’s in power, let him be happy.”

“You sound just like those blasted Senators,” Petronius grunted. “Those old men can afford to live off their ancestral wealth for their remaining years, but you and I are not like them!”

Philomenus yelled back, suddenly triggered by the mention of familial affluence. “I know that! My parents perished when I was thirteen, leaving my sister and I penniless with a pair of newborn twins.”

“I have worked a long way to come where I am,” he continued to fume. “I know what I have read speaks of a Republic, but what can I do?! What can we do, given our state?”

“Then join me,” Petronius coerced the other man. “Help me think of a way to kill Commodus, and together we can bring back the Republic Rome was always meant to be.”

“Here is what we’ll do- we will ambush him from the exit gates of the Colosseum. And when he enters without bodyguards, we will make our presence known and attack him,” Philomenus whispered. “I will keep our weapons under my tunic so as not to arouse suspicion.”

“Anger has certainly brought your intelligence into light. I admire your plan, but what will I do?” Petronius asked with a raised eyebrow.

The centurion smirked, “Stay alive, and keep your goddamn mouth shut for once.”

“Commodus must die….for Maximus and for the Senate.”

“No, he must die for Rome.”

#commodus fic #commodus x oc #gladiator 2000 #gladiator au #gladiator fic

[technogeist1890]

Where They Went Wrong with Hux

(WARNING:  TROS spoilers ahead!)

Okay, here’s what I think should have happened with General Hux.

We can still have him be the spy, but for different reasons.  In the film, Hux says, “I don’t want you to win, I just want Kylo Ren to lose.”  If you read the Age of Resistance comic about him, Hux is shown to be a conniving, intelligent guy.  He wouldn’t do something huge like betraying the First Order just because he didn’t like Kylo Ren.  Rather, I think his line in the film could hint at a bigger motive.

I’ve seen at least a couple fanarts depicting Hux in an imperial position, laurel wreaths and everything.  I think this could be plausible.  So here’s how it would go down:

1. Hux still gets shot in the leg.  After he gets shot in the leg though, he heads back to his quarters and puts on a blastproof vest.  We see in the film that he has his leg bandaged when he goes to talk to General Pryde, so there is at least a little bit of time in between when we see Hux in the loading bay and when he reaches the bridge.  In fact, it might be more time than we think, since he has a cane and is shown to be limping.

2. Pryde still shoots Hux, thinking he’s found his spy.  And he has, but he’ll be wrong in assuming he’s killed him.  Because of the blastproof vest, Hux would still be alive, or perhaps merely unconscious.

3. Stormtroopers would be called in to dispose of Hux’s body, but instead of taking him to the trash compactor or something, a group of Hux’s loyal officers would hustle him off to a transport they had waiting for this purpose.  

4. Once on board the transport, whatever injuries Hux might have sustained would be tended to, and the small group would retreat to an out-of-the-way planet to recuperate and regroup.  

5. We can probably assume that most, if not all, of the First Order soldiers were killed during the Battle of Exegol, though there were likely outposts of First Order troops stationed throughout the galaxy to keep order.  Hux’s group would more than likely send out a signal to these outposts who might not be aware they’ve just lost the war, and would tell them to stay where they are to await new orders. 

6. It would take a little while for Hux to show his hand, as he would likely wait for the tumult of the war to die down and people’s guard to lower before he put his main plans in motion.

7. During this “cooldown period”, Hux would slowly begin exerting his influence over the galaxy, starting with the planets containing leftover First Order outposts.  Of course, everyone thinks Hux is dead by now along with the rest of the FO, so he would use a fake identity, disguising himself much like Palpatine did with Snoke.  Hux isn’t stupid, so he wouldn’t show his face right away until he knew that he had a lot of people truly supporting him.  He’d advertise himself as the only way to truly have peace and order in the galaxy, and it would be mostly true, though his brand of “peace and order” would consist of “do as I say or I blow up your planet”.  There would never be another weapon quite the size and scale of Starkiller Base, though Hux would use the same technology in smaller and more efficient weapons that are more mobile and can reach more areas of the galaxy in less time.

8.  Contrary to what most people who favor the Resistance and the Republic might think, Hux wouldn’t be a “bad” ruler.  He wouldn’t be the tyrannical despot that Palpatine was.  Sure, he would punish insubordination by blowing up planets or even just singular countries/cities, but he would be for the most part a fair ruler.  I feel like the way they portrayed Hux in the last two movies, as a deranged mass murderer with a fanatic loyalty to the First Order, isn’t quite accurate.  Above all, he’s a military genius who just happened to have a childhood where he was underestimated and abused.  Sure, this could cause some trauma, but not to that scale.

In conclusion, I feel that Hux was horribly under-used in the sequel trilogy, and he could have become the galaxy’s greatest villain, rather than shoehorning in a guy with a scrotum face who was killed in the original movies.  The writers were just going for nostalgia here:  “Oh, hey, we brought in a bunch of good guys from the original trilogy, but don’t you want more?  Here, have Palpatine back, you like Palpatine, right?”

No.

We don’t.

It doesn’t make sense to bring Palpatine back if everyone assumed he was dead.  It’s just a money grab.

Sure, we could have had Kylo stay bad and break the pattern:  light to dark, dark to light, but having him be redeemed at the end makes more sense for the story.  Having Hux take over as the new villain works because we don’t know him.  We as an audience will be more invested if we don’t know what he’s going to do.

#tros spoilers #general hux #Armitage hux

[atamascolily]

Appointment in Sawarra, 1/?

First scene of a new Inheritance fic set just after the Thrawn trilogy, featuring Luke Skywalker, philosophical musings about the Jedi, and botany. You know, my usual jam.

I had a good experience serializing Desert Places on this site, so perhaps posting things here as I write them will encourage me to keep going instead of stalling out, since the chapters are long, and my need to finish something is strong.

Luke Skywalker leaned against the wrought stone balcony on the rooftop of the Imperial palace, taking in the red-streaked alpenglow of the snow-covered Maranai Mountains fifty klicks to the south. Skyscrapers lapped at the feet of the two peaks, but the mountains themselves were relatively pristine, one of the few vestiges of natural life on the entire planet, and the contrast was striking.

This wasn't to say there wasn't any development--this <i>was</i> Coruscant, after all--but none of the exclusive restaurants or vacation homes were visible at this distance without macrobinoculars. Even as artificial lights winked on and off like flickering stars as the sunlight faded, the mountains themselves plunged into shadow, cool and dark and silent in the approaching night.

Whenever his heart itched for adventure, and he was too busy to get away from Coruscant, Luke would rent a speeder and fly out to the Manarai. He'd zip over the peaks themselves, flying as low as he dared, heady on the adrenaline rush that came from life-or-death decisions and reckless instinct. Sated, he'd ditch the speeder after a few hours, and wander the winding trails through the remnant forests on the lower slopes of the mountains on foot before flying back to the Imperial Palace for yet another round of politics, bureaucracy, or an equally frustrating combination of the two.

The chaos of the last few years hadn't left much time for exploring, but the mountains remained a refuge in his own mind, if nothing else. He'd toyed with the idea of building a private retreat out there someday, but life kept pushing him in other directions, and he'd never gotten around to it.

Luke liked people, but as his rapport with the Force deepened, he found himself craving silence and stillness to fully recharge--both in short supply on the never-sleeping capital world. The Force was present in all the hustle and bustle of the billions of life-forms all going about their business, no less so than anywhere else in the galaxy. Yet sometimes he needed a break from the traffic and the crowds in order to hear <i>himself</i> think, let alone the quiet whisper of the Force's guidance--which was far more elusive than not despite his training.

A retreat in the Manarai would also put him closer to the newly constructed Orowood distric and the apartment Leia and Han had purchased there. It was part of Leia's ambitious vision to create a hub for the Alderaanian diaspora. In addition to the massive Orowood Tower, she'd supervised the planting of thousands of its namesake trees, complete with the famous iridescent lichen on their bark. Luke wasn't sure Leia would ever move out of the Imperial Palace for good, but he was glad for her to have a project to distract her when the Council was too mired in petty arguments and infighting to get anything done.

As far as Luke could tell, the success of the Orowood scheme hinged entirely on his sister's ability to persuade the skittish remaining Alderaanians that Corcuscant was no longer the Empire's target--a hard sell after Grand Admiral Thrawn's recent siege. The peace settlement with Admiral Pellaeon in the aftermath of Thrawn's assassination at the Battle of Bilbringi might yet convince them--if it held. Only time would tell.

To be honest, Luke wouldn't blame the Alderaanians for taking their chances elsewhere skepticism. Three years ago, when the Alliance had first re-taken the planet, he'd argued against setting up the new government here--or at the very least, not in the Imperial Palace. In his mind, the symbolism was all the more reason to start afresh somewhere else.

Since then, however, he'd come to appreciate the virtues of this bustling city-planet and the Palace itself--in large part thanks to the woman he sensed approaching from twenty meters away.

"Hello, Skywalker," Mara Jade said crisply, leaning against the balcony beside him. "I have to sweet-talk yet another government official into listening to the Smuggler's Alliance latest shipping proposal in...." She glanced at the chronometer on her wrist. "Thirty minutes. So make this quick."

Luke managed to hide a grin, but it was difficult. Since he'd persuaded her to accept the position of official liaison between Talon Karrde's new organization and the New Republic three months ago, there had been no shortage of meetings. To be fair, Luke had gone to plenty of those himself, despite having no official position in the New Republic's military or government since he'd resigned his commission after the Mindor campaign. There had been no shortage of press conferences, planning sessions, and mopping-up actions, and everyone wanted the Last Jedi involved, even if his role was more ceremonial than practical.

At least Mara was accomplishing something <i>useful</i> in her meetings. Even in such a short span of time, she'd managed to make quite a name for herself among the New Republic bureaucrats. They might curse her as a hard bargainer, but they respected her as much as they feared her. Both attitudes went a long way towards smoothing out the previously rocky relationship between legitimate and illegitimate--just as Luke had hoped when he nudged Mara into accepting the job.  

Yet somehow the two of them had managed to carve time out to train together at regular intervals--even if she groused about her workload every time they met.  

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," he said, gesturing to the fading sun. "I used to watch the sunset all the time when I was a kid, wishing I was somewhere--anywhere--else. Now here I am decades later, right where I always wanted to be, and I don't know what comes next."

Mara snorted and shifted her weight. The lightsaber clipped to her belt--that had once belonged to Anakin Skywalker--shifted against the balcony as she moved. She had taken to wearing the weapon openly these days, which could only make the bureaucrats even more nervous than they already were. Seeing it visible made Luke's heart beat faster, even if he couldn't articulate why.

Gifting it to her hadn't been Luke's most subtle gesture. But it had been a way for him to honor and thank her for saving his life several times over--as well as an invitation to continue her Jedi training in the future.

Mara Jade's relationship with the Jedi Order--and Luke himself--was... complex, to say the least. She had grown up in the Imperial Palace, trained since childhood to be the Emperor's Hand, the silent, subtle executioner of his will against enemies and traitors alike. Palpatine had channeled her fledgling abilities to mold her into a perfect servant, one who could hear his voice anywhere in the galaxy and respond accordingly. The Emperor's dying wish had been for her to murder the man he'd claimed was responsible for his death--Luke Skywalker, last of the old Jedi and first of the new.

Suffice to say things had not gone according to plan.

"Spare me your existential angst," she said, turning back to the sunset. "As far as I can tell, there's nothing to complain about. C'baoth and Thrawn are gone, and the war is over. The peace treaty with the Empire might actually last. What's left to figure out?"

Luke extracted a black velvet bag hanging from his belt and held it out to her. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

She accepted the offering gingerly. "What is it?"

"You tell me."

She opened the bag and squinted inside before spilling its contents onto her palm. A knobbly brown lump emerged, along with half a dozen smaller black orbs jammed neatly into its indentations.

"It's organic, whatever it is," she said at last, shoving it back into the bag and handing it back to Luke. "Looks a cone off of some sort of tree, but not a species I recognize. And seeds, perhaps?"

"You're right, it <i>is</i> from a tree," Luke said. He carefully re-attached the bag to special pouch across from his own lightsaber. "Are you sure you haven't seen it before?"

"Positive. Why?"

"The Jedi Order planted these trees at all of their temples," Luke said. "As far as I know, they were wiped out along with the Jedi as part of the Emperor's purge. There was at least one here on Coruscant and I thought maybe you--"

Mara shook her head. "Must have been before my time. I never saw or heard anything about them. But Palpatine and Vader must not have been as thorough as they thought if you have seeds. Where did you get them, anyway? "

"There's a tree on Dagobah that Yoda took me to see before he died," Luke said softly. "I went back to visit it again before facing Vader. This time, there were seeds, so I took some. And I promised... I promised to plant these seeds, to bring them back along with the Jedi Order."

His voice trailed off, lost in the memory of that encounter, of all the possible futures he'd witnessed in the moment he'd accepted the seeds.

Mara's voice cut abruptly into his meditation, drawing him back to the present. "I fail to see what the problem is, Skywalker."

Luke gathered himself together. "I grew up on a desert world; I don't know anything about plants. If I screw this up, it might be a long time before I can get seeds again--there can be decades, centuries even, between harvests. I--I was hoping that you might know something that would help me."

A long pause. He took a deep breath and plunged ahead. "I don't know who else to ask," he said at last.

Silence stretched out between them as they pondered this admission and its implications. Finally, Mara stirred. "What about Karrde?"

"I thought he dealt more in people than plants."

"He doesn't know everything, but's worth a shot," Mara said. "Information <i>is</i> his business, after all. He has access to all kinds of sources that you don't get if you follow legal channels. And he's full of surprises."

Luke raised an eyebrow. "Yes, I suppose he might know something about botany--he built his base on Myrkr around a giant tree, after all. But can I afford his services?"

"You get what you pay for with Karrde," she said. "Besides, I think he owes you a favor after you rescued him from Imperial interrogation."

"I had help."

"So let's say you bring the trees back," Mara said, turning away from him. Her role in Karrde's rescue was still a touchy subject, given that she'd been coerced into betraying her boss to the Empire in the first place. "What then? Do the Jedi just start popping out of the woodwork?"

"I don't know," Luke admitted. "The two go together in ways I don't fully understand yet. There's an old saying that when the student is ready, the master appears. But I'm not even close to being a master yet. I don't even know if I'm <i>ready</i> to take on students yet."

She shot him a puzzled look. "You're not such a bad teacher."

From Mara, this was high praise and he took a moment to savor it before plunging ahead. "But you already know so much. In some ways, you have more formal training than I do. It's more like I'm just... reminding you of what you already know than teaching anything new."

Mara winced, and Luke didn't need the Force to know what she was thinking. The four years between Palpatine's death at Endor and joining Karrde's organization had been brutal for her, not in the least because her Force abilities had gone haywire in the trauma. It was only in the last year--the last few months, really, after their victory at Wayland--that she'd been able to find any kind of peace.  

"I think you're getting ahead of yourself," she said at last. "We can keep working until you build your confidence back up--and since I don't see a queue of eager students lining up, you might as well work on this tree business. Take my advice and talk to Karrde. See what he says about it."

"How do I sign up for an appointment? I hear he's pretty busy these days."

"Aren't we all." Mara rolled her eyes. "Don't worry, I'll get you in."

"Thank you," Luke said, and meant it.

"And if you're worried about money, I don't think he'll set too high a price," she added as she turned away, off to the next meeting. "He doesn't even want credits from you, anyway.  More likely he'll ask you for a favor he can call on later the next time he's in a jam, assuming he asks for anything at all."

He winced. Karrde's favors tended to be... interesting. "I was afraid of that."

"Oh, come <i>on</i>. You tried to bargain with him for your freedom back when you had <i>nothing</i> but the clothes on your back and he was contemplating whether to sell you to the Empire. How could this be any more awkward than <i>that</i>?"

Luke had to admit she had a point.

#star wars #an appointment in sawarra #space botany #fanfic excerpt

[laurapaq]

Roman Farming

Overview: 

Nowadays, we mostly remember Rome for her republic declining into an empire, or her military prowess. However, Romans thought of themselves as peace-loving, and even violent figures such as Sulla or Pompey the Great retired (temporarily, in Pompey’s case) from public life to their farm, as did the idealized Cincinnatus. Festivals celebrated farming holidays, art depicts farming tools, and noble gentlemen wrote farming manuals. Perhaps this was because the Romans rarely had a hard time providing food for themselves, their own land was fertile, and as the empire expanded they were fed by north African farms, or perhaps it was because the city of Rome was started as a little military outpost to protect Italian farmers from their northern Etruscan neighbors.

Because farming was so idealized, it’s a difficult subject to cover extensively, I’m going to highlight some practices, inventions, and produce that could add realism to historical fiction or fantasy as well as distinguish it from the typical fantasy landscape, then go into some of the cultural implications (besides people having better things to do than starve to death). 

Specifics:

Even if farming was an appropriate side hustle for patrician nobility, farming itself was difficult, and it yielded far less than it does now. Nearly half of the crop had to be used as seeds. Even still, Romans farmed so well that their farming methods were picked up by Britains and Gauls, which is appropriate since Romans built off efforts by the Greeks and people of the Near East. Additionally, despite the difficulties of the ancient world, the period between 500 BC and 500 AD had peak farming conditions in Europe (as opposed to the mini Ice Age that followed). Italy had other farming advantages; although rainfall can be spotty at times, it’s normally abundant, there are plenty of rivers and streams, and the soil is rich from volcanic ash.

The Romans grew wheat, spelt, barley, legumes like peans, peas, chickpeas, alfalfa, turnips, radishes, and fruit like figs. Wild fruits and nuts could be collected at will. Grapes and olive oil were popular and sold abundantly—both grow naturally in Italy—and with grain were the most important plants, sometimes called the “Mediterranean triad” (2). Though olive and grapes could be grown with little effort, grain—around 75% of a normal person’s calories—required extensive effort. Moreover, early Roman holdings were often as small as 1.25 acres or half a hectares. Normally, 1 acre will feed one person. 

Because there’s a large difference in the temperature and rainfall in north and south Italy, there’s a good bit of variance in farming method. However, we can get the idea in broad strokes. Roman tools were bronze or iron, hand tools like hoes and mattocks, plows (with a forecarriage—an apparatus at the front that makes it steadier), carts, harrow, manure hampers and baskets, spades, shovels, rakes, scythes, axes, wedges, an olive-crushing mill and oil press.

The plow was used first to turn soil over, as it is now, and could invert soil if turned sideways; some plows had metal ‘ears’ on the bottom that improved them. In light soil it could be pulled by a donkey, otherwise, it might require a few oxen. That was followed with a mattock (which looks like a cross between a pick-axe and a wood-axe), which broke up large lumps of dirt so that the seeds could fall into the proper rows the plow had turned up. Fields were plowed at least twice to conserve moisture (called cry-farming, still a staple around the Mediterranean), and manure was laid down after the second plowing, which came from a compost pit with animal excrement and rotting leaves, weeds, or leftovers. Seeds were either thrown out (which is quicker), or placed by hand. They were then raked over with a harrow, which could be a tool with iron teeth like nails raking the ground, or a convenient thorn bush.

Harvesting was done with a sickle (curvy knife on a stick that looks like a bad guy’s weapon), which has changed little since then, and was then brought to the threshing floor. Threshing was done by animals stomping on the grain on a hard floor, or by being crushed by a tribulum, or wooden frame with metal on its belly which was pulled across the floor. Winnowing was done by tossing the threshed grain and letting the light chaff blow away while the heavier grain well back down. Grain was then usually ground with rocks, although there were some working water mills at the end of the empire.

On rainy days when not much farming could get done, Cato (one of the politicians writing farm manuals) says to make sure to remind the overseer of work that could be done “scrubbing and pitching wine vats, cleaning the farmstead, shifting grain, hauling out manure, making a manure pit, cleaning seed, mending old harness and making new; and that the hands ought to have mended their smocks and hoods. Remind him, also, that on feast days old ditches might have been cleaned, road work done, brambles cut, the garden spaded, a meadow cleared, faggots bundled, thorns rooted out, spelt ground, and general cleaning done.” (4)

Although vineyards and olive groves remained unchanging, the Romans realized that they couldn’t grow the same crop the same place forever as it depletes the soil, so they divided their fields and rotated crops between them. They also identified which soil was best for which plant, and paid attention to that as they were cordoning off sections; for instance, olives were to be planted in thinner soil and exposed to the sun, at intervals of twenty five feet. Forage crops were also planted, such as alfalfa, which also aided the farm animal’s fertility. Vegetables were also grown to supplement human and beast, though farmers would also forage for acorns or other foodstuff to feed their animals through winter. 

To offset the dangers of a poor year, in the good year, farmers stored as much as they could—not just food, but animals and jewelry that could be sold. People also used each other as resources; when one person helped another, the person helped incurred an obligation to return the favor. 

Certain plants were also grown for medicinal purposes: Pliny reports that garlic had 61 medicinal uses, radish 43, and lettuce 42. Parsnip relaxed the stomach and relieved swelling when used as a bandage, the onion’s juice was used to relieve pain from snake bites, the wild cucumber’s juice was used for tooth aches and to heal eyes, beets were boiled and eaten with raw garlic to cure tapeworm.

Farming evolved as Rome did. Initially, it was a family thing, with that small acre and change farm earlier described. However, as Rome grew and the need for soldiers increased, Rome turned to conscription. Young men were pressed into military service, and while they were gone those rich off of conquests bought up land that couldn’t be maintained without the citizen farmer, and used captured slaves as free labor. These slave run estates were so common, there was even a name for them, the latifundia. These latifundia undercut the family farm and forced the rural people to the city, where they struggled to find work and depended on the empire’s bread and circuses. However, this theory has come under fire recently from new archeology evidence which doesn’t seem to support a decrease in small farms, yet even if it wasn’t true, it was the narrative the poor Romans told themselves. Regardless, it is verifiably true that as the empire expanded, it depended more and more on fertile North Africa, such as Egypt, Tunisia (where Carthage was), and Algeria, as well as their own islands Sicily and Sardinia.

Why It Matters:

We can see a tension between Rome as it was originally, a farming outpost, and the military empire it became in Cato, who has nothing but praise for farmers, but still draws them from their farm claiming that they make the sturdiest soldiers. More subtly, in the Aeneid, Aeneas’ father Anchises tells him it’s the Roman legacy to conquer, and yet the author Virgil spends more time on the domestic scene, in romance and familiar love, than battle. Seeing as no culture can live up to its ideals (unless they have lame ideals like flaying people *cough* Assyrians), a good fantasy culture will have both what it wants to be, and what it is. Sometimes those two are even in conflict with each other, or ideas mutate without the (sophisticated, fancy smancy part of) culture realizing or noticing the difference. Moreover, even if you want to cast a nation as ‘the bad guys’ they’ve got good motivations; Roman expansion was initially defensive, or honoring treaties with allies.  

We can also see that cultures love their origins. Rome seemed to be more proud of their agrarian roots, than of their military prowess, which they actually seemed almost ashamed of early in their history (the ‘victory arch’ began as a sort of atonement ceremony where soldiers had to purify themselves before entering the city). Which is why we see houses in the city decorating their houses with natural scenes rather than scenes of battle, so that they can pretend they were proper Roman farmers. 

As always, the technical details can help with realism. 

1. https://www.britannica.com/topic/agriculture/Improvements-in-agriculture-in-the-West-200-bce-to-1600-ce 

2. https://facultystaff.richmond.edu/~wstevens/history331texts/farming.html 

3. https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/pdf/10.1002/9781444338386.wbeah20007 

4. http://penelope.uchicago.edu/Thayer/E/Roman/Texts/Cato/De_Agricultura/A*.html  (Cato’s On Agriculture) 

5. http://www.perseus.tufts.edu/hopper/text?doc=Plin.+Nat.+toc&redirect=true (Pliny’s Natural Histories)

6. http://factsanddetails.com/world/cat56/sub408/item2049.html 

#writingfantasy #worldbuilding #writingtips #ancientworld

[avatarrewatch]

Sunday, July 28, 2019

PerishingShards here! We’re watching the following tonight! Same time and place! 

Republic City Hustle Part 1-3 [6:00pm PDT (GMT-7) / 9:00pm EDT (GMT-4)]

Avatar The Last Airbender Chibi Shorts  [6:15pm PDT  (GMT-7) / 9:15pm EDT (GMT-4)]

Project Voicebend 1-11 [6:30pm PDT  (GMT-7) / 9:30pm EDT (GMT-4)]

~~

Discord: https://discord.gg/EZPvtwj

Avatar Rewatch Calendar: http://bit.ly/2VhALdQ

(These beautiful title cards were done by the magnificent @ahhhsami and MasterKiddoJinora !)

#avatar rewatch #avatarrewatch #avatar rewatch 2019 #avatarrewatch2019 #the legend of korra #tlok #lok #republic city hustle #avatar: the last airbender chibi shorts #project voicebend #bolin #mako #asami sato #korra #avatar korra #avatar aang #aang #sokka #toph #katara

[gingerandwry]

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil - Week 1

The bus ride from Paraty to Rio was easy and uneventful. The road runs along the coast, but unfortunately the view is mostly obscured by overgrowth. I caught some dramatic, beautiful glimpses, but Brazil could learn from California and Australia. Upon arrival at my Ipanema AirBnB, I took a breath then settled in for two weeks of adventure....

My friends Scott and Tony had left Paraty a couple days early to come to Rio, so I met them for drinks and dinner Saturday night. We walked to a lively, popular-with-millenials section of Leblon and ate dinner at CT Boucherie, an established steakhouse-ish restaurant that was fantastic (and a great value for how much we ate and drink). Those guys had had a big night on Friday so we all turned in early.

And it’s good we did since Scott had a full day planned for us. We started at Parque Lage for breakfast at their famous restaurant. It occupies the courtyard of a crumbling mansion (now an art school) and sits just below Rio’s most famous landmark, Christ the Redeemer. It’s a setting made for Instagram, and everyone certainly took advantage of that. The food was pretty tasty for a place that could easily half-ass it. After breakfast we walked around the park a bit and saw our first monkeys!

We then walked through Jardim Botanico, which appears to be the Beverly Hills of Rio. We walked through the Botanical Gardens as well, which are lush and beautiful. I think the most striking element were the massive tree trunks, some of which formed walls rising several feet above the ground.

From here we traveled back to Ipanema’s Praca General Osorio for the famous “Hippie Fair”, an arts and crafts market. I’m not sure what the big deal is-- it seems like every other crafts market I’ve seen. Afterwards the guys went to the beach, but I needed some literal chill time in front of a fan, so I lay low at my apartment for a while. We met up again for dinner at Zaza, a delicious Moroccan restaurant. It was the guys’ last night, but we were all pretty beat, so we called it early after a couple more beers.

Monday was shopping day, both clothes and groceries. I am not a beach person, and I was not prepared for how beached out Rio is. Even at nighttime in nice restaurants, people are in t-shirts, shorts and flip-flops. I needed some more beach wear to fit in (tho I only ended up finding one pair of shorts I liked). I met up with the guys again for lunch at Barraca do Uruguai, the most famous stand at Ipanema beach selling delicious meaty sandwiches. They had to get to the airport so we parted ways and I found myself all alone in Brazil....

On Tuesday I committed to the hard work of tourism. In the morning I took the metro to Centro, the historic center of Rio. I emerged at Rua Uruguaina into a hectic street bazaar. It was initially unnerving but a nice break from laid back Ipanema. Once I got my bearings I climbed up to Morro de Conceicao, a very old, Lisbon-esque street with cute (if shabby) townhouses, and then down to Praca Maua, the waterfront area that was revitalized for the 2016 Olympics. I first visited the Museu de Arte do Rio, housed in a beautiful colonial building attached to a gleaming modern annex. The view over Guanabara Bay is fantastic. The museum was showing two exhibits, one (”Mulheres”) featured women artists and had a lot of compelling pieces. The other was a history of samba. Once again I couldn’t understand the Portuguese captions, but there was enough music, video and glamorous visuals to make it fun nonetheless.

I walked across the plaza to Museu do Amanha (”Tomorrow”), a very modern “science” museum with a lot of interactive video displays and flashy installations for these selfie/social media loving Brazilians. The science was a bit thin; it starts with a brief history of the universe then focuses on humanity’s impact on the planet, for better and worse. But it was engaging.

I then hiked up another hill to the Mosteiro do Sao Bento, a monastery that is one of the city’s oldest buildings. Its plain, humble exterior belies an over-the-top opulence inside, a theme I found in every church I saw that day. Those early Portuguese settlers loved ornate, gilded wall reliefs like you would expect from Louis XIV.

After a tasty chicken burger at the hip Cozinha Mironga I continued toward the waterfront to Igreja de Nossa Senhora Candelaria, the biggest of the city’s historic churches. The surrounding area houses lots of current and former government buildings, most of them imposing neoclassical edifices or fanciful Baroque colonial desserts (or both). I saw the Centro Cultural do Banco do Brasil (tho I skipped the current exhibition of Dreamworks art), Igreja de Nossa Senhora do Carmo da Antiga Se (which served royal functions when the Portguese throne decamped to Brazil) and Paco Imperial (the one-time royal palace). From there I walked through the extremely underwhelming (but historic) Arco de Teles into Travessa do Comercio, a charming cobblestone street of colonial townhouses, now home to outdoor cafes.

From here I cut across the hustling narrow streets of Centro to Largo da Carioca, a plaza surrounding by some atrocious 1960s skyscrapers (tho the Petrobras HQ is a marvel) and dominated by a very old church, Igreja Sao Francisco da Penitencia e Convento de Santo Antonio (phew). It’s beautifully restored and wins the gaudiest award in a very tough category. Not one inch of that chapel was left ungilded, an odd choice for an order who has taken a vow of poverty.

I then headed back up to Real Gabinete Portugues de Leitura, or the Royal Reading Room. It’s basically a library, and one of the most stunning I’ve ever seen. It’s three stories of books (over 350,000) in sumptuous but tasteful, muted decor. You can feel the knowledge surrounding you, and it makes you yearn to have more of it.

From there I veered west into Saara, a small grid of narrow streets that serves as an outdoor market and bazaar. You can probably find anything you need here and at a good price. At the end of it I found Campo de Santana, an elegant park with an odd assemblage of wild beasts-- cats, ducks, some sort of large fowl, and a cute, big rodent creature (capybara?). That was enough for one day so I headed back to Ipanema, had a big, tasty, cheap dinner at Frontera and went home to bed.

On Wednesday I headed back down to Centro to finish my tour. I started at the Museu Historico Nacional. I have a particular interest in history museums because a) I think it’s important to have some background and context when you travel; b) I’m a history nerd; and c) they are difficult to do well since good history requires a lot of text, which is not well-suited to a museum. Rio’s history museum is... decent. Housed in a well-maintained old fort, it could definitely use some refurbishing and some more engaging exhibits. After a respectable space telling the story of the indigenous people, it mostly focuses on the leaders and elites who steered the country from a Portuguese (and Dutch and French) colony into an independent republic. It has little to say about slaves, and I found no mention of the military dictatorship that ruled from the sixties to the eighties. (This is especially problematic given the current president’s favorable, revisionist view of the dictatorship.) But otherwise the narrative seems fair and accurate, if not thorough. It has almost no weighty artifacts, like original documents or “this was the actual thing that person used” items. It is mostly full of examples (of china, jewelry, slave shackles, etc.), paintings (many immense) and busts. Two awesome exceptions are a large array of carriages and early cars spanning three hundred years and an actual historic apothecary that was moved into the museum when it went out of business. I also appreciated that all of the displays had English translations tho they were riddled with errors. It made me wonder why the museum wouldn’t have them proofread before printing them up in a permanent exhibition.

From here I walked back to Praca Floriano (aka Cinelandia) which is the heart of downtown. The plaza is fairly non-descript, but it’s surrounded by some of the city’s most beautiful buildings: Theatro Municipal, Bibliolteca Nacional, Museu Nacional de Belas Artes and Camera Municipal. It was so stunning I stopped for lunch on the square and came back to see it lit up at night (when apparently the navy was attending the opera...).

After lunch I continued west into Lapa, past the iconic Arcos (an old viaduct) and the peculiar Catedral Metropolitana de Sao Sebastio. It’s a brutalist cement cone modeled after Aztec pyramids, and it looks nothing like any church I’ve ever seen (tho not far off from St. Mary’s in San Francisco, aka “The Washing Machine”). After my initial shock and repulsion, I found it growing on me, if only for its boldness and break from tradition. It’s most famous for the tall stain-glassed windows (which are impressive in their size if not beauty), but what stood out to me was the main crucifix. It’s surprisingly small and suspended in the center of the cone about 30 feet above the altar. Jesus looks so vulnerable and alone, floating in an empty void. Of all the gory crucifixion scenes I’ve seen, this more than any other moved me and actually made me sad to think about Jesus’ plight.

I then ventured further into Lapa. Nowadays it’s best known for its rowdy nightlife, and some of the bars were just starting to open up. Like much of Rio (and many Latin American cities), the area had traces of better days but now mostly looks decrepit. I made my way back, under the Arcos and headed to Cinelandia to catch the train home.

Thursday was considerably less ambitious. After a late start, I took the metro to Botafogo. Amid the usual urban grit of Rio are several beautiful old colonial mansions (as well as a notorious favela). I believe it was once an upscale artsy neighborhood that fell into decline, but some of the old buildings have been restored as museums or work spaces. Unfortunately, like so much of the city, they are hidden and inaccessible behind tall walls and fences. One beautiful exception is the Fundacao Casa de Rui Barbosa, once home to a famous writer and politician, now a museum. I didn’t go inside but the gorgeous grounds around the home are open to the public and look like a miniature botanical garden.

I made my way toward the next neighborhood, Humaita, and stopped at Cemiterio Sao Joao Batista, the final resting place for some of Brazil’s most famous residents. It’s quite beautiful and dramatic under the watchful eye of Christ the Redeemer. My last stop was Cobol do Humaita, a food market and dining hall, which are always pleasant to wander. The sun was going down so, after six days in Ipanema, I figured it was time to see the sunset on the beach. Obviously Rio faces East but the light is still nice.

Friday turned out to be my most ambitious day and, painfully, the hottest so far. I returned to lovely Cinelandia and Lapa and visited the famous Escadaria Selaron, a public stairway that has been covered in a colorful tile mosaic in tribute to the people of Brazil. It’s pretty, fun and festive and swarming with tourists. Fortunately most people turn around at the top (if they get that far) instead of continuing into the beautiful Santa Teresa neighborhood. Like Botafogo, it’s full of charming old homes in various states of (dis)repair. But these are not walled off. And they run the gamut from cottages to palaces, so there is a lot of variety, both in architecture and culture. It reminded me of Russian Hill and Telegraph Hill. Also, this being a very steep hill, there are stunning views of the city and the bay from everywhere.

There is not much to do in Santa Teresa besides admire the loveliness, which probably helps keep the tourists away. Parque das Ruinas is the main attraction-- a crumbled mansion once owned by a salon-hosting socialite intellectual. It really feels like ruins, but staircases and walkways have been installed and the surrounding grounds turned into a park. The views from the top are spectacular. The small museum next door (Museu da Chacara do Ceu) hosts a private collection. It sounded interesting but appeared to be closed for construction.

I continued walking through the main commercial area which hosts some charming little boutiques, restaurants and bars (as well as a makeshift barber and a bar perched out on one of the viewpoints). I stopped for fantastic feijoada at Bar do Mineiro and more beer at the historic Bar do Gomes. Then, rather than walk all the way back down, I opted for the bonde, a cute little cable car that runs up and down the hill.

With a little daylight left, I headed back down to Botafogo and then over to Urca for one of Rio’s premiere attractions: Pao de Acucar (Sugarloaf Mountain). It stands tall at the north end of Copacabana and offers stunning views over the entire city and bay. It’s accessible by a sequence of two cable cars (gondolas), teetering at dizzying heights. It was crowded, as I expected at sunset, but not actually that bad. I stayed up there a while soaking in the “Marvelous City” and, like everyone else, taking tons of photos.

It was my first Friday night in the city, and I had nothing to do, which would have been a shame. But a guy I had been chatting with invited me to Paraiso do Tuiuti, a samba school. I demurred, concerned that I would not understand the instructions in Portuguese. But my friend then explained that it’s not a school so much as a club that performs sambas. The schools are formed in the favelas and compete at Carnaval every year. Friday night Paraiso was having a big birthday party and putting on a show for their friends.

The Paraiso clubhouse is across the street from Feira de Sao Cristovao, a kind of permanent country fair. It’s home to dozens of stalls selling all sorts of stuff, but at night, it’s mostly just restaurants and bars with a lot of karaoke. There is also a main stage with the kind of cheesy acts you would expect at a fair. And the crowd was overwhelmingly under 30, maybe 25. It was cute good times but I was not sorry to leave when my friend arrived.

The Paraiso do Tuiuti building is a big auditorium, not unlike a high school gym. A large samba band was in full swing in the corner of the mezzanine, and various people in uniforms, outfits and costumes were milling amongst the hundreds of guests. It all felt very festive, intimate and personable. A little later the performances started. My friend explained that each year at Carnaval each school performs a new samba and competes for first place (the schools are also organized like sports leagues with a top tier, mid tier, etc.). Paraiso do Tuiuti was performing their greatest hits that night in honor of their birthday (with songs going back to the 80s), and once they were done, a couple other schools-- Estacio de Sa and Mangueira (last year’s winners)-- performed as well. The whole experience was phenomenal and unforgettable-- the rhythms, the leg work, the costumes, the energy. It was a fantastic, only-in-Brazil night that a tourist can only hope to stumble upon.

Since I did not get home until 6am, Saturday and Sunday were my lazy days off before I returned to the tourist trail the next week....

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